*This* is the 77
Shows are wrapping up left and right for the season. For some reason I thought last night was going to be the (series) finale of FlashForward, too, but I guess there’s one more episode left. I can’t say I was entirely fond of last night’s episode, especially the forced plotting that put Benford together with a drink near the end. None of it felt very true to the characters up to that point. This has always beena show on the verge of being canceled by me. Next week might be a wowser, of course, but I doubt it.
Now Fringe—that was a great finale. I did guess what happened with Olivia based on the discontinuity before she threw William Bell’s amazingly potent hand grenade, and it sets up some terrific possibilities for next season. The episode had it all—a kick-ass cat fight between Olivia and her alterna-self, Olivia’s declaration of love and a kiss, Walter and William’s reunion, some great lines (“I supplied Fringe division with the 76 model,” William Bell says as he pulls out a big gun and blows up an SUV with one shot. “This is the 77.”) and a sacrifice scene that brought to mind Wrath of Khan. Nimoy is on the record as saying that his scenes in Fringe will probably be the last acting he ever does—and he moved like a man in pain. Not a bad swan song, in my opinion.
Not a bad finale for C.S.I., either, though it emulated Silence of the Lamb a bit too much. The resolution to the Jekyll & Hyde murders wasn’t nearly as satisfying as the wrap up of the miniature killer a couple of seasons ago. It’s clear that Ray Langston is no pro when it comes to dealing with convicts—it was more than a little careless of him to get within arm’s length of his old nemesis. He’ll survive his wounds, I suspect.
The Mentalist was interesting. Patrick is in an awkward position vis-a-vis the attractive psychic. He’s intrigued by her except for her annoying habit of believing she’s a psychic. He’s all about the trickery, the smoke and mirrors, and she refuses to admit that she’s a sham…if she is. A nice diversion with the copycat killers, leaving Patrick wrapped up like one of Dexter’s victims. And then the real Red John struts on stage to edit their film. His voice was odd, don’t you think? Perhaps masked? His parting shot (“go tide”) made me think of two possibilities: either Red John is the female psychic (wouldn’t that be a twist?) or he’s someone who was at the restaurant the night of their date. Who else would know that detail? I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: the show is at its best when it isn’t trying too hard to be funny.
I’m almost at the end of the second season of Sons of Anarchy. This is a fascinating show in that it makes us care for some really despicable characters. The writers and the actors do a great job of humanizing this biker gang. They aren’t neanderthals or testosterone fuelled gorillas. The things they do bother them from time to time.
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