Roswell
Harvest

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Children Of The Corny

Two blocks down, one left, and a red mailbox later, the Alienmobile pulls up in front of the Crawfords', and Max asks a slowly departing mailman, "The Crawfords'?" The mailman points to the house with the red mailbox, two blocks down and one left from the Travolta Center. I know this show hasn't been quite as boring as last season lately, but I can all but smell time passing during this sequence. I'm just sayin'. They all step out of the car, Liz holding a brown package. She introduces herself to an older woman standing on the porch, and announces, "I just wanted to drop off some of your daughter's personal effects." Er, "effects"? Is that what you drop off after you've been "making love"? What? Decade? Is? This? The lovely Mrs. Dead Whitaker melts at Liz's gesture, walking down off the porch and calling her husband, Mr. Walt Dead Whitaker, to the car. He's curmudgeonly. Mrs. Dead Whitaker tells them to come inside the house so she can make them something to eat after their long, long drive wah blah blee. Countrybumpkin-cakes, and we go inside. The music is suddenly a surprisingly jaunty synth that sounds like it was composed by Howard Jones for the unreleased sequel to One Crazy Summer. Not that Maria would know who that is or anything.

Chez Dead Whitaker, interior. The Traveling Four sit fidgeting on a couch while Mr. Dead Whitaker takes to an easy chair and puts his cowboy boots up on the nondescript wooden table, because they are normal people and Not. Aliens. Spoiler? Feh. They banter about directions until Mrs. Dead Whitaker reemerges and ooohs a bit and aaaahs some more that the kids would come all this way "for her service." Liz, who can't convincingly act like she cares about Whitaker's life because she can't convincingly act, y'know, at all, takes a stab at emotional investment: "We felt like we should come. The Congresswoman, she was special. To all of us." Isabel takes it one plot-developing step too far: "Like a mother." Just at this moment, a young teenage boy appears at a door across the room and stares, stares, stares. Isabel offers a "hello," and Mrs. Dead Whitaker insists that this "Nicolas" come in and meet the guests. Isabel and Nicolas lock eyes. Thank you IMDb: Nicolas played three-year-old cutie and Mack Truck casualty "Gage" in the creepiest and schlockiest horror movie ever, Pet Sematary. ["Consider yourself granted permission to yell, 'Fuck you, hairball!' at will." -- Sars] Much cuter then, considering what Runty has morphed into here. And it's only going to get worse as puberty gets its claws in him even further. This kid's got Ben from Growing Pains written all over him.

Ah, yes, another stakeout. Maria is in full-on Wacky Mode as she and Michael stare through binoculars into Courtney's hideout from The House Government Subsidy Built. Bantercakes, until Maria supposes that "she booked. Out of town." Michael knows one thing for sure -- "She wouldn't do that. She's obsessed with me," leaving the door way too open for Maria's return volley, "I guess that makes two of you then, doesn't it?" He imagines that she'll show up "sooner or later," and a voice from behind them moves things right along, "How about sooner?" And there she is. Michael stands in a big hurry and holds out a palm, and she defensively calls for a "truce." He sits her down and Perry Masons right in, "So you're a Skin like Whitaker?" Maria launches in with her own line of inquiry that ends with, "Why are you obsessed with my good-looking if badly-groomed boyfriend?" Heh. Funny. But in a purely shout-out kind of way. Except for the good-looking part. Courtney's not obsessed with him: "I follow him. In the political sense." It turns out that she's a renegade Skin, one who believes that Michael is the key to peace on their planet or some such thing. She calls him their planet's "salvation," King Max's brother who would not betray his family even though it meant the death of everyone he knew. Pause. Maria steps in, yelling, "Michael, if you can hear me now over the sound of your rapidly inflating ego, could you please tell me you do not believe what this Michael worshipper has to say?" And, you know, she has a point. Because as much as I've respected certain political figures throughout history, I've never constructed a shrine in my closet containing photographs captured with Bond-weapon spy cameras and cardboard cutout hearts, just as they don't do in the rest of America or the rest of this planet (those "Te amo, Fidel Castro" shoebox dioramas are amazingly scarce south of the border, indeed) and hopefully on the rest of the planets altogether. Michael accuses Courtney of being a liar who is just trying to divide and conquer, and she simply and sadly responds, "I knew you weren't ready to hear this." He changes tacks, asking about Copper Summit. She tells him to "stay away from there," citing only the fact that "there aren't any Michael worshippers in Copper Summit." Je t'adore, Francois Mitterand!

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Roswell

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