CAUTION: My girl, Carol, speaks her mind in a strong,
brassy and vibrant fashion. If you are offended by straight talking,
adult oriented language (sometimes, there's a "very" in there), please be
aware that you may well find it here. Carol shoots from the hip and
tells it like it is, pulling no punches and taking no prisoners.
That's why I love her & why I hired her. If it's not your bag, let's
part still friends and salute our differences in tastes (I'm sort of a
strong strawberry flavor...) ~*~Katrina~*~
The Unexpected Hits of May Sweeps
Despite the seasonal complaints – Dreary!
Humdrum! Let-down! – of the online fan collective, several “dark horses”
ran to the finish line ahead of the pack. Before I hit on the past week or
so of ABC Daytime’s dramatic episodes, I’d like to delve a bit more...
I NEED VIKI’S HEART
Like the rest of the human race, I prefer
my daily life smooth-sailing, uneventful (unless it’s of the LOTTO and
Damian Lewis marathon variety), pleasant, fun, comfortable, safe and
familiar. I would rather not have to deal with the requisite bumps on
life’s road: death, divorce, disease, car accidents, the Greenhouse
Effect, terrorist Code Red, another presidential election.
But want differs greatly from need.
Whether you’re willing to admit it or not,
we all need the bad news, the challenges, the struggles, to forge our
steel brighter, sharper and stronger (to borrow a Christian analogy), and
more importantly, to greatly increase our capacity for gratitude and
compassion. It’s a lot easier to feel grateful for the blessings we do
have, along with empathy for those who don’t, when we have had to
experience loss, crippling loss.
These are the staples with which soap
operas have entertained for decades, and been denigrated mercilessly over
by the mainstream entertainment industry. Nobody tunes into a soap to
escape from life’s troubles and get lost in a lot of frivolous puffery
(that’s what the Daytime Emmys and American Idol are for).
We tune in (or we used to, before we
forgot) to relate to people like us, commiserate with them when they’re
down, root for them when they decide to fight back and feel a little
better about our own troubles when they (unlike a lot of us in real life)
triumph with a last-minute miracle or sacrifice. Soaps are the truest form
of reality-TV and fairy tales in one near-daily genre.
It’s never easy to thrust ourselves into
such muck and mire. But once we brave our own fears, preconceptions and
instinctive fight-or-flight aversion to the unpleasant and unwelcome, I
really do believe we’re all the more better people overall for the
When my mother-in-law died of complications
from emphysema last February, I did not want to visit her dying body
laying on a hospice bed in rags, flesh and muscle emaciated into a
deflated skin bag, gaping mouth left struggling for one last futile
breath. I certainly did not want to walk into her room the night she
permanently left her dying body.
Decades ago, I went through the same
dilemma with my maternal grandmother, at her funeral, when my mother
wanted me to touch and kiss the corpse good-bye. You’ve gotta be kidding
Now, as a 39-year-old wife and mother, I
knew better, I had to, to walk through the doorway, comfort my
father-in-law and my husband as they swiped away the running snot from
their faces, painfully struggled themselves to look, touch, and bid Jean
I forced myself to look at her, this woman
who once enjoyed making spaghetti sauce from scratch, all day in the
kitchen putting the ingredients together, griping about not getting the
right flavor, and at the dinner table, more griping, code for, Please
pay me a lot of compliments, this woman who was fond of staying up
late reading about catastrophes in newspaper articles, eschewing TV and
daydreaming of ballroom dancing like she used to as a young woman up in
I stood there taking in every pore, their
tears and awkward silences and meaningless cocktail chatter, everybody
trying not to think of their inevitable. I knew that one day, many
days soon, I’ll be burying other loved ones closer to me, and they’ll bury
These are not the thoughts people gravitate
toward, least of all young people – the prized demographic of networks.
Not surprising then, that a story about an elderly character dying of
congestive heart failure (or breast cancer) is not high on TPTB’s list of
priorities. Also not surprising, that OLTL’s story about Viki’s failing
heart is quickly wrapping up within a few weeks of May Sweeps, in order to
make way for the teen-filled angst and romp of a typical endless empty
What has been surprising is the
success of such a story, a story the audience (some who’d given up soaps
altogether for 10 years-plus) has fully embraced, whether they want to
walk through that door or not.
A friend of mine, who gave up GH as her
daily habit back in the late ‘90s, told me that she also gave up the sappy
writing and cornball acting at AMC for OLTL’s more realistic brand of
storytelling, which showcased characters not just standing around, making
love and threatening violence, but working, fostering friendships, turning
to family members for guidance, tickling the funny bone.
She also admitted that she has to talk
herself into watching Viki’s story, letting herself go there personally,
putting herself in Viki’s or her loved ones’ shoes, allowing her personal
life to mingle with OLTL’s fictional one for a while, until she’s a
sobbing heap. This is a private woman who does not like to reveal her
emotions to anyone, least of all her own family, and not prone to crying.
Yet, she risked the discomfort. Viki’s
story is that good.
I certainly hesitated when Viki began
experiencing heart palpitations, received the dire diagnosis forcing her
into only one last-ditch effort, a transplant, dreaming about what it
would be like in Llanview without her and how to face her own death,
grappling with the significance of losing her one true love Ben and
accepting his heart as her own. Viki—in tour de force performances by
multiple-Emmy winner Erika Slezak—had me going there with my own mother
Connie, myself, asking the frightening questions, What would I do if I
were dying of heart failure? How would I feel? Could I be as brave as Viki?
Gosh, Erika Slezak doesn’t look at all like she’s faking this.
Look, I do not want to contemplate
my mother’s death, or mine for that matter. I’d like to fool myself into
living forever. So willingly taking this kind of all-too-realistic
storyline on, in my own heart, with my own life, is an amazing testament
to just how gutsy TPTB are in letting this air, how well-thought-out the
writers have been in recreating an unfortunate part of reality, how
effective the actors’ responses through their characters have been in
moving me to the core, and how well such stories really do work when given
half a chance, no matter what the critics, the critic wannabes, the
marketing types and the outside industry say about daytime being a
laughable, melodramatic farce, only about models and aging divas, gloom
Just as I needed to see Viki diagnosed,
reel, rail and ultimately survive heart failure – however hard to take – I
also needed the characters who know and love her to rally ‘round.
Paul’s disappearance, the baby switch,
Natalie’s love life, Jessica’s suspicions about Antonio, Todd’s vendetta
against Kevin, Dorian’s secret life with Adriana’s kingpin father, Kelly’s
hangnail... these sub-plots take a firm, far second place to what’s
happening to Viki now.
Maybe fans can excuse and explain why
Natalie, for example, seems more preoccupied with evading the cops after
getting caught with Paul’s blood on her hands, as well as getting into
John’s pants. And maybe fans can even be plausible about it. But, as much
as this makes me look inflexible, unfair and personally biased, I don’t
care to know the inner workings of an equally (to them) valid, equally
worrisome problem(s) plaguing Natalie, or Kelly for that matter.
Drop it. The hangnail can wait till after
Viki’s recovered, by the end of this week presumably.
I’ve little patience for Natalie fretting
about the cops at her door (just another excuse to lean on John) or Kelly
looking over her shoulder over the many crimes she’s committed in
the half-baked scheme of keeping Kevin in a loveless marriage – when
Viki’s heart is more interesting, compelling and relevant to me.
Their self-interest furthers nothing but
the de-valuation of their characters, something they can ill afford. It’s
hard enough siding with Natalie when she’s impulsively jumping into Paul’s
bed just to forget John when he already told her he’s willing to wait the
amount of grieving time to be with her, or picking a fight with
Jennifer as a convenient distraction (not to mention ego boost to her
flailing street cred).
It’s impossible to understand a recast’s
recast Kelly when she’s neurotically repeating the same lines daily and
weekly, over Kevin will find out!, ignoring her once-strong family
ties and friendships in the process, rolling her eyes past Blair, Renee,
Asa, Clint, Starr, etc. etc.
When Kevin finally broke down in front of
Kelly, wondering when she’d start worrying about him, taking care of him,
comforting him for a change, as the full weight of his mother’s condition
threatened to overwhelm him, it was with some measure of satisfaction that
I saw a slight dent, called shame, in Kelly’s self-obsessed hysteria.
Slight, as the rest of her remained strangely aloof, a bit embarrassed,
that eye-roll again, but for the most part, still obsessed with keeping
her secrets hers. Right then and there, I told myself, “Kelly’s dead to
me.” The character needs to go out of town forever.
I really really
don’t get Kelly anymore. The Kelly originated by Gina Tognoni would’ve
cared more that Viki was laid up in the hospital waiting to die, that
Jessica, her (former) best friend has been struggling with grief over this
and confusion over marrying Antonio, that Blair recently suffered the
kidnapping of her daughter Starr, that Dorian could be the target of a mob
from Puerto Rico, that Kevin needs her when his own mother could die at
any moment. Instead, this new character Kelly only cares about
keeping her baby secret and covering up any resultant details thereafter,
including this faux-murder mystery – the most anti-climactic reveal ever.
Just as I’m
about to immerse myself in some good, old-fashioned hand-wringing over
Viki’s plight, they cut to Kelly sauntering in half-drunk on her hysteria,
consumed only with guilt over “killing Paul,” and what Paul and Kevin
might know. It almost looks like Blair is enjoying the possibility
that Kelly could land herself in a big heap of trouble with the law over
Paul’s disappearance. Blair would’ve been the first person Kelly turned to
to help cover it up, and Blair would’ve gotten the job done.
A huge step
toward saving Kelly, making sense of Todd, redeeming Kevin, adding life to
Jessica, double that for Natalie, would be peeling the layers of their
facades – the vendettas, the insecurities, the love obsession, the
fashionable ticks – and fairly forcing them to care about Viki, some
On soaps as in
real life, it takes more courage to get in there with the human race and
the variety of highs and lows of the human condition, stop fronting and be
real about your feelings, to allow your self-absorbed shield to crack a
little and admit other people have affected you to your soul. These OLTL
characters need to do that, so I can care about them and see that they’re
not only about covering up a lie and a possible murder, exacting revenge
for another Blair disaster, lip gloss, the latest summer dress styles and
paranoia about Antonio with Evangeline, whether John and Kathryn will hook
up, where the heck Paul is, was he really killed... self-serving stuff
Viki’s heart is
their prime chance. In the case of Kelly, it’s her last.
I’m happy to
report that the recast Jessica, Bree Williamson – long failing to
captivate my interests from her debut – has stepped up to the plate and
revealed at least one layer underneath, that of a little girl scared to
death of losing her life line of a mother, perhaps one of only three to
consistently turn in Viki-centric performances, next to Robin Strasser
The symbolism in
the transplanted heart itself is ridiculously obvious, from the reason
Viki hesitated to the reason Viki fought back to withstand infection.
Coming from her beloved, but now dead, Ben, the heart represents to Viki –
and us – how to live life to its fullest; and unfortunately, such a life
requires us to experience fully the highs and lows, the joy of
selfless love and the pain of selfless sacrifice as well. Ben’s heart, now
shared by Viki, will forever remind her that her husband died
because of her, yet, also remind her that her husband died for her.
storytelling, worthy of a short story award.
In an age of
techno wizardry, instant gratification, reality-TV voyeurism, jaded
outlooks, cleverly impersonalized, and a gleeful, mindless defilement of
everything holy and sacred, it’s nice to stumble into Viki’s hospital room
once in a while. It’s also important and necessary for our survival as the
superior, compassionate, grateful, decent species.
Fast food is okay. But a home-cooked meal
that takes all day is way better. My mother-in-law knew.
DO THEY KNOW THEY’RE
Courtney & Jax,
Jason & Sam, JaSam... these two pairings have captivated me, not
quite the effortless way Luke & Skye, LukeSkyewalker, have, not
quite the instantly powerful way of a Jax/Brenda/Sonny triangle,
but close, and close is about as good as GH gets these days.
The way these two couples have paired up,
platonically at this point, hasn’t exactly been written with care.
Courtney would never take such a frivolous bet when her family, friend
Carly and ex-husband Jason are in the midst of such turmoil, and certainly
never with Sonny and Jason’s worst enemy. She would never take off for
Monte Carlo for one day over the beginnings of a foundation when Jason’s
about to be mired in Sam’s troubles again (remember her past resume of
broken commitments?). Jason and Sam almost seem a replica of the hugely
popular but highly accidental Jason and Brenda, but there’s a decided lack
of interest blocking the potential push-pull tension; it’s mostly about
Jason’s duty to Sonny, less about his personal interest growing in Sam.
(Although his bemused, surprised observation that Sam knew what she was
doing as they laid the lying groundwork for the DNA-switch revealed the
first time in their short history of something other than mild irritation
and heavy distraction.)
But still, I know they work because
whenever they’re on, I strangely don’t pay close attention to how
they arrived at the same place together, why they’re still
bothering, or the assorted segueways in between. I forget myself and my
surroundings, the fact that I’m supposed to be this cynical, sarcastic
soap columnist, and find I can’t help but smile when Courtney bursts into
hysterical laughter at Jax’s Mack-daddy antics or when Sam tries in vain
not to crack a grin when Jason reluctantly described his and Brenda’s
Vegas wedding with that accordion player.
Maybe this is not the way to write Chapter
One of their love stories, and maybe this is merely the result of a bunch
of network suits brainstorming any reason to perk up the ratings and keep
the rest of the cast members satisfied and busy.
Doesn’t mean it hasn’t gone a long way to
restoring these characters’ likeability and my interest in the show. For
GH, that’s saying a lot.
PEOPLE LIKE GH’S
...really infuriate me. She bullies. She
acts entitled. She never parents. She stammers too much. She always looks
like she’s ready to stick it in some unsuspecting victim from behind.
But the real boiling point comes when she
treats perceived rivals to her loved ones’ affections (meaning Jason and
Sonny) as less-than-fearsome threats to her, as anti-Christ leper
anomalies to be run out of town on a rail, while she rules with her
benefactor hands backwards on hips (assuming the position).
You know those people who always think
they’re right, who never take the time for any introspection, who would
rather set themselves on fire than admit to a flaw, and who only cop to
the self-deprecation when doing so can serve their less-than-best
interests, namely, keeping up the false front of superiority. That’s
Carly, Part II.
That was never the original Carly, played
with introspective, vulnerable nuance by Sarah Brown. The reason I always
bring Brown up and start comparing is because, IMHO, Carly has been ruined
as a true leading actress heroine, as multi-dimensional, surprisingly
complex as a Laura Spencer (before she went mad), the soul of her
accessibility (despite the many destructive acts she plans out) burned
out, in favor of a villainness with only edges and little depth.
IOW, a brand new character altogether.
I hate that. I hate having invested a few
profitable years in a solid character that made me care even more about
Bobbie, the Quartermaines and anybody else Sarah Brown’s Carly touched in
her whirlwind well-intention. I hate TPTB demeaning anybody else but Carly
and her prized clique as bumbling, fumbling losers, to prop her and her
hypocritical kind up. I hate their wasting my time every week day for 40
minutes by showcasing what amounts to a pathetic woman incapable of seeing
herself in other people, giving other people a chance, and feeling an iota
of empathy outside of her prized clique.
The latest Carly punching bag happens to be
Sam, Carly’s near-identical twin. More than one person from Carly’s inner
and slightly outer circle has commented on their resemblance... the
tendency to suffer the consequence of their rash behavior, usually
involving a jump in the sack with the nearest available hottie, using sex
to cure everything up to and including a lack of a strong father figure in
their lives, a strong independent streak warring with a co-dependent need
to be taken care of (see father figure), an attraction to dangerous,
dysfunctional men, a tendency to center the world’s woes around their
every fingernail crack, and lately, the pregnancy debacle.
Who else fingered Jason as the father when
she couldn’t tell the truth about the real one?
Who else kept up appearances thereafter for
the lies and deception to stay in effect?
Carly? Sam? Both?
Especially after the May 25th
and 26th episodes, Carly’s obtuse inability to see herself in
Sam (her worst enemy and the mistress she thinks is farthest from her
doppelganger as to be insulting) reaches ridiculous proportions. It’s
obvious to everybody but Carly that every insult she lobs at Sam, she
might as well reserve for herself.
I had to laugh when Sam burst in, in the
middle of Sonny’s confession to Carly that he fathered the baby to come,
then pronounced that she and Jason had a one-night stand in a bar, then
afterward agreed not to speak of it again. I laughed harder when Carly
refused to believe that take and proceeded to rip Sam a new one over what
a disgusting tramp she was, throwing herself at Jason, trying to seduce
him at every opportunity, ignoring his commitment to Courtney, ::cough,
cough, Robin, cough, cough::
[Interestingly enough, Carly chooses the
one woman who is the polar opposite in every meaningful comparative.
Courtney is stable, principled, honest and refuses to use sex to
manipulate people. She believes in earning her keep, sometimes the hard
way. Maybe unconsciously, Carly feels a Courtney in her life will rub off,
instead of her doppelganger Sam.]
But y’see, had Sarah Brown been in the
picture, I wouldn’t have laughed. I would’ve cried at the repeat of
history, thrown back at Carly, as she stood there full of
self-recriminations and more than a touch of compassion, however
reluctant, at a younger woman who’s starting to follow in her footsteps.
Because I remember Sarah Brown’s Carly who
just stood there and took it when Alexis all of a sudden browbeat her in
the Quartermaine mansion as not being good enough, being just trailer
trash through and through. I remember Sarah Brown’s Carly immediately
feeling like garbage when she learned that the woman she had been
trashing, Robin Scorpio, was diagnosed as HIV-positive, or when she
realized the full extent of what she’d done to A.J., making it look like
he’d fallen off the wagon, or a host of other qualifiable instances that
prove beyond a shadow of a doubt with me that this Carly is an
It was the May 25th
show. Greenlee and Ryan stroll into a
ambush, with 1/3 of
Valley gathered in Ryan’s pad (why’s Maria there???), clueless as to why,
only that Kendall brought them there. The way Greenlee and Ryan were
carrying on, trying hard to appear happily married, turned my stomach. I
not only have one quip-spouting show-off (that’d be Greenlee), I now have
two to contend with, trading endearments only they think are clever
while the rest of the world reaches for the hook. The “Hey, wife. ... Hey,
hub. ...” really challenged me not to FF. If this is TPTB’s way of turning
me against Greenlee and Ryan and pushing for a patented Kendal revenge,
May 27 kicked off the
beginning of the end of JR as a decent young man and of the ascent of JR
as a bonafide diseased scumbag – worse than his father Adam could ever
dream of being. He struts into the
Chandler library, boasting of his sexual conquest, some
brunette, “Sharon, Susan... blondes really don’t have more fun, hardy har
har,” as just a minor addition to his grander scheme of paying wife Babe
back for her philandering and lying. After he whined to Adam, “Can’t we
just buy one of the judges?,” I completely wrote him off. The old spoiled
brat JR is back, with a smirky preening vengeance. I kept worrying that he
hadn’t washed his hands of his one-night stand tryst and would defile baby
“Bess” trying to hold her and twist the knife into Babe. Now, Babe wasn’t
exactly Miss Clean about her sexual prowess and conquests either, but
juxtaposed against her current torture about doing right by Bianca, JR’s
sudden turn to the dark side of evil is a tad much.
wheeled himself back to Wildwind, and commented with Maria how fast the
construction workers had been in making the mansion
handicapped-accessible, I had to quip, “Maybe the ‘Extreme Makeover: Home
Edition’ crew came in overnight.”
Uh oh. Bianca
got to JR in the May 28th episode, with her noble,
self-sacrificing speech about staying away from “Bess,” for both his and
Babe’s sake. I almost saw his human side (and why portrayer Jacob Young
might’ve actually earned his “Younger Actor” Emmy a few years ago). But
then he quickly regained the Adonis statue motif when commandeering Babe
for a meeting.
[This is for
SIPort:] Babe, honey, What is there to think about?! Can the decision
BE any easier for you? A mother has been suffering needlessly because
you’re using JR’s happiness as a lame excuse to keep her biological
newborn dead and buried. The sick sad thing of it is, if Babe told the
truth from the beginning, I wouldn’t have had to endure JR boasting to
Adam about his brunette lay.
This show’s in
danger of becoming a GH clone in terms of continuity, or lack thereof.
Nurse tells Jessica and Kevin they can’t go in to see their ailing mother,
because she can only have one visitor at a time. Clint’s in there now.
They want to know why. She tells them because Viki’s being prepped for a
heart transplant and by order of her doctor must limit visitors to one.
This is news to Jess and Kevin, who are overjoyed. But the nurse wasn’t
informed by the doctor that the heart had been contaminated, neither were
Jess and Kevin. A minute or so later, Jess and Kevin stroll in, ignoring
the nurse’s earlier warning against Viki having more than one visitor. The
nurse, Jess and Kevin don’t know that it’s okay now that the heart
transplant’s been postponed, Jess and Kevin find out from Viki and Clint
right then and there. So, why did Jess and Kevin just go ahead and visit
with Viki based on the nurse’s knowledge (which isn’t really up to date)
and why am I paying such close attention?
I don’t get
Trevor St. John’s Todd anymore. The only humanity I ever see in him is in
relation to Starr and Blair, maybe Viki. Otherwise, he acts like he’s
constantly up to something duplicitous; he may appear kindly toward
hysterical Kelly, but the camera sees him twirling his proverbial
mustache. I don’t like this Todd. I like him even less when he’s going off
on Dorian for not doing enough to save Viki’s life, when Dorian’s probably
the only one doing everything she can. Sometimes, dude, less is just
As I mentioned
above in my four-page treatise entitled, “I Need Viki’s Heart,” I can no
longer stomach even the sight of Kelly whining and lying, scrunching up
her face in protest (the Elizabeth Webber syndrome) over yet another blow
to her motherhood ambition – I believe Eye on Soaps’ resident
Sage referred to it as a constipation problem. Kevin nearly breaking
down, practically begging Kelly to care about him and what he’s going
through with Viki, heightened the uselessness of Kelly altogether and
confirmed to me that TPTB must end the baby switching story as soon as
possible, or risk destroying a potentially decent character for good and
wasting the talents of Emmy winner Heather Tom.
But okay, the
(was it May 27 or 28?) scenes of her with David and Todd at the N.J.
landfill, trying to re-dig up Paul’s body did provide some laughs. When
Todd showed up, they snarled at each other some more then out of nowhere
he informs them that Viki came out of surgery okay, they all forgot about
the Paul drama for the few seconds it took to respond with casual relief,
then back to the snarling. Juxtaposed against the very serious reason they
were there, knee-deep in garbage, blended slapstick and dry humor
brilliantly. Reminded me of the time the cell phone rang when Todd, Kevin
and Blair were going at it intently, then, they started going for their
individual phones at the same time.
When in doubt about a whodunit, re-hire a
long-lost character nobody cares about today, to be the Ta Da!
culprit. To wit: Robin Mattson comes back after a 21-year absence as the
second/third recast of Heather Webber (1980-83), as possibly the actual
person who knifed Lt. Ross Duncan in the back, then plagued Skye with a
framing, stalking, kidnapping and repeatedly attempted stabbings. If the
rumor of Heather being behind the murder et al proves false,
however, then... when they can’t lure back a former really big GH name...
scenes where Luke and Lucky teamed up, conspiratorially, to evade Ric’s
interrogating and rescue Skye from Wyndemere validated the promise by
portrayers Tony Geary and Greg Vaughan to change the animosity between
their characters in the past, an animosity Geary doesn’t understand or
want to play out anymore. He’s been working TPTB to give their father/son
relationship a boost back in the right direction, where they’re conning
other people as a team, where Luke doesn’t ignore or demean Lucky as a
goody-two-shoes and where Lucky takes on more of his father’s nefarious
influence, in the name of keeping their family intact and safe from the
prying eyes of outsiders. Like it used to be. It’s darned near close. I
could see the old Lucky personified with the charming (Geary’s adjective)
recast Vaughan as he and Rick Hearst’s Ric listened to a tape recording of
Luke railing against the cops (left at Luke’s office to thwart said cops,
so he could race to Wyndemere and save Skye), trying not to grin, hiding
his pride and his appreciation at Luke’s dark side used for some good, as
well as in reaction to that witty Luke Spencer banter (paraphrased badly:
You couldn’t catch a dog! ... go lick DA Lansing’s badge), which
nearly tempted Hearst into grinning, and he’s supposed to keep a straight
I couldn’t help
but love two burgeoning (albeit forced) couples (see “Do They Know They’re
That Good?” above), greatly helped by the May 24th episode. As
Jason convinced Sam to go along with his plan to be her baby’s father and
move in with him, Sam picked up on the plan at lightning speed,
contributing a false background set-up of her own to be even more
convincing, like the former con woman she used to be. Jason actually
looked surprised (surprising for him) and more than a little awed when he
told Sam, she’s pretty good at this. Then, as Jax moved in for the killer
kiss on his private jet, Courtney stared at him as if he were insane and
pathetic, laughing lightly, pushing him away, completely unmoved but
enjoying the distraction. Jax, in return, looked almost humble, which is a
major feat for any woman. It’s wacky but every time Courtney breaks out in
a genuine smile and laughs, which is rare around Jason and Sonny, I can’t
help but smile myself. I do adore her so much when she’s happy.
How is having to lie to a child for the rest of its life about his true
father better than being truthful to the child about being adopted by two
loving parents? Sometimes Jason’s logic, Jason being the good, honest (ha
ha ha!) barometer of righteousness, gives me fits.
character, would have more integrity with me if she weren’t constantly
changing her mind and taking off, carry-on in hand, only to take off
again. I’ve lost count.
In the May 28th
episode, Carly called in the fumigators to clear out, burn out and
redecorate Sonny’s private island getaway – strangely resembling Connor
and Mary’s/Emily’s Mexican getaways – of every stench of Sam. She better
start with the couch first, not the master bed.
designer Chip Dox made mention of a tight budget preventing his team from
going to town on many of the existing sets – Lorenzo’s pad being the
latest to undergo an accenting update. They also frequently recycle sets
from past characters and the now-defunct sister soap spin-off, PC
(recognize Lucy’s place at Carly’s?). Very fine, well and understandable
BUT (and you knew a “but” was coming), couldn’t they have come up with a
cheaper go-to alternative than that gazebo in the park, the one with the
WalMart Christmas lights strung around it, taken from a box in the attic
dated 1964? Nobody’s explaining why it’s suddenly meeting central,
either, which makes the frequent use of it even more bizarre. Is it easier
to hide scripts there? Is it in anticipation of a teen summer story, maybe
PC-palooza? Is the gazebo made of white chocolate? Maybe next week,
Courtney and Jax can argue about Jason and Sam on one of the rings of
Saturn. If any soap opera magazine writers are reading this, the next time
you corner an executive, head writer, actor or Mr. Dox, please find out
what the deal is. Makes me wish the docks would come back.
I must add my
voice to the growing choir of perplexed, frustrated non-Journey
fans – and Jax’s – on just what is so holy, righteous and special about
Jason Morgan that would cause a level-headed, logically minded,
independent young woman such as Courtney to put blinders on and defend his
recent actions. Pretend we don’t know what’s really going on (he’s still
lying to her for Sonny, which constitutes another sin). Her ex-husband
screwed around with his boss’s mistress for a one-night stand, kept it
from everybody until now, and now, he plans to marry the mistress he
knocked up. If this were any other man, say... A.J. Quartermaine...
Courtney would’ve cut his penis off, or at the very least, read him the
riot act before promptly cutting ties forever, no looking back, no fond
memories, no impromptu defense trials flying in the face of normal human
response. I can almost understand why she’d feel more hurt than outraged,
they had broken up, but he betrayed her unspoken trust with lies on
top of lies by omission. And when the truth comes out about how far Jason
will go to ensure bliss for his boss and Carly’s kids...
Maybe if I
actually witnessed this alleged true love between Courtney and Jason,
instead of a schoolgirl crush on big, bad, dangerous misogynistic Mob
Hitman, I could buy the worship she’s preaching.
Btw, in the
golden olden days of the 1980s, had Courtney Cottontail dared even
think about shoving Tracy to the ground, she’d have been sent to the
ER before she could say, “Jason Almighty.” Painful to watch, folks,
remind me to take a three-month summer vacation, starting May 31, maybe
Maui, Victoria, how ‘bout Manhattan? The teens are coming!
RIP Mr. Gerald
Anthony (ex-Marco Dane, OLTL/GH).
GRAPHICS BY SCOTT BILSTAD