Really? Precious Works In A Fried Chicken Joint? Really?: Those of you who had a problem with the stereotypes associated with Gabourey Sidibe’s character Queenie were probably none too pleased that she worked in a fried chicken joint. Okay, but you can’t be disappointed in her fricasseeing a customer’s arm. Not if you’ve worked in customer service. Also, I so appreciated this line. This line is classic Ryan Murphy.
Bun In The Coven: Where, exactly, was Cordelia keeping her super cute DTF w/ snakes husband? Did anyone else get confused and think this was a flashback? Did I miss him last week? Does she keep him in her cupboard with her spare brooms until she needs someone to escort her to the OBGYN and freaky bone a baby into her? Well mission accomplished. What would a season of American Horror Story be without a terribly upsetting pregnancy plot? We’ve already had a ghost baby and an alien baby. Are we finally getting one of the Rosemary variety?
Do NOT Damage Nan’s Calm: Okay this screenshot is from last week but I love Jamie Brewer’s facial expression here much too much. Also, we can all relate to Nan’s frustration at being bothered during her reading time. Madame LaLaurie is such an inconsiderate, undead, racist, sadistic, house guest. Just rude.
Creepy Nicks: We AHS vets were pretty confident that we hadn’t seen the last of old Misty Day. Lily Rabe is much too precious to waste. But I’m afraid the fire done scrambled her eggs. Or maybe she was always like that. At any rate, I could watch her re-animate crocodile and boy toys to the strains of Fleetwood Mac all day. ALL DAY. Anyone get a sapphic vibe from her fixation on Zoe? Or was it just further evidence of the cajun-style scramble that is her brains? Also, did she apparate into the back of that car? Is she technically a really groovy ghost?
Don’t Call It A Zom-Com: Oh, ladies, I hope you remembered to sew on that important missing part. Then again, given Zoe’s black widow status, maybe it’s best not to tempt her with the complete package. Or, as we speculated last week, is boinking this undead, Franken-boy her best shot at happiness? It looks like Misty’s poo-poultice might even heal up his stitching. Which is too bad. Apparent seams are so in this season.
Sabrina The Teenage Cracker: Who’s number one on your “I can’t wait to see her die in a gruesome way” list? Is it Madison here? I know, I should still be feeling protective of her after last week’s events, but she’s awfully hard to love.
Good Black Don’t Crack: AHHHHHHH ANGELA BASSETT. Go ahead, slip into that catsuit and we’ll see how good YOU look. She is a freaking revelation. Glorious. Gorgeous. I wasn’t entirely following this scene, though, on account of all the drool. Was she saying that The Witches (All white witches? The legacy of New Orleans white witches?) got much of their power and knowledge from a single voodoo “slave girl” they imprisoned? Does that sound right? It felt like they were talking about something we should already understand and while I appreciate when a show doesn’t treat me like an idiot, I had a little trouble with this one. Anyway. Hammer? Meet well-manicured nail.
This Year’s Rubber Man: Our very own Courtney brought up the excellent point last week that Marie Laveau seems to have a lot of power. Couldn’t she un-bull her beau after she took care of Madame LaLaurie? Why did she keep him Minotaur’d? Listen, I think both you and the United States Government should stay out of Marie Laveau’s bedroom. What she does with her freaky, immortal half-man behind closed doors is her business. Not yours.
Maybe The Best Gone With The Wind Reference Known To Mankind: Though Bassett gave them a run for their money, these two are still the MVPs of this show. I crown them queen and queen of the batsh*t prom. When Fiona called Madame LaLaurie “Miss Pittypat” I just about lost it. Not to mention unsympathetic fried chicken bites and pretty much unprovoked candlestick clubbings. The only thing Queenie was guilty of was Sassing While Black.
So give it up for this show which allows these two women of a certain age (three, let’s say three and include the ageless Bassett) to gnaw on every stick of scenery in the French Quarter.