Real World
The Play's the Thing

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Djb: D+ | Grade It Now!
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Suck à l'Orange

It's 1997, and poor Bunim and poor Murray have thrown their hands up. Cognizant of the fact that the end of this season is but an episode away and realistic about the budget money required for the rights to Hanson's Next Big Single in the face of an audience which now consists only of the cast members and the people who hated them in high school, the music coordinator resorts to a wacky opening which features the dulcet tones of...a cappella? Sweet Jesus. If I wanted to appreciate a cappella in a socially acceptable environment for the rest of my life, I would have just stayed in college or applied for a job on the set of Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego. I didn't. And I didn't. Now where's the new Sugar Ray? The soundtrack voices sing a jubilant song I'll imagine is called "La La La" (for these are the only words), which accompanies a street scene of Boston in the sunny, sunny spring. A montage of clocks and the sudden, deafening sound effect of a ticking clock (wait...what are they trying to tell me, here?) cuts us to the interior of the firehouse, where Jason reads the producer's cue cards (I mean, "decides as an organic result of his deep, deep stores of conversational panache") and asks Genesis, "If you weren't involved with this, would you be doing what you're doing at the Center? Working with those kids?" Jason also uses this question to irreparably alienate MTV's sponsorship with the good people from Macintosh Apples Inc., as he smackily talks with his mouth full of big, nasty bites of his apple, because, clearly, Jason was raised by wolves. Vegetarian wolves. Genesis takes a moment to reflect on his question (I don't really remember what it was, either...I think I transcribed it somewhere miles above), finally lying in response, "I don't know." Right. Minus the "I," the "don't," and the silent first and last letters of "know." Or perhaps they cut out the rest of her reply, which sounds in its entirety, "I don't know...why anyone would voluntarily help people unless their philanthropy could be readily viewed on basic cable." So, no. Jason volleys back, "[Smack smack nosh nosh nosh chew smacky smack] It feels like we've been babysitting for the last four months [noshy noshy smack smack smack]. It feels like that's all we've done." I would stop short of giving yourself that much credit, Granny Smith. In fact, they've done crap for those kids, and they're starting to sense it. Flecks of undigested fruit sail from Jason's lips and land on the floor in front of him, creating an ad hoc Rorschach drawing depicting "carefully orchestrated late-season remorse." And they both tasted of the forbidden fruit. And they were both ashamed. As well they should be. Yuck.

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Real World

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