I wasn’t sure about Revenge at first — it just seemed so down-in-the-mouth for a soapy show about a girl who was, for a spell, actually drawing huge Xs over photos of the people she was ruining — but now I’m sold (helped in part by the fact that I like to whisper hoarsely, “REVENNNNGE,” at the end of every act, that is, when I’m not calling it “rewengay” like Hugh Laurie does in the finale of Blackadder II). The show like that Halloween candy that isn’t my favorite, but whatever, I’m in the mood for something sweet, and then ten bars later I’m like, “Damn, we’re out, I need to go buy a new bag.”
And to make this thematic, I hope Emily VanCamp goes ahead and gets revenge on whomever told her to wear this.
The color is such a delight, but the dress itself feels like the limpest saloon couture imaginable. And damn it to hell for forcing me to use the phrase, “saloon couture.” That shouldn’t exist. Now my mood is as frayed as that bodice.