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“The Fall” Recap (2.3): Get on the elevator, you idiot

Previously on The Fall: Rose is still alive in the trunk (for now). Katie is an idiot teenager (redundant). Annie needs a new therapist (immediately). Burns is not helping (at all). Stella is pissed with everyone who sucks at their jobs (which is a lot of people). Paul is screwed because they know his name (and still creepy).

A shadowy figure is walking out of the woods alone. Oh, dear. Remember when I said Rose was still alive? We my have to revise that. Paul Spector hits the road, puts his hoodie up and starts jogging. We could get into a long sociological discussion about how suspicious a good-looking white male with his hoodie up may or may not look to the outside world here. But he apparently feels comfortable enough to just jog away like he hasn’t totally murdered yet another woman.

He runs up to a house on a country road and comes upon a car in the driveway. So naturally he puts on his I’m-about-to-kill-someone gloves and goes to check things out. The car is unlocked and inside is the most terrifying thing we’ve seen all season: a baby. OK, fine, so the baby itself isn’t necessarily terrifying. But the sight of Paul ominously cootchie-cooing the baby is pretty terrifying.

DSI Stella Gibson is looking over a list of brainstormed motives of the killer’s killings. They range from sexual problems to physical abuse, head trauma to—my personal favorite and current frontrunner—demon seed.

ACC Jim Burns walks in on Stella in his hangdog way. Is he ever going to be useful on this case? Stella notices DCI Matt Eastman, who had investigated James Olson’s murder, in the office and asks why he is there. Burns tells her he is her new deputy SIO on the case. So many acronyms, people. You’re making me do so much Googling. Eastwood is the senior investigating officer on the case now, to help out.

Stella is none to pleased, because office politics suck and we all know it. But she goes over to make nice and welcome him to the team anyway. As she turns to leave the look on her face says, “Great, another male ego to stroke. It’s not like I’m trying to catch a fucking killer or anything.”

Paul is now driving the car that previously held the baby. Luckily, said wee infant is still in the driveway as its panicked mother runs out to find it crying in the abandoned car seat. Also, I don’t care how far in the country you live, never leave a baby alone in a car with the car unlocked. Unless you’re trying to get rid of said baby. But that’s a whole different crime show.

Stella leads the team progress meeting on the case. Operation Musicman will now be focusing on one sole suspect, instead of a myriad of possible Professor Harold Hills. His name is Paul Spector and the rest of this season will be about how the police department avoids arresting him—I’m assuming.

Paul returns from his leisurely murder, jog and carjacking to his dingy hotel room. But someone else has been there. Yes, little Katie has made use of her spare key and paid a visit to Paul’s closet. She has cut up all his clothes because being a teenager means making smart choices like pissing off a man you suspect might be a serial killer.

She has also written “fottiti sfigato” on his bathroom mirror in lipstick. At this point, I paused and spent an inordinately long time trying to decipher the handwriting on the mirror. Was that an “f” or a “j” or a “t?” Then I was super proud of myself when I figured out it means “fuck you loser” in Italian. And then I hit play again.

Yeah. So, next the asshole goes to his computer and Googles it himself. Let this be a lesson to all recappers—always let a scene play out.

Paul actually smiles at this translation. Note to self: Way to earn a sexual psychopath’s respect? Insult him in Italian. He then watches, probably rewatched, what I am assuming is the video he made of Rose. She is talking about how she feels terrible for him and how he must have had a terrible childhood to do this to her. He loops the, “I feel sorry for you” bit over and over. Um, you don’t also want us to feel sorry for him, right? I did not sign up for the story of a sexual psychopath serial killer’s redemption.

Stella tasks the detective who failed to thoroughly investigate Paul in the first place with cleaning up his own mess. He, of course, interprets this as Stella wanting him because men. The female detective partnered with him grimaces at his “joke” and will no doubt go home tonight and go to town on a well-worn punching bag on which she has written in Sharpie the word “SEXISM.” Wait, isn’t that how everyone handles it?

The detectives go to see Sally Ann, Paul’s wife, to do a proper interview. She confesses she wasn’t home that night. Katie the babysitter had watched the kids when she couldn’t reach Paul. See, this is why in the midst of your unabated murder spree you never piss off your wife.

Paul wakes up with a start after a dream (nightmare? sex fantasy?) about a partially naked mannequin. He gets up and then sees Rose on his bed dressed as said partially naked mannequin. I’d say he’s cracking, but he’s already a crazy killer so it’s hard to say what constitutes a normal day in his brain at this point.

Bad Detective (I really, really can’t be bothered to remember his name) walks into Stella’s office all pleased with himself because of the information they got from Paul’s wife. He tells her about Katie, and that the mother is a fine art dealer, meaning “paintings and stuff.” Stella shoots back, “I know what fine art is.”

Now there’s a woman who no longer needs her proxy sexism punching bag. She goes straight for the gut of the real thing.

The detectives go to visit Katie. I know, you’re thinking, “This is it. They’re about to get him. Hallelujah.” But, alas, you did not factor in the variable associated with anything to do with the teenage brain.

Katie comes down and tells them that she babysat that night. But then Paul came home at 9:30 p.m. and then they talked until 3 am So she gives him an alibi and we’re left screaming, “FUCKING TEENAGERS” at our screens.

Eastwood informs Stella that Dr. Reed Smith visited Rose Stagg’s husband the other night. And then says they seemed “comfortable” with each other. Is that supposed to mean they’re having an affair? An almost imperceptible wave of surprise and disappointment washed over Stella’s face at this news. Not the lovely Reed Smith, not her lovely Reed Smith.

Teenage Mutant Cliché Katie calls Paul while he’s shopping for new clothes at a thrift store. She tells him the police came around and if he wants to know what she told them he’d better meet her. Blackmailing a serial killer for a date. Wow, I realize all teenagers are inherently idiots, but this is some sort of championship level stupidity.

The detectives return and tell Stella the bad news about Katie’s ridiculous alibi. Stella voices the entire audience’s bemusement when she replied, “What the fuck is she playing at?” What indeed. At least she unwittingly gave them one good piece of information. The night before that Paul and his wife were in the same bar as Annie Brawley.

The police hold a press conference to implore the public for help on the Rose Stagg case. Rose’s husband is there, and cries as he should. The cameras click at the tears. Stella, who is watching with the team from the office, slinks off during home video images of Rose. Someone is feeling guilty.

Later that evening she arrives at the scene of Paul’s phone call to her. Searchers find tire tracks that match Rose’s car and her cellphone case, but not the phone. A car comes up the road to the overlook, and stops short. Oh, you knew it was Paul. He sees the police, and Stella, and backs up quickly with his lights out muttering, “Fuck you, Stella. Fuck you. Fucking bitch.” Aw, isn’t misogyny just the cutest?

Luckily, Stella has noticed and jots down the license plate number. The cop who was previously guarding Annie’s hospital room is now tasked with chasing down the car, but it’s gone. She does track down a stolen plate though, with the proper modifications, matches the one that sped off. Meanwhile, Stella gets a call from Reed Smith, who wants to see her that night. I know, I know. I’m excited too. Let’s steady our nerves and get through the rest of this stuff.

Unfortunately, the rest of this stuff involves Teenage Mutant Cliché Katie and Paul. She is meeting him at a restaurant, over a glass of wine. I had to physically restrain myself to stop from throwing things at my television during their entire conversation.

You see, Katie isn’t trying to fuck with Paul or expose Paul. Katie genuinely wants a relationship with Paul and is actively trying to gain his approval. She tells him about her alibi and even asks if he is pleased with her. Never before have I wanted to reach through a TV screen and shake someone as much as Katie. And that’s including all six seasons of The L Word.

She demands the truth about Paul, and he tells her some story about finding a victim’s wallet and seeing Stella on TV and being angry that this hot, smart, self-assured British lady was making the sad sack Irishman look like a potato so then decided to fuck with the investigation. You know, to show that English bitch a lesson.

Hey, Katie, here’s a tip from me to you—if a guy you want to date talks about punishing a woman for making a man look bad, instead of helping that woman catch someone who is killing other women, he is not a guy you want to date. Or be near. Or give an alibi for murder. And definitely don’t tell him you’ll do anything he asks. I mean, that’s just, like, the rules of feminism.

Well, at least Paul calls Katie out on being a stereotypical rebellious teenager in the process. He is testing her, clearly. She passes enough for him to give her a mobile phone and tells her to create a fake email account and use it for a video chat account. I don’t know how this is all going to tie in, but I know it’s going to be bad.

Oh, hey, remember when I said it would be bad? When next we see Paul he’s stalkering into Stella’s hotel through conveniently open back doors and hallways. He works his way, unnoticed, up to the room service kitchen where he swipes a key and finds Stella’s room number off her food order (chicken salad and a cup of tea, in case you were wondering). I hate to point out the obvious, but this hotel has the worst security ever. This will no doubt be reflected in forthcoming Yelp reviews.

During all this unpleasantness, Stella is calmly getting ready for her date with Reed Smith. You’re damn right it’s a date. She changes clothes. She has a calming cup of tea. And then heads down to meet her. Piano jazz is being played amid the red velvet and leather. Now this is a lady who knows how to pick her date locations.

Reed Smith arrives, in leather pants, and finds Stella. At this point you are going to want to find a cozy spot. Maybe slip into something more comfortable. Perhaps even pour yourself a nice Irish whiskey. Really settle in, because life can be so harried and joyless that we have to savor each instance of pure perfection to the fullest when it arrives. For that reason, I will be leaving out the unpleasantness of Paul’s completely creeptastic stalking until the end. Because we wouldn’t want anything to ruin this moment. Just keep those Scotch neats coming.

Reed Smith apologizes to Stella for questioning her about the scratches (i.e. Slyly figuring out a way to check out Stella’s nail length). Stella tells her she was just doing her job. But Reed Smith insists it was prying. Stella forgives her. If intense eye contact was a drug we’d all be so fucking wasted right now.

They talk about Rose’s husband. They talk about Rose. Stella admits that they’re responsible for her disappearance. Everybody drinks. Stella receives a call and steps away, with apologies. While Reed Smith is waiting, a man walks up to her because men always walk up to women who are alone because they can’t fathom why a woman would want to be alone instead of with a man.

Reed Smith clocks him coming immediately and gives that grimace we’ve all given. He has two margaritas and tells her all about his wonderful job as a lawyer. He asks what she does, more out of challenge than interest. And she says she’s a pathologist, and breaks out some ancient Greek. “I study disease, death being the final disease,” is quite possibly the best unwanted male advances shutdown I have ever heard.

Stella returns, just as the rejected margarita holder has figured out his folly and who Reed Smith actually is.

OK, everyone, take a swig of that whiskey or scotch. This is where things get so good.

She breezes in, without a second thought, and slides in next to Reed Smith. But she doesn’t stop sliding and glides right in for a kiss. On the lips. That says more than just hello.

The rejected margarita holder furrows his brow. Ladies? Kissing? Like ladies should kiss men? Tsk, tsk—somebody clearly never watched Lip Service. But he still doesn’t get it, so Stella continues for emphasis—though I’m pretty sure it’s mostly because she wants to.

And, let me just tell you, Reed Smith does not resist. She does the opposite of resist. Sure, it’s partially a ploy to get the rejected margarita holder to leave. But, it’s also just probably fucking amazing to kiss Gillian fucking Anderson.

Stella turns from the kiss slowly to acknowledge Rejected Margarita Holder’s presence long enough to unburden him of his margaritas. She tells him briskly to, “Keep them coming.” When he huffs that he is not the waiter, she replies, “Then why are you standing there?”

Heterosexual Full of Himself Male: 0

Sexually Fluid Intellectually Superior Females: 1

Stella and Tanya (come on, they have to be on first name basis now) smile at each other knowingly. Stella says, “That was nice” and her arm does not leave its protective perch around her. Tanya replies, “Yes, it was.”

Quick health and wellbeing check: Are you breathing? Please remember to breathe.

Tanya says Rejected Former Margarita Holder knew who she was, and probably knows who Stella is, too. She replies, “So what?” I mean, it’s 2014. We’re here, we’re queer, kissing ladies is awesome, get used to it.

We flash quickly to Stella and Tanya waiting for the lift. The lift up to Stella’s room. Stella’s room that has a bed. A bed they will sleep in together. Tanya realizes this, suddenly, and says, “Oh, God, what am I doing?” Stella smoothly replies, “Going with the flow.”

You know, I’d wondered (and wished) about Stella’s sexual orientation from the start. Obviously, she also sleeps with men. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Some of my best friends are straight. But there’d always been something so assertive and unabashed about her sexuality that it felt like the conventionality of making her strictly heterosexual was a betrayal of her character. Of course Stella goes with the flow. Stella does what she wants regardless of what people think of her because she wants to and she has the right to.

Sadly, not everyone feels the same way. Poor Tanya sputters, “I can’t. I can’t. I was brought up in Croydon.” Stella almost chuckles back, “What’s that supposed to mean?”—never losing focus on Tanya’s lips. But, alas, the conventionality of Croydon wins out and Tanya walks away. Let me repeat that, Tanya leaves Stella hanging at the elevator. She does not go upstairs to Stella’s room and Stella’s bed.

I know, I KNOW. It goes against every law known to science, nature and the universe for her to not go upstairs with DSI Stella Gibson. In fact, it’s probably a crime against all those things. I’m pretty sure her refusal ripped a hole in the space-time continuum. The fabric of reality is folding over onto itself. Up is down, down is up.

The look on Stella’s face says it all. Mmmm, girl, you missed out.

Well, at least Archie Panjabi and Gillian Anderson had a good time shooting the scene together.

– Archie Panjabi (@PanjabiArchie) November 6, 2014

Stella goes into the lift and up to her room. Right, so while all this glorious sexual fluidity was happening, Paul was being the absolute worst. He broke into Stella’s hotel room and was rummaging through her things. Touching her bra and panties, caressing her silk blouses, reading (and photographing) her dream journal.

And while Paul is doing his creepy thing, Katie is doing her own creepy thing. She breaks into Sally Ann’s house and takes a selfie of herself in his bathroom, wearing a police composite of him. Also, Jesus, she made a T-shirt out of his police composite?

The good news is the police have had Sally Ann’s house under surveillance and see her breaking in and follow her back to her house. So at the very least they know something hinky is going on with that Benedetto girl.

Paul gets a text of said selfie while still in Stella’s room. But just as he is about to leave the elevator opens. Fuck wank bugger shitting arse head and hole. He is still in the room. STELLA DON’T GO IN. But of course she does. And of course he is in the closet. And of course he watches her all horror movie style as she starts to get undressed.

She, and we, are saved by a knock at the door. Stella turns, hopeful. You can tell that she thinks it’s Tanya. But, alas, it’s not. It’s ACC Burns. Her disappointment is palpable.

He asks to come in and she, very begrudgingly, relents. When she asks him how he knew she’d be there, he says, “Why wouldn’t you be?” Oh, mister, if you only knew.

Burns goes straight for the booze, despite almost being clean and sober for five years. Stella asks if he should call his sponsor, but it’s much too late for that. The political drama from the first season, of Burns tipping on the policing executive that his son was about to be arrested, has spilled over into the second. This bit was always a little fuzzy for me, as I don’t understand the hierarchies and nuances in UK government and politics. But the bottom line is if Eastman, the man he just appointed onto the case, finds out his career is over. Also his feelings got hurt because Eastwood called him a “weak man.” I swear, there is no weaker force in the universe than a man’s feelings.

Gillian is not impressed and now really, really wishes Tanya grew up anywhere but Croydon.

To make matters worse (as if they could be worse than having your drunken boss slobbering all over your room and a manipulative serial killer listening to it all from your closet), Burns then decides the only appropriate salve for his wounded ego is a shag with Stella. And he isn’t taking no for an answer. So Stella clocks him in the nose with a, “For fuck’s sake.”

No means no, asshole. While Stella is tending to his bloody nose, Burns tells her he recognized one of the children’s homes form the list Paul gave investigators about where he grew up. It was run by a pedophile who used to abuse altar boys in full vestments. So, what you’re saying is, it was a bad place. I get it, Paul had a terrible childhood. It’s still no reason to become a murderous fuck and brutally stalk and kill women.

A crestfallen Burns turns to Stella and asks her, quite earnestly, “Why are women emotionally and spiritually so much stronger than men?” And Stella’s reply? “Because the basic human form is female. Maleness is a kind of birth defect.”

If I said I wanted that on a T-shirt, would it make me a bad person?

Stella tells him he looked at her like the bottle of Scotch, with a mixture of “fear and anger.” And then she tells him bluntly, “I don’t like it.” She is the grand master of not having any fucks to give for your whiny, entitled, sexist male bullshit.

Now finally alone, Stella pops a chocolate (well, if you can’t have hot sex with a lady, a bon-bon will have to do) and logs onto her laptop. But immediately something is very, very wrong. Paul has been busy changing her wallpaper.

The picture, it should be noted, is Henry Fuseli’s famous late 18th Century painting “The Nightmare,” which depicts an incubus demon atop a sleeping woman. Stella immediately grabs her gun and checks the room.

But Paul is busy video chatting with Katie back in his hotel. He tells her he has had a fun night and then proves he sleeps in his birthday suit to her. I cannot adequately express how deeply disturbing I find this sexy Skyping with a teenager.

Stella, who is inexplicably still in her hotel room, notices her dream journal is askew. She goes to check it and finds a bookmark on a new page where Paul has left her a note. He talks psychobabble about childhood insecurities, sexual desires and anger at a world of men. And he ends it with, “Stella Gibson, how well I know you now.”

Yeah, I think it’s time we got Stella a police detail and armed guard, don’t you?

More by Ms. Snarker: @dorothysnarker or dorothysurrenders.com.

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