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"Justified" — "Coalition": I Lost Count, Was That A Quadruple Cross?

By Joanna Robinson | TV | April 4, 2012 |

By Joanna Robinson | TV | April 4, 2012 |

Things We Learned:

  • Ava’s right, you don’t want to choke a man in his own blood and a plastic bag until you’ve learned why, exactly, he limped into your bar in the first place.

  • Dear Kat and Minerva, no conversation that started with “Have you seen Platoon?” has ever ended well. Is this what a Charlie Sheen party looks like? Complete with REO Speedwagon and ‘GAH-GONG’s? Also, these three aren’t cracker jack guards? You’re sh*tting me.

  • If we’re casting Harlan’s Eleven for the Galatin Bank Heist job, Ava’d be Brad Pitt, right?

  • The Theo Tonin “ear” story may work on most, but it doesn’t faze Boyd Crowder.

  • Arlo isn’t losing it. He’s lost it.

  • Aw, someone went to the Kevin Smith/Quentin Tarantino school of screenwriting. During the fourth film reference in two episodes, Raylan Givens calls The Wizard of Oz (and, by extension, Limehouse) a pussy. Also, that business with the meat grinder is the nastiest piece of butchery we’ve seen all season.

  • You may think you’re the smartest man in the room, but if you’re sharing that room with Boyd Crowder, you’re wrong. Also, in regards to Boyd’s racism/white power past, he calls Dickie and Errol “Salt & Pepper.” I’d be offended but I’m too busy envisioning Dickie limping along to “Shoop.”

  • Chekov’s T-Ball Game. If a sympathetic character mentions his “boy” in the first act, odds are he’s going to be shot before the night is over. Poor Trooper Tom.

  • Honestly, Boyd Crowder is the worst at picking guards. You left Dickie, the slipperiest weasel this side of the Mississippi, and Errol untied and with cousin Johnny. Listen, I know Johnny Crowder is handicapable, but that was plain stupid, Boyd. I just called you smart. Don’t make me contradict myself.

  • I’ve never been so tense as I was when Boyd was looking for Ava. I was convinced he was going to find her dead. The supremely tense mandolin strumming in the background didn’t help.

  • Memo to Winona Hawkins: THIS is how you sass a Marshal.

  • My favorite Win-Wynn situation asks Quarles to stop smoking Oxi in his Wynn-ebago. A fairly reasonable request.

  • The mighty Boyd Crowder was brought low by a metal guard rail.


  • Dickie’s non-hopping leg. (Cause of Death: Raylan being a bit of a d*ck. Sure, shoot him, we all know he has it coming. But shooting him in the leg seemed particularly nasty.)

  • Trooper Tom. (Cause of Death: Alright, we don’t know Trooper Tom is dead, but they did make a point of mentioning that Quarles prefers using hollow points … which make a “paste” of your innards. So I’m not holding out a lot of hope that he’ll make it to any more T-Ball games.)

    For Those Of You Keeping Track At Home, Robert Quarles Looks Like:

  • An Albino deer
  • A Tow-headed motherfucker
  • A big-toothed albino-looking son of a b*tch
  • He even sh*ts blond
  • Steve McQueen
  • A Husky
  • A pasty sack of sh*t
  • He has a big stupid baby head.

    The Gist: What an incendiary, fast-paced, tense-as-hell penultimate episode of the season. Everyone is playing, everyone is lying, everyone has their own agenda. I admire that the writers spent so long setting up a heist (and a double cross, and a triple cross, etc.) that never came to fruition. And yet, not a second of this episode felt wasted. What loose ends do we have to tie up in the finale? The money is safely squirreled away in Loretta’s piggy bank, so that seems settled. Dickie is in custody and Boyd has a head contusion. So it looks like all that’s left is to nail/kill Quarles. Arlo is also missing and quite the wild card, so we’ll keep an eye out for him to still play his part. Is there really anything better than the last few episodes of a season of “Justified?” It’s like the anti-“Sons Of Anarchy.” Raylan is enraged and I couldn’t be more thrilled.

    Quick! Look! Emma Stone is Adorable, Adorably Terrified of Spiders | WANTED: Women Who Passionately Dislike Ryan Gosling. Show Your Face, You Dirty Liars