I love to make fun of the oft-used Real Housewives trope of structuring episodes around some sort of party that unifies the group and allows the plot to advance, but episodes that don’t lead up to that sort of conclusion do tend to feel a little bit more scattered and less dramatic.
TV Show Recaps
Real Housewives is, at its core, a show about small but abject suburban horrors. Although last night’s episode was the kind of quasi-filler that the series serves up every three or four weeks to fill out the season, it was subtly packed with the kind of stuff that would drive even the most stable McMansion dweller to guzzle some white wine and start a fight at an outdoor cocktail party.
Maybe the tie that binds all Real Housewives the tightest, beyond a shared love of white wine and yelling, so their near-uniform preference for awful dudes. When you start sorting it out, bad taste in romantic partners accounts, either directly or indirectly, for an awfully large proportion of the tension, conflicts and eventual blowout fights that form any given Housewives season’s narrative arcs.
You guys, I’m ready to make a somewhat surprising declaration: Last night’s episode of Scandal was good. Not “good for this season,” or “good relative to all the bad episodes lately,” but legitimately, objectively good. The stuff going on felt exciting and like we were continuing to move through the plot, and even though last week’s episode had a pretty significant red herring, this week didn’t slow down when it reversed course.
I’m not an effusive person, by and large, but occasionally, Scandal manages to pull off something that makes me shout four-letter words out loud, in my apartment, to no one in particular. Last night, when it seemed like the story had largely concluded, there was one last not-so-metaphorical twist of the knife that had me talking to my house plants.
It’s been two weeks since we had a plot-centric episode of Scandal, and honestly, I needed the break. I can only take so much Fitz-Olivia intrigue before I have to sit in silence with a Diet Coke for a while to quell my irritation with Fitz’s entire existence, and it’s nice to go two weeks without the necessity of anti-murderous meditation.