Roswell
Monsters

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Parental Guidance Suggested

Shot of cold, vacuous space (or -- IS IT?), where a pensive Max Evans peers out, wondering aloud, "What if there is someone out there, somewhere? Waiting for us to come home." Inside Chez Evans, Max and Isabel discuss how cautious they've been in looking for clues to their past. Isabel says that telling Liz and her idiot sidekick was too big a risk to begin with, and that she needs to find out what's really going on inside Maria's mind. She informs Max, "I'm going to pay her a little visit." Instead of letting us figure out that this might mean something besides just knocking on her door, Max blurts out, "You can't just go around walking into people's dreams." Hey, COOL POWER! More than saving lives or heating up a burrito with my hand, this is the alien power I want most. The news of its existence, grant you, is not delivered in the most suave fashion. But really -- walking into dreams? Cooooool. The whole process of doing this apparently involves Isabel touching a yearbook picture of Maria and looking curious. I can do that, I think. But then she's inside of Maria's dream. That I cannot do.

Maria is dreaming about, being at work and seeing -- no, really -- aliens. They are green and scary and slimy. She screams. Isabel confronts Maria in this state, and Isabel rather unsympathetically realizes that Maria is "afraid," at which point Dream Michael grows long, clawed arms which begin to envelope Maria. Afraid of what, Maria? Cheesy special effects? Dream Valenti is there and Maria calls to him, but he does not hear her. This should be an extremely creepy experience for me, I imagine, but it's not. Really, it's just the set of the Crashdown under the "Dream Sequence Haze Light" used in every soap opera and cheesy movie and Golden Girls flashback episode montage I have not the bandwidth here to list in full. I peer about, looking curious, and lightly tap the high school yearbook photo of the head of programming at the WB: "Commercial," I say. "I desperately need a commercial." And it works. Powerful and effective alien, I.

Next day (though it still looks strangely similar to the middle of the night), Max sits in Renee "conduit to the dominant thematic issues at work" Zellweger's office again. She's concerned. He's evasive. He asks what her prying questions have to do with his career path, and she responds, "If I'm going to help you figure out what you want to become, maybe we should talk about who you really are." And later again, she pries it out of Max that he doesn't remember anything about his past preceding his adoption. "Sometimes," she counsels, "it's hard to move forward with your future until you can figure out your past." She has to stop. She HAS to stop. I mean, doesn't she know she had us at hello?

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Roswell

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