I thought Dexter hit the zenith in shock value when I saw Keith Carradine's ass Sunday night. I really did. Especially because it wasn't a brief flash. It was a prolonged scene of cheeky, middle-aged gluteus shown to the maximus. But no. Even though I knew the Dexter-Doakes showdown was imminent, I was, for some reason, stunned when Doakes showed up and caught Dex red-handed. And by red-handed, of course I mean with a bloody hand of a recent victim that he was working on disposing of.
This show is just too fucking good. The best? Ray Charles would've seen some of these plot twists coming, but I thought they'd be season ending highlights. But oh no! It's all out there, baby, and yet there are still three episodes left, so now I really don't know how it's all going to unfold. Well done writers. Well done. (Though I'm putting money on Deb learning some ugly family secrets and sticking by her brother's side.)
Speaking of televised mutilations, last night was the finale to Dancing, which was the most awkward display on a dance floor since Britney stormed the stage for the VMAs. You thought last week's Naval-outfitted Riverdancing spectacle was odd? At least it wasn't what happened this week. What the fuck happened to Mel & Maks? Look, I love Maks, but clearly choreographing freestyle isn't his cup of tea. It just didn't make any sense. It was like Wade Robson on Ritalin: vaguely odd, not very charming, slower than expected, and somewhat disjointed. And then, after I'd grown to adore Mel, she nearly breaks Maks's back and then walks away and leaves him squirming in pain on the floor! What the fuck? Help him up, Scary Spice! Her pal Posh was in attendance, but the dance just wasn't major.
Marie? She's grown insufferable, huh? Laughing at her own jokes, backtalking the judges, pushing her dolls. Even Tom Bergeron had to politely tell her to stuff it a couple of times last night and shove her backstage. And her dance? At least Marie's dance was entertaining -- because it was so fucking awful! Bruno said it best. It was like Baby Jane meets Bride of Chucky.
(Oh, how I still long for a pocket-Bruno to take with me everywhere.) Marie even completed the fucking disaster by falling on her face.
I don't know who Helio pissed off in the wardrobe department, but he's looked foolish in his costumes since week three, and tonight was the darling tree-topper of gangly-grotesque fashion. They sprayed one of his racing firesuits down with glitter and I think even Liberace would've said, "Now that's overkill."
One guy, ONE guy got away with a glitter suit on this show, and Helio is most definitely not the FatOne. In his first couple weeks, Helio was so charming and so damn good, and he's gotten consistently worse as the weeks went by and as his smile tightened. And then there's Julianne, demonstrably and repeatedly insisting after their dance, "Now that's a freestyle!" No Julianne. This is a freestyle.
There's one more round tonight, complete with Celine to sing her famous Titanic song, probably while Sabrina and Mark crash around the floor one last time. But the votes are in and the damage is done. Just like Doakes sneaking up on Dexter, we've now seen the carnage and we won't ever be quite the same.