Still Charmed & Kicking

Episode Report Card
Still Charmed And Sucking

The summer hiatus was too short.

You can tell we're in for a Very Special Episode Indeed, because instead of having one of the actresses narrate tonight's "Previously on Charmed" sequence, Brad Kern actually shelled out for The Velvety Voice Of The WB. Because that's such a smart use of the limited amount of money now available to him since the network slashed the show's production budget as a condition for its renewal. The special effects tonight should be gruesome. Oh, and Brad Kern sucks. Just thought I'd throw that in there, even though you all already knew that. In any event, The Velvety Voice Of The WB begins, "Last season on Charmed," as the glowy triquatra flips over to Phoebe informing Daddy Dearest Victor (Jones) Bennett that the Glamorous Ladies are in some pretty deep shit, followed by a shot of Raige looking damp. When The Velvety Voice continues, "Surrounded by the forces of the Underworld," Hot Zankou and his merry band of henchdemons (including the luscious and dewy-eyed Justin Baldoni, who is now on Everwood) flame and squiggle into the Manor parlor before Raige too jokingly admits she thinks there's no way out of their current situation. "And with the mortal world closing in," intones The Voice, as Agent Keyes and every law enforcement organization known to God and man storm Prescott Street to surround the house right before the astrally projected gals demolish Hot Zankou, "the Charmed Ones faked their own deaths." The pinched and unpleasant-looking Glamour Piper snaps her fingers and transforms the Dolt into a younger, yet similarly simian, variety of his regular dumb self. "Now," The Velvety Voice concludes, "Charmed Season Eight begins." Fuck you very much for reminding us all of the fact that this show is in its eighth goddamned season, Voice. You bastard.

Fade up on the camera vaulting one of the Marin County hills to take in the Golden Gate Bridge with the city basking in the sunlight beyond, and they've been using this same damn shot since the fourth season, at least. Either that or some genius of Michael Brown proportions has been in charge of the California Department of Transportation for the last decade, because that one section of the bridge's northern support still needs to be painted. Still. We cross-fade to the Manor façade for a lingering moment before heading indoors, where Daddy Dearest presides over a low-key memorial service in his presumably deceased daughters' honor. He's also thoughtfully set up a little table for that lippy bastard of a half-sister of theirs, too. Lots of somberly dressed people we've never seen before and shall never see again deposit white roses in front of large framed photographs of Piper, Phoebe, and Raige while wiping tears from their eyes. Yawn. Piper and Phoebe have dozens of flowers next to their just-for-show cremation urns, but poor Raige has a mere three, including the one now placed by one of those fucking midgets she helped out a few years ago. Because the typewriting crack-monkeys are too fucking high to remember that Raige has an entire adoptive family wandering around the city. God, this show sucks.

The camera pulls back from the fucking midget to focus on a brunette with sharply tweezed brows and a harsh red slash for a mouth as she ambles over to Daddy Dearest and too-casually smirks, "Pretty good turnout, huh?" And as much as I hate this episode, I must give credit where credit is due: Dorian Brown so nailed Holly Marie Combs's vocal inflections and physical mannerisms with that one phrase that I knew immediately she was Glamour Piper. Good job, Ms. Brown. Now get yourself a better damn agent, because the one you have now isn't doing you any favors booking you onto bullshit like this. "Phoebe?" Daddy Dearest murmurs, confused. Dorian Brown, still with the excellent mimicry of Holly Marie Combs, exasperatedly sighs, "No, Dad. I'm Piper. That's Phoebe," as another skinny brunette joins the two in the main hall near several clusters of mourners. "I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW MANY LEPRECHAUNS ARE AT MY URN," Glamour Phoebe blares, and I applaud you, too, Adrienne Wilkinson, for capturing Phoebe's complete lack of propriety and, oh, BRAINS in one line. "They always had the hots for you," Glamour Piper shrugs, and I mention that not because I really want to go there but because one of the stupid fucking midgets at Phoebe's urn is a woman. Take a moment to picture that little scenario and when you've finished vomiting, come on back here to continue with the recap. Don't worry. I can wait. I have all the time in the world.

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