You shouldn’t count on us for a coherent review of an episode where all the women wore gorgeous dresses and all the men wore drool-worthy suits. We’re sorry, darlings. We were dazzled by the pretty and now we’re staring at our screen trying to come up with a recap and failing.
We’d love to talk about Conrad and his new deal with The Initiative but — Victoria’s Vera Wang gown, you guys.
We’d love to talk about Mason Treadwell and how he’s thisclose to figuring out Emily’s identity but — Nolan’s electric blue jacket, you guys.
We’d love to talk about Victoria’s growing reputation as the absolute worst hostess in the history of the Hamptons, but — Padma’s matching electric blue gown, you guys.
We’d love to talk about the look of momentary terror on Victoria’s face when she thought Kara was going to push her off the balcony, but — Ashley’s adorable boy-cut panties, you guys.
We’d love to talk about the unlikelihood that a coroner would somehow fail to notice that Gordon’s body had been frozen, but — Emily’s stunning red dress, you guys.
We’d love to talk about our fear that Padma is playing the shit out of Nolan but — Aidan in a tightly fitted tux, you guys.
We’d love to talk about Jack’s bar problems and his deal with the devil (with the tight little ass) but — actually, we don’t want to talk about that because it’s boring as hell.
We’re not the first people to draw a straight line from Dynasty to Revenge, but last night’s episode was so deliciously, brutally over the top, both in its storytelling and its depiction of rich people dripping with their wealth, that the line turned bright red and started flashing. This is good stuff. We tried to get into Nashville, but we’re old-school, darlings. We prefer our night time soaps to come with diamonds, pearl-handled guns, arched eyebrows, flared nostrils, expensive clothing, and expansive rooms with amazing views. We want to be dazzled while we wait to see which bitch is gonna get slapped or who’s going to wind up at the bottom of the ocean by season’s end. We want unfrozen dead bodies, byzantine plots, and threats uttered through clenched teeth as fists are raised and promises for REVENGE are stated, over and over and over again. It’s Grand Guignol with Gowns, darlings – and this was probably our favorite episode yet for serving it all up on a silver platter.
Do we know what the hell’s going on? Not on your life. We’re still trying to parse out why Emily thinks she’s got Mason Treadwell under control and what the benefit was to have Conrad Grayson arrested, when she would have to know he’d be back out on the mean streets of the Hamptons within hours. She sure seemed pleased with herself by the end of it all, but it looked to us like Conrad’s become even more dangerous than he was before. Desperation is not a quality one wants to cultivate in one’s enemies, after all.
But you guys, Victoria looked STUNNING as she fondled her gun in her Vera Wang gown and smiled like the cat who just shot the canary in the face and got away with it. How could you not love that highly calculated “WHAT DID HE DO?!?!?!” shriek when the police arrested her husband? What more could you want from your night-time soap than that?
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