Smallville: Blue

By TrinityVixen
Wow, Zor-El is kind of a toad-one of those ones that looks like an especially moist turd, not the fun kind that get you high if you lick them. There’s nothing about him that doesn’t make me want to scrub out all my senses with bleach. Funnily enough, I almost feel the same way about the Editor-in-Skeeve. And, of course, this episode is all about them. Joy.

No super sex, though, so it’s already looking better than last week. Clark has no time to bone his morally compromised girlfriend because he is too busy hearing his mother’s voice coming from Kara’s-now-his crystal, crying for help. Um, Freud called from Bill and Ted’s phone booth; he’s got time to squeeze you in after the presentation in San Dimas. Whenever you’re ready, Clark. No guy who theorizes every man wants to penetrate his mother is going to turn you away for being an alien. Or, you know, liking ABBA really a lot.

Clark succumbs to temptation and his desperate need to know his mother better (ew) and plunges his phallic blue crystal (it matches his testicles at this point, and ew some more) into the fortress’ data panel. (No, really: ew; he wants to penetrate Jor-El, too? Why is that less surprising somehow?) A zap of light later and Lara stands looking like the hottest temple priestess for light years in every direction. She doesn’t remember how she got there and Clark doesn’t volunteer the information. Instead, he takes his mother to where Kara is sure to meet her and explain when she figures out who’s been playing hide the crystal with her. The incest tilt-a-whirl never stops spinning in Kansas, be you human or alien. Just wait until Zor-El shows up.

Yes, Clark’s need for some mommying has let loose a replication of Zor-El, who tricks the reconstructed Lara into putting a power-nullifying blue kryptonite ring onto her son. De-powered, Clark cannot stop Zor-El from his nefarious plans to, er…To be honest, I can’t say how turning the yellow sun off or a different color benefits the Kryptonians or gives them any Darwinian edge over the pitiful humans. No yellow sun, no powers. If Bizarro is lurking anywhere, he wins. In the mean time, Zor-El is perfectly comfortable promising Lara legions of inbred descendents. How sweet; human males don’t have the good manners to keep their penchant for promiscuity in the family like that.

Clark is noticeably not a part of the “repopulate Earth with Kryptonians” plan. Lara decides to get some stabbing on to stop Zor-El and protect her son, but Kara takes the swing in the end to make up for betraying Clark to Zor-El. Kara swings like a girl, and Clark ports to the fortress through the entrance in the Smallville caves to show her how its done. He must destroy the crystal to kill Zor-El permanently, which means Krypto-Mom goes with him. Kara, struggling to contain Zor-El while Clark opts for the dramatically satisfying but inefficacious slow-mo crystal-shattering pose, is caught in the blast and winds up amnesiac in Detroit.

Bingo! Pardon me. That’s not a non-sequitur, I can explain. You see, after season six, I decided to invest in Soap Opera Bingo Cards, and I’ve just now finished the season seven Big-I-N-G-O with the “amnesia” plot device. Only took eight episodes! I’m a little pissed that the “family member returns from the dead” square got double-punched this episode. I needed it last week, damn it.

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The double-punch would be from Lara and Zor-El and Julian Luthor. Way back when anyone cared, Lex was horribly scarred by the loss of his baby brother. How baby Julian died is both irrelevant and ret-conned three ways from Sunday. Mrs. Luthor killed him in a fit of depression. No, wait, it was to keep him from Lionel. To protect him from sibling rivalry? Who knows. This season, we’re told that Julian never died and Daddy Luthor put him up for adoption for reasons unknown. What matters is that, during one of his many, many, many tantrums spent raging against Daddy’s authority and swearing revenge, Lex has tracked down the brother whose loss so badly injured his little bird’s soul.

What I find most ridiculous of all about this familiar retread of clichés: Daddy Luthor has no idea that Lex knows about Julian or that Julian is, in fact, the Editor-in-Skeeve at The Daily Planet. As if Mac-Daddy Lionel wouldn’t have implanted this kid with a tracer just to have an eye on him at all times. Not much gets by Lionel on a bad day; something tells me he’d be a little more than paranoid about his wayward, abandoned son showing up someday and suing him for neglect. Everyone wants a slice of the Luthor pie, and the pie-maker (no, not the adorable guy on Pushing Daisies) tends to keep that wooden spoon handy to smack hands away.

So Lex’s puppet editor is also his brother, whom he likes to keep on a short leash by really obviously bugging his every move with tracking and recording devices that I swear I’ve seen on reruns of the original Mission Impossible series. Julian balks at this and at hiding in general; Lex only cedes the point on bugging but holds the line on keeping Julian to himself, insisting that Daddy Luthor would probably try to kill Julian if he knew where he was (I call shenanigans). I do enjoy the family dynamic in one respect: Lex tries to save Julian a few trips to the crotch doctor by warning him off Lois. Supposedly, it’s in their best interests not to have someone so nosy sniffing around his secret. Lois couldn’t catch the scent of manure standing atop a dung pile, so we know that’s not what this is about. Still, I can sympathize with Lex’s feelings on the matter. I wouldn’t want my little baby sibling catching cold sores from Lois either. Life is not This is Spinal Tap, and that sort of thing is not actually funny.

Julian and Lois each attempt, at the same time, to break up with the other-Julian because of Lex, Lois because of the scandal and Chloe’s righteous scolding-and fail miserably. Their break-up speeches are hilariously metaphorical; both sound as if they’re introducing themselves to a Dating Anonymous crowd. “Hi, my name is Grant (not really), and I’m a commitment-phobe.” “Hi, I’m Lois and I have a real hard time meeting guys.” And, just like people at real addiction meetings, they’re both totally lying. Julian glommed onto Lois before even meeting her; somewhere in his locker, he’s got a binder with hearts and I <3 Lois drawn over and over again in different sparkly gel pen colors. Lois falls for any guy who buys her a drink. She also has some deadly Poison Ivy-esque pheromone that attracts superheroes to her despite the fact that she never does actually put out. I can understand not circulating into general knowledge the fact that she gave Aquaman a hummer, but I am wounded on Oliver Queen’s behalf that she doesn’t think anything at all about netting herself a billionaire.

However, things are looking up in that respect. Whilst hiding Lara from Zor-El, Clark, rather confidently, deposited her in Lana’s care at Oliver’s old loft. It’s looking a little empty these days but by no means entirely out of use. I try to avoid spoilers in my reviews, so I won’t be able to say if this is leading in the direction I and every hot-blooded female (and her gay boyfriends) would like it to. Oliver and the JLA’s departure left last season in an inescapable mire of suck, and while the start to this season hasn’t been quite that bad (hey, Dean Cain week is still celebrated in my house), it still can’t afford not to take what it can still get.

No previews for next week as Thanksgiving demands the television be given over to football. After that, who knows? I’ve got confirmation on episodes through thirteen and nothing more while the writers’ strike is still going. Instead of reviews maybe I’ll start composing haikus about the various ways the show could be made better even if Oliver Queen didn’t ever return. I’m inspired!

Lana dies every show
Vote for your favorite death
We’ll make it happen.

Lara and Mama Kent
make-out sessions for an hour
just for the male fans.

James Marsters returns.
Evil rightfully takes over Earth.
All hail Brainiac!

I should stop because it makes me sad. Because I know it won’t ever happen.

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About TrinityVixen: There’s an asterisk on TrinityVixen’scollege transcript that assures anyone who reads it that, though there is no specific major, degree, or certificate for it, she did, in fact, complete some kind of creative writing program as an undergrad. Armed with that symbol of irrelevant experience, she has polluted the internet with her opinions and horrible fanworks ever since (and for quite a long while before). Living poor in New York until she finds a means to become independently wealthy, she must subsist on the juicy meat of fandom. Fandom and noodles. And instant soup.

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