THIS WEEK ON Dexter: Once Upon a Time…
The coda to this week’s episode of Dexter should leave everyone with a resounding “No shit, really Morgan?” It only took the Little Sociopath That Could two and a half years of parenthood to figure out that he would have to don a mask to save his child from the truth? I don’t know why this took so long to register with the typically brilliant slicer, but when the episode ended I was stunned the writers tried to float that proclamation across the narrative like it was a revelation.
Dur-duh-doi! Yeah, that’s what I spit at the screen.
I can’t hate though, the second episode was as entertaining as the first to me. Is it a slow boil? Sure. There are pieces in motion, the board is being set. Such is the life of a Dexter arc these days. It’s a little edging, getting the tip moist for when the real action goes down in the third act of the season. I suppose you can continue watching and complain about the writers’ plot momentum, but don’t expect it to change anytime soon. Though as such, it’s difficult to drum up any sort of boner for analysis or interpretation regarding the episode.
Let’s try anyways!
Deb getting the promotion while ditching Quinn at the breakfast table was a surprising. It seems like only yesterday she was hanging out with hookers, undercover or whatever in some position I can no longer recollect. A place where her swearing was more apropos. Drinking game: every time she barfs up some ultra combo of profanity take a shot. You’ll be drunk in no time and maybe then you’ll appreciate the strained attempt at amusing profanity. (Though to be fair if you’re reading this I really hope you appreciated strained attempts at amusing profanity.)
Or if you’re a Person of the Twelve Steps or just don’t like drinking on Sunday evenings, you can try and make up your own Deborah Morgan expletive-laden proclamations.
“Jesus H. Christ, titty fuck a toddler!”
Deb refusing to shack up with Quinn for the love eternal coincides with the general Morgan Mantra of preferring their duties to their home lives. Dexter has continually chosen letting his Dark Passenger ride shotty over his wife, and now his child. Deb doesn’t seem any different, more comfortable in maintaining her work life than letting Quinn coo as he snuggles next to her bag of sticks. She needs a burger.
In this episode Brother Sam rolled up onto the scene, playing the foil to Father Joe and Billy Adama and their perversion of faith. A reformed murderer, he’s channeling the Good Lord into a redemptive path, using it to trick out cars with ex-cons and shit. I like Mos Def, even if he talks out of the side of his mouth in a mumbly cadence that sounds like his mouth is full with half-chewed Apple Cinnamon Cheerios. Why Apple Cinnamon? ‘Cause they’re fucking delicious. Get learned.
Props to Colin Hanks for snuggling up nicely into his eerie role. The entire scene with him and his sister was uncomfortable as a motherfucker, and I kept waiting for him to brandish her about the head with an ice cream scoop. Initially I thought that Hanks would be overshadowed by Selena’s Dad, but so far all he’s really done is serve as a monument to Sweet Mullets and Veneers. His hair! So coarse. His teeth! So white. Hanks’ conversation with Olmos about not being able to be save his sister pushed their story ahead a bit further, but otherwise they were in a holding pattern this episode.
Aside: There’s a moment where Dexter and Deb hug in this episode, and I can’t help but wonder if Hall gets a chubby when rubbing up against his real life wife. Then I begin contemplating all the sorts of fictional incestuousness and I momentarily wonder what’s wrong with me. If only they were Lannisters shit would be getting really real.
Meanwhile: Masuka’s assistant legitimately makes my balls hurt. The whole ordeal with her is overly complicated for my self-aware but still sexist brains-balls-neurosystem. I know that Masuka is objectifying her, and as she swivels her ass I shouldn’t be viewing her as such an object, yet I know the show is daring me to. I try and tell myself that the show is playing with the backwards notion that a woman can’t be sexualized and intelligent at the same time, but even that doesn’t work for me. They seem to be simply sexualizing her for Masuka and the dull viewer’s desires. I spiral into self-loathing for my ability to commit to the masculine gaze! Then I hop into the shower, tilt the shower head to blast my nipples and rub one out. For a moment! Clarity. Then the cycle starts anew.
Where was I? Oh yeah!
Meanwhile: Angel’s a really nice guy.
Meanwhile: LaGuerta is still a twat.
Dexter’s decision to hide his sociopathic tendencies (you think?!) from his son and don a mask struck me as the laborious and ultimately futile endeavor every parent has to appear perfect for their children. And just like when I found my Dad’s porn stash back in the day, I imagine someday Harrison will find his father’s mask is not as seamless as he hopes. The anxiety of the parent wanting to give their child the world, to keep them from harm. Yet like Dexter, we’re all still bound to our balls and ovaries and fits of emotional and mortality. Yeah man! Deep. Or not at all. Whatever!
Here’s hoping next week we get a delicious murder to speak about. Or maybe a serious Olmos cross-the-face-of-Hanks pimp slap. Or something. I dug the episode, lightness of advancement aside.
How about you?