Chris Kirkman

“There’s No Place Like Home: Part One” Recap and Analysis …

You know when you go to a wedding or a formal event and all the waiters are walking around with little crab puffs and tiny chicken salad sandwiches or shrimp, and you take a couple and then realize that you want more but the waiter with the good stuff is all the way across the room and it’ll be awhile before he’s back around? Yeah, that was this week’s episode. It tasted good, but it sure did leave me hungry for more.

Anywho, let’s get down to brass tacks. I’m going to make things a little easier on myself this week by following a little bit of an unconventional format. The recap will still break things down chronologically, but I will probably jump around quite a bit. Oh, and I’m going to do all the Oceanic Six flash forwards at the end. Okay? Cool.

Previously, on Lost: Locke was born and guided through his life by agents of the island. He’s presented with some objects and asked to pick out the right ones. He chose … poorly. In the jungle, Ben is visited by the ghost of Christmas past and told to find him so he can find Jacob. Locke does, and he, Ben and Hurley find the cabin. Locke goes inside. Ben and Hurley eat a candy bar. Christian Shephard and Claire are inside the cabin and Locke and them chat for awhile. Locke comes out and says they have to move the island. No big whoop.

And now, “There’s No Place Like Home: Part One” …

We open on a transport plane. One pilot holds onto his lucky rabbit’s foot hoping for some extra mojo considering the cargo they’re carrying. That cargo, it turns out, is the Oceanic Six, back in the cargo hold. Ensign Ro, I mean Michelle Forbes, looking dashing as always, walks back to the survivors to let them know that they’re about to land and that they’re not obligated to answer any questions after touchdown. Jack, being the mouthpiece for everyone as always, tells Ro that they all want to get the questions over with. And, with that, the plane touches down at a military airfield in Hawaii.

Ensign Ro. See, I wasn’t lying.

The Oceanic Six deplane. Hurley’s mom and dad are there, and immediately start with the hugging and kissing. Sun’s mom and dad are there, as well, as is Mrs. Shephard, who gives Jack – sporting a genuine smile instead of his usual patented grimace – a great big hug. No one’s there to greet Kate and Sayid. Sadness. At least Hurley grabs Sayid and drags him over to the Reyes’ clan, where much hugging ensues. That leaves just poor Kate, alone, clutching her sad, non-biological island baby with no one else to love. Awwww. What can I say, though? Karma – she can be a real bitch.

Back on the island now (and more about the Oceanic Six much later), Jack and company are wondering what the hell to do with the satphone that was dropped out of the passing chopper the previous episode. Dan offers to help, so Jack hands over the phone but warns him not to try any funny stuff. Dan pushes a button and they’re able to monitor the conversation in the helicopter. It’s Keamy, telling Frank that he needs to land. Frank tells Keamy that they’re still a few klicks away from the LZ and Charlie is liable to ambush them this close to the Cambodian border. Keamy tells him he doesn’t care, that he loves the smell of napalm in the morning, and that he wants to set down now, and be ready to deploy to The Orchid once they’re on the ground. Ah, yes, The Orchid. This is going to be good.

Jackass, having just had his appendix removed with a butter knife earlier, wants to run out into the jungle and hijack the helicopter. Of course he does. This pisses Juliet off royally, and she breaks out the big snark by telling him not to bleed to death on the way out there before stomping off. Stick with me, honey, you’re better off without him. Besides, he’ll live. He’s in the flash forwards. Don’t you watch the show? Since Jack’s innards could come flying out at any moment, and because Juliet’s too pissed off to get some alone time with in the jungle, Jack asks Kate if she’d like to come with and do some “tracking.” You know, like the good ol’ days before she started waffling back and forth between him and Sawyer like a high school tramp?

After Jack and Kate take off, Dan whips out his handy journal again and starts scouring the pages like a madman. Charlotte – hey gorgeous, haven’t had much time with you lately, but you’re still looking good and saucy, rowr – asks him what he’s up to. He flips to a page with a sketch of the Dharma logo that Ben had on his parka when he leaped to the Sahara, with the words “The Orchid.” Okay, so what we already knew we now know officially. It’s all going down at The Orchid, and it’s gonna rock. Dan tells Charlotte that Keamy has started the SECONDARY PROTOCOL (say it with an ominous tone) and that they have to get off the island RIGHT NOW. That don’t sound good.

It’s daylight now, and out in the jungle Kate and Jack are playing all cutesy and shit, as usual. Kate asks about Jack’s bleeding wound, which he says is fine, and to which she calls bullshit and she’s right, because Jack is usually full of shit. But anyway, it’s not long before they hear a sound and whip around with guns drawn, ready to blow away a polar bear or maybe an old-fashioned Other. Instead, it’s Miles. He freaks a little and they drop their guns. Sawyer is close behind, carrying everyone’s favorite island baby, and he’s not very happy to see Kate since she blew town. Jack gets with the twenty questions with Sawyer and James tells ‘em about Claire wandering off and Keamy and his men blowing the high-holy hell out of “New Otherton.” Good one, Sawyer. Jack wants to continue onto the helicopter despite hearing about his royal badness, Keamy, and tells Kate to take Aaron and head back to the beach with Miles and Sawyer. Jack walks off, but not before Sawyer gets a flash of conscience, grabs his rifle and heads off with Jack, telling him “You don’t get to die alone.” Rock on, bad boy.

Hey, it’s Sayid. He’s motoring along in his little speedboat, just, you know, chillin’. He gets to the beach and tells everyone to pack their bags, it’s time to head to the party barge. Kate comes tramping out of the jungle (heh, you see what I did there?) and says OMG Jack is totally going to the helicopter and I’m stuck babysitting this rugmonkey and, like, we should do something. So she does. She dumps Aaron off with Sun and she and Sayid high-tail it into the jungle of mystery, leaving Daniel there to ferry people over to the freighter. Which he begins to do, six at a time, with Sun and Jin in the first batch, because Sun is preggers. Charlotte helps them push the boat into the water, tells Dan to be careful and gives him a little wave and an “I like you, I like you” googly eyes. And, damn, what eyes she has. I think she can look directly into your soul with them things. Seriously, look.

See? Village of the Damned ain’t got nothing on her. Still, if looking into those eyes means I’m damned, then so be it.

Annnnnd, we’re finally back with Ben, Locke and Hurley. Ben’s leading the trio through the jungle and Hurley’s playing twenty questions. How’re they going to move the island? Very carefully. Why haven’t they moved the island before? Because it’s tricky and unpredictable. If they, like, move the island, won’t the guys with guns still be on the island? Yes, that will still be a problem. Are we there yet? Shush, Hugo. Ben stops at a rock cropping, moves a boulder out of the way and pulls out an old Dharma tin. I swear, man, Ben and his Others are like the Swiss Army knife of cults. Locke says GIMME and takes the tin. Inside is a pair of binoculars, a signaling mirror and a small tin of Dharma crackers. You know, cause signaling can make you hungry, I dunno. At any rate, Hurley takes the crackers and starts to eat them, until Ben tells him that they are over 15 years old. Whatever, they’re crackers. I think I’ve eaten crackers that are 20 years old before. Back to the show, Ben uses the mirror to signal up the mountain a bit. John asks who he’s trying to signal, to which Ben replies “Who do you think?” There’s a response signal a few seconds later and Ben says they can go up now. John asks Ben what he said to them with the signal mirror, to which Ben tells him to mind his own beeswax. They head on up the mountain toward The Orchid.

Daniel arrives at the freighter with the first group. Desmond helps everyone aboard, and Sun and Jin are shocked to see Michael standing on deck. There’s some tense silence, then Michael has to explain in his emphatic Michael voice that he’s not working for Ben, dammit, he’s trying to atone for his sins. Whatever, dude. You still screwed up. In the meantime, Dan has everyone off the boat and turns it around to head back to the island. Personally, I think I would have gotten some more, you know, GAS while I was there, but I’m just practical like that. I guess I just don’t think like a physicist. Anywho, up in the wheelhouse, Desmond and the first mate are cranking up the engines since Michael has fixed them. They’re all ready to head to the island, but they can’t get any closer than five miles from shore because there’s some RF interference on board that’s futzing around with their radar/sonar/magic fairy reef detector. Desmond goes off to find the source of the interference.

Back in the jungle, Jack and Sawyer come across the chopper and Frank is inside, handcuffed to one of the seats. Jack asks where Desmond and Sayid are, to which Frank replies that they were smart enough to stay back on the freighter, which is the safest place to be right now. I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Frank. At any rate, they get Frank out of the cuffs and Frank tells them that Keamy’s gone off to The Orchid to capture Ben and he’ll blow up half of hell if that’s what it takes. Sawyer asks what they’ll do to anyone with Ben. “Nothing good,” says Frank. Hurley’s with Ben, says Sawyer. Shit, says Jack. Guess they’re going after Hurley, then.

Back on the freighter, it seems as though Desmond has found the source of the RF interference, and goes apeshit, screaming for Michael to get in here and take a look. Michael, Sun and Jin head into the ship and to the room where Desmond is leading. Inside is enough C-4 to blow the ever-loving crap out of the side of the world. I’m serious, there’s enough C-4 wired up on that boat that if they wanted to get back home, all they’d have to do is load it under the island and blow the whole fucking thing across the Pacific and back to the states. What we have here is a bit of a pickle.

Back in the jungle, Kate’s off with the only guy on the island she hasn’t screwed over. She tells Sayid with her master tracking talents that the tracks she’s looking at are different … and they’re doubling back behind them. Sayid draws his gun and yells OLLY OLLY OXEN FREE! Of course, since he used the magic phrase, Richard had to come out of hiding. He tells them they need to put their guns down, Sayid says nuh uh, Richards says uh huh do too, Sayid says nuh uh can’t make me, Richard says can too, and then the Others surrounding them pull out about a hundred guns and cock them and Sayid says uncle. Whew, thank God it’s the OTHERS! Did you ever think you’d be saying that? Me neither.

FLASH FORWARD TIME! Back in the more recent past, or the future events of the survivors who are further in the past and still on the island … oh, you know what I mean.

It’s a press conference and Ensign Ro is explaining the revised history of the Oceanic Six. Flight 815 went down just south of Indonesia, and the surviving eight managed to make it to an uninhabited island, Membata. Later, they fashion a raft and sail north to the island of Sumba, where they are found. She shows pictures of the raft landing at the beach. It’s all pretty impressive. After this, it’s time for the press to do some grilling. And by press, I mean four of the 70+ people there, because they’re the only ones that got to say anything. Jack is first and is asked what it was like when the plane hit the water. Jack weaves a brilliant tale of bullshit, of how it was fast and that some of them managed to get a hatch open before the plane sunk. Some of them floated on cushions for a day or two before the tide took them into Membata. By that time, there were only eight left. Hurley is asked if he’s happy to be back and getting his fortune back, to which he responds that he doesn’t want the money because it’s nothing but trouble. Sun is asked, in Korean, if Jin was one of the people to make it out of the plane. She tells them that he never made it out. A crafty reporter starts grilling Kate about baby Aaron, saying that if Aaron is five weeks old at the press conference, she would have had to be six months pregnant when she was caught in Australia. Ro swoops in and cuts all this off, though, citing legal issues being out of bounds to discuss. Finally, Sayid is asked if there is any chance of other people making it off the plane and surviving. He simply says no, absolutely not.

After the press conference, they all head back behind the curtain. Jack tells Kate she did a good job, and Sayid is told he has a visitor. He heads outside to find Nadia there. They hug and cry. It’s all very touching, really. Too bad she’s gonna die. What a downer.

Later, in Korea, Sun pays an unexpected visit to her daddy’s office. He asks how the baby is doing, and Sun tells him to shut his pie hole because he doesn’t care about the baby. He never liked Jin and there are two people responsible for his death – daddy’s one of them. Mr. Paik asks how she can insult him like this. She explains that Oceanic gave her a very large settlement and she’s just used it to buy a controlling interest in the company. She then tells dear ol’ dad that after she has the baby, she’ll be back to talk about how they should run the company together. BOOYAH SUCKAH!

Back in the states, Hurley drives up to his house in an old Gremlin or Pacer or some POS, at any rate. He has a bag of Mr. Cluck’s. He heads inside and the house seems empty. He calls out for his mom and dad, but there is no answer. There’s a coconut on the floor and he hears whispering. Heads into one of the bedrooms, grabs a mini statue of Jesus and throws open the door to the pool deck. SURPRISE! It’s a birthday party! Hurley is shocked and just stands there for a moment with Jesus over his head until his mother delivers the best line of the year – “Hugo, Jesus is not a weapon.”

It’s a grand old time after that, and Kate and Aaron and Nadia and Sayid and Auntie Em and Uncle Henry and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir are all there. Hugo’s dad takes him around to the garage to show him his birthday present. Hurley really doesn’t want anything that’s bought with the money, but his dad assures him that he got this before the money came around. He opens the garage door and inside is the sweet Camaro they were going to fix up. Go on, Hurley, get in. You’ve got some mangoes to smash up pretty soon. Inside the car, Hurley gets ready to crank her up when he notices the odometer and trip meter, all reading 481516 and 2342, respectively. Hurley wants to know if this is a joke and jumps out of the car and runs away, leaving his dad bewildered.

A little bit later, we find the Oceanic Six at Christian Shephard’s memorial service. Jack delivers the eulogy and makes a joke about his father liking funerals because of the free booze. Way to crack a joke about a dead (alive? undead?) alcoholic there, Jackie boy. After the service, Carole Littleton gets Jack to the side and spills the beans about why his father was over in Australia – Jack’s got a half sister, and her name was Claire! But wait, Jack says … that can’t be … we … we made out on the Millenium Falcon that one time … EWWWW.

All done with flash forwards now, and back in the jungle, Ben, Hurley and Locke have made it to The Orchid. Keamy and his men are already there, and Ben explains that they need to get inside the main compound. Locke asks what they’re going to do to get in there, and Ben gets all bitchy and tells him that he doesn’t even take a dump without a plan, so STFU. Then Ben tells Locke that he has to listen carefully because he’ll only say it once. “So, here’s what you do if you want to get into The Orchid: You go into the greenhouse through that hole there. Once inside, you’re gonna turn left. You go about 20 paces until you see a patch of anthuriums on your left. They’re in an alcove against the north wall. Face the wall, reach down with your left hand. Cross your left foot over your right and pat the top of your head six times. Say 10 Hail Marys, whistle the theme to The Godfather and count to 71. After that you’ll find a switch that activates the elevator. The elevator takes you down to the actual Orchid station. Once there you can push the big red button that says PUSH BIG RED BUTTON TO MOVE ISLAND. Got all that? Good. Cause now I’ve got to go surrender myself to Keamy.” And, sure enough, he does. Keamy aims the gun at Ben’s head, but instead of shooting, he just pistol whips him. As much as that man has been beaten in the past 15 or so episodes, he’s not going to have many brain cells left.

Cue the thonk!

Not the meatiest episode ever, but satisfying, nonetheless. It did its job admirably of setting up all the hell that’s going to break loose in Parts 2 and 3, and I know I’m excited as hell to find out what happens. Since this was a set-up episode, there’s not much to analyze or review, but I’ll go over some key points to bear in mind as the season finale unfolds.

POINT, THE ONE. That little radio thing that Keamy had on his arm last episode was obviously the remote detonator for the bajillion pounds of C-4 on the boat. My best guess is that it’s hooked up to his vital signs to form a dead man’s switch that’ll go off if he’s snuffed. This ought to be interesting. I don’t know how all this is going to play out, but without the boat, the Oceanic Six can’t get off the island immediately, which would mean they’ll be sticking around for at least half of another season, not to mention that they’d have to at least get Sun off the boat since she lives. That leaves the fate of Jin, Desmond and Michael all in the air. Jin isn’t safe since he’s supposedly “dead” in the flash forwards. I’m guessing there’s no way in hell they’re going to kill of Desmond since they just opened a whole dramatic can of worms with the whole Ben-hunting-down-Penny storyline. And as for Michael – well, I still think he’s the one in the mysterious coffin in the last season finale’s flash forward.

POINT, THE TWO. We know, officially, that The Orchid is the launching platform for the quantum leaping that Ben does into the Sahara back in “The Shape of Things to Come.” If I were a betting man, I’d put money on the fact that Ben makes that leap in the season finale. The set-up is just too good. He has his collapsible baton – we saw him give it to John before giving himself up – you know there’s going to be a tussle with Keamy so it’s likely that Ben might be shot in the arm trying to escape, and they’re all at The Orchid, now. After his leap to the Sahara, when he visits Widmore, Ben tells him that he’ll never find the island. I’m guessing that’s because the thing’s been moved. There’s a chance that even Ben might not know where the island has been moved, but you’ve go the wild card of the parka to keep in mind. Why the parka? Is it cold down in the lower level of The Orchid? Do they have to keep the equipment on ice to keep things from overheating? Or is the parka necessary after the island has been moved? Good thoughts to think.

POINT, THE THREE. If anything happens to Juliet, I’m going to be royally pissed off.

POINT, THE FOUR. A tad off-topic for this episode, but it still bugs me. If Claire is off being all chummy with her dad, and Aaron is now the responsibility of Kate, and Claire and Christian both say that Aaron is where he’s supposed to be … how the hell does that fit in with what the clairvoyant told Claire WAY back in Claire’s first flashback in season one? Malkin told her that it was imperative that Aaron be raised by Claire, and only Claire, before “changing his mind” and putting her on the plane to meet a couple in America that would adopt him. Of course, most of us believe that the clairvoyant put Claire on that plane because she was supposed to be on that plane, but what all can we really believe in what he had to say? Boy, talk about going back to the well on this one. That was a long damn time ago! And, of course, he admits to Eko in “?” that he’s a fraud as a psychic, but who knows if we can really take his word for that, either. Ah, Lost, how you love to confuse us.

POINT, THE FIVE. These are anthuriums, you know, in case you ever need to get into The Orchid, or something:

I think that’s about it, really. There’ll be a helluva lot more to talk about after the finale, that’s for sure. I can’t wait to see what sort of mind-bending cliffhanger we’ll be talking about all summer. Until next time, keep thinking those thoughts and if you come up with something, tell me something good.

Namaste.

Chris Kirkman is a graphic designer/photographer/journalist/geek extraordinaire with way too many Bruce Campbell movies in his library. He is still hoping that Lost will end when Bob Newhart wakes up next to Suzanne Pleshette, complaining of a strange, strange dream. You can contact him at ckirkman@hobotrashcan.com.

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Week 47 Spotlight: If you smell what Barack is cooking.

Last week, Brian Murphy talked about sneaking onto Richmond International Raceway to do a few laps. This week, he is mysteriously absent from the podcast, leaving his adoring fans to wonder if Richmond’s finest finally caught up with him.

In Brian’s absence, Joel Murphy calls in Hobo Radio’s resident Dan LeBatard, David “Bubby” Green, to fill his brother’s shoes. Murphy and Green tackle a wide range of subjects, including the presidential race, Bubby’s martial arts training and the new scheme movie theaters have devised to cater to lazy moviegoers.

Why won’t Hillary Clinton drop out of the democratic primary? Why is Bubby training to be the next Karate Kid? Why is Tito Ortiz dating a duck? The answers to these questions and more lie within this week’s show.

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Hobo Radio - If you smell what Barack is cooking [ 54:37 ] Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Joel Murphy

Today, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull opens in theaters nationwide. I have mixed feelings about this movie. On the one hand, I absolutely think it is going to be terrible – Harrison Ford seems a little old for an action-adventure star, the plot seems uninspired and Shia LaBeouf seems like a poor substitute for “Short Round.” On the other hand, I loved the Indiana Jones movies as a kid and would relish the opportunity to see an Indiana Jones movie in the theater, for nostalgia’s sake.

At first, I didn’t think much of this desire to go see the film. I have seen the original three Indiana Jones movies countless times. My grandparents had all three films on VHS, so when I spent a few weeks with them during my summer vacations, I would watch the Indiana Jones and Star Wars films over and over again. So being suckered into seeing this new film hardly seems surprising. But then, I began to dig deeper and to try to figure out exactly what it was that was convincing me to see an uninspired update of the franchise instead of simply re-watching the original three films. Why would I give up my hard-earned cash to watch what was basically an Indiana Jones reunion special?

Those of you who read this column regularly know my feelings on the endless parade of Hollywood remakes and sequels. I get frustrated every time I see another bit of my childhood (Transformers, Alvin and the Chimpmunks,G.I. Joe) bastardized on the big screen. And yet, as Hollywood continues on this latest trend of using the original actors to make sequels to long dormant franchises, I have trouble summoning up the same level of disdain. Frankly, that’s because the formula works.

The problem with most remakes is that the completely disregard the source material. They take something we have a collective fondness of (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, The Dukes of Hazzard, Get Smart) and try to adapt and modernize it until somehow the end results becomes completely devoid of everything that made the original so special. The actors they hire to fill the roles feel like they are playing dress up, wearing the costumes of our beloved characters, but falling well short of actually embodying the roles they’re trying to play.

But sequels like this new Indiana Jones film tend to work better – instead of replacing the original actors with the Ben Stillers or Sean William Scotts of the world and completely revamping the characters to make them fit into modern times, you get the original actors reprising the iconic roles that we all love. Even if the plot isn’t as good as the original and the hero is looking a bit older and slower than he did before, it’s still nice to once again see Bruce Willis kick ass as John McClane or Sylvester Stallone lace up the gloves for a final bout as Rocky Balboa (even if he has a scary plastic surgery face now). There is something comforting about seeing the characters we love alive again on screen.

And it isn’t just stagnant film franchises that are getting in on this new trend. This summer, both the Sex and the City and The X-Files franchises have movies coming out featuring the original actors reprising their beloved roles and I’m positive many other popular television shows are sure to follow. These movies are counting on the fact that we will all pay good money to get another chance to see Gillian Anderson’s Detective Scully delivering a dry, sarcastic one-liner or Kim Cattrall’s Samantha Jones letting a dozen guys half her age run a train on her (again).

The reason I think these movies do so well is that they capitalize on human nature. Shows like The X-Files and Sex and the City go off the air because they start to get stale. The plots start getting forced and repetitive or, in the case of The X-Files, one of the stars decides to leave the show, and we gradually begin to grow weary of these programs. For movies like Die Hard and Indiana Jones, the sequels start to feel like tired retreads of the original movie, and we lose the desire to keep handing over our hard-earned cash to see the same formula over and over again. But, as time goes by, we begin to romanticize these shows and movies and we begin to overlook their faults. Newer, crappier movies come out and suddenly we begin pining for the old days of Indiana Jones and John McClane.

I think it’s similar to going through a bad breakup with a girlfriend. At first, you are just ready to be done with it and to move on with your life. But as time goes by, you begin forgetting about all the things the girl did wrong and you focus on how empty your life feels without her. Movies like Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull and Live Free or Die Hard are the cinematic equivalent of the drunken 2 a.m. booty call hookup with that ex – one last hurrah for old times’ sake.

So I say we all go give Indiana Jones one last roll in the hay before we move on to a younger, hotter film franchise that will give us all of the things Dr. Jones was too uptight and old-fashioned to do for us. Okay, it’s time to abandon this metaphor before it gets any creepier …

In summation, while I am still calling for an end to all of the uninspired remakes and to the copious amount of modern sequels that Hollywood continues to churn out, I still think the cinematic resurgence of a forgotten film franchise can be an enjoyable thing in small doses. Of course, in the interest of full disclosure, I’m saying all of this in the hope that this trend will continue long enough that is eventually gives us a Quantum Leap movie featuring Scott Bakula and Dean Stockwell. Oh boy, would that be awesome.

Now, if you will excuse me, I’m going to go drunk dial Fandango to set up a late night rendezvous with Indian Jones.

Random Thought of the Week:

My boo and I can’t help but think that David Archuleta’s loss on American Idol last night has something to do with the fact that he didn’t sing nearly enough Chris Brown songs.

Joel Murphy is the creator of HoboTrashcan, which is probably why he has his own column. He loves pugs, hates Jimmy Fallon and has an irrational fear of robots. You can contact him at murphyslaw@hobotrashcan.com.

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Ned Bitters

This week’s inductee into the “Overrated Hall of Fame” is … The Shawshank Redemption‘s inspirational message.

I wasted another two hours of my life last weekend watching The Shawshank Redemption for the 247th time. It’s one of those movies I have to watch every time I come across it, like Rocky, Kingpin or anything starring Helena Bonham Carter. This can be quite time consuming, because, just as the sun never set on the British Empire, Shawshank is showing on some station right now. That is, if your cable package is worth a good squirt of piss. Go to your TV and test this. See, right there on channel 268! And it’s over in 40 minutes. Start watching now or you’ll miss seeing Andy crawl through that river of shit.

I’m not asserting that the movie itself is overrated. Any movie that’s almost impossible not to watch has a greatness to it. What is overrated is our reaction to it as a “feel good” movie. We ought to be overwhelmed with anger and loathing every time we watch it, but instead we are manipulated into a case of the warm fuzzies for a bunch of long-term felons who probably wreaked more emotional havoc than three 9-11′s.

Let’s start with the overall prison population in the movie. The cons in general are the most docile, tame-looking prisoners this side of Hogan’s Heroes. When Andy and Red are shooting the shit in the yard, the rest of the prisoners loll about unthreateningly in the background. I’ve never been to a prison and I don’t intend to end up in one (They’ll never find the body. She was a cinch to bury. She was too tiny, you know?), but I’ll wager that there ain’t a prison yard in America as safe and harmless as the one in Shawshank.

It’s also laughingly, overwhelmingly white. I know the movie takes place 40-50 years ago, but even then this country was passionately engaged in one of its favorite pastimes: locking up colored folks at a disproportionate rate. Other than Red, I don’t recall seeing another black man in the movie. But that’s probably savvy casting, as the producers wisely figured that white America would see them as the “bad” prisoners, thus voiding the misplaced sympathy we are duped into feeling for the white human trash that makes up Shawshank.

Then we have the scene when the lovable louts are watching a movie and Rita Hayworth makes her grand appearance to obscenity-free (yeah, right) hoots of appreciation. We are supposed to feel sorry for the loveless blokes who can no longer enjoy the company of a beautiful woman. The moviemakers fail to remind us of the fact that most of these scumbags are incarcerated for heinous crimes, many of which probably involve women. In a real prison, when Ms. Hotshit makes her grand entrance, one third of the men would fantasize about raping her, one third would dream of stealing everything she owns (after raping her) and the last third would dream of slitting her throat (after raping her and stealing her shit). But we see their innocent longing and say, “Awwww! Poor horny fellas.”

None of those scenes are as pathetic as the one in which the men hear the Mozart song blasted over the P.A. by rabble-rousing rebel Andy Dufresne. We have a yard full of hardcore felons reduced to wide-eyed awe by Herr Mozart, and they stare longingly at the sky, wishing, I suppose, for freedom … so that they can dismember another body or rob a few more banks. The only scene in movie history cornier than that one was Tom Hanks’ overwrought Opera Appreciation scene in Philadelphia. [Caution: If you watch these two scenes back to back, you will suffer great neck pain as a result of the extreme cringing they elicit.]

The movie also tricks us into adoring and pulling for some of the individual cons. Take Brooks. That lowlife fucker served most of his life in prison for some god-awful crime, yet we’re supposed to see him as the lovable old fart who wouldn’t harm a fly, or at least his dirty pet bird. However, he would hurt a fellow inmate and friend, if you recall the scene where he nearly slits another dirtbag convict’s throat. The incorrigible old bastard should have been reported the parole board right then and there so that they could rescind the parole he’d been so stupidly granted.

Then the dumbshit can’t even handle a job bagging groceries. The grocery store near my house hires the occasional ‘tard or two to bag groceries, and they pick up this Einsteinian task in a day or two. But this dipshit just can’t grasp the concept of not putting 32 pounds of groceries into one paper bag. The only thing he and his thick sausage fingers were good for was committing major felonies. And being that he spent the bulk of his life in jail, I guess he sucked at that, too.

We’re also tricked into seeing the grocery store owner as some sort of hump for the way he treats the Shawshank graduates. Just how nice and accommodating is he supposed to be? The man is running a small business. He hires hardcore ex-cons. He’s got pissy old women customers giving him shit. Excuse the man if he can’t devote the bulk of his work day to politely teaching septuagenarian murderers and rapists the proper way to bag groceries. The man should be one of the heroes of the movie, not the cranky, impatient tool he’s made out to be.

Instead, Red the slick bastard killer is one of the heroes. During his final parole hearing, he refers to his youthful “mistake” as if it were nothing more than spray painting graffiti on an abandoned building. By the time he’s done whining, we are hoping beyond hope that good ol’ Red gets his parole. I bet if it had been your sister whose throat he slashed (after raping her), you’d not be so anxious to see “APPROVED” stamped on his form. You’d be rooting for the “No fucking way, dirtball!” stamp.

Finally, we have our hero, Andy Dufresne, the one we’re supposed to pull for with all our bleeding hearts. If you ask me, he’s the biggest asswipe of them all. Yet every time we watch, we wait expectantly for his big escape and the delicious come-uppance he inflicts on the evil warden. Yes, Andy was innocent, and that’s terribly unfortunate. But he’s not the wonderful guy we are led to believe. The douchebag was this close to killing his wife and her lover for … what, fucking? We are duped into thinking they deserve it. But if Andy can’t sling that dick and twirl that tongue good enough to sate his wife’s twitching twat, then more power to her for getting some strange dick. He deserved 3 – 5 years just for intent.

Andy is also portrayed as a deep-thinking intellect. He plays chess and shapes rocks. He creates a library. He is transported to a better place by Mozart. He philosophizes in the yard about hope and shit for the edification of his less intellectually-equipped prison mates. And what else does he do? He steals the fucking money that we vilify the warden for stealing. When it was the warden taking pilfered money, it was reprehensible. But when Andy takes that same money to buy a piece of shit boat, he somehow deserves it? Not only did he steal money, but he also stole the warden’s shoes and suit. Hell, he even heisted his Bible! And this is the guy we hope makes it safely through the tube of diarrhea? We should be rooting for six wrong turns.

Yes, this movie’s message is overrated. Real prisons are overflowing with human filth who have committed the most depraved crimes imaginable. (Exception: All the black men we’ve incarcerated for minor drug crimes.) Shawshank is akin to a summer boys camp, with sports, movies and three hot squares a day. (Sure, there’s also the occasional forced BJ and anal rape, but into each life a little rain, right?)

In one of the movie’s big dramatic scenes, Andy tells Red that “Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever really dies.” Right, Andy. What does die are friends and relatives and little children at the hands of the subhuman filth who make up a large part of prison populations like Shawshank. Hey Andy, you know what else is a “good thing”? America’s goddamn penal system. Lights out, scumbags. Eat shit. Rot in your cell. Stick a … oh shit … look! Shawshank is on. I gotta go. I love this movie!

Ned Bitters is, in fact, overrated. You can contact him at teacherslounge@hobotrashcan.com.

Courtney Enlow

Am I up to this challenge? Every time.

For the past two and a half years or so, I have been going through something. I don’t want to call it a change, more of a progression. I’ve aged two and a half years. And while I have in my life aged two and a half years probably nine-ish times (math is hard) for some reason, the aging of this particular two and a half years has been especially daunting. I find myself more and more shocked as time goes by that anyone survives past 25. I’m having a hell of a time even making it there.

I don’t want to feel sorry for myself and have a whole woe-is-me-I’m growing-up-against-my-will pity party. That’s not what this is. This is legit.

It started toward the end of my first semester, senior year of college. And I really want to tell the story of how it started, but my parents and a couple of my aunts read this column and I really want them to still love me when all is said and done, so I will need to put this delicately. Hmm …

Yeah there’s no way to do that. So if you’re related to me, maybe you just look away now, ‘kay?

So my senior year of college, a friend (who shall remain nameless and completely without description) and I decided to try ‘shrooms. Now mind you, I am NOT a drug user. I’ve smoked weed before but it didn’t work for me (I don’t think I did it right) and I’ve never even considered trying anything else (I’m very certain that if I ever did try coke, I’d just sneeze it back out). So this was uncharacteristic to say the least. But I got curious. So we put them in some pineapple mango salsa and just kind of went to town.

Now I was under the impression from friends who’d done it before, or knew people who had done it before, that maybe I’d just see some weird visuals or feel all sixties-like (that made sense in my mind as an adjective at the time). A friend once told me about how he “was totally tripping balls” and a witch chased him around his basement all night on a broom. I figured that was my worst case scenario.

I. Was. Wrong. So very wrong.

At first my depth perception went kind of wonky. The floor seemed really far away. This made me laugh. When I realized I was the only one laughing, it made me really sad. Then, and this is almost as impossible to explain now as it was at the time, I stopped understanding how time worked. I didn’t understand why I could see the past but not the future. I tried to explain this to my friend, who did not understand, and this too made me sad. And that’s when things got bad.

While trying to see the future, I just kept seeing the past. I kept seeing all these little mental movies of my childhood. My grandparents coming over to our old house on Stokebridge for Christmas morning. My mom and I laying out on the deck, our skin smelling like coconut lotion. The day my dad first shaved his mustache and I was scared of him. The crabs on the beach in Hawaii. My brother and I in the pool, him wearing his little yellow floaties. My cousin Sarah and I playing spies during family parties, hiding behind clothes to listen in on conversations. My grandma making me tomato soup and chocolate milkshakes when I’d stay home from school sick. Listening to Kasey’s Top 40 in the car on sunny Sundays with my mom. My dad and I going to pick up Vic’s Pizza and then renting movies every Friday night. And I started crying. And then a voice at the back of my head started saying “this is over. This is over. This is all over. It’s all gone. It’s all gone. These are dead.”

Yeah, no, I know, it’s fucked up.

At this point, I’m three hours into this trip with three to four hours to go, and I am sobbing hysterically while rocking back and forth on my bed screaming in agony because the memories won’t stop. My brain was bombarding me and I couldn’t do anything about it. (My friend, it should be noted, was hanging out in my living room staring at my London Ballet Nutcracker poster because “they were all totally dancing to the music that’s not even there … wow,” and was completely oblivious to my breakdown just rooms away.)

Finally, hours later, it ended. But I’ve really never been the same. It changed me. I didn’t get the cool “Dude, you can totally hear colors” shit hippies talk about. I got the sudden and horrible onslaught of the most disturbing thing that could ever happen: growing up.

Two and a half years later, and I still can’t think about my memories happily. Even typing the paragraph up there had my eyes itching with tears, my throat closing while a sob tried to make its way up. Because it is all over. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m an adult now. An adult who in a matter of years will be getting married and having kids of my own. And though it’s only a few years away, right now I know I’m too young to even handle thinking about it. I’m not ready to be ready for this.

That’s not to say I won’t be. I know that I will. In a matter of years I will be ready to get married and have kids and look at my memories with joy and a gentle wistfulness, rather than the Our Town-esque “I want to go back” sadness I have now. And as time goes by, I’m getting there. I have a nice corporate sell-out job which allows me to pay my rent and buy cute clothes and eat Thai food. That’s good. That’s a step forward. You know what I don’t spend my money on? Pineapple mango salsa. Fuck that. I’m never eating that again.

What I’m saying here kids is don’t do drugs. They turn you off of your favorite condiments and turn you insanely Garden State Braffian. And no one needs that.

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.