Tear the roof off the mother, tear the roof off the mother sucker, tear the roof of the sucker…
Open Thread Crazies and Germs.
I think I just saw Sophia’s boyfriend on a Boardwalk Empire preview.
Oh, shit. Why does that give me a really bad feeling? Clearly the story is building up to a crisis between Toni and the police but Sofia’s boyfriend? After all the girl has been through?
This was the most depressing episode since Creighton bought it, a real “give me a noose I can hang from the tree” holiday downer. The faint smile of possible acceptance on Annie’s mother’s face was the happiest moment in the show. Other than Annie’s contract just about everyone else with a speaking part took one in the gut (even if Sonny’s was self inflicted).
I wonder if Sonny i still down at Kajun’s. I could use a drink.
Just seeing Isabella Rossellini in the cast made my day. She is one of the coolest cats in the universe. It was strange seeing Toni going in and trying to get the cops to cool it with Sophia. The hatred in the cop’s eyes…and the answer later on: a smashed windshield.
Here is a link to A.C. Thompson’s reporting on the Henry Glover case for ProPublica:
Look down the sidebar on the left for stories.
Some of the terror I felt last time was replaced by depression.
*George Bailey *: Well, maybe I left the car up at Martini’s. Well, come on, Gabriel. *Clarence *: Clarence! *George Bailey *: Clarence. Right… Clarence.
I think this show was structured to create that sense of holiday depression, and succeeded masterfully at it. Annie’s contract is offset by enduring dinner with the out-laws _and_ disapproving mother at the same table. (Dad wisely remains mostly silent, with occasional defense of his “little girl”). She is the happiest person in the episode with just the present she wanted under the tree, but once that moment is passed its into the Family Holiday, which I find comes in three varieties: Dickens, Ibsen and Williams. My experience is exclusively the latter, and the show is a perfect Black Christmas, a gloomy Holiday Inn on the old highway, everything corporate familiar but tainted with age, Bing Crosby rasping through a tinny elevator speaker.
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