I was going to do a long, earnest entry about the coincidence of anniesj doing a Fool's post on Buffy/Angel when just! last! night! I got for the first time ever a perverse B/A story bunny from rewatching their last fight scene in "Sanctuary." I would have been very convincing and hoodwinked you all--mwah ha ha ha--but I'm too lazy to go to such lengths.
I haven't been writing Charmed recaps so much lately, because many of the eps I've watched have actually been pretty decent. No. Really. More evidence of my truism that shows grow more stylized as they age. Apparently once upon a time, the prima bitcas actually tried to act rather than mug for the camera every 30 seconds. Also, Shannen Doherty was, when not forced to obnoxiousness by the writers, often competent and watchable. I find that disturbing to the laws of the universe.
So, Cole's great irreversible downfall has kicked off with "Exit Strategy." After forty-odd minutes of moist, fevered angst as he double-agented himself around, trying at the same time to avoid discovery by the Brotherhood and keep his good half in control until a healing potion could be imbibed, his old mentor finally got the better of him, compelling him to kill an innocent in front of Phoebe. She turned on him in a snap and said it was over, that he was irredeemably evil. Our bad puppy then took his sweaty, magnificent self down to Hell, from there never to return quite the same. Or so I gather.
This ep had problems. First of all, Phoebe doesn't turn on a moral dime quite so well as, say, Buffy. Second, I hate to say it, but either Julian McMahon fucked up, or someone directed him like ass, because just when Cole should have been at his most forceful and persuasive--trying to convince Phoebe to give him the potion and save him from an evil destiny--he acted guilty as hell. He was shifty-eyed and whiny and he exhibited no attractive personality traits. Better if they'd had him beg his way into a self-dooming, demonic rage. I guess the argument would be that he'd reached his nadir of weakness by that point. And he was definitely set up to fail. But the key scene, just before Phoebe dashed the potion glass to smithereens, seemed oddly off.
More trivia on Cole-Spike parallels: For many eps, Cole avoided discovery by his fellow demons by living in a graveyard mausoleum--the aboveground portion of a crypt. Heh.
McMahon wears a tailored suit beautifully. I'd love to see the other JM in a silky, monochrome ensemble of Black Armani, darkish shirt, and expensive tie, perhaps with the knot slightly loosened. Not that godawful thing they put him in for "Tabula Rasa." Cruel, evil demons of wardrobe!
My co-worker is playing a lovely, mellow song on the guitar. That's right, Z. Relax me for my performance review meeting in...oh dear. Half an hour. Having that scheduled on April Fool's Day could be dangerous. "Anna, you did beautifully this year, and we're giving you a ten percent raise! ...HA HA! Just kidding! You're really fired!"
And now I just got handed the paperwork to read over for my review. Gah. Stomach cramps. But it looks pretty good at a glance.
In other news, I had a long, elaborate, and very smokin' menage a trois story going on in my head last night, where, er, Spikewasagirlmovingalongnow, and it's odd now that I think about it in the clear light of day. Layers of slash in het. You make a male character a female, and if you do it right--if your she stays by and large a cranky, tomboyish he in spirit and personality--then it still feels deeply hot in the slashy way, rather than hot in a het way, despite the incredibly explicit hetness of the "turned" body and the acts.
Eroticism is a strange, shifty, and subjective beast.
I so don't want to work. I don't want to do much of anything. I want to go back to bed and sleep and think sexy thoughts. I'm so febrile and quiver-prone lately it's almost starting to become alarming. Don't they say women hit their sexual peak in their thirties? Christ, the weather up here is tropical.