In this week’s episode of True Blood, we learn that break-ups are a nightmare, Barbies hold a grudge, really nice bitches make second chances possible, and miracles can happen when you’re boning in a Winter Wonderland…
Sink your teeth into some spoilery commentary after the jump…
Umm… what did we just watch this week? I’ll tell you what: A WHOLE LOT OF CRAZY SHIT. So let’s have a look at the highlights, shall we?
Did I Do That???
As many expected, Jessica’s spellbound stroll in the sun meets with some firm opposition in the form of Jason Stackhouse, who soars out of the blinding light to supply his finest Bon Temps football tackle and kick the double doors shut with his feet. He wraps Jessica up in the foyer rug, but seeing as how the spell’s not quite finished yet, she flips him over with what appears to be every intention of ripping his head off for ruining her fun.
Luckily for Jason, the craziness comes to an end before Jess has a chance to finish him off—at which time they share a brief moment of shocked relief at the fact that Jessica isn’t a pile of charcoal briquettes, thanks to Officer Stackhouse’s heroics. And as with most scenarios involving Jason, this realization gives way to a makeout session. Despite Jessica’s temporary Krueger face… and the fact that she’s been Hoyt’s girlfriend for a year.
CLIMB ABOARD, MATEYS—because this ship is most definitely setting sail.
Jason brings her back down to the basement in order to strap her in for what’s left of the day, while comforting her with a few appropriately inappropriate Jason-isms about barbecues and never getting cold. Bill expresses his deepest gratitude and asks him to let them rest—but not before they both agree to keep quiet about Bucky’s unfortunate demise at Jessica’s hands, not to mention the shoulder shot Jason unloaded outside, lest everyone end up in a jail without fancy crystal chandeliers.
Despite the silver chains, it seems that Jessica’s still able to squeeze in a little shut eye before sunset—which brings us to the first of what I consider two of the strongest scenes in this episode by far, both of which are made infinitely better by the other’s presence.
On the one hand, we have Jessica imagining how her breakup with Hoyt would unfold: with him having a nervous breakdown in a smelly shirt, dropping to his knees and begging to be loved or he’ll die, while she informs him that IT’S NOT YOU IT’S ME and that they’re over because playing house just isn’t enough for her. Naturally, this culminates with her SMASHING HIS HEAD ON THE ENTRYWAY PARTITION before climbing into Jason’s impatiently waiting lap.
And I’ll tell you, the scene actually had me fooled—you know, up until the whole murder part. In fact, the entire sad exchange left me feeling surprisingly bad for Hoyt, because while his panicked desperation was eerily identical to what we all probably thought when we had our hearts broken for the first time, you’re never, EVER supposed to come out and admit to it.
But apparently, Hoyt is more familiar with this universal rule than I thought, because when Jessica returns home to face the music for real, he spares her feelings no expense and whips out the big guns—her perpetual virginity, her inability to have children, and his mother’s bigoted hatred of the entire vampire species—like a downright NASTY BITCH. And as a result, the idealized images of perfection that both characters had created in their minds come crashing down with brutal force in a matter of minutes.
Needless to say, there’s no coming back from a throwdown like that. So when Jason kicked Jessica out of his house, too, it was hard not to feel a little bad for her… even if she should have seen it coming.
Jesus, Tits, and God America
Meanwhile, Bon Temps is busy cleaning up the remains of Beulah Carter, which Andy considers eating the way a junkie would go ashtray hopping outside the local methadone clinic. Fortunately, Jason talks him down before he can start licking the sidewalk, just in time for Bill to show up in his Escalade, prepared to glamour the local news camera away from Maxine Fortenberry.
After explaining that no, all vampires don’t know each other, and yes, suicide is sadly common among their ranks, Bill proceeds to rail on the hate being perpetuated against his people by quoting Jesus, presumably in the hopes that Antonia is watching. And indeed she is, which only leads to another tirade about vampires’ shameless lust and flagrant disregard for the miracle of life and the power of creation… making her the supernatural equivalent of a gay-bashing abortion clinic bomber.
Not only that, but Tara—now a fully aware and willing accomplice in Antonia’s unstoppable plans to orchestrate vampire genocide—remains her loyal sidekick nevertheless. As if we needed another reason to despise her.
Even so, Bill is hellbent on forging a truce, and calls up Moon Goddess Emporium to arrange a time to meet. Antonia isn’t buying what he’s selling, but Bill begs her to “trust in the possibility of peace” long enough to talk with him, unarmed and in person at the Bon Temps Cemetery. She replies only by announcing the meeting time as midnight, after which Bill indebts himself to her boundless diplomacy, for some ridiculous reason I will never understand.
I mean, I know you’re all about ending this vicious cycle of hatred and whatnot… but they call it the fucking WITCHING HOUR for a reason, King Dumbass.
Meanwhile, back in Shreveport, the greasy packmaster gives all his werewolves executive orders to butt out of any and all vampire business unless they want their asses handed to them. And though she assures Alcide that it wasn’t her, it seems more than a little likely that Debbie is indeed the “source” who tipped Marcus off to all the supernatural drama that’s going down.
Later, everyone enjoys themselves at a kegger in Marcus’ backyard, where Alcide gets the golden opportunity to growl some ridiculous camp counselor bullshit about “letting go of your anger” to a younger member of the pack, when he really should have just choked the kid out and shotgunned a beer.
To which I say ET TU, ALCIDE? I liked you a lot better back when you were a grumpy bitch—why don’t you run along home and watch some more Oprah reruns or whatever it is you do now.
Marcus, however, is impressed with Alcide’s moves and tells him he’s got an alpha in him, which sounds kind of dirty. And this, in turn, pleases Debbie, who is still over the moon about the really nice bitches she met that night—all of which leads to the evening’s requisite appeal to stay away from Sookie, which is now quite conveniently PACKMASTER’S ORDERS.
I think it’s fair to guess that Marcus is going to be very disappointed when Debbie tells him all about how Alcide showed up at Sookie’s doorstep later that night. Assuming, of course, that he isn’t too busy plotting Sam’s violent and painful death to care.
Piss On Boots
So that evening, Sam shows up at Luna’s to tell her that he booted his brother out of his life for good this time—and after a brief heart-to-heart, Emma emerges to ensnare her Mom’s new boyfriend in another play session with her shifter Barbies, which is no doubt made all the more excruciating by the obnoxiously sassy child acting.
And also the fact that Cat Barbie hates him… but no one cares what that bitch thinks anyway.
Back in Bon Temps, newly homeless Tommy’s not exactly out crying in the streets, because he’s too busy busting into Maxine’s house to pilfer some granny panties and a couple of Chico’s ensembles—not to mention picking out JUST the right pair of shoes—so that he can swindle her right out of everything she owns. I’d suggest that next time, however, he steal Sam’s Make-Me-Pretty Barbie and squeeze in a little practice beforehand, because his hair and makeup skills are sorely lacking.
Even so, it’s enough to convince the prospector to fork over a check—and to get Arlene to bring him two tallboys, a shot of tequila, and a giant plate of secret succotash, all of which only ends up in a pile of puke in the woods.
Meanwhile, Marcus shows up at his ex-wife’s house to bust up their dinner party, until Luna tells him to back off before she decides to call his parole officer. Sam’s not trying to start any fights, but he offers to take things outside if that’s what needs to happen—and I can’t help but wonder why they’re even having this pissing contest, when Sam could just shift into a grizzly bear and eat the packmaster with a side of picnic basket.
Surely, Marcus knows this. Then again, he strikes me as the type who’s not above sneak attacks, despite his hopelessly big mouth. So Sam should probably watch his Barbie-loving back.
Invasion of the Baby Snatchers
Back in Merlotte’s kitchen, Lafayette—still refreshed from his educational vacation south of the border—walks in on the old-timey ghost lady singing to Mikey and swiftly walks out. But not before Miss Mavis had enough time to size him up as a suitable host for her babynapping schemes.
In short order, we learn about her real reasons for being attached to Mikey, which trace back to an illegitimate son she had with the local Mean White Guy, who actually murdered their love child to keep his secret affair under wraps. And you have to wonder if he didn’t kill her, too… seeing as how she doesn’t seem at all aware of the fact that Mikey isn’t her dead baby.
Anyway, she leaps into Lafayette’s body—who then proceeds to adjust his cleavage and casually walk over to the Bellefleur home, where he steals Andy’s gun and takes little Mikey while Terry and Arlene sleep.
I just don’t see how this could possibly end well—much less how it’s going to end at all. And that’s unfortunate, because I can’t say I’m the least bit interested in this completely tangential storyline. Why isn’t Lafayette trying to take on Crazy Marnie, again? And where the fuck was Jesus while all hell was breaking loose? That was why they went to visit Abuelo in the first place, right?
I’ll just stop now so that we can move on to more interesting topics. Like, you know… snow showers.
By all accounts, “Spellbound” was one hysterical jump out the window short of a Very Special Episode of True Blood. But considering how events actually did go down, I’m more inclined to call it the most convincing argument in favor of recreational drug use EVER.
Seriously, you guys.
First, we have Sookie tearing off Eric’s neck chains while he screams what I can only guess is Swedish for KELLY CLARKSON! When he doesn’t heal as quickly as he claimed he would, they both realize it’s because he needs to eat—and that no, TruBlood will not suffice.
Without much hesitation, Sookie does what we’ve all been waiting for and offers her own delicious fairy goddess blood… but not before Eric warns her that her mouth shouldn’t write checks that her ass can’t cash, and that she better make sure she really means it. Sookie insists that she’s sure, at which time Eric advises her to arm herself with silver for peace of mind before giving her a good long sniff and digging in.
He pulls back after an uneventful suck session… but the fun doesn’t end there! Ever the selfless partner, Eric bites into his palm and offers Sookie his own blood—despite her obvious lack of mortal injuries—so that they will be one.
Before I can even yell DO IT twice, Sookie’s confusion gives way to greedy enthusiasm, and she sucks on Eric’s hand while he jizzes in his pants. (Not that they showed that part… BUT YOU TOTALLY KNOW IT HAPPENED.)
And so it is that what began as innocent touchy-feely shower time leads to Eric and Sookie getting freaky in some X-rated Christmas Village—you know, where the air smells of candy canes and Toblerone, and the sun shines even when it snows. And also, where you don’t need blankets—because Ikea sheepskins lay like fondant on rustic beds, which have been expertly crafted by magic elves and conveniently placed for all visitors to enjoy spontaneous naked time in the soft glow of moonlit fresh powder.
The only thing missing was a hot cocoa Jacuzzi, complete with mini-marshmallows and a peppermint swizzle stick. But just because we didn’t see it, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there.
So does this mean Eric and Sookie are permanently bonded now? I suppose we’ll find out—and if so, I can’t imagine Eric will be too pleased with this development once he gets his memory back. What I do know is that, if this is what tripping on Eric Northman’s blood is like, well… PUT MY ASS ON THE POLAR EXPRESS.
Especially since “all is possible” in this wondrous place—which means I might actually be able to procure that bartending butler monkey I’ve always wanted.
Midnight Mass Destruction
After an unsuccessful attempt to convince Sookie to run away with him, both she and Eric show up in Bill’s parlor ready to join him in the fight against the witches, for which he at least had the good sense to prepare—if not to re-schedule for the more benign hour of, say, 9:30.
After some royal protest, Eric insists that Sookie’s participation isn’t up to them, and she interjects that she’s willing to put her life on the line if it that’s what it takes to put an end to Antonia’s death march.
So when Bill and Antonia meet in the cemetery and expose the first half of their respective hidden hands, we get to witness that awkward little moment where Sookie realizes that she and Tara are playing for opposite teams. Antonia humors Bill long enough to listen to the terms of his peace offering—but in case you were wondering whether she actually had any intention of accepting said terms, Sookie’s telepathy decides to kick in for a change, and she warns Bill that Antonia is already in the process of casting a kamikaze spell.
This doesn’t sit well with Antonia, and she summons the remainder of her forces—who evidently spent the afternoon trawling estate sales in search of artillery—prompting Bill to warn her one last time to surrender. But before he can count to three, Eric seizes the moment and rips the heart out of the nice lady in front of him Godric-style… amounting to what was probably the smartest move made on the vampires’ side all night, and leaving me to squeal with delight.
Because let’s be real: If all the vampires had followed Eric’s lead instead of waiting for Bill to put Antonia in the time-out chair, Tara the Insufferable Vampire Slayer would be headless and Sookie might not have ended up with a bullet in her gut. In fact, since Sookie conspicuously didn’t have a laser trained on her back, I’m inclined to assume that it was actually Tara’s gun that shot her… setting up yet another instance in which Bill’s guilt-fueled “mercy” ruins the day, and introducing the most harrowing whodunit since that poor singing telegram lady bit the big one.
Would Tara actually put a bullet in her frenemy? Or is it possible that Debbie came across the gun on the ground and decided to make the most of the fog and chaos? Maybe neither… maybe it was a stray bullet that ricocheted off of a nearby grave. Less credible things have happened on this show (like, say, Debbie tailing Alcide the whole time without him sniffing her out).
Whatever the case, this is one little mystery that has the potential to crack open a whole mess of juicy drama over the next few weeks—which, of course, means that the incident will never be revisited again. Just letting you know, in case you thought you were watching Dallas.
Though if the HBO store comes out with WHO SHOT SOOKIE? t-shirts next week, I suppose I’ll have to eat my words.
I enjoyed this episode—not quite as much as last week, but even so, there was still a lot to like, with memorable moments ranging from the all-too-real to the delightfully campy and bizarre.
But while so much of this week’s installment felt like a dream within a dream, it wasn’t without its deeper messages. And in this episode, it seems that the focus was on war and peace—whether interpersonal or global—and how, among our many earthly attachments, the rigid beliefs to which we cling make a life of true unity all but impossible.
When Sookie insists that she and Eric are obligated to fight beside Bill, Eric—who before now was always ready for a fight—echoes the lessons that Godric taught him centuries ago by replying that there is no right or wrong, and that these concepts are human inventions. But while conventional wisdom might dismiss this statement as a carte blanche permission slip for chaos, experience shows that nothing could be further from the truth.
As Eric himself later says, war isn’t about whether you think you can win—it’s about being willing to die for something you think is worth dying for. And few will put their life on the line for anything less than what they think is “right”—even if that “right” involves slaughtering an entire race of people. The enduring split concepts of right, wrong, good, and evil are the very ideas upon which war is built—both for better and for worse—and it’s the feverish enthusiasm with which we cling to these concepts that makes the prospect of lasting peace so elusive.
And yet, in a place where you can feel the heat of the sun on your skin while it snows—where the human mind is able to both embrace and transcend the paradoxes with which it constantly struggles, and where we can accept that maybe what we thought we knew about the “real world” isn’t really reality at all—all is possible.
In that one blissful moment, Eric and Sookie existed alone in just this kind of perfect world, where time doesn’t exist and peace between vampires and witches is as possible as love between two people who were the picture of antithesis before now. In this world, arbitrary notions like good, bad, black, white, right, wrong—and more importantly, these concepts’ continual struggle for dominance over human consciousness—cease to mean anything anymore. And it leaves one to wonder if maybe “reality” is the dream… and this world is the truth.
In this respect, what starts as a hilariously campy V-trip reveals itself as a transcendental experience at its core… one that has the potential to inform everything that follows. That is, if it wasn’t the human world to which everyone on this show—including the vampires and the disembodied witches—is necessarily bound.
In the human world, the closest thing we have to true transcendence is trust—trust that it’s possible to respect and tolerate one another despite our many differences, and that opposing forces can live at peace in the name of mutual survival, even if they can’t become one.
But unfortunately, by the time we learn that our trust has been misplaced, it’s almost always too late to take it back. So as Sookie herself has learned on more than one occasion now, you best be careful where you put it.
Next week, it looks like Sookie gets another lovin’ spoonful of Compton blood, while Eric raises some hell as Antonia’s automatonic lapdog. It’s not an ideal situation, but at least it brings us one step closer to having the old Sheriff back—and as fun as this avalanche of fornication has been, I have to say, that’s the part I’m looking forward to the most.
Until then… what did you think of this week’s episode? Sound off below!