Even when Judith Light only has one scene, and the episode itself doesn’t achieve much, somehow Dallas manages to be very juicy indeed. Here, we get some sexual shenanigans and a piece of lingerie that is direct from the mall in Hell.
Fug File: Dallas
Please watch this show, Fug Nation, because it is DISHY. Judith Light snorts blow and drawls a lot! Sue Ellen drinks! People revenge-dance!
I was lamenting the other day the lack of great soaps — and thus, great soaps to parody in the brilliant vein of Tootsie and Soapdish — but Dallas is slinging the heat at night in a way Revenge could only hope to do. Because on Revenge nobody remembers what anyone’s motivations are, or who is blackmailing whom, and why, and what the HELL is even happening (ditto Pretty Little Liars). On Dallas, it’s super clear, and that’s why it works: Cliff Barnes hates the Ewings, no matter what, and lives to make OTHER people hate the Ewings; the Ewings hate Cliff and love winning; Sue Ellen loves alcohol and her son, and her affinity for one increases apace with her disillusionment with the other (just like with JR before him). And all the other allegiance-shifting that happens in between is pretty well plotted, so that you’re never confused, and you can’t be bored because Judith Light does coke and purrs things like, “When morality and money come at each other on a one-way road, morality gets run into the DITCH.” DAMN SKIPPY.
This episode resets the table somewhat — in a nicely REVENGE-y way, although not as lame as a Revenge-y one — so in lieu of proper screen grabs, I’m going to tell you what happens while we look at the new title cards for everyone: FINALLY they are using the split-screen technique from the Dallas of old. It’s divine. I wish they’d change it weekly, though, just to keep us amused. Next time.
The last five or ten minutes set up some good old-fashioned soapy drama for season three, if the show gets renewed. Everyone cross your fingers, because with Revenge being so terrible and Pretty Little Liars being almost indecipherable at times (although I am still hooked), TV needs some good old-fashioned soapy drama that isn’t also a) bleak, b) so confusing that it’s possible NOBODY remembers what’s going on, or c) a cartoon of itself. And which also empowers its older characters to be both flawed and fabulous. Seriously, nobody spits nails like freaking Ann Ewing, y’all.
They double-pumped this last week, to my surprise when I sat down last night to watch them, and we have a two-hour finale tonight. I’m not sure what burning things off like that means for the fate of this show, but I know there is a cliffhanger planned. So please, TNT, don’t just cancel it without giving us some closure. I need some more soapy shenanigans from these people before I say goodbye again.
In which Steven Weber arrives, on the wings of smarminess.