Supernatural: Simon Said
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by Sylvia Bond
A Supernatural Episode Review, Season Two - Episode 5
“Simon Said”
In all my wit and wisdom, I recall when this series first started not caring very much for Dean because he seemed to have a chip on his shoulder. He had weird taste in music. He was a throwback from a 50’s B movie about boys in street gangs in Brooklyn somewhere, where the boys come to bad ends but it was so exciting to watch back in the day because they wore their pants a little too tight. His whole persona seemed rather dark and not a whole lot of fun, and I just wasn’t in the mood for his hard jaw line, his buzz haircut, nor the fact that he appeared too beautiful to be real. He came across as one of those boys who thinks he’s so badass and has so much attitude that you just don’t want any truck with them.
But in watching this episode I am struck anew by how much my opinion of Dean has changed 180 degrees for the better. This usually happens long about the scene where they’re on stakeout watching Andy (ala Starsky and Hutch) and Sam is ruffling through papers like he does, and Dean is chowing down on fast food. (Which I guess makes Dean the Starsky in this scenario, since he’s eating and it’s his car. That would make Sam the Hutch here, which makes a lot of sense, since he tends to be grumpy a lot and is very smart.) As Dean masticates away, I can see he’s not enjoying it very much; at this point, it’s just food for energy and not for pleasure. He even says it, “Just once I’d like to eat something that I didn’t have to microwave at a mini mart.”
Knowing Dean as I do now, I nod and think of him enjoying a BLT made by loving hands, and how the street punk persona he wears like a blanket is just that, a cover for an ancient heart that hasn’t quite learned how to show just how much feeling is in there. And how his jokes stand in for real empathy. How much he loves his car and his brother. All these things (and more) that I now know about Dean suddenly stand up in direct opposition of my original opinion of him. Dean, you see, comes across like he does but only to those who don’t know him. It’s his shield, his barrier, and he doesn’t let anyone in, except for Sammy. At which point I was able to see how cleverly the writers had set me up to fail, but in the most delicious of ways. Well, thank goodness I’m flexible and can change. Otherwise, I would have missed out on the Deanishness of it all.
Sam as well, goes through changes, though it’s not the obvious one that you’re thinking of, where he meets another psychic kid, learns more about the YED, and realizes that there is a possibility that everything won’t come to a bad end. Yes, he does that, but no, I’m talking about his hair. Long in love with his Samhair of Season One, I realize that my beloved boy is undergoing a transition, and this episode gives strong evidence of that. As the ep opens, you can see his hair hanging softly in his face, dark, velvety strands sweeping around his sweet brow and in his jade-green eyes. Then, about halfway through, his hair starts parting in the middle like the Bible Dude’s hair and the Red Sea. You can see his forehead, all of a sudden, and it’s not that the view is bad, gracious; the word noble doesn’t even begin to describe the forehead this gentleman has.
But it points to the shape of things to come because in this ep, Sam starts giving orders to Dean, and not only that, but the orders are followed. For example, when following Andy, Sam tells Dean to “go,” and Dean goes. Then, when confronting Andy, Sam tells Dean to “stay,” and Dean stays with nary a murmur. It’s rather like a dangerous game of Red Light, Green Light, and Sam’s always at the front, being It. I’m not sure, however, whether Sam’s hair causes the change (and it is, after all, pretty powerful hair), or whether it’s reflective of the change.
My sensibilities tell me it’s the latter, of course. And either the Makeup People got tired of the bangs (or Padalecki did), or Makeup was told to make Sam look older and more powerful and mature, but gradually. Bring the Samhair fans along slooooowly, so fangirls have no idea what’s going on and won’t have time to write many mad letters of protest. Well, the bangs have been gone long ere this and it don’t look like they’re ever coming back. Rather like 10-cent candy bars, roller skate keys, and shouts of olly, olly, oxen free as the streetlights came on.
This episode also takes us back to the Roadhouse for several fun visits, all in the name of solving the case and figuring out what the MOW is. There we get to meet up with our old pals, Ellen, Jo, and Ash. I have a love/hate relationship with this particular establishment and the people who inhabit it for various reasons, one of which, interestingly enough, has to do with the fact that Dean doesn’t seem to like going there. Which seems rather strange, because the blue-collar nature of the place would, you think, scream out to Dean as being in keeping with his comfort zone, a safe place. A refuge. But no, he drinks there under protest, and only because Sam wants to be there.
As for me, when I watch this ep I wonder what the hell Ash is around for. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’d still like Ash to take me out to a nice, rowdy place and have a few beers and a laugh. I love it that he’s so smart, and likes to hang out in his room naked doing who-knows-what recreational drug and messing with psychedelic lights. (I also love it that Sam’s knock on Ash’s door sounds so high-pitched and that Dean’s knock, the one that gets Ash to actually answer the door, is very low-pitched and authoritative. Cracks me up for some reason.) But Ash basically does research for Sam that Sam could do for himself, and that rather seems like a duplication of effort, to my mind.
Consider it for a moment. Sam has the name of the bus line, as well as some other details, and could easily have figured out which city the vision took place in. The other part of Ash’s research, the one that involves non-parametric cross-references (or whatever the hell), also could have been done by Sam. On a laptop. In a hotel room somewhere. Preferably with the rain pouring outside the windows, and Dean lolling in the other bed, contemplating the last slice of pizza while watching an episode of Ghost Hunters. Doesn’t that sound a whole lot more fun? Sam certainly seems to think so; for all he’s going along with it, his expression tells me that he’s itching to get at the computer himself, and would rather not have to hang around with his thumb up his you-know-where waiting for some guy with a mullet to have all the fun.
I do like that Ash is willing to do the drink for a mere 12 ounces of blue-collar beer, because watching Ash be smart and sassy has its rewards. As does watching Jo being her own inimitable self. That she can scalp the pants off of any man that comes through that door on the Ten Point Buck arcade game is fine, even if she wears her very tight pants halfway down her hips. She’s a secondary female character and Show has a little problem imagining that ALL young women dress that way, but I’m used to that. That she’s got the hots for Dean, well, who can blame her for that.
What I don’t get is what is she doing here? It’s obvious that Sam can’t stand her, and that Dean, while polite to her, just isn’t interested. And it’s not because he’s afraid of Ellen, although the scene where he professes that he is is just plain CUTE. But Jo, (oh, yes, her), seems a little like dead weight, and I’m sure the character feels it too. She desperately wants to be allowed to play with the boys, but their game is Keepaway, and Jo never gets to join in. So, she marches around, tries to flirt, tosses her golden locks, and seems a little lost without a significant purpose to make her presence understandable.
The Roadhouse also seems a little lost, as well, if a building can be said to have feelings. I do get that the building has a spirit of place in that the Roadhouse looks old enough and weathered enough that you get the idea that the walls have seen a thing or two, that the floor has soaked up enough spit and blood to tell you the passage of time. There is a lot of potential here which could have been utilized if Show had decided to present more of the back-story between Bill Harvelle and John Winchester, between Ellen and John, or even the reasons why the boys never found out about the place till after The Dad passed away. Like my English professor (”Dr. Death,” we called him, on account of death was his favorite subject) always liked to say, “There’s a story there,” and I for one would have liked to have seen that story.
Instead, Show makes the Roadhouse a mere crossroads, a place where Dean and Sam come to get information that they easily could have gotten on their own. This time out, when the boys arrive, we are presented with two gentlemen who look ready for some deer hunting, but who could be, if they weren’t wearing such gaudily checked hats and jackets, hunters like our boys. That Dean stalks past, giving them the evil eye, is enough to tell me they are likely the latter, though it does surprise me that they’re dressed more like hicks on their first trip into the woods than serious dudes going after evil things and saving people. (If one presumes, as I’d like to, that that’s what all hunters do.) I’m sure the men are meant to show us that there are hunters abounding that we’ve not even met, and that that’s supposed to provide a sense of the breadth and depth of the hunter universe. All it does is show me two guys in goofy deer hunting hats in shades that are far too bright for any woodland glade you’d care to name. I shake my head; the Roadhouse lets me down each and ever time.
Dean Winchester should never have to drink alone, but I like it that he does during the first scene where the boys visit the Roadhouse. He’s there at the bar while Sam researches and sucks back a beer while his broad shoulders cut a very nice line against the darkness behind him. He seems content to be alone here, probably because Sam is safe and nearby. He probably would ruther have been content to be there for a good long while, but Jo comes by to pester him. Jo should just have left him alone for fangirls to gaze upon in wide-eyed wonder; but when she enters the frame with her sad strains of REO Speedwagon, it rather spoils the artful moment. Although I DO quite enjoy Dean singing bits of the song later, while he and Sam drive off. (Ackles always pulls this off very well; only a good singer could make something like this believable.)
Dean’s even more beautiful during the second time he sits at the bar, this time with Sam, sucking a beer back as Ellen starts asking questions about Ash’s research. (He’s beautiful in the way that all bad boys are beautiful; with their leather jackets, their scruffy, manly jaws, and dark eyes that have seen the world and could teach you a lot, should they get you alone in a back room sometime.) Ellen, as I’ve said (and as many others have said) is a powerful character who does not, for some reason, fall prey to the boys’ charming smiles and wily ways. She’s immune to dimples and wild hair (Sam) and to cocky, knowing grins and crystal-green eyes (Dean). She’s been inoculated against Winchesteritis long ere this (thanks to The Dad), and simply wants to know what’s up.
Dean doesn’t want to tell her and goes as far as to say it’s none of her business. She snaps back that he better watch his tongue, boy, and watch Dean’s face: he’s not sure whether or not to be pissed, or whether it would be appropriate to be mouthy to someone who is The Dad’s peer (i.e., a grownup), and whether or not she’s got the right to talk to him like that. Since Sam’s in charge this ep, Dean demurs to little brother, who takes the responsibility upon his shoulders with nary a twitch. And then Sam stars talking and he does that thing he does with his eyebrows here. It’s hard for me to explain. They kind of slant together in the middle, looking rather demonic and dangerous and whenever I see them looking this way, I go, uh, uh, devil! Devil! Can you see it? DEVIL! Maybe it’s just me.
Outside of the Roadhouse, we are introduced to Andy this week, and he appears as a potential MOW, until it is shown that he is not a monster. Instead, we all get to discover that he has an evil twin in every classic definition of the phrase. The evil twin is played by a guy who looks a lot like Frodo Baggins, with the same foxlike features and pale blue eyes. But this Frodo is rather more like a twisted mirror version of the Hobbit that everyone loves, in that he forces people to do mean things. I like to refer to him as Bizzaro Frodo, which amuses me more than it possibly should, given the nature of the beast. He gets everyone in Andy’s life to kill themselves and not by taking too many aspirin either. No, he does it in painful ways in that he makes one of them walk in front of a bus, and the other one, who turns out to be his real mother, he makes her douse herself in gasoline and then light up with a cigarette burner. It’s not a pretty sight, and you have to wonder at a guy who thinks that’s the way to bring himself and his brother together.
Anyway, Andy himself is a charmer of the first water. He lives in a classic 70’s van with the painting of a woman riding a polar bear on the side. Since he found his powers about a year ago, he’s lived off the fat of the land, taking what he needs from others and making them feel pretty good about it. I love the fact that he can read Kant and smoke a bong, probably at the same time, and yet still grasps the implications of all that’s wrong with having an evil twin. At the same time, he’s got the softest brown eyes and the gentlest voice; he’s a cute puppy in a pen full of wolves. Most of all, I adore him because he understands the difference between having everything you want and having everything you need. For all that he could grab the brass ring and dominate the landscape, he lives simply, and is happy to drink from a stolen coffee or blow a kiss to the girl du jour.
Watching Andy use his mind powers to “Obi Wan” Dean into giving up his beloved Impala is also fun, not just because Andy is so cheerful and gentle about it, but also because Dean has no idea until moments later what has just happened to him. Later when he gets his car back (in perfect condition with not a scratch on her), he’s practically salivating with gratitude and recognizes that Andy meant no ill will. It’s interesting to watch that Dean, not usually the empathic one, is the first one to suss out that Andy is not a stone cold killer. He’s going by gut instinct which is later proven to be right. (Plus, Andy and Dean come across being very much simpatico; Andy can quote movie lines and smokes dope and has a cherry ride, all of which are all things that Dean values.) Sam on the other hand, is going strictly on the facts, what they can see and measure and read. That the boys are at opposite ends of the spectrum, as they so often are, doesn’t keep them from coming to an agreement in the middle.
One of my favorite scenes is just about 30 seconds long. It comes at the end of a very funny bit, where Andy is making Dean tell the truth. Now, Dean is such an expert at dissembling that I’m amazed at the stuff he has to say. Then again, I’m not, because I know the Winchester’s history, I just never knew how Dean felt. Here, he gives it up that he’s rather freaked by the whole psychic thing Sam’s got going on, no matter how many jokes he cracks about it. Plus, it’s fun to watch Dean babble away, like he’s jacked up on caffeine or something and can’t possibly slow down. (In fact he reminds me of the drive-through guy at our local coffee place; the last time I went through there, he stuck his head out the window, looking perfectly ridiculous in that paper hat, and repeated my order back to me so fast, I thought his head was going to pop off.) Sam’s remonstrations to Dean to “Shut UP!” are hysterical and completely useless; his expressions of astonishment and his attempts to lie his way out of this particular pickle are funny as hell because he’s completely lost control of the whole situation. (I’ll say it as many times as it needs saying: Padalecki has missed his calling, and there is many a comedy movie that awaits his attention.)
At any rate, after it comes to pass that Andy’s mind games give Dean-o a brain seizure, out comes Sam from the car like he was shot out from a cannon, and he goes after Andy. And when I say, goes, I mean GOES. It’s a lovely scene. Andy looks to be about five foot something inches, you know, not tall. What must make it worse for him is that Sam comes at him with those shoulders thrown back and those eyes glinting with fury, his hair parted in the middle like he means business - if I’d have been Andy, I would have been backing away like crazy too, even if Sam looks a trifle sad at having to tear another human being apart. Because you just know that if he catches Andy (and he will), it’ll be three quick snaps to Andy’s jaw with Sam’s fist, pop, Pop, POP, and Andy will be out cold on the pavement for hurting Sam’s Dean. I’ve often said that Sam is the one I’d least like to meet in a dark alley because for all he’s so sweet and empathic and drinks his coffee with cream and sugar AND flavors, he’s the dangerous one. I like a scene that demonstrates this, and wish this bit had been longer than 30 seconds.
Later, in the end game scene, there is the classically biblical tussle in the street between Andy and his evil twin Bizzaro Frodo. That they’re wrestling over a girl and who gets to play Mother and be in charge, isn’t as important as the fact that they are wrestling. They clench at each other in a way that resembles those ever-so colorful pictures in children’s bible stories. The one I’m thinking of is the one where Jacob wrestles with the angel; I’m sure many have seen this one, with two men dressed in colorful ankle length robes of colors that were surely in fashion back in those days, like pink and lemon yellow, with a brilliant blue sky beyond, dotted with pretty puffy clouds.
But this battle is no fun. I mean, it’s not fun for the boys, though it’s fun for me. Sam gets smashed on the back of the neck or something and down he goes like felled timber. Dean, on the other hand, has snuck up into the hills to train his riflescope on Bizzaro Frodo. The image of him looking through that scope always gets me, because I’m thinking I’ve never seen him use one before, nor seen it in the back of the Impala, and frankly have never seen it again to this day. No matter, he looks like a sexy assassin (if assassins can be said to be sexy, which, given the likes of James Bond et al, we can safely say, yes, they can. Yes, they can.) But Bizzaro Frodo puts the whammy on Dean and makes him put the rifle to his own throat.
I have a fondness for this little tidbit of a scene, for reasons that defy explanation. Bizzaro Frodo has mind control abilities five times that of his brother’s and he’s not afraid to use it. But why would I want to watch Dean trying to off himself? I’m sure that I’m not the only fangirl to feel this way; when I asked around about why and how people liked this scene, the answers I got were guttural grunts and responses of “Mmmm, I dunno, I just like it.” But he’s such a strong character, such a force to be reckoned with, that watching him tilt his head obediently back and stretch his neck so that he can fit the nuzzle of the rifle beneath the tender point of his chin, well, it’s the ultimate gesture of complete submission. He’s vulnerable. The contrast of THAT and Dean’s normal demeanor is like an erotic shock to my system. You can’t have too many scenes like that and go to work in the morning in one piece, I can tell you.
And, last but not least, let’s talk about Sam’s visions. They were introduced some time back, and while Sam used to have them as nightmares, now he’s having them when he’s awake. In this ep, we get three of Sam’s visions: one in a grotty bathroom, one in a parking lot of sorts, and one while driving around in the Impala at night. In the rain. All three visions look like they come at him like a freight train with no brakes and no engineer.
Frankly, Sam Winchester should not have to wash up in a filthy restroom such as he does in this ep, but I am particularly fond of the restroom scene for that very reason. If I may be allowed to use the word “gritty” one more time and add the word “grotty” to the mix, plus a few other choice words to describe said restroom: disgusting, skuzzy, and just plain gross. But real, you know? Real in a way that tells me that whoever found this particular restroom has been through enough backcountry and who knows how run down so many gas stations are. And if it’s a set and not a real restroom? Then my hat’s off to the Set Decorator Team for making me believe they’d been along enough blue highways and byways to know what it’s really like out there.
There are many restrooms like this one across the country, and to be fair (which I must, being me) over half of them are like this, with rust-coated sinks, graffiti marking cinder-block walls, and doors that don’t quite lock. Either that, or Sam just doesn’t lock the door, which leads me to my second favorite bit about this scene and that is Dean, marching in, opening the door with much aplomb, and telling Sammy to “zip it up,” and “let’s hit the road.”
Okay, so, Dean’s obviously never heard of a person’s privacy or personal modesty, at the very least there seems to be very little of either between him and Sam. Dean charges in there like he’s got the perfect right to interrupt Sam taking a leak. That he finds Sam washing up after and having a violent vision, and Sam’s lack of protest at any of it, is telling. These brothers walk in on each other all the time and I like that about them. But it makes sense; after so many, many years on the road, and considering how many dangers lurk all around, a closed door is so mild a signal that I’m not surprised it doesn’t really mean “keep out” to a Winchester boy.
The second vision, in the parking lot, is particularly fun for me because it involves brotherly clutching. Sam starts wincing and writhing, and even though Dean’s supposed to stay back (and away from Andy) up he comes, trying to catch Sam as he crumples to the ground. Catching a redwood tree as it topples is no mean feat, but Dean manages it, with tender (but strong) arms around his brother because looking after Sam is his Job, and Dean means to do it to the best of his ability.
The last of the visions comes during the car right at night. I envy Andy in this scene as Dean drives along; I like to imagine what must it be like to be able to hang out in the back seat of the Impala like that. Or to lean forward over the back seat like that, close enough to see the lights on the dash and know exactly how FAST Dean is going. To dither away like you’re one of the gang, and have that exciting feeling that maybe you’ve found some new, cool friends to play with. Well, the fun doesn’t last long and as the vision is upon Sam, Dean stops the car so fast it’s a wonder all of them didn’t go through the windshield. Plus, he sprints around that car like he’s in some psycho version of car musical chairs. It’s also very sweet to watch how Sam turns to Dean immediately, for comfort and for something to hold onto. Someone who understands. For Sam, Dean is the ultimate home base.
In keeping with the title of this episode (ostensibly the name of a horror flick but also the name of a childhood game), I thought it interesting that the ep ended with a conversation between Sam and Dean that invokes a certain childhood rite. Sam tries to get Dean to admit that he’s scared too about the whole psychic thing. Dean says no, it doesn’t count, and he’s calling do-overs, and Sam wants to know if he’s seven years old or what. I rather like it that Dean uses a child’s street culture to invoke a rule that allows him to feel that he can control space and time. If he can call do-overs, then he can relive the moment where Andy made him tell the truth and this time NOT tell the truth. Thataway, Sam will never find out how freaked Dean is about the whole thing. It’s important to Dean, obviously, that his little brother is confident that the older brother is strong and in charge, even though, long about this time, I’m well convinced that this is not always so.
Overall, I loved this episode dearly, for in spite of the horrors and blood it portrays the trust and connection between the two brothers. This episode is as solidly classic as the car Dean drives, as the highways of America that they travel on, and the sense of belonging that the boys give to each other. You can never be stigmatized for being “out” if your home base is right next to you on the bench seat of a ‘67 Impala.
Sylvia Bond is a ten-year technical writing veteran with too many degrees under her belt to count. She lives in Colorado, but does not ski, preferring instead to spend her money and time at the annual Great American Beer Festival, taking road trips across the United States, and reading historical fiction from the comfort of her fluffy green arm chair. She has been involved in fandom since 1993 and been writing fanfic since approximately 1993. What she finds most amazing about fandom (besides the open heartedness of fans and the sheer amount of creativity) is how visible fandom has become. “In my day,” she says, “we had to hide behind P.O. boxes to get fanfic. But nowadays, people wear t-shirts that shout their affiliation and share their shiny toys on the internet.” It’s a wonderful world.
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