Friends, this week has brought us a new high (or low? let’s be honest, it’s probably a low) on the post-modern deconstruction scale: Roger Howarth imitating James Franco pretending to be Steve Burton. (Somewhere, I can only assume James Franco is rolling around on a pile of dildo art and laughing maniacally as his master plan comes to fruition.)
NO, BUT SERIOUSLY, THIS WAS HILARIOUS, YES?
HE’S EVEN GOT HIS STANCE DOWN.
I’ve reached a point with the Franco story where I can really only laugh. Because the alternative is to spend every episode shaking my fists at the heavens while screaming, “WHY? WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME, SOAP GODS?” And honestly, I think the neighbors were getting really tired of that.
So, sure. Give him a big ol’ tumor that will magically erase all responsibility for all that pesky rape and murder. Frankly, that’s the kind of reset button I’ve been desperately wanting them to give Jerry Jacks for years. (For the record, I would also have accepted brainwashing or demon possession in Jerry’s case.)
Granted, Jerry Jacks as evil-doer was in itself a horrendously nonsensical retcon that is just aching for a fix-it, and Sebastion Roche’s chemistry with Nancy Lee Grahn is so electric that I could basically justify anything to make him a viable romantic option for her…
…whereas Franco was dead and gone and there was literally no reason to foist this redemption arc off on Roger Howarth in order to keep him around– but no. I’m trying to move past my Franco rage here.
The point is: for reasons beyond my comprehension, we’re apparently stuck with this godawful character until the end of time. And if he’s going to be redeemed, then I’d much rather it be like this than by simply donating some bone marrow to his nephew and calling it bygones.
(Plus, Roger Howarth imitating James Franco pretending to be Steve Burton really does crack me up.) (I reserve the right to amend that judgment if it goes on for too long, though.)
Meanwhile, we finally got the answer to the question that none of these characters had ever bothered to ask before: just who is Sam’s father, anyway? And the answer is… Alexis doesn’t actually know. Huh.
Which works, I guess? But seems kind of anti-climactic if that’s really all there is to it. Especially after years of speculation about some Gothic incest rape scandal involving Stavros and/or Stefan, and that conversation she had with Anna not long ago where it was implied she knew enough about him to know he was a dangerous guy.
But Nancy Lee Grahn acted the hell out of those scenes, and seriously, it’s about freaking time Sam at least asked the question. So I’m ready to roll with it, whichever way it goes. (Although, really. ‘J’ for Jerome, right? RIGHT?)
In other news, speaking of Alexis and baby-daddies… this happened:
DANTE: You could’ve just not got involved with her in the first place. Moved onto somebody else or someone new. But you can’t do that, because you can’t be alone.
SONNY: [petulantly] I’ve been alone plenty.
DANTE: No, you haven’t, Sonny. No, you haven’t. There’s always some woman. Either you’re with her or she’s chasing you, you’re chasing her… this time it was my mother.
I will never stop loving the sucked lemon pouty face Maurice Bernard pulled during this completely accurate dressing down. Well played, sir. Well played.