See Forever Eyes
Rejection letters still burn. After all this time. They suck. Oh, well. Something to submit elsewhere this weekend.
I have to put steroid eye drops into my left eye four times a day for the next three days and three times a day for the four days after that. Some sort of inflammation. I’m trying to imagine what my eye will be like on steroids. Buff, pumped up, bulging. Will I be able to tell a difference between it and the non-steroidal eye? Inquiring minds need to know.
Fringe was borrowing from everything under the sun last night. Obviously Frankenstein with a little Pet Sematary thrown in for good measure (“I don’t know what I brought back, but it wasn’t her”). I was thinking of Humpty Dumpty, too, being reassembled after the fall. Shades of Dexter, with the “kill room” and the shot to the neck. The infamous deadly umbrella that was used to inject Georgi Markov with ricin. (At first I thought it was part of a cabal—when the killer returned to the train station with the heart, the camera passed over another guy with an umbrella.)
I had a suspicion that the suicide wasn’t going to be happy to be revived, especially after all this time. They better make sure her body is really cremated this time. I was a little disappointed that this wasn’t a Fringe event episode but rather one totally devised to be a parallel to what Olivia is experiencing, but only a little. Olivia’s reaction and readjustment is a story that needs to be told. Her feeling of violation, that her alternate has been everywhere in her life. Opening her mail. Wearing her old college sweatshirt. Sleeping in her bed. Sleeping in her bed with Peter. Good stuff.
Nothing kills the joy of an idyllic Christmas shopping excursion more than having Santa Claus fall down the invisible chimney. His “suicide note,” as Patrick observed on The Mentalist, was “not the traditional Christmas greeting, but it has punch and concision.” Lots of Santa jokes, a Santapalooza, a decidedly un-PC Santa, and references to the “ho ho ho'” who steered Benjamin to the rehab clinic. (Santa got some naughty this year.)
I like “Robocop.” He’s a good addition to the story. Someone who is relatively immune to Patrick’s guff, though Patrick handles him reasonably well, even blitzed. Lisbon reveals that her discovery about Santa crushed her heart like a cigarette. Patrick’s assessment of Benjamin’s AA sponsor: “Lovely lady. Or a killer. Can’t tell.” He winds up Virigl by calling him a brave old man with nothing to lose. Nice parting advice when he leaves Virgil with the sponsor, who was in love with the Santa-obsessed murder victim: “You might want to grow a beard.” What do you think of the odds that Virgil will turn out to be Red John?
The McGuffin on Burn Notice is in the hands of Brennan, the psycho ex-spy, and poor Marv was terminated with extreme prejudice. Helping Michael and Jesse isn’t safe work. I thought there was something wrong with my TV for a while when I heard Sam decline a mojito. “I’m good with water.” That’s not something I’ve ever heard him say before. I often wonder why cops and other people of that ilk call out to suspects when they’re still several paces away, giving them plenty of time to turn and bold. This time, I figure they were just setting the guy up so Jesse could zap him. “Justice and revenge—that’s chocolate and peanut butter as far as I’m concerned,” Jesse said.
Categories: Burn Notice, Fringe, Mentalist