The RBI Report: "All or Nothing"

For my money, the best possible combination for a well-executed Glee episode involves Ian Brennan writing with either Brad Buecker or Eric Stoltz directing.  Brennan does better than his fellow writers in balancing the absurd comedy and the darker drama that's meant to define Glee's tone, and Buecker and Stoltz both direct with an editor's eye and a penchant for interesting creative decisions.  With Brennan and Buecker teamed up for "All or Nothing," this fourth season finale was about as "all" Glee's ever gonna get these days.  And while there were glimmers of potential - even a few flashes of success - within the hour, the episode couldn't manage all its loose threads, and fell victim to its own overlong, inflated agenda.

"All or Nothing," written by Ian Brennan, directed by Brad Buecker

4x22 ORDERS OF BUSINESS:

Ship off Brittany.

So, with Heather Morris pregnant and presumably leaving the show, the Glee writers invented an early admissions offer from MIT, and therefore a reason for Brittany to permanently make her exit.  Now, this "Brittany is a secret genius" angle has been circling untouched basically since the inception of the character.  If Glee really wanted to do this, it should have been done before Season 2, to create an exaggerated supporting character always intended to be a joke.  Instead, Glee developed Brittany into a strength of emotional intelligence through her storyline with Santana - which wasn't necessarily the wrong decision.  It implied that while Brittany was certainly a bit dim, she still had feelings and the ability to understand not only herself but also others' feelings.  Ultimately, this decision made Brittany a real, three-dimensional character, which again, is certainly not a bad thing.

If only the Glee writers had stuck with it.  Because from there, Brittany was rendered as literally, actually, 0.0 GPA-having, non-graduating, unintelligent.  Basically an undeveloped child, she was babied by the characters around her, sexualized by the narrative, and shown to be bitchy, vapid, stupid, arrogant, and disinterested in others.  Of course, there have always been faint and fleeting wisps of awesomeness - from her teardown of Beyoncé's "Run the World (Girls)" as she campaigns for school president, to her tacit support of Santana's struggles, to her successful dinosaur prom.  But by and large, Brittany's representation onscreen can be summarized by two overriding factors: infantilized ("dumb"), and sexualized ("slutty").  Even glimpses of genuine character emotions, like her rather believably heartbreaking crisis during "Britney 2.0," are erased in favor of something much more shallow and head-scratching.

So, it's too little, too late to really believably make Brittany a secret genius.  But on the other hand, she's had no consistent characterization anyways, so why start now?  And weirdly enough, through the pen of Ian Brennan and direction of Brad Buecker, the episode's opening segment almost worked.  Because they had to go so far beyond the realm of human understanding anyways, Brennan and Buecker exaggerated Brittany's genius to impossible extremes, for the sake of comedy.  It was almost a spoof, and it therefore almost worked.  Brittany casually writing down numbers that are key sequences in quantum mechanics is so far out there that it comes as close to working as this secret-genius idea ever possibly could.  I got the distinct impression that the MIT professors would do far better to study Brittany's brain than try and engage it in academic discourse, but maybe I've just been watching too much of Touch.  (I think I'm the only person who watches that show.)

Brittany's part in "All or Nothing" probably should have been limited to this first scene, and then allowed its earnest goodbyes towards episode's end.  Don't get me wrong, the idea that Brittany has an emotional crisis after being offered early admissions isn't entirely unprecedented.  Hell, the episode itself makes a sly wink to her conveniently-timed moments of emotional overhaul during Britney Weeks.  But these deep throes of anguish that Brittany covers up with casual spirals of narcissism seem to hint at quite a bit of distress, and "All or Nothing" didn't exactly benefit from or even explore that detail.  In fact, there wasn't actually any content in Brittany's scenes - particularly with Santana.  Everything here was simply half-baked, intention clear but only partly delivered.  The idea that Santana rushed to Brittany's emotional aid would be more powerful if, y'know, we actually saw the content of their conversation together instead of cutting to commercial.  The idea that Brittany saved Santana's goodbye for last would weight more heavily if they actually, y'know, communicated something.  The idea that Santana waited for Brittany after the performance would be poignant if they actually spent any lingering time on the specific actions or emotions.  

The problem is this: the writers tried to skimp on words to show that these two don't need them, but they forgot one necessary supplement: the communication that took the place of words.  In seasons past, this used to translate in touching hands and sidelong glances, which served to say more than words (especially words from Glee writers) possibly could.  It was a bastion of Santana and Brittany's emotionally-heavy sidecar interactions, and when used properly, this silent communication was - and is - powerful.  "All or Nothing" was obviously trying to achieve that effect, but fell foolishly short of the standard by failing to supply the communication in the silence.  When Brittany tearfully turned to Santana, there was no moment of held eye contact, no closeup on either face allowing us to watch them simply look at one another, clearly saying their goodbyes without words, and understanding each other perfectly.  They just hugged, and offered a stilted cop-out piece of dialogue that Brittany didn't have to say anything.  Then show me, Glee.  Just because she doesn't have to say anything doesn't mean that she isn't saying something.  This is an important relationship you're wrapping up.  Something needs to be said.  The same issue befell their exit arm-in-arm.  As soon as Santana approaches, we cut away into a wide shot, where we can't have any intimate moment to understand what the emotion is other than 'sad.'  For a couple that was so consistently defined by the gravity of their "in-between" moments and the weight behind seemingly casual touches and glances, this "wordless" goodbye was hollow and disappointingly off-mark, however well-intentioned.

It also bears stating that it's an awfully self-congratulatory oversight to claim that glee club let Brittany believe in herself and how smart she actually is.  Sorry, Glee.  Not every kid fits into your glee-club-as-savior device, and it feels cheap when you force it.  That's not to say that glee club isn't or wasn't important to Brittany - but it perhaps came in another way.  Thinking instead of her season-ending speech to Santana a few years back, the club's value to Brittany is not dissimilar from its true value to Rachel: it gave an already self-confident and misunderstood young woman a group of real friends.  Brittany was assumedly friends with offscreen cheerleaders, and Santana only, and emerged as an affable member of the glee family, and a connecting friend between many of them.  

Well, okay.  Sometimes.

Reveal the Catfish.

If you weren't suspicious before the episode, the visual placement of Unique in the foreground of Marley's confession was a clear giveaway that she's the lady behind "Katie," Ryder's Mystery Girl.  But it's little surprise anyways, because "Katie" first makes her appearance in "Feud," where Ryder and Unique initially air grievances over Ryder's transphobia.  At the time, I actually hoped that Unique would be Ryder's Catfish, to illustrate a sad but salient point about trans* acceptance in society, and the challenges faced by Unique as a young transwoman trying to find love in a world that puts up every obstacle in front of her.  

Unfortunately, while the basics of this storyline came to fruition, the execution was a bit left of center.  Because Ryder's Catfish was a "mystery" for the last act of the season, we've been primarily with his point of view.  So the framing on the Catfish story was really about Ryder's emotional betrayal, and not about Unique trying to connect with a crush behind the innocent ease of anonymity.  "All or Nothing" did selectively do its best to show us Unique's POV, to some level of success.  My heart broke when Unique explained to Marley how good it felt to be a part of a real human connection without her gender identity being an obstacle.  And Buecker made a great choice in filming Unique's confession straight to camera.  While you can argue that the decision only serves to highlight Ryder's overriding POV, I think there's something to be said about being visually confronted, eye-to-eye, with a black teenage trans* kid telling her side of the story.  It's here where I wish the POV was given over to Unique almost entirely, and she was allowed a real scene with Ryder to apologize for lying, and earn a do-over on their human connection.  But Ryder was still pissed, and announced he was quitting the glee club, so it doesn't look great for any recovery on a Ryder-Unique friendship.

Which begs the question: then what was the point?  If it wasn't to illustrate how the physical body complicates issues of gender identity and how others stubbornly adhere to their visual perceptions of truth instead of listening to someone's authentic voice, then why do anything at all?  Especially if the outcome doesn't appear to be a road to recovery for Ryder and Unique, or the promise that they can be just as emotionally intimate in real life as they were when Ryder thought his soulmate was a cisgender, straight, thin white girl.  Instead, what results in a confirmation that Unique will only be able to be herself when there's no physical presence to confuse, incense, and alienate people who might otherwise offer genuine companionship, or even romantic or physical love.  It's assumed as out-of-the-question that Ryder could actually be attracted to Unique.  And what a crappy message that is.  I don't care if Unique lied - she had a completely understandable reason to, and there needed to be at least the hint of sympathy and forgiveness from Ryder's side of things.  (Not an exuberant-then-awkward hug.  Unless these two are going to be genuine love interests next season, then it's not necessary.  And even then, it's not the best action to set out with.)

Regionals.

Oh, yeah, Regionals happened.  The main problem with competition episodes these days is that no one, not even the writers, care in any real way about content.  We all just go slackjaw and glass-eyed during competitions, as we listen to misfits sing for ten minutes.  The issue is that there's no story in any of the performances this season, and since there's so much other storyline nonsense going on in competition episodes anyways, Glee uses the special stage time almost as a palette cleanser, a built-in moment to disengage and presumably enjoy.  There are no stakes anymore, because none make sense, and the obstacles they've invented in the past have been terrible and gone nowhere (see: Marley fainting).  None of this really matters, and yet we all have to put in the time and hear the songs.  And inevitably, the writers accidentally give us a group that out-performs the New Directions, and still somehow loses.  (As soon as Jessica Sanchez and her fierce posse of WOC started singing the empowerment lyrics of "Wings" I knew there was no chance in hell for the Hoosierdaddies to win, even if they sounded pretty damn great.  The ghost of Troubletones predicted only disappointment.)

Rachel's Big Audition.

Rachel sang "To Love You More" for her Funny Girl audition, which came in one scene only, and wasn't addressed again.  The episode deftly transitioned to Rachel's performance through a bit of clever cross-cutting with the McKinley set, but that was about the most interesting thing to it.  Untethered from everything else, it felt like the scene's importance had to be hastily constructed through editing, and Buecker overdid it.  The whirling camera and cuts to impressive shots in a tiny room didn't quite work for me; I wager the performance might have held more power if it were kept small in one continuous take, as though we ourselves were sitting at the audition table and listening to a tiny hopeful Jewish girl sing her best Barbra (or Celine, I suppose) to the drab ceiling.  But as soon as Rachel was done singing, she bowed out of the episode anyways, and it was a pretty ho-hum season-ender for the Main Character Formerly Known as Berry.  

Blaine's Big Question.

I seem to remember Blaine being denied fatherly permission to ask Kurt to marry him, and yet here he was ring shopping in the very next episode.  Sigh!  Apparently the thrill of legalized gay marriage is cotton in that boy's ears.  Yes, it's all very exciting, as a larger issue.  It's a wonderful world-widening for the LGBT community, which fictionally comprises Kurt, and Blaine, and new characters Jan and Liz (and Unique and Santana and Brittany, let's not forget).  But it felt very much like an exercise in pointlessness, aside from giving due screentime to guest stars Patty Duke and Meredith Baxter.  There was very little story here, and so much of the time was given over to dusting the current non-(dating)relationship of Kurt and Blaine under the rug and cooing over Patty and Meredith and how times have changed.  It also felt self-indulgent enough that I half expected Liz and Jan's list of Game-changing Gay Events to end with "the episode of Glee where Kurt comes out!"  (I would not put it past these writers to be so self-congratulatory under the guise of meta.)

Anyways, it makes very little narrative sense for Blaine to propose to Kurt, as discussed last week, and yet here we are moving forward with it without any real effort taken to make it mean anything in the story.  There's nothing to suggest that Kurt and Blaine would get married now, and there's no suggestion of consequence if Kurt says no or yes.  It's poorly-designed from all angles, and seems to exist only as a flat and misguided celebration of gay marriage and also proposals during sweeps and finales.  Ah, the sanctity of television ratings.

Finally marry off Will and Emma.

After their botched nuptials, we can apparently assume everything is hunky-dory between these two last-we-checked lovebirds and they can live happily ever after in the complete bastardization of their original fairy tale construction.  Surprise wedding, y'all!  Let's pinch this into the last seven minutes.  Disregarding the complete random and hurried inclusion of this wedding, it still didn't quite ring true.  While I'm all for Emma doing the big speech, I'm just not sure about the choice to describe Will as her "hero, one true love, and inspiration."  I'm also not sure how I feel about so explicitly referencing their scene from the Pilot, which seemed inevitable as soon as Emma said "I remember."  It's a personal pet peeve of mine when characters reminisce together onscreen, to pretty much any shared event, whether we saw it or not.  It just falls flat for me, and with the added rushing of Will and Emma's vows, I couldn't really get in the moment.  I wish that they'd chosen different specifics for the callbacks, like how Emma was the one to convince Will to stay at McKinley in the Pilot, reconnecting him to his passion.  Or how Will was able to get Emma comfortable just by having a conversation with her, as friends.  Or how they both went through a lot of heartbreak to earn each other.  But no, they went with the gum-on-the-shoe story, and somehow despite the reference, their vows felt oddly formulaic.

Oh yeah, reveal Sue's baby's paternity.

Randomly, it's Michael Bolton.  He owed her a favor.  Brittany figured it out, using common logic and hard evidence instead of heretofore-undiscovered number sequences.  Strange.

"All or Nothing" tried to do it all, and somehow still came up with a lot of nothing.  It's not really off-par for the bulk of Glee's fourth season, though, and so I've made the choice to step back from reviewing the show.  With two seasons stretching in front of us and so much messy storytelling laying in their wake, I just can't drum up the enthusiasm to keep parsing the episodes.  Ideally, though, I'd like to end my Glee run on a high note (as it were) and will spend the summer hiatus filling in the final reviews for Season 1.  I will also be renewing the Buffy Rewatch.  It feels a bit like this blog is in transition, and I do hope you'll stick around as I regain my footing and set off in a new direction.  

Oh god, I swear that's not a Glee reference.

With that -- thanks very much for reading, and having read.  

The RBI Report Card...

Musical Numbers: B

Dance Numbers: B
Dialogue: B
Plot: D
Characterization: B
Episode MVP: Unique

The RBI Report: "Wonder-ful"

Given Glee's past efforts at tribute titles, I thought for sure we were headed for an episode called "Glee-vie Wonder" or "Stev-Glee Wonder."  So, on a very basic level, "Wonder-ful" delivered a charming summary of the hour's intended theme: the joy and optimism of Stevie Wonder's music.  The particulars, however, were a bit rushed and random.  And, in a hearkening to the Back 9 episodes of perennial theme-drop, I tallied twelve solid uses of the word "wonderful."  Everybody drink!

"Wonder-ful," written by Brad Falchuk, directed by Wendey Stanzler

With the end of the season rapidly approaching, "Wonder-ful" had some loose ends to wrap up.  Remember how Burt got cancer way back at the beginning of the season and then we never saw him again?  Remember Rachel had that hard-ass (or hard-abs) dance teacher who hated her?  Remember Mike and Mercedes are characters who exist and are good at stuff?  We even got loose ends addressed in offhand bits of dialogue!  Will re-proposed!  Emma re-accepted!  They're going to retry getting married!  Oh, and Carole's here!  Yay Carole!

Mercedes and Mike return

So, Mercedes and Mike have come home to help the glee club prepare for Regionals, as they reprise their roles in vocal and dance guidance.  In one single scene, Mercedes may have singlehandedly proved herself a better glee club teacher than Will, in that she actually gave specific vocal advice in addition to vague encouragement.  She also picked out Jake as being a triple threat, and advised him to take initiative with his role in glee club.  For someone who spent so much time struggling in the shadow of the spotlight, it makes sense that Mercedes would pay attention to uncredited talent.  And, it also felt more or less truthful that Jake is uncredited talent in the glee club ranks.  Will went to so much effort to recruit the kid at the beginning of the season, and then somehow seemed dumbfounded at his talent during "I Wish."  We'll see if this pans into a mini-arc for Jake, and what his role will be next week in Regionals.  One thing's for sure - he probably won't have to engage in a diva-off like Mercedes did in her attempt to get her due onstage.  (#gleehatesgirls)

Mercedes' return also brought an update of her life in Los Angeles.  Remember how she had a record deal in the works, thanks to Sam's post-disco meddling?  Wait, let me back up.  Remember how she and Sam dated?  Okay, good.  Just checking.  You'd never know it from watching the show now.  So, Mercedes has been working on her album, only to find out that her producer is going to drop her unless she agrees to show more skin on her cover art - or let a presumably skinnier, "hotter" girl grace the photo in a skimpy outfit.  Mercedes thus has a choice: stay true to self and potentially squander a good career opportunity, or stay ambitiously on the fast track with some expense to her personal and artistic integrity?  Of course, Mercedes chooses the former, and then slays a rendition of, naturally, "Higher Ground."  She's going to be selling her CDs out her car for a while, but I daresay Mercedes has a possible option in vocal education - if Finn can do it, so can she!  Troubletones 2.0?

Kurt and Burt believe in second chances, Blaine runs with it

"Wonder-ful" found us haphazardly checking in with Burt, conveniently at his final doctor's appointment to see if he's cancer-free.  Lo, he is!  Yes, yes, it's wonderful.  But I can't say I felt all that affected by the emotion, considering that we haven't actually seen Burt deal with his diagnosis, or his journey to recovery.  The scene focused mostly on Burt and Kurt's emotion, since they're A Players, but honestly more emotional weight may lie with focusing on Carole's.  It's not often that outsourcing these moments to more supporting characters really works.  But on the rare case that they do, it can possibly pack twice the impact.  Who's been witness to and co-bearer of Burt's struggles, throughout the whole offscreen process?  A lady we never see, who we know to be incredibly strong and supportive.  A moment of Carole's relieved, tear-streaked face as she watches father and son embrace could have gone far to bolster that emotional beat: the sigh of relief at pain subsided, and new horizons before the family.  It's not her moment, but her reaction informs the moment with more content - and context.  (Picky, picky.)

Naturally, this traumatic time and hopeful conclusion leads to Blaine wanting to propose to Kurt.  I mean, this makes sense in a mathematical equation sort of way, in that it's a strict linear progression and a mostly logical context.  But... we haven't built to this at all this season.  In fact, these two broke up in the fourth episode on account of cheating, and haven't been properly given the content to merit such a drastic progression in their relationship.  And because we're one episode out from a finale, it feels like a last-ditch effort to drum up easy intrigue in end-of-season storylines.  Finales are for weddings and proposals and babies and competitions, right?!  Right.  But they tend to work better when the whole season's been working towards that.  And Kurt and Blaine's story this season is not one of two people headed to the altar.  It's more along the lines of two young people learning to handle their complicated relationship under the duress of mistakes, distance, and life changes.  

"Wonder-ful" uses Burt to consistent fatherly effect, though, and he guides Blaine away from foolishly proposing, and reassures him that everything will work out how it's meant to.  Marriage involves mutual vows between two people, not the fulfillment of an ideal, or a means to ensure a "happily ever after" for "soulmates" in a rocky time.  It's an important angle on this storyline that needed to be voiced, and Burt Hummel was the best vessel for the job.  I even felt a little pang of pity for Blaine, sitting childishly on his stool and quietly asking how you know if things will be okay.  I suppose that lack of certainty connects to Blaine's early-season distress over Kurt having moved away and not knowing how to handle that - but it is slightly disconcerting that Blaine's still in that place, apparently, and thinking he can solve the problem by proposing.  I'm not sure Glee meant to do it, but this last-minute, post-cancer, "second-chance" proposal storyline feels less like something joyous and more like something sad.

Artie fears change, Kitty forces him to get over it

I can't quite decide how I feel about this Artie/Kitty storyline.  There were many things to like about it: a new character interaction that's a bit prickly but still affectionate, introducing Artie's mom, an effective emotional payoff, and an Artie solo.  The main thing this arc lacked was Artie's POV.  Kitty made all his choices for him, because she knew he wouldn't, and then finally the resolution came through his mom's blessing.  So the content was all there; it was just arranged in a way that didn't really center Artie in his own storyline.  Mercedes' felt the same way - we barely had time to spend squarely in the characters' shoes, as they were just constantly explaining themselves.  Both Mercedes' and Artie's storylines could have used extra screentime for a chance to simply breathe, and let the emotional anchors of their conflicts feel palpable.  

In Artie's case, it would have been nice to have a scene with his mom before the resolution, establishing their dynamic.  But the narrative needed to get right to Kitty sniffing out Artie's film school acceptance, so we just kind of jumped into the deep end.  Of course, there's also the mystery of Kitty, whose erratic character portrayal is defended in-narrative as purposefully erratic.  Ah, Glee.  That answer doesn't really cut it, but whatever.  It's shoe-horned in there so she can fast-track Artie's storyline by truth-bombing everyone around him and forcing him to confront his reluctance to leave home for NYC.  And I suppose this is why I don't much mind all these haphazard particulars: the emotional core of Artie's storyline was quite strong.  He didn't want to go to film school because it feels selfish somehow to leave his mom.  Here was this woman who supported him and rearranged her whole life for him, and it didn't feel right to repay her by leaving.  This actually felt like an honest reveal, and was played sweetly by Kevin McHale and Katey Sagal.  Not only that, but it was nice to see that while Artie's wheelchair was a part of his worries, they were more grounded instead in the human relationship with his mom.  If only more of the hour could have been devoted to properly delineating this storyline, and giving the payoff its maximum effect.

Rachel braces herself for the Funny Girl callback, wraps things up with Cassandra July

With her Funny Girl callback on the horizon, Rachel faces one last hurdle: she needs Cassandra July's permission to pursue the extracurricular.  Oh, and her dance midterm is on the same day as the callback.  But it turns out that all of this worry and gay-stereotype-gossip is for naught, because Cassandra is one big ol' softie who believes in Rachel and wants her to do well.  That... resolved quickly.  But it's not like we didn't see that coming.  Since Cassandra's inception on the show, it's been pretty clear that she's hard on Rachel because she expects more from her.  They've also flirted with the idea that she sees herself in Rachel, and wants Rachel to overcome the mistakes she herself made.  Then again, they've also flirted with the idea that Cassandra must compete with Rachel and put her in her place, so this whole thing has been a mixed bag.  (Of flirting, frankly.)  

So, now that it's over, the Cassandra-Rachel dynamic emerges as an interaction that had a lot of potential, but that was mostly frittered away in favor of recycled two-dimensional moments and diva-offs over talent and boys.  It lacked direction, and I wish that their story this season was about building from mistrust and disdain to begrudging respect and even the tiniest glimpse of hard-earned emotional honesty.  You know that scene in The Devil Wears Prada where Andy catches Miranda without her makeup, and has a weirdly vulnerable and unsettling late-night conversation with her?  Something along those lines would have been great to work towards in constructing the Cassandra-Rachel dynamic throughout the season.  But given tonight's rather flat "you're special and I was mean" resolution, which lies at the end of all Rachel's interpersonal (female) conflicts, I suppose that's just not what Glee was going for.  Nuance is just not on the menu.  Not when there's 25 characters to feed.

With the finale next week, it looks like we have three questions poised for the wrap-up: will Rachel win the part of Fanny Brice?  Will Blaine propose?  Will the new New Directions win Regionals?  I'm not sure I entirely care.  But "Wonder-ful" set all those questions up, and managed to find other, more interesting material to put forth as well.  There wasn't enough screentime for it to be properly arranged and developed, but little nuggets were there.  And it's always nice to see Mercedes and Mike, and Carole.

The RBI Report Card...
Musical Numbers: B+

Dance Numbers: A

Dialogue: C

Plot: C

Characterization: B

Episode MVP: Mercedes Jones (and Carole)

The RBI Report: "Lights Out"

"Lights Out" turned out to be a poorly organized hour of nonsense featuring unexpected reality bombs of tonal dissonance and characters doing and saying whatever necessary to prop up the Glee episode checklist.  Talk of dreams?  Check!  The pain of being different?  Check!  Top-heavy emotional design and sudden reveals about character backstory?  Check!  Oh, and let's not forget the super-serious, potentially triggering social issue.  Check, and check.

"Lights Out," written by Ryan Murphy, directed by Paris Barclay

I guess, if many a Glee episode has been written with these criteria fulfilled, it would make sense that a conglomeration of them would add up to a successful endeavor.  In the case of "Lights Out" -- it really didn't.  Instead, the episode felt carelessly assembled, with awkward commercial breaks, and horrible scene transitions.  Who on earth is ready for a jam session to "We Will Rock You" right after two characters confess that they were molested as pre-teens?  Why were we meant to feel the suspense of Becky possibly revealing the truth to Figgins, only for the very next scene to feature Figgins delivering monotone announcements about electricity over the loudspeaker?  And why on earth would a high school still attempt to function as usual for a whole week without power?  

But not much about "Lights Out" made sense, from the design, to the theme, to the character work.  Every storyline had its writing issues.

Ryder, Katie, and Kitty

So, Ryder is stubbornly (and stupidly) hung up on Mystery Girl, aka Katie, aka Someone Who's Lying to Him, aka Possible Glee Club Member.  Even though he knows she's lied and he has no clue who she is, he's still communicating with her, and wants to meet.  I can't tell if it's intentional, but there's something really unsettling - almost sinister - about this storyline, and Ryder's commitment to a completely unknown entity.  I'm guessing this level of seriousness was devised to set the table for his Big Confession this episode, which was that he was molested by his teenaged babysitter at the age of 11.  But it didn't quite work.  I definitely wasn't ready for that.  The route still felt too serious for Glee to do, and of course, they stepped on their own feet with a few poor execution choices in the wake of the reveal.  The first of which was Sam and Artie's complete and utter dismissal of Ryder's experience as a traumatic event - and they never came around!  Glee is a big fan of throwing somebody under the bus so another character can preach the moral of the story and erase their ignorance, so I thought this was another example of Sam and Artie learning a heavyhanded lesson.  But apparently Tina and Marley's defense of Ryder did nothing to reverse Sam and Artie's points of view, and Ryder thus withdrew, the opinion of Sam and Artie left to reign.  Must be a bro thing.  Masculinity definitely won that round, no comment made.

Let's get to actual writing issues.  The idea was that Ryder wanted to "unplug his feelings" for the week's theme, and once I had stopped laughing long enough to press play again, he dedicated his next number to... the glee club.  Wha-huh?  What followed was a song about feeling bullied, complete with cutaways to Tina, Jake, and Marley getting hit with slushies.  I'm sorry, this was supposed to be a song about Ryder's unplugged feelings, and it instead involved moments for other characters.  So that didn't do much to get us in Ryder's head - not helped by the fact that we've never seen Ryder get slushied anyways.  They've avoided the whole cool kid devolution arc with Ryder, and while I'm certainly not unhappy about that, it also means he's not really the best voice for the downtrodden at McKinley.  And there he was, singing about how everybody hurts, especially the glee club when they get freezing cold ice thrown in their face.  Oh, and also Ryder when he's molested at age 11.  Swerve!  Tonally-speaking, it did actually feel a little like getting hit with a slushie.  But that's not a great thing.

What's worse about this moment is that it's later devalued, spun away from anything genuine.  Ryder tells Katie he only told his secret so he could watch the glee kids' faces for any hint that they already knew, thereby revealing the Real Katie to Ryder.  Oh.  So... you just told that story as a sneaky way to find out the identity of your crush/soulmate/cyberkiller?  Guess we're not paying off Jake's "you tell secrets to people you actually know" line from earlier.  Even more cringeworthy is the fact that this confession from Ryder prompted Kitty to open up to him as well, in perhaps the only genuine moment Kitty's had when not faced with possible death by school shooting.  Kitty took Ryder out to Breadstix, and shared that she was molested at age 12, by a friend's older brother.  We also got the reminder that she dated Puck - an older, sexually-confident dude - which now feels even more disconcerting.  And while Ryder's babysitter eventually faced repercussions for her actions, Kitty's story was ignored by her friend's parents, she was socially ostracized, and ultimately she had to switch schools.  Yikes.  Suddenly Kitty was all about bonding with Ryder, but he's still glued to the ideal of Katie, and whatever he's decided about her in his head.

What with Ryder specifically identifying that his traumatic experience left him with girl-related trust issues, you could perhaps argue that his relationship with Katie, in that he was protected by the inherent disconnect of faceless contact, makes sense completely.  At first I thought it was a bit odd to give a kid with trust issues the complete faith in this online communication, without any question.  It's even more odd that Ryder is still obsessed with her, even after she betrayed his trust by lying.  So even if we give the first round of blind trust a free pass, the fact that Ryder's barreling past a breach of trust is a bit concerning for someone who claims to have trust issues.  Add that to the reason he has trust issues (childhood sexual abuse) and this shakes out to be one of the most disturbing storylines Glee has ever assembled.  Take it to American Horror Story, Murphy!  All signs point to Ryder being murdered after some really weird sex stuff, and then giving a calm voiceover at the end about what he learned in his tragically short life.

Santana, at the ballet

"Lights Out" endeavored to provide Santana with an emotional backstory and pivotal character moment on her journey forward in New York.  It did not quite achieve that.  What resulted from this intention was just a randomly-selected character backstory that didn't seem like a Big Deal, until suddenly Santana's standing in a spotlight hugging her child self and telling her she won't forget her again.  Whoa, whoa, whoa.  Where did this come from?  Why are there melodramatic character histories all of a sudden?  And why don't they quite make sense?

I still don't understand why Santana's ballet backstory was necessary.  Yes, Santana needs something to do in New York, but I kind of like the idea that she's cage dancing and working as a bouncer at a lesbian bar.  She doesn't need to have everything planned for her life yet, a concept Glee, taking note of Kurt Hummel and Rachel Berry, loves to put forth as abnormal and even troubling.  But for a few brief moments, the episode allowed Santana to be okay with not knowing.  She defended her right to take time to "figure things out," and fairy godmother Isabelle encouraged her with the same advice.  Not everyone is a Broadway-seeking missile like Berry and Hummel, and Santana shouldn't feel badly about not knowing exactly what she wants right now, or even wanting something different.

But then... Santana kind of wanted the exact thing Rachel and Kurt wanted.  Because deep down, apparently, every little girl starts off wanting to be a ballerina?  Which, I can assure you, is patently untrue.  If my parents had tried to unilaterally enroll me in ballet class, I would have had a major conniption.  (Actually, I probably would have just cried a lot.)  Casting this swooping ballet net over all little girls and little gay boys felt a bit frustrating, especially considering how Santana was roped into it.  She was a tomboy, and there against her will, but it was an escape, and she didn't feel different?  Even though she was a tomboy?  I didn't follow.  Furthermore, this identity is truly who she is?  Or at least, that's what the poignant moment at episode's end told me: Santana abandoned her dancer's identity long ago (why, and when exactly?) and won't let it go ever again.

Since when was this a thing...?  We've had a fair share of exploring Santana's identity on this show, and they can't seem to get their story straight.  (If you'll pardon the choice of words.)  "I really like dancing," Santana says in "Lights Out," after standing ramrod still and singing for six minutes.  Add this to the fact that Santana talking about ballet class sounded an awful lot like Season 1 Santana talking about glee club, and one has to wonder if dance really is the best choice for Santana's character.  Glee club changed Santana as a person, perhaps more drastically than anyone else on the show.  She did it against her will, but it turned out to be an escape.  She felt safe there, and part of something beautiful.  Why on earth were these exact same identifiers outsourced to some abrupt backstory we have no level of emotional investment in?  And do the writers realize they've actually squandered an opportunity to praise the glee club's magical powers in earnest?  Instead, Ryder Lynn is singing songs about them when the club's done comparatively little for him in his 15-episode history.  Way to know where to put your emotional weight, Glee.

So let's say, for a moment, that we want to keep all this Santana-as-tiny-dancer content.  Would this storyline not work better as an opportunity to connect Kurt, Rachel, and Santana?  After all, even though they had individual ballet experiences, we saw them, all three, in the same shot, watching their tiny counterparts, all three, dancing together in the same timespace.  This device inadvertently connected Kurt, Rachel, and Santana in a way unexpected (since it was introduced literally just this episode).  Why not make that work for yourself, and design the point around the idea that they have more in common than they think?  The episode came so close to creating that feeling, but flitted away from it so Santana could discover her "big dreams" and "true self."  Rachel and Kurt didn't understand Santana's NYC gameplan; the setup was there.  Kurt and Rachel pressuring Santana into doing very "Kurt and Rachel" things should have led to Santana revealing later, with her ballet history, that she was more like them than they thought.  It doesn't require Santana to be married to dance forever, or drop a life path in her lap after reassuring her she didn't need to rush it.  It just tells us she's not so different from Kurt and Rachel in some ways, and helps cement their NYC bond.  It also makes clear that in other ways, Santana is different from them, and she needs them to let her be.  It's so like Kurt and Rachel to think they know best for other people, and so like Santana to resist that.  "Lights Out" could have been an exploration of that dynamic, and an opportunity to reveal a tidbit about Santana that wouldn't tip over much of what we know about the character, and force her into the same tutu as Kurt and Rachel.

Sue, Blaine, and Becky

In the wake of her firing, Sue is now a personal trainer and loving it.  Blaine tells her the Cheerios are lost without her, and she needs to come back.  (Sounds like something for Kitty to do instead of Blaine, but unfortunately "Lights Out" had other plans for her.)  Becky feels guilty for Sue leaving, and is miserable with Coach Roz.  She tries to persuade Sue to return, only to have Sue sing about how much she hated her Cheerios (presumably lying... hopefully) and Becky goes to Figgins to spill the truth and get Sue her job back.  I'm assuming.

This story arc is built on garbage, so I'm not really enjoying the continuation of Becky as accidental school shooter, or Blaine as the noble male savior of the Cheerios, questing for a truth I'd rather forget.  I'm not entirely sure why he's so suspicious either.  "Something went down at that school.  No one feels safe."  Yes, Blaine, a gun went off and people huddled in terror to the endless ticking of a metronome and it frayed everyone's nerves.  You were there.  (I'm growing more and more convinced that hair gel causes memory loss.)

Ultimately, very little about "Lights Out" made any sense whatsoever, from the song motivations to the character choices, to the theme, frame, larger story arcs, structure, emotional pace, and payoff.  To borrow a phrase from suddenly-wise Kitty: it was just a projection of what Glee thinks defines its show.  But there was no real intimacy.  So why are we still staring at the screen?

The RBI Report Card...
Musical Numbers: C

Dance Numbers: D

Dialogue: D

Plot: F

Characterization: F

Episode MVP: Isabelle, as this may be the last time we have her

The RBI Report: "Sweet Dreams"

With its half-baked, oft-repeated theme, "Sweet Dreams" felt as though it may have been designed in reverse.  The episode wanted to show Rachel's Broadway audition, Finn partying his way through his newfound college career, and Marley gracing the world with her songwriting prowess.  What better way to tether those concepts together than with a bland attempt at Glee's catch-all theme?  Dreams, y'all.  Everybody's got 'em.  And by God, those special glee kids make 'em come true.

"Sweet Dreams," written by Ross Maxwell, directed by Elodie Keene

Yes, "Sweet Dreams" was a watered-down, messily-constructed, confused hour of television.  But at this point in Glee's season, it has precious few other options.  Fixing the sloppy setups and unrealistic payoffs, the unmotivated character choices and expository dialogue, believably balancing the graduates and the McKinley students -- at this point it requires a restructuring of Glee's fourth season as a whole.  Want to believably sell Marley as a songwriter?  Why not have made that an identifying trait when she joined glee club, to shake up the dynamics and give her something to do?  Want to give Rachel an important audition at the end of the season?  Why not give her consistent storylines in which she works towards that goal, so we're more organically invested in her pursuit and don't require a hurried narration reminding us how obsessed she is with Barbra Streisand right before she's meant to move forward in the arc?  And, if you wanted to give a touching moment with Marley's songs about being outcasts, maybe show the kids having been alienated from their peers instead of subjecting them to in-episode bullying by their teacher.

Will Schuester really was in fine (read: insufferable) form this episode, to the point where I wanted the kids to stage a coup d'appella.  Presumably suffering from Finn-related separation angst, Will snapped at the kids for "openly defying" him, flopped his ego around, singled out and insulted students in front of their peers, and guilted them into thinking they were less dedicated than he. Worse still, the episode made no effort to associate Will's heinous behavior with some kind of emotional reaction to the trauma of last week - when it made that exact association for the behavior of the kids he yelled at.  According to Marley's voiceover, which is apparently the best place to tell us about other characters' possible PTSD, people have been acting weird ever since the gunfire at McKinley.  Somehow this means that Tina dresses all steampunk now (may also have memory loss), and Unique's taking birth control pills, and Sam's subsuming another personality by pretending to be his sometimes-British twin Evan?  Or is that last one just separation anxiety from Brittany's sudden acceptance to MIT?  Any way you shake it, none of that behavior merited rage-insults from Schue, least of all when the issues were chalked up to post-traumatic stress disorder earlier in the episode.  Was the association just to have something to point to when the show's accused of not having any continuity?  If so, it came with a lot of baggage that the writers just ignored.

Anyways, Will didn't really have a realization about being a total ass, and instead lurked in the shadows of Marley's original song, indicating it was more a realization about not giving her a chance than anything else.  The only apology he gave was for denying the dissenters a voice - when it felt like Unique, Sam, and Blaine deserved at least a brief "I'm sorry" for having their teacher flippantly insult and/or shame them.  I mean, really -- "tone down the boob thing?"  Cringe.  Showing Will distressed in the hallway seemed to point towards wanting the audience to feel bad for the guy, but the moment wasn't specific enough to fully understand why.  

So, the most we have to go on is the problems with Finn, who, I'm beginning to think is Will's true soulmate.  I mean, he spends the episode trying to mend their broken relationship, spiraling into an emotion tornado at work, and by the end they've established themselves in a partnership.  While Will's having his own issues, Finn's partying it up at the fictional University of Lima, charging admission to indoor slip-and-slides in the form of girls' bikini tops.  I guess Finn's desire to delay adulthood makes a certain amount of sense, considering the number of times he's tried to step into some vision of his future only to realize he doesn't fit there.  So, naturally, he finds Puck partying too, they get invited to a frat, and then, when Finn misses a sociology test, Puck berates him into realizing he needs to buckle down and study so they can prove to the world they're as special as they've always known they are.  Or something.  The message is laid on thick, and through dialogue, which basically means it's poorly written.  

It's not surprising, though, that a supporting character on Glee steps in to force epiphany on the main character.  A stronger show would have created a situation in which we would see Finn presented with a choice between his studies and his social life, whereupon we would see Finn make the wrong decision, realize the consequence, and course-correct.  On Glee, however, we're treated to an expository voiceover clearly outlining the scenario, a pointless musical number showing us a college party, and then a morning after when someone's handily nearby to serve as moral-giver.  Thanks, Puck!  Finn couldn't have gotten there without you - well, not with the storyline structured the way it was, anyways.

Of course, since this is Glee, Finn got to play that role in someone else's storyline as well.  Rachel spent the episode struggling with what to sing for her Funny Girl audition, and naturally it's Finn who delivers her moment of clarity (after Shelby nudges her in the different direction).  What's frustrating about this, even aside from the outsourced revelation, is the fact that it's used to tentpole an arc for Rachel that's completely incongruous to her original character design.  At least with Puck's advice to Finn, it aligned with Finn's original arc: be more than mediocre, prove that you're special.  Both boys struggled with others' perceptions of them, how to succeed beyond expectations, and staying true to their true selves.  However clunky, poorly communicated, or random - it at least bears some tiny nugget of truth.  Rachel's "moment" doesn't quite have the same level of accuracy to it, and it's not hard to see through the machinations and understand why.  How else to justify dusting off three characters the narrative hasn't bothered with for two seasons to construct a fantasy sequence glorifying the show's original hit song and the impact it had?

See, in order to sell (milk?) this "Don't Stop Believing" moment (Glee's third iteration of their first chart-topper), the writers had to lean on the notion that this was an incredibly special moment for Rachel, as well as the audience (and the show itself).  We "fell in love," as Finn reminded us.  Now, I don't disagree with this necessarily.  "Don't Stop Believing" is, after all, the moment where a rag tag group of misfits came together and formed a unit.  First a club, then a family (if you don't mind dating a few of your relatives).  For Rachel, "Don't Stop Believing" is when she first found herself tethered to a collective.  Much of the first season's conflict came from the tension between a character wanting to be in the spotlight having to function as a member of a team.  Rachel with solos, or Rachel with friends?  You cannot have both.  Then, Glee decided to make everyone drink the Rachel Kool-Aid (Berry-flavored, natch) and embed her in a loving context - as long as she remembered to be eternally grateful for them not being douches to her.  (This context also only existed when the writers needed it to.)

The magic moments of "Don't Stop Believing" were specifically called upon for explanation (we'll ignore the part in my notes where I wrote "OH SHUT UP" in response to that suddenly curious member of the casting panel) -- and Rachel replied, "I wouldn't be the person I am today if [my friends] hadn't believed in me."  I'm not sure if Ross Maxwell was trying to draw overt connections to the title of the song, but frankly the sentiment is not quite accurate for Rachel's relationship to "Don't Stop Believing," and, in turn, her friends.  Rachel's dynamic with others' acceptance is not related to her self-confidence on stage.  Her self-confidence on stage is precisely what alienated her from others, at Glee's beginning.  What Rachel's friends gave to her was exactly that - friendship.  For the isolated girl who got slushied daily, having friends meant everything.  And "Don't Stop Believing" gave her a chance to make friends, and to be a part of something... special.  Rachel Berry already believed in herself.  She just wanted someone to sing with her.  So, the line of dialogue should have been more like "I was thinking about my friends.  I would never have been able to do this on my own."  Yes, it's a bit cheesy, but no less than the original line, and it's certainly more accurate to Rachel's arc.  

If you'll allow me to further endorse this line change: if Rachel had said something about not being able to do it on her own, it would have made everyone's thankless backup roles a little more acknowledged.  As it was, Spotlight Girl tried to honor her team by... singing the solo and imagining them all as her backup.  No, there was no way to make that moment into an opportunity for someone else to sing (it was awkward enough for Rachel to "interact" with spectral visions of her past) - but couldn't something have been done to make it work a bit better?  It's more than a little telling that the most amount of episode screentime for Artie, Tina, Kurt, and Mercedes came in Rachel's fantasy sequence.  Thanks for showing up, guys.  I'm glad we did this in Rachel's imagination and not in last year's finale with your actual corporeal selves.  Final plea for the "on my own" line: it subtly contrasts "Don't Stop Believing," Rachel's first group number, with her original solo title, a song sung about loneliness by a very lonely girl.

In sum: this show simultaneously glorifies and craps on their main character, all the while misinterpreting its own creation.  I don't know how the writers manage this - but they do.

Meanwhile, the Second Coming of Rachel (did anyone catch the owl sweater?) has decided to reveal her singer-songwriter talents and try to get original songs in Regionals.  After all, since Rachel wrote "My Headband," maybe Marley can write something like "My Newsie Cap?"  Nah, Marley's legit (just like Rachel was after Quinn yelled at her) and writes about being an outcast.  And apology ditties on behalf of her douchebag teacher.  Naturally, these dazzle and move the glee club members, and Marley's on track to have a song featured in Regionals.  Which is fine.  A bit heavyhanded, already done - but fine.

The last thread of "Sweet Dreams" involved Roz Washington coming to town and belittling everyone's gun violence experience with a poorly-written joke about growing up in the ghetto.  Ah, yes.  Let's just breeze past that.  Roz finds Sue's departure fishy, especially in conjunction with Blaine's sudden appearance on the Cheerios, which naturally means she swears both Blaine and Becky to an oath pledging not to hex Roz Washington into bringing a gun to school.  Blaine finds Becky's behavior about the incident unusual, presses her for questions, and gets a defensive Becky tantrum in return.  Those used to be so absurdly charming before they ruined her character.

In the end, "Sweet Dreams" is a thematically loose, messily-assembled episode that tries its damnedest to maximize emotions with the least amount of effort.  But as we near the end of the season, with a massive tangle of unresolved storylines pressing the show forward, there's not much else Glee can do but limp to the finish boasting whatever unearned payoffs it thinks the audience will enjoy most.  It's too late to refocus.  

Stray Observations:

• Glad things aren't awkward between Will and Shannon after she confessed her love to him last week, and he in turn set her up with an online dating profile.  Buddies!
• Don't think I didn't notice the Pilot-inspired shots of Rachel's hand lifted to the ceiling as the camera panned up and away.  It's included three times.  Once clearly wasn't enough.  Let's really hammer this nostalgia in, gang.
• To this end, I can't believe the shot of the glee club's "all in" hand gesture (what the hell is that thing called?) didn't get an overhead shot like this one in the Pilot.  (Minus the text, of course.)
• I'm kind of genuinely concerned for Sam's mental health after seeing him completely devoted to being both "Sam" and "Evan."  Like, this doesn't quite play as a comedic thing.  I worry for him.
• Between Will, Rachel, and Finn, it seems like main characters on this show only make decisions when other people tell them what to do.  It's maybe the easiest way to remove main character qualities from your lead.  

The RBI Report Card...

Musical Numbers: C
Dance Numbers: C
Dialogue: D
Plot: C
Characterization: D
Episode MVP: Literally no one.

A Very Special RBI Report: "Shooting Star"

Over the years, Glee has become more and more shameless in its attempts to capitalize on current events in a bid to retain its perhaps prematurely-appropriated mantle of "revolutionary TV show."  (This posturing was made sometime in Season 1, probably around the time Kurt came out to his understanding father, Artie had a storyline from his own POV, and episodes featured more than a half-hearted miming of emotional authenticity.)  Mostly, these current events have revolved around the inclusion of the Top 40 charts, incorporating Justin Bieber and Katy Perry whenever possible, and drawing up a tribute to Whitney Houston shortly after her death.  (Despite the fact that Amber Riley's touching rendition of "I Will Always Love You" aired the week of Ms. Houston's passing and served coincidentally as a lovely and understated homage to the late music icon.)

Smattered through these relevant but mostly harmless song selections are Glee's more damaging attempts at shining a light on issues affecting teens today.  While its first season stumbled earnestly into adolescent issues of belonging, identity, and self-acceptance, the subsequent seasons rang shrilly with the hum of false emotion and forced parables.  Glee trotted out episodes devoted to exploring religion, teen drinking, texting and driving, struggling with sexuality and gender identity, physical disability, death and grief, suicide, bullying, domestic abuse, adoption, eating disorders, mental illness, race, and sex.  Only a handful of these endeavors were handled with even a modicum of sensitivity, and fewer still made it to our screens without swerving into the territory of after-school special.  Glee has never quite figured out how to balance its crown as History-making Television Program and still keep its original absurdist comedy.  It's a tonal impossibility.  Trying to fuse together comic self-reference with broadly-stroked morality tales is as futile as mixing oil and water.  And yet, for three seasons, Glee has tried, failed, and insisted it worked perfectly all along.

Tonight, they aired their latest in the attempt to remain message television: an episode featuring a possible school shooting, and those terrifying moments ticking endlessly in a darkened classroom suspended in horror and disbelief.  I suspect Glee is trying for an episode to spark a national discussion on gun violence, because they still believe they have the power to engage their audience in a thoughtful discourse on the topics affecting today's youth.  But the truth of the matter is that I've long since distrusted Glee from handling any sensitive issue gracefully - from Santana's coming-out storyline, to Artie's erasure from the narrative unless his storyline deals with his wheelchair, to Mercedes and Tina sidelined and reduced to black and Asian stereotypes, respectively, and the list goes on.  Glee has not proven themselves capable of handling an episode about a school shooting.  Not when the nation is still feeling the shock of the tragedy at Sandy Hook, and holding onto the memories of Columbine, Virginia Tech, and other losses.  And not when Glee is, at best, a poorly-written echo of a show that urges teenagers to accept their differences through song and dance.   Like oil and water: these things do not mix.

This friction between Glee's fantasy world and the rules of reality is something the writers cannot seem to negotiate and neutralize - or even acknowledge.  This has long been a show devolved into its own kind of reality, a world where rules are made up and broken as seen fit.  Characters are accepted to college when their significant others secretly apply on their behalf, as a loving surprise.  Students and teachers' personal lives are entangled and intertwined with little consequence.  College freshmen without jobs live comfortably in Brooklyn, where they will soon audition for Broadway leads.  These same jobless freshmen apparently afford airfare back home to Ohio multiple times a semester.  The rules of reality are bent and jammed as necessary to make the high-gloss fantasy of Glee's story work for the writer's ill-devised purposes, before they wipe away for the next installment.  

It is jarring, therefore, that "Shooting Star" attempted to cleanly portray reality without any illusion of a filmmaking hand.  The time spent during the shooting unfolded onscreen almost in real time, as a large chunk of the act was devoted to showing kids crouched in dark corners of the choir room, crying.  The camera was handheld, providing a documentary-style visual to make everything seem even more real, and then went one step further in shock value by actually using "cell phone footage" of the students' tearful messages to loved ones.  As expected, the editing cut quickly and frantically during initial moments of panic, and lingered uncomfortably during the seemingly endless moments of waiting, mimicking the emotions felt.  So Glee told their story.  But I'm not sure why they wanted to.  The fact of the matter is that I can't imagine anyone wanting to see, scripted onscreen to seem as real as possible, those moments of fear.  As a nation, we are already afraid.  We already read eyewitness accounts from Newtown, and put ourselves in those darkened classrooms, and wondered what we would do if we were faced with a moment where our choices and our strength and our love meant nothing to a man with a gun.  

We already know this reality.  We've imagined this reality.  We are living this reality.  We don't need to see it packaged up and presented to us on a television show which usually parades through with a glossy world of bright colors and narrative fluff.  At this stage in Glee's storytelling, the show is best suited for escapist television, and little more.  Not only did "Shooting Star" endeavor to show a beat-by-beat experience of violence in school, but it also put the gun in the hands of a student with Down Syndrome, who until now was one of the few examples of a usually "otherized" character being wielded sensitively as a real person.  She was allowed to be her own character, with her own POV, and while Down Syndrome played a part in her identity, she was also a sometimes-bitchy cheerleading captain who could dish a pretty inspired barb.  Becky existed without being reduced to or defined by her "other" trait.  Unfortunately, she was the easiest figure for Glee's writers to pawn off as an overwhelmed student who brings her dad's gun to school and scares the shit out of everyone.  But with only two scenes where Becky reveals how scared she is of the real world (news to me), it's difficult to dredge up the sympathy - or even understanding - for her when we spent ten minutes cowering with the glee club in fear.  Truthfully, I feel more sympathy for Lauren Potter, the actress portraying Becky, who has been vocal about advocating positive representation and visibility for those with Down Syndrome in popular media.  I fear audience members may assume, because of the shooting, that Down Syndrome is a mental illness and not a genetic condition, and only hope the sudden introduction of Becky's distress helps illuminate the fact that her emotional crisis is unrelated to her "label" as a character with Down Syndrome.  Regardless, it's a sloppy and somewhat disheartening choice for a pretty beloved character.

In another stomach-turning decision, Glee also chose to wield the school shooting situation as an opportunity to resolve a bunch of storylines they didn't care to give closure to anytime sooner.  Much like their (now-repeated) threats of apocalypse, it seems the easiest way to raise the emotional stakes in a Glee script is to loom the threat of death and make all that resolution come swiftly.  The high-pressure scenario dissolved Kitty's meanness towards Marley and Unique, huddled Ryder and Unique together, presumably without the conflict of gender identity, and gave suspense to the storylines quickly minted for Brittany and Sam and Will and Shannon at episode's beginning.  The takeaway, even before the shooting happened, was that with or without a meteor hurdling towards earth, you should live your days as though they are your last.  Knowing that school violence was pending only made this message more awkward as it was hamfisted into the beginning of the episode like an anvil about to drop.

All of this was wrapped up in the title "Shooting Star."  Unfortunately, this episode's existence serves primarily as evidence to a complete lack of respect by the Glee showrunners, and a display of deluded arrogance by a group of people who somehow believe it falls on their shoulders to script and deliver what is essentially a horror story for humanity and a still-bleeding wound in the collective heart of a fearful nation.  To poke at that, even with the best intentions, only reveals an utter lack of self-awareness and humility that, unfortunately, Glee has displayed for years now under the guise of revolutionary television.  Would that any indication otherwise - of reality - fall on listening ears. 

The RBI Report: "Guilty Pleasures"

I'll be honest: at first, "Guilty Pleasures" didn't seem like an episode I would enjoy.  I'm not a big fan of the concept of a "guilty pleasure" in the first place, because it implies feeling shame for liking something and we'd all be better off not feeling like we have to apologize for the things we genuinely enjoy.  (Although we wander into new territory when that thing we like is Chris Brown.  But more on that in a moment.)  No, a "guilty pleasure" episode featuring wacky pointless covers of Wham! and ABBA seemed like it had the potential for high cheese.  But in a weird way, "Guilty Pleasures"... worked?

"Guilty Pleasures," written by Russel Friend and Garrett Lerner, directed by Eric Stoltz

There are a few things that helped "Guilty Pleasures" along, which were done surprisingly well.  First of all, the episode was low content.  This can either be a blessing or a curse.  Having room to breathe can mean letting us spend fun time with likeable characters just doing their thing, or it can mean that the audience might tune out because nothing in particular is holding their interest.  Low content doesn't sound like a selling point, right?  But low content for "Guilty Pleasures" worked, simply because Friend, Lerner, and Stoltz allowed for the fun stuff in between the plot and supporting the plot, which kept it from wading into murky and overwrought territory.  Elements of the story tied together without being hamfisted or too melodramatic!  (Okay, maybe not those slow-motion running shots during "Creep."  But otherwise.)

The other aspect of "Guilty Pleasures" that helped bolster this lack of content was the idea that these kids were unsupervised for a week.  Glee has rarely been able to seamlessly incorporate the adults into their universe, and thus tends to work better when we leave Sue and Schue and Emma and Beiste at the door.  It's less cluttered to just deal with the kids, and there's something charming about this gang of misfits plugging along without any adult supervision.  "Guilty Pleasures" featured a Schue-less week, and left the kids in Lima and the kids in NYC to their own agendas.  And the agenda this week?  Getting secrets out in the open.  

The third highlight of "Guilty Pleasures" was what the narrative chose to do with these secrets.  Usually, the unveiling of secrets is an easy way to create conflict - both inner conflict and person-to-person tension.  It's a tried-and-true, go-to, shit-stirring device.  In other words, Finn's bound to kick a chair.  So it was refreshing that Glee instead chose to use secret-revealing as a way to bond the two groups of kids together... without anyone making them!  There was a lovely sense that we were somehow watching these mini-groups (the New New Directions and the New York Roommates) cement their camaraderie as they weathered through a barrage of truth bombs.  It's the first time this season where I've felt any real inkling of togetherness in either location.  The character dynamics in "Guilty Pleasures" were actually firing naturally on more cylinders than we've seen in a long while.

Which brings me back around to my first point: the filler.  Those spaces in between the necessary serialized plot points found interesting character interactions for Kitty with the New Directions - Brittany?  Tina?  Artie?! - as well as Rachel and Kurt with Santana, and even Blaine and Sam, whose storyline finally confronted the awkward unrequited love thing and made good on the straight-guy-and-gay-guy-are-meaningful-bros display Glee's put in their front window.  We were shown things about these new and heretofore-underdeveloped interactions!  That's what happens when, y'know, there's actually time to do stuff.  We get little gems like Kurt and Santana watching The Facts of Life, y'all.

In New York City, Santana has promised Kurt to keep the Brody-is-gigolo secret from Rachel, which makes it super weird when you realize she has no idea why he broke up with her.  But the secret doesn't stay in for long, and eventually Santana drops the truth bomb and Rachel is forced to confront Brody.  I will say this: I feel really badly for Brody, actually.  Guy does not deserve all the heat for being a male prostitute.  He needs a way to pay the bills!  Guy probably does deserve all the heat for having lied to Rachel about it, because having sex with a dude who's having sex with a lot of other people and not telling you is not quite on the up-and-up.  Lying?  Yes, bad Brody!  Gigolo?  Cut the dude a break.  If Glee shames their male prostitutes this much, I'd hate to think how they'd treat a lady prostitute character.

Anyways, "Guilty Pleasures" made me feel genuinely bad for Brody, and that, for me, is a point in the plus column.  Of course, this point is negated completely by Rachel seeming to swell with love at the idea that Finn beat the shit out of her boyfriend for her.  (More awkward still that this physical violence was romanticized in the same episode where Chris Brown was vilified for his own acts of physical violence.  So it's bad when Chris Brown does it, but romantic and gentlemanly when Finn does it?  Yikes.  It's bad all around, Glee.  Physical violence is bad.  Sure, I guess you can argue that domestic abuse is not the same as an all-boy saloon brawl, but... that's getting into a whole mess of gender-related issues.  Let's just stick with this: physical violence is bad.  I don't care if it's 'on behalf of a lady's honor.'  Let's not glorify male aggression and encourage feminine frailty.  Physical violence is bad!)

So Brody accuses Rachel of still being in love with Finn, and Rachel basically agrees.  Actually, the moment at which I felt worst for Brody was when Rachel told him she was dating him because part of her wanted to make Finn jealous, and the other part wanted him to help her with her own heartache.  Uh, ouch?  Two terrible reasons to be in a relationship!  And while I think the writers were stretching these reasons to (re)write their own history for Rachel and Brody, it doesn't change the fact that those reasons, assuming that Brody accepts them as true, really, really suck.  I was never Brody's biggest fan, but damn.  Damn.  

(Also, on a sidenote, did the thought strike anyone that maybe Cassandra July paid Brody for sex back in that one episode where she wanted to piss Rachel off?  Add Brody's cost to the JetBlue miles Cassandra gave up so Rachel could go home, and that was one pricey backstab.  And it somehow makes Cassandra July really rather tragic.  But she's not here anymore, so I don't know why I'm devoting brainspace to her.  Be free, Kate Hudson!)

Through all this messy Brody-Rachel-Finn nonsense, though, we finally got to witness a fleshed-out dynamic between Kurt and Rachel, Kurt and Santana, and Rachel and Santana.  "Guilty Pleasures" seals the deal on Santana's incorporation into NYC being a good choice for the show.  We got great moments of snark and heart, all with effortless ease of interaction.  Kurt and Santana casually watched The Facts of Life and chatted; Rachel and Santana casually went about their morning routine in the bathroom and argued; Rachel and Kurt casually made gooey-BFF eyes at each other as they supported each other through their troubles.  Rachel and Santana were going to prank Kurt!  Kurt made Rachel and Santana matching boyfriend/girlfriend pillow arms!  Santana's a part of the family now!  This three-handed dynamic is easily the best character-based thing Glee has done since... well, who knows how long it's been.  

Back in Ohio, Blaine and Sam co-opted glee club and decided to make it all about spilling your secrets because it feels so good.  What idiots.  In a charming way, it worked, albeit with a few hiccups.  These all kind of boiled down to the fact that confessing you like Barry Manilow is really not the same thing as confessing to your same-sex crush that you like them.  It's really, really not.  But luckily, this was helped along by the redirect at the end of Blaine's piano ballad - he never meant to reveal that his "guilty pleasure" was Sam (which is kind of a weird notion in and of itself, but whatever) and instead stuck to his Phil Collins story.  I breathed a sigh of relief that this was not going to blow up in Blaine's face in front of the whole New Directions.

In the end, Sam brings it out in the open for Blaine, and reassures him everything's going to be fine.  What could easily have been a big deal, for drama's sake, was wrapped up smoothly and without embarrassment.  There was no "predatory gay" angle, or discomfort on Sam's part that Blaine has a crush on him.  Basically, this was the Finn-Kurt storyline from S1 done with far fewer cringeworthy moments - although, admittedly, with far less character-based emotional depth as well.  So, I choose to remember the Blaine-Sam team-up for this graceful sidestep of messy homophobic drama, while I simultaneously choose to forget that Sam told Blaine he could never really bond with Kurt because of the gay thing.  

Meanwhile, Jake tried to sing Chris Brown and everyone yelled at him.  Sure, the "separate the art from the artist" argument has its merit, but the issue with celebrity and success is that if you're buying the music, you're paying the artist, and therefore endorsing the continuation of the celebrity and the success.  It's messy.  Tackling Chris Brown is a messy, messy topic.  Much of what was said is not entirely wrong - Chris Brown has done some real shitty stuff.  And allowing so many people to speak out against Jake's song choice is fine.  But I'm not entirely sure I'm on board with Marley voicing concern that Jake liking Chris Brown's music might be a red flag that Jake is capable of domestic abuse.  It's a messy, messy implication that's a) pretty heavy, and b) kind of offensive.  I felt a definite twinge of discomfort about Glee questioning its only MOC (currently onscreen) about his capacity for physical violence.  Let's just not, please.  Again - especially when two scenes over, Finn beating up Brody is treated as the equivalent of handing a lady a white rose.  Messy, messy, messy.

(On a sidenote, is anyone else wondering, after Jake's performance, why he isn't the new featured player of New Directions?  It's never even been a consideration, and yet I find myself watching his fancy footwork and thinking it should have at least been on the table.  I'd love to see the guy lead a group number, instead of his endless string of shmoop duets with Marley and bro duets with Ryder.)

The remaining guilty pleasure at McKinley High belonged to Kitty, who for some reason didn't want to divulge her love of the Spice Girls.  Spice World, as a masterpiece of high camp, I could maybe understand - but the Spice Girls?  Since when was it embarrassing to like them?!  Finn and Will had no issue recreating the boy bands of the same era, but the Spice Girls are embarrassing?!  I comprehend nothing.  Anyways, I just appreciated the way "Guilty Pleasures" wielded Kitty as a character.  She's finally starting to show some layers, without feeling really inconsistent!  She's becoming interesting, without declawing her completely!  Consider me intrigued.  Her brief interaction with Artie has me hopeful for some kind of goofy relationship, and her quiet "don't" to Tina after Blaine's performance has me wondering what exactly prompted the emotional nuance.  Basically, I'm curious about how the writers are choosing to handle Kitty, who was basically introduced as a Molotov cocktail of Sue, Quinn, and Santana.  At first, she was a bit two-dimensional.  Then, she started getting funnier and a little less villainous.  Now, she's one of the gang, but still pretending to be annoyed about it.  (Her offscreen exasperation at Tina following her as Vicki the Robot Girl cracked me up.)  I think this works for Kitty, and might perhaps be a new way to explore the loser vs. popular kid theme without being so heavyhanded about it.

Finally, credit must be given to Eric Stoltz for directing the crap out of this episode.  Glee's pesky "oh by the way" flashbacks and signature-if-clunky narrations were handled a bit better than usual, thanks to visual intrigue.  I loved the cutaway to Tina watching Brittany and Kitty on "Fondue for Two," placed perfectly after the line about the internet being a safe space.  There was also a bit of fancy directing with the two time-lapse segments in the episode: Kurt zoning out in front of his "powerhouse ladies of television," with Rachel and Santana milling around behind him, and Brody and Rachel not quite connecting as one sits up and sings while the other half sleeps in their bed.  Both instances worked rather well.  The choice to act out the story of "Copacabana" with Artie, Brittany, and Jake was another smart choice.  

And while this bit of praise can also be attributed to the individual actors, I'm going to throw a little Stoltz's way as well: he got some great performances out of everyone this episode.  Chord Overstreet and Darren Criss did fine work with the comedy, and did well to avoid cheesiness in their final scene.  Naya Rivera, Lea Michele, and Chris Colfer had a great ease of chemistry and walked that fine line between warmth and sass in their dynamic.  And Michele and Dean Geyer both demonstrated some strong and specific acting choices in "Creep" - the closeups onstage actually showed off the genuine emotion of the song in this context.  I was surprised to find myself actually engaged in their emotions of their breakup.  Rachel exuded anger, pain, and sadness, while Brody sort of numbly expressed bitterness only.  Some really great acting choices by all in this episode, actually, and very well-directed.

So, in a weird way, "Guilty Pleasures" was one of the stronger episodes this season.  It didn't try to do too much with its potentially overdramatic plot threads, and instead focused on using its spare time to foster friendships and create a believable group dynamic without any adults watching.  Because of that, there were so many little gems in this episode, all of them pretty delightful.  With only five episodes left in this season, it's a bit disheartening to say that this was the first episode to feel like the characters are all finally clicking.  But, better late than never.  

The RBI Report Card...

Musical Numbers: B
Dance Numbers: B
Dialogue: A
Plot: B-
Characterization: A
Episode MVP: Santana-Rachel-Kurt