Well, it had to happen eventually. American Horror Story has yet to produce a season that manages to stay cohesive and compelling throughout. Somewhere in the middle, this show always gets bogged down in needless subplots, attempts to cram in every actor Ryan Murphy is friends with on Facebook, and its habit of forcing characters to behave so erratically they seem like marionettes wielded by a puppet master on crack. I can’t say I’m disappointed because I know the drill. In fact, I’m impressed it managed to hold out this long, and there is still enough talent on display to keep me entertained for the rest of the season. I am, however, actively appalled by how this season is treating its queer women, and the malicious stereotypes it seems determined to feed.
I’m assuming this episode runs concurrently with the event of last week’s journey down the rabbit hole with John. (JUST KIDDING; RYAN MURPHY GIVES A FUCK ABOUT CONTINUITY LIKE HE GIVES A FUCK ABOUT THE OPINIONS OF THE LESBIAN BLOGGER COMMUNITY.) At any rate, we open with The Countess staring at the hole from whence Valentino and Natasha emerged, wondering how her one true love (and his wife) could have been imprisoned in her hotel for so long without her knowing. Of course, the answer is the late Mr. March, who she vows never to forgive, or have taco Tuesdays with ever again. She also plans to re-seal the chamber in which Valentino was locked and use it as a prison for her more wayward charges.
I DON’T KNOW WHICH I’M SADDER ABOUT: THIS DRESS OR THAT BOTTLE OF WINE.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m still enjoying Lady Gaga, but it’s starting to feel like she’s showing up to work hungover or on quite a bit of Xanax. Or possibly she’s just incensed about the way female bisexuality is being treated and her comfortably numb performance is her way of acting out.
She does have a lot on her plate this week. Firstly, she’s got to plan a small but tasteful wedding to Will Drake, and he is palpably disappointed it won’t be a grander spectacle (the chief pitfall of marrying a queer man, apparently, is that he has opinions on what flowers should be in your bouquet). Drake’s son is a little bit confused about why these nuptials are happening so fast, so his dad fills him in.
Junior: But pops, I thought you were a homo! Now all the kids at school will think I’m a loser with a straight dad!
Drake: Don’t worry, your old man is what they call a “bisexual,” which is when you prefer men until an evil succubus enchants you with her magic vagina.
I have very mixed feelings about it.
While Drake prepares for his wedding/murder, The Countess puts her other plans in motion. First, she pulls Donovan back to her bed and promises him her eternal devotion if he’ll just agree to kill a few people for her.
SO JUST SO WE’RE CLEAR, AMERICA: BLOOD=FINE NIPPLES=COVER THOSE MILK HOSES WITH STARS!