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US “Skins” recap (1.01): Big Gay Night Out

If you have not yet rubbed up against someone who shouted you down about watching US Skins, well, how’s that hole you’re living in? If it’s not a UK Skins purist (with whom I find exactly zero fault), it’s the Parents Television Council (with whom I find universal fault). Or it’s a curmudgeonly critic howling about, “Get off my lawn, you kids!” And I always wonder if the adults on Skins just hit a little too close to home for those guys. Or it’s something about how America isn’t ready for “porn” or “drugs” or, like, “the truth.” I don’t care about any of those last things, because don’t tell me my business, for starters. And “what America is/isn’t ready for” – this antiquated Puritan trickle-down effect – has ruined more great stories than I can even count.

But here’s a UK purist thing. It’s not a plea; it’s a thing. Let’s call it something. Let’s call it the Effylant in the room. The Effylant in the room is the reason my screeners went unwatched for the longest time. It’s the reason it took me four hours to get past the first three seconds of the adaptation. It’s this:

If you know UK Skins, you know those bare feet. It’s not ephemeral familiarity; you know those bare feet. The symbolism of them, the million miles they walked between silence and breakdown and incalculable loss. Right? Effy Stonem. Effy Motherf–king Stonem.

So I put my screeners in the DVD player, and even before Animal Collective made a play for my affection, I was greeted with these bare feet. Eura. I paused it. I got up. I walked back and forth between the kitchen and the living room. I ate a bowl of cereal. I walked past the TV again. I went upstairs. I came down with my laundry. I saw her some more. I tilted my head to the side like a dog. (Puppy supplication.) I dusted a little. I baked some cookies. I checked my email. I looked at Eura and I remembered Effy backwards: Freds’ shed; Panda’s serenade; wrapped up in the angel Katie Fitch; Pato; the rickshaw; the rock; the vase full of flowers smashing to the floor; f–king Cook, Freddie; “Go on, JJ, tell me something true”; Panda’s missionary position; “Oh.” And a hundred other things I cannot say because I don’t really know where Eura and Effy intersect and I don’t want to spoil the first American season.

What I mean is: This is me, happy.

I’m not going to talk about UK Skins in my US recaps. It’s not fair to anyone. But what I want to say is, I get it. You’re not going to find a more sympathetic soul when it comes to the power of story and the ugliness of American cultural imperialism. You’re just not. UK Skins is my favorite show ever. Ever. US Skins is a long-term commitment for me, and acknowledging it as such was the only way I convinced myself to unpause the DVD. I’m not in it for the echo; I’m in it for what it can become if the echo is allowed to reverberate. I’m in it for the new noise I heard with my own ears. I’m not going to be an apologist for US Skins. Hate it if you hate it; you won’t hear a peep from me.

I miss Effy. And Naomi and Emily and Katie and Panda. I miss Jal. Michelle. I miss Cassie. God, I miss Cassie. But the guys who breathed life into those characters are huffing and puffing again, on opposite sides of the pond. And one of the products is Skins USA. Prejudging reaction robs us of real experience. And so I’m in it.

Animal Collective. It’s a good start.

I don’t mean to seem like I

Care about material things,

Like a social status,

I just want

Four walls and adobe slats

For my girls

A remix of “Lina Magic” by 3D Friends is the US Skins theme song, and it was the Effylant in the room when I watched the pilot with a a good buddy of mine over the weekend. She dropped a catastrophic amount of F-bombs; I’m not even sure she heard the whole thing – but I kind of love it. It’s apt, at least, for the s–tstorm of bitching that has followed US Skins like some kind of Charlie Brown weather lore: “Did I waste too much time? Did you make up your mind?”

Heeeeeey, Tea.

A disheveled girl wanders alone on the streets of an “eastern seaboard American city.” Also known as “Toronto.” (It was originally Baltimore, I think; but you can’t have Baltimore without Baltimore.) She’s been out all night partying. Or those jack-offs at Westboro Baptist Church attacked her when they found out she was on a TV show with a lesbian character. Either way, she needs to get into her house without inciting the passions of her maniac father. She’s going to have to wait a minute, though, because her brother’s gotta hop out from under those spider covers (“surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space”) and get his early-morning Tai Chi/peep session on.

His name is Tony, which you’ll find out in exactly three seconds when he counts Eura down to the rocket launch that is their father. He flips on his stereo, amps it up to Ear-Bleedin’, and in 3-2-1, his dad is thundering into his room with steam coming out of his ears like a cartoon character. Like Yosemite Sam over here: “I’m tha’ hootinest, tootinest, shootinest bob-tailed wild cat in the west! I’m tha’ fastest gun west, east, south, aaaand north of Niagara Falls! *bang bang* TONY! TONY! TONY!”

Tony shrugs, like “What are ya gonna do?” And Eura sneaks up to her room. Because it’s a day, Tony decides to push his pops to Rage Level: Nuclear. He locks himself in the bathroom, and climbs out of the window to the kitchen to share a bowl of cereal with his sister, who has tidied up nicely for her school day. I’ll bet she didn’t do her homework, though. This show is so dangerous. Won’t anyone think of the trigonometry?

Pilot episodes are persnickety little bastards, especially when you’re talking about a ten-episode season. (Especially-especially when your entire marketing campaign has promised every MTV-watcher, subway rider, and Times Square passerby piles and piles of naked teenagers and pill-fueled riots.) You can’t dick around with exposition without pushing the narrative forward, and so how are you going to do that?

Call-waiting, of course.

Tony bounces and phones Stanley, first of all. Stanley fell asleep last night in a heap of junk food and porn, most notably a glossy mag called Wank. The first rule of branding? Be specific. Tony leaves a voicemail for Stanley – “Hey, it’s Stanley. I’m probably too bored to speak to you. Or I probably just hate you. So. Leave a message” – telling him to wake up so they can make some plans “concerning his little penis.” Sadly, it’s not as homoerotic as it sounds. It’s the age-old quest for the holy grail, wherein “grail” means “vagina.” (That’s a thing, you know. A literary motif. Men and their search for “chalices.” Makes me bananas.) (Probably could have gone with a less phallic metaphor there.)

Daisy’s up next. She’s barely got time for Tony’s s–t, especially when he asks her to just hop on over to Stanley’s, which is six blocks away. She’s also pretty convinced a hobo wouldn’t sleep with Stanley, so there’s that.

Then you’ve got Michelle. “Nips,” Tony calls her, like it’s the funniest joke in the world. And it’s kind of weirding me out because Cheese Nips are one of my all-time favorite snacks. Do y’all have those or is it a regional delicacy in the south? Also another brand is the Cheez-It. Anyway, Michelle doesn’t want to be called Nips – and I also don’t want her to be called Nips – but she is willing to help out Stanley.

Which is good, ’cause Chris is not willing to help out Stanley. He’s too busy boning some random girl in a tent in his bedroom.

Abbud isn’t willing to help out either – and by “help out” I mean “attend a party where his friend has sex for the first time” – because he promised he’d go to Tea’s Big Gay Lezorama Night: “It’s girl on girl. It’s like live porn, man. And then Chris says we can probably convert them. And then it will be like girl on girl on dudes!” Um, Abbud, you’re on the wrong channel. If you want that storyline, you’re gonna have to hop on over to The CW.

And Tea. She also doesn’t have any time for Stanley’s deflowering: First, because of cheerleading practice; second, because she’s planning to take Chris and Abbud on “a voyage of wonder and discovery.” I really wish she was talking about the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. I’m going to marry the girl who takes me on a voyage of wonder and discovery in Hogsmede. But she’s not. Tony asks her if she’s ever told her squad that she “worships at the coochie shrine,” and she demurs because of her well-rehearsed big finish.

Two things. Thing one: The sex euphemisms are are boggling my brain. “Worship at the coochie shrine.” “Flying solo down the labia love tunnel.” “Candy mountain’s calling.” “Present Mr. Happy with the keys to the Furry City.” I feel like I need some kind of urban hipster Babel fish in my ear for decoding purposes. Thing two: What time does school start in Eastern Seaboard American City? Tony’s alarm said 8:00 when he woke up, and he had time to punk his family and chat up: Michelle while she took a bubble bath; Daisy while she practiced her trumpet; Chris while he glamped; Abbud while he actually worshiped; and Tea while she got her Cheer Nips on.

When they finally get to school, their psychology teacher is in the throes of an anguished meltdown. Sounds like she let the P.E. teacher park his Chevy in her gara – no, I’m sorry; I can’t. She’s grieving, is what I’m trying to say say. Loudly and awesomely and unprofessionally. On the blackboard she’s written the stages of grief, and also “WHY?!?” Tina needs to get on Twitter. Or Facebook. Breakup boundaries are a dish best splattered all over social media.

Tea knows. She’s a lesbian. Been there, done that, already started an Eastern Seaboard American City hookup chart, a la Alice Pieszecki. (LIKE!).

The kids toss out some suggestions to console her: Tony thinks she shouldn’t date anymore phys ed teachers; Chris says he could pretend the coach touched him in the shower. Tina’s about to hop on board with that plan, but the bell rings and Chris is forced to redirect his chivalry.

Over at Nutbush, Tony is still trying to convince his friends to watch Stanley lose his virginity. Rather than pointing out the creepiness of his fixation, they explain for the one bazillionth time that they’re going to Big Gay Night out. Tea says, “If you can get that kid’s cherry popped, I’ll accidentally lose control of my breasts during next week’s halftime show.” (And all AfterEllen readers under the age of 20 just bought tickets to next week’s halftime show.)

Stanley thinks Tony is going to give Michelle to him like some sort of chattel situation, but they tell him Cadie’s agreed to do the job. All he has to do is: keep her away from knives, score an ounce of weed, and not let her get hungry. You know, ’cause nothing satiates you like a spliff. Michelle and Tony paw at each other, and wave Stanley off to go find Cadie …

… who has her hands on some knives. There’s something fascinating about the way the camera already loves Britne Oldford. None of these kids had ever really acted before the pilot – they’re actual teenage-aged teenagers – so you never know what their relationship is going to be like with the screen. Not really. But Britne is lovely. (Cassie comparisons pocketed.) Cadie tells Stanley she only likes really nice narcotics, and if you start drinking every time Stanley makes the kind of decision that only a horny, teenage boy would make, you’re gonna be feeling real good in a few minutes. To wit:

Cadie’s first order of business with the knives was to carve some anatomically correct, penis-shaped veggies. Stanley’s cool with that. [DRINK!] She may or may not be killing a rabbit off-screen in a second. Stanley is cool with thatl, too. [DRINK!] He follows Tony’s instructions to Mad Mao Le Dong’s house [DRINK!] where he purchases weed [DRINK!] on credit [DRINK!] from a guy who grabs his balls [DRINK] in such a way that it sounds like someone cracking their knuckles while they split open some pecans. [DRINK!]

Over at the Edith Damp Collegiate for Young Ladies, Tony is auditioning for the choir with that erotic Cole Poter classic “Let’s Do It (Let’s Fall In Love).” And it’s like pollen in springtime up in there, Rachel Berrys just blooming all over the place. Want to know a fun fact about this one? When Paris opened in Atlantic City in ’28, this song wasn’t even a thing. It was “Let’s Misbehave,” but Porter replaced it pretty swiftly with “Let’s Do It” because, according to his biography, “there was infinitely more humor in a provocatively insinuating proposal than a direct proposition.” American show; British sentiment: One of the best showtunes ever. How about that?

After the rehearsal, Tabitha from Edith Damp Collegiate crawls all over Tony about coming to her house for a party. He thinks it’s a perfect place to dump Stanley’s weed, but when he gets back to school, all his mates are in the bathroom smoking up. Some college kids rolled through Eastern Seaboard American City and everyone’s all set. They discuss Stanley’s sex situation some more, and Tony gets frantic for the first time all day, calling Stanley and bellowing at him not to buy the weed.

Guess what? Stanley didn’t get the voicemails. Also, he didn’t buy an ounce of weed. He bought four ounces of weed. Also, he didn’t buy it. He borrowed it. (Are you still drinking? You should be well and truly blinkered by now if you’re still drinking.) Cadie’s munching on some cheese puffs, and it’s a cute touch. I dig the cheese puffs. (Maybe you should eat some cheese puffs if you’re drinking as much as I’m telling you to.) (Probably the Parents Television Council is going to try to shut down my recaps next week.)

At her party, Tabitha introduces her friends thus: “Tony, meet Shannon, Zeek, Zach, Chad, Summer, Shannon, Summer, Chad, Brad, Randy, Candy, Brandy, Sandy, Mandy, Summer, Zach and Chad.” I don’t know who this actress is, but she’s masterful. The party is already better than Gossip Girl and no one has even gotten murdered or framed for murder or returned from the dead or had a parent return from the dead, and not one single social-climber has shown up as a doppelganger trying to impersonate Serena van der Woodsen. Tabitha’s friends aren’t feeling the weed. I mean, look at the ragamuffins trying to sell it to them. For all they know, it could be laced with poverty.

Tony and Michelle get their grind on, much to the chagrin of Stanley, much to the chagrin of Cadie. She pops a pill in a flash cut and wanders out into the snow. Stanley follows her, almost on accident.

Abbud was none too pleased with Tea’s Lezzorama: The girls were all into other girls. None of them wanted to be converted, or put on a show for him. It’s like Katy Perry never even happened. “Maybe they got real lesbians here,” he suggests hopefully. “Real rich lesbians,” Tea says, equally as hopefully.

Outside, Cadie bounces on the trampoline in the snow to the tune of Blood Orange‘s “Sutphin Boulevard,” which is my favorite song in the whole episode. It’s almost ethereal. She calls Stanley up on the trampoline. They bounce, they fall, they kiss, and she tells him he’s in love with Michelle. She says she’s willing to shag him anyway, but he’ll have to make it quick because she took “a busload of pills.”

Inside, Chris starts a bourgeoisie/proletariat scuffle when he takes off his pants. (Oh, naked Marxism.) He reaches for Tabitha, so Tabitha’s croquet-playing boyfriend reaches for him, so Tea just reaches over and blanks the dude. And it’s on: Tea’s got the crazy eyes.

The most hilarious line of the episode is Tabitha screaming at Tony “too urban! too urban!” while his friends beat the hell out of her friends.

Stanley hauls in Cadie and everyone makes a break for it. An actual, literal break. Chris has gone Robin Hood and stolen the keys to an Escalade. There’s a whole lot of hullabaloo on the way to the hospital, which turns out to be totally unnecessary when Cadie wakes up in the ER parking lot asking to take a whiz.

They drive her to Eastern Seaboard American City Lake and decide to light up while they wait for her to take the longest pee ever. There’s a scuffle over skins, and then the car is in neutral and Tony’s foot is off the break and the stolen Cadillac is careening into the water.

And then every American Skins character dies.

Just kidding. They bob up out of the water, one-by-one, and did you hear Tea laugh? Let me tell you how many times Tea laughs in this episode: Four. Listen to it. Once you notice it, you’ll never be able to unhear it, and you’re welcome. It’s only the most endearing thing on MTV.

Stanley wakes up in Tony’s bed, still a virigin. Tony says it’s embarassing. Stanley agrees.

There’s a thing you have to do as a writer to discover the depth of your characters’ love. You have to wrap them up in each other and nearly drown them. Or blow them up. Or set them on fire. Or force them to face down something bigger and stronger and scarier than themselves, together. There are some things you can’t share without ending up liking one another, JK Rowling told us, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them. So is driving a stolen car into a river – and living to face down a dealer after you absconded with his drugs.

Welcome to Eastern Seaboard American City.

The main sentiment of tonight’s #BigGayNightOut was outrage about the bleeping of the f–ks. I wanted to include all of those Tweets here – except I’d have to bleep it out, too. F–king guidelines and f–king content filters!

Next week:

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