“You’ve been in my chambers enough for one visit, Sir.” - Janeway

How He Move
by
Sylvia Bond
Supernatural Episode Review – Season 2, Episode 11
“Playthings”

The MOW is the ghost of a little girl, and if you’ve not seen the ep yet and you think I’ve spoiled it for you, believe me, I have not. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together could figure out that the little girl Tyler is hanging around with, Maggie (or Mags, as I affectingly call her), is a ghost child, haunting the Pierpont Hotel looking for someone to play with. Like, forever. She’s a classic ghost, rather pale with long blond locks that cascade down her back in a fetching way; she’s so normal that she looks real. What’s more Tyler interacts with her as if she is real, and away we go.

Hopefully you’ve seen this ep before I’ve reviewed it for you because it’s heaps and heaps of fun to watch it a second time and see how cleverly Show disguised the evidence of ghostliness. Not that it’s as scary and startling as, say, The Sixth Sense, but for TV it was rather good. Especially for me, because I was lucky that my sister wasn’t there watching with me that first time, because she’s apt to poke my ribs with her pointy elbow and cackle with glee three seconds after any ep starts, having it all figured out. Then, with no kindness whatsoever, she’ll spell it out for me, ruining my suspension of disbelief. So I got lucky because I didn’t know till near the very end, when the mother explains to the boys that Mags is Tyler’s invisible friend. That while invisible, can push people down the stairs, hang them up by the ceiling fan, and drive a car. But whatever.

The plot centers around the little ghost killing people who are aiding and abetting in the sale and purchase of this hotel, and it’s creepy from the start. There’s weird music, and dolls and doors that move by themselves, and right away, as a sort of gruesome centerpiece, there’s a dead guy at the bottom of the stairs. He’s fallen and he can’t get up, and not only is his head turned ALL the way around and is soaking in a pool of his own blood, his mouth is STILL moving, like he’s calling for help but can’t because his windpipe’s crushed. Yeah, Show likes to be as gross as it can get away with, considering it’s TV for the masses. If this were Showtime, we’d have gotten a glimpse of spine or perhaps some vital viscera like a spleen or a duodenum. (Speaking of which, a lot of fangirls like the idea of Show moving to Showtime, on account of we’d get more of exactly what we want, but don’t make me spell it out for you okay? Otherwise, this review would move from PG-and-safe-to-read-at-work to the naughtier realm of wrapped-in-brown-paper-to-be-read-in-a-closet variety.)

Back to the important stuff, and that is the obligatory dither scene at the motel (of which I love practically more than my own mother) where Sam goes all emo about not finding Ava, and Dean brings coffee with a medicinal air. (Sam is briefly on the phone to Ellen, trying to get a gig.) At least, that’s what happens in this scene, but that’s not what it’s about. It’s about Dean wondering why they’re taking a gig when Sam wants to look for Ava. It’s about Sam admitting that it’s been a month since she disappeared, and he needs to move on now. On the one hand, Dean is proud of Sam for being so practical about things, he makes some remark about how he expected Sam to be all angsty, listening to sappy music, and staring out the window at the rain. Which is a hoot and a half to hear Dean say because it IS what fangirls have come to expect (and Dean is totally Dean when he does this), indeed, there’s miles and miles of fanfic all attesting to this side of Sam as the forlorn prince, very much put upon and rather dramatically open about his emotions. So maybe it’s appropriate that Show turn this on its side, and have Sam acknowledge this part of him, and yet make the more sophisticated decision.

But it gets even better than that, because Sam announces that while he can’t save Ava, he wants to save as many as he can. Rather like he’s earning points that will get him enough yellow tickets to get him into heaven, not realizing, or rather forgetting, that entrance into heaven is based on, as the Bible indicates, faith and not earthly works. Surely Sam knows this, but I think he’s so afraid of what he might become, that he’s willing to do it all, the work and the faith, in order to avoid NOT going to heaven. (Cause if you go darkside you’re definitely not getting past St. Peter. It’s at times like these that I get somewhat overwhelmed, not used to watching the type of TV where there’s a moral message buried beneath the glitter and the commercials. Rather like I do when, each year at Christmas, my dad takes it upon himself to announce yet AGAIN that A Christmas Carol is not a ghost story, it’s a tale of one man’s redemption, ruining my viewing of my favorite movie version, the musical one starring Albert Finney. Then Dad’ll start reciting dialog like he’s Patrick Stewart or somebody, and I have to ask Mom to take away his eggnog.)

But really, and perhaps you’ll agree, that the finest thing about this scene is the shirt Sam is wearing. It’s a thin, grey one that looks like cashmere, which everyone knows it couldn’t be, seeing as the boys get their clothes from the Salvation Army. Then again, maybe it could be; I once got a cashmere sweater there for a dollar. At any rate, it clings to every single curve of Sam’s arms and chest. Or rather, to give credit where it is due, it clings to Padalecki’s arms and chest. I’ve not got the math smarts to graph a chart that will demonstrate just how often and how hard the boy’s been working out, but it’s plain to see that he has been. Vigorously, and, dare I say it, religiously, because if working out and muscles were prayers, then this boy would be SAVED. The long, once boyishly lean torso and arms, the once tender and young sweetness of his neck, all of it has now turned into rippled iron, covered by silky skin, turning his frame to a divine work, so that when he shifts, or turns, or flips a cell phone closed with a resounding click, and it’s grace personified. He’s always had the height and the charm, now he’s got control and confidence. All wrapped in unassuming wool. (And his hair, lest we forget, spires down like inky ribbons across his intelligent forehead. It’s enough to make a fangirl swoon.)

Next up, the boys drive to the hotel, with Dean practically hopping with delight at getting a gig with a nice old-fashioned setup at a haunted hotel, complete with fog. Dean thinks it’s sweet (and there’s a fun bit when he admits he’s got the hots for Daphne of the Scooby Doo gang), but it’s Sam who spots the quincunx (which sounds vaguely filthy when he says it), which indicates that someone has been using hoodoo for nefarious reasons. I always love it when Sam comes up with the goods like he’s Encyclopedia Brown: Boy Detective or something. Sometimes, when Sam trots out a bit of information like he does about the quincunx, Dean looks at him askance as if wondering how they’re related. This time around, Dean accepts the information as normal and useful, which is fine for me, because the emotional trouble is right around the corner, plus a few laughs at the boys’ expense.

And it comes right away, too, as the boys check in at the front desk, whereupon the owner (and mother of that lovely child, Tyler) assumes that they’re gay antiquers and offers them a king sized bed. (As opposed to given them the option of “two queens” which is almost as fun, because either way, the boys tend to hang themselves with this particular issue.) After several giggly moments, wherein Sam jumps into explain that they’re brothers, Dean asks the woman why she thought they were gay antiquers, looking down at himself, as if his current attire could give him some clue as to why this KEEPS happening to him. He can’t figure out why outsiders think that not only are he and Sam a pair of gentlemen in search of a Cogswell chest of drawers with original brass, but also that they are madly and passionately in love with each other. As if there were an antiquing stamp on their forehead, and as if love had only one face instead of millions. Silly woman. (The bellhop adds to the fun, greeting them with “Ah, antiquers,” without even breaking a smile. Meanwhile, I’m on the couch, howling.)

Once up in the room, Dean proves his discomfiture by bitching about the wedding dress plastered to the wall and demanding of Sam why the woman thought they were gay.  Sam is not one to pass up a good opportunity when it is offered to him, because he is wise in all things and besides which, siblings don’t (and shouldn’t) hesitate to kick each other when they’re down. Sam says, “Well, you are kind of butch,” which is true, and Dean agrees with this, and then Sam adds, after waiting the appropriate number of beats, “She probably thought you were overcompensating.” Dean’s expression looks like he just sucked on a lemon, but he follows this by a smirk and a leer because he’s far too macho to let this get to him for long.

But payback is a bitch and it comes quickly after this as Sam and Dean make lovely and tall profiles as they stride down the hotel hallways looking for trouble. Sam spots another hoodoo symbol, which he apparently can do at ten yards, upside down, and through glazed pottery, but no matter. He’s on the case, and has found a clue. Next thing, you know Dean is Sam’s own Bugs Meany, as he tells the woman that Sam loves dolls. And I mean LOVES dolls. Dean goes on and on and on, referring to Sam as “this one,” which totally plays into the whole people think they’re gay thing, so the fact that he’s doing it on purpose now tells me that it really doesn’t bother him, now that he knows what’s going on. Then he tells her all about how Sam loves to dress them in their tiny clothes, and she’s believing it because Sam’s going along with it. He’s going along with it because somehow, looking getting into that room (where the dolls are and which is also the woman’s private quarters) is important to the case. Plus, Dean has set him up, and there’s nothing Sam can do but grimace and huff, and nod and say that yes, he loves dolls.

Sam is macho and masculine enough to carry this off, hell, the guy’s got enough testosterone running through him that he could carry a doll with him into the fiercest biker bar ever and come out with nary a scratch, so this isn’t going to mess with his psyche. Much. It does earn Dean a smack (more brotherly abuse!), but the boys are hard at work, talking to the mother and to Tyler and finding out about Grandma Rose. And all the while, the dolls with their blank china eyes and their stiff dusty hair from who-knows-what source stare and stare and stare. That many dolls is creepy all on its own, wouldn’t you agree? At any rate, the scene ends with Dean snapping out orders, and he tells Sam to research whether the bellhop whacked anyone else. I’ll include Dean’s parting bon mot in toto here, on account of it’s so good, as well as is Sam’s disgruntled and peeved expression in response: “Don’t go surfing porn; that’s not the kind of whacking I mean.” (I think it’s in the Book of Brothers, maybe it’s in the forward as well, that you’re supposed to make even the littlest, most obscure comment related to sex somehow. It’s certainly not in the Book of Sisters, I can tell you.)

When the next person to die (a real estate agent, naturally), Sam flips out and gets drunk. The fact that he couldn’t get THAT drunk between the time that the body is discovered and the corps mobile pulls away isn’t as important as the fact that when Dean bounds into the room to announce another death, Sam is in his cups. Waaaaay into his cups, slumped in an uncomfortable looking chair with his hair in his lovely eyes and his thighs agape with that particular brand of bonelessness that only comes after imbibing whiskey, Jagermeister, and, apparently, tequila, in quick succession. This hotel must have the most well-stocked mini-bar of all time.

But the best part about it is that Sam makes a great drunk, that’s all I have to say about it. And for all his complaints about The Dad being a hard drinker (YEAH, I worked a mention of The Dad in!), perhaps borderline alcoholic, it’s Sam we see drinking fast, getting drunk. It’s Sam who can’t hack the thought that people are dying and needs to crawl into a bottle. Or, in the case of this particular hotel, several bottles, and many of them, since they are all too small to hold any of him.

Padalecki grabs this type of scene, making the drunk and morose Sam funny and pathetic at the same time. He’s all sprawled in a chair there, telling Dean that he’s short AND bossy, which, from Sam’s (and Padalecki’s) perspective is absolutely true, even though Dean (and Ackles) at 6’ 2” towers over most of us. In fact, it’s one of the few times that this IS true, and that makes it even more funny. Plus, Padalecki becomes the most brilliant sloppy and affectionate drunk, while at the same time coming across as completely emo about the whole thing. I mean, you know people like this, right? The kind of drunk that isn’t belligerent, but instead who alternates between pouting and crying and then laughing and making smartass (and often funnily observant) remarks. Padalecki’s got it down. He must have a lot of drunk people he’s watched through the years to get it so right, complete with the thick diction and flailing out-of-control limbs.

The problem for Sam is that he couldn’t save the guy that just died, and he just can’t stop thinking about all those people he can’t save, and up it comes up for him again: that redemption can somehow be bought, but you can’t go around being the harbinger of doom, which, I somehow get the feeling that Sam thinks he is. That people die simply because Sam appears on the scene. Dean tries to console him that he can’t save everyone, and the Sam gets to the crux of the whole thing, that if he, Sam, can’t save everyone, then he, Sam, is doomed.

And then comes the scene, the darling little scene, of much discussion and conversation, where Dean finally tries to put Sam to bed. Sam makes Dean promise him that if he does go dark side, Dean is to kill him. I love what Sam says here: “Dad told you to do it, so you have to.” To me Sam is using a very powerful weapon, because he knows full well and good how obedient Dean is, and has always been, to The Dad’s every command. Plus, it says that Sam is confident that Dean’s desire to be obedient will override every once of brotherly love that Dean has for Sam. Sam’s so drunk that he’s speaking what he thinks is the absolute truth. At the same time, he’s completely unaware that every time he brings this little jobber up, it tears Dean apart because Dean can’t, in this case, do what The Dad wants even if Sam wants him to because it tears him apart just to think about it, let alone do it. Dean says The Dad’s “an ass,” and when Sam makes a face like he doesn’t believe Dean, I have to agree. At this point in the game, I don’t think has actually thought about this before, about what a heap of hardship an assignment like “maybe you have to kill your brother” is. That Dean’s thinking about it now shows me that there’s cracks appearing in that lovely façade.

Dean, after attempting to resist the emo mess that Sam has become, agrees, thinking that Sam’ll be too drunk to remember any of the conversation. As for Sam, he’s all grabby hands and huffs of affection and in that sloppy way that sweet drunks have, just as Dean calls his brother Sasquatch and slams him on the bed, Sam reaches up and clamps his manly hands on Dean’s face. He’s the type of drunk that you know, in just another second or two, is going to plant a big ole smooch right on Dean’s mouth, just to show him the physical version of the drunk mantra of “I LOVE you, man, you know I LOVE you, right?” But Dean’s not having any of it, knocks Sam’s hands away, and pushes Sam on the bed. At which point, Sam does that drunk thing, you know, where you try to plow your body into the softness of the mattress? Giving us fangirls a nice glimpse of bare skin at his well-toned waist where his blue jeans gape away from his back. Not to mention a full on, screen-eyed view of that lovely backside of his, and that long, long length of thigh. Oh, my. How he MOVE.

While Sam sleeps it off, Dean is doing his own angsting on account of he just PROMISED to kill his brother. So he meanders down to the hotel bar, which, in a scene much reminiscent of The Shining (with Jack Nicholson) on account of the underlit bar and all, Dean is offered a drink by the bell hop/bartender. The contrast between Sam’s style of drinking (raging drunk and sloppy in about two minutes or less) and Dean’s style of drinking (power drinker who knows how to pace it and can go all night, heh heh) is not lost on me. Though I’ll admit rather liking Sam’s scream-and-dive style, he’s the kind of guy who when he decides to go all out and lose control, doesn’t second guess himself, even if it costs him. It’s during the bar scene that Dean asks for all the old stories, which I rather like, because it belies one of my earlier impressions of Dean not being the patient sort. The bellhop replies in such a classic manner it feels reminiscent of a line from one of those Hollywood movies from the Golden era as he says, “Boy, never say that to an old man.” (I think this bellhop is one of the few people who can call Dean “boy” and get away with it!)

Anyway, Dean finds out that Grandma Rose had a nanny (Marie) from whom she might have learned about hoodoo, which might lead the boys to figure out what’s been going on. At one point, the bellhop tells Dean how sad everyone is to leave the hotel, asking Dean to think about how HE’d feel if he left the only home he’d ever known. Needless to say, Dean’s already done that at the tender age of four, but true to Dean, he subverts the emo, and responds oh-so casually that he never really knew one. I love how Show slips this in, reminding us, as always, that under that gruff, hunky, MANLY exterior lies a heart of butter.

In the morning, Sam is throwing up. Dean is sure that Sam doesn’t remember a thing, in fact he brings the promise up directly, showing us how important it is to him that he doesn’t have to keep it. But the sight of Sam bent over a toilet, puking and spitting, is somehow, at this point, rather more arresting than even Dean’s crystal green eyes darkened with worry over the prospect of killing little bro. I’m sorry but it just is. Remember the day when nobody went to the bathroom on TV, let alone talked about it? Well, I’d say that we’ve come a long way, baby, because here is Sam, on his knees, with his head buried in the porcelain God. (And all the while Dean’s telling him about greasy pork chops and dirty ashtrays, while Sam intones that he hates Dean. Ah, brothers!)

Okay, maybe there was another show, some other show that I don’t watch, that did this first. I’ll admit it, I’m sure this isn’t new. But it’s a testament to Show’s cleverness and devotion to realism that gives us this scene. Sam’s t-shirt gapes away from his lovely neck like he’s been pulling on it trying to cool down, and you just know that he smells like vomit and old alcohol, but fangirls don’t care because he’s an adorable mess. What’s more, as he gets up and breathes on Dean, Dean tells him that he needs to brush his teeth. Sam doesn’t look insulted, he just looks tired. As he should do, seeing as how drunk he was the night before.

Thank you Show, for giving us this. You could have skipped right into a clichéd scene at breakfast where Sam can’t eat, let alone have coffee, and though it would have been fun to laugh along with Dean, it’s been done. Instead, you gave us this, thus giving texture and depth to these two marvelous characters. (And please don’t ask me about the reason for the backwards filming in the mirror on the door. Every time I think I’ve figured it out that they’ve NOT switched Padalecki’s cast to the other arm, I realize that they might have. And vice versa. I’ve just about given up trying to figure it out.)

Sam and Dean get dressed in many layers (darn it) and sneak upstairs to have a chat with Rose. Only Rose can’t talk on account of she’s had a stroke. (Which Sam somehow knows just by looking at her.) It’s sad because Grandma Rose looks sweet and scared and Show’s got that whole In Cold Blood technique going on, with the rain on the window shadowing Grandma Rose’s face like tears. But because it’s that kind of ep, when Sam asks if they should poke her with a stick to get her to talk, Dean agrees. Sam’s “We’re not going to poke her with a stick, DEAN,” is Sam’s way of saying that not only is that not how you get into heaven, it’s also rude. I kind of get the feeling that the reason Dean does this is not because he actually wants (or intends) to do it, he’s just trying to get a rise out of Sam. Which he seems able to do, as easily as breathing.

The mother is upon them, and in a fury, demands that the boys leave in two minutes or less or she’s calling the cops. In real Winchester style, the Impala pulls out of the parking lot, tires screaming across the gravel, and we are left alone with ghost girl, Tyler, and the mother, all abandoned in the haunted hotel. The mother ends up being one of those idiots who, when the teeter-totter and the merry go round and the swings starts going on their own, she just stares. What’s more, when her own car comes after her, she runs away from it in a straight line, rather than taking a sudden left or right into the bushes, which would certainly hamper the murderous car from running her down quite so easily. I always despair of characters on TV who either haven’t watched enough TV themselves or never go to the movies to have seen this lifesaving principle in action.

But it doesn’t matter, because out of those very same bushes, with his long legs striding across the lawn, comes Sammy Sam Sam to save the day! He tumbles her out of the way, and the boys hustle her inside. Whereupon comes more doses of whiskey, which is the last thing Sam needs with his hangover, but I think he’s doing it out of solidarity, because when the mother says she needs a drink, Sam intones that he knows just what she means. It’s during this particular conversation that we finally learn for real that Grandma Rose did have a stroke and that Mags is an imaginary friend of Tyler’s. And that Maggie is the name of the mother’s sister who drowned in the pool years ago.

Then it occurs to everyone, suddenly (as it always seems to do when grownups are drinking) to ask themselves where is the child? Naturally, unattended, she’s wandered out to the most dangerous spot around, and that is the pool. Well, in this case, Mags has dragged her out there, because Mags doesn’t want to be alone, she wants Tyler to stay and play with her. Like, forever. The boys and the mother go racing around, looking in cupboards (for some reason), trying to find Tyler before it is Too Late. And although the search scene is a little silly, on account of I’m not sure why they’re looking for her where they are, the rescue scene is marvelous.

Dean and the mother pound on one door (Dean uses his manly thighs to no avail), while Sam slams his mighty elbow in the glass of another. He’s frantic to get in there because if he can’t save her, he might have to hit the bottle again, and as anyone can tell you, when you do that, you loose days recovering from it. By the time Sam uses a nearby vase to smash through what appears to be bulletproof glass, Tyler is well under and not moving. So Sam goes into super rescue mode, and without even looking, throws himself over the railing, throwing caution to the winds, and jumps in, feet first. Like he’s taking a swan dive and doesn’t care if he gets hurt. Which seems to be Sam’s way. I mean, Dean can throw caution to the winds as well as his brother, but it seems to me that he rushes in and puts him self at risk, but I think that’s because of his lack of self-worth in that he doesn’t value his own life (at this point). He goes into danger and doesn’t count the cost. Sam, on the other hand, does value his own life, and does count the cost. But when push comes to shove and there’s someone in danger, he disregards the cost and rushes in anyway. Which seems to me to be the braver thing, if you see what I mean.

Plus, when Sam jumps in the pool, I get nervous, on account of that plastic tarp. Yeah, I know it’s a stunt, and that it was planned, and yeah, I know the crew is being careful, but I worry. I worry because this is how people diiiiiie, getting all tangled up in plastic, sucking water into their lungs because they never thought it could happen to them. The little girl worries me, and Padalecki worries me. But it’s okay because when he brings the little girl up, it’s in delicious slow motion. Sam’s soaked, head to toe. Water drips in his eyes from his inky hair. I adore the sloped planes of his jaw, and the marvelous focus the water gives to his skin. Sam (and Padalecki) should be soaking wet more often. Little Tyler comes to on her own, and we find that Mags is talking to Grandma Rose, making a deal, that if Rose comes with her into the ghostly realm, then Mags will let everyone go. There’s more In Cold Blood tear effects on Rose’s face, and it seems a rather happy ending for such a malevolent little ghost. In spite of the fact that she’s responsible for three gruesome deaths, there is no salt and burn here. Instead Mags the ghost and Rose, her new ghost friend, are going to be left in peace to skip rope, play jacks, and mess around in a ghostly doll house. Like, forever. It’s not justice, but it is poetic.

In the real world, Sam gets a big old hug from the mother, and I’ll say he deserves it because he felt this one like a wound in his heart, and I think that if he hadn’t been able to save Tyler, he would have made Dean drive to the first liquor store and sent his brother in for some Colt 45 and Wild Turkey. And then drunk it ALL by himself. But since he’s been able to save the day, Dean makes the remark that Sam could stick around and get some MILF action from the mother, and that’s so sexually loaded that I’ll let you look it up yourself. Be wary of porn sites popping up with ads as you go poking around, okay? Sam says, in a rather self-disparaging tone that that’s the last thing the mother needs. Which is kind of sad in a way, if Sam thinks that he’s more trouble than he’s worth. It looks like if Dean’s façade is starting to crumble, then so is Sam’s.

Then, as they walk to the car, Sam gives Dean the look, and tells him he does remember their drunken conversation. Dean tells him that Sam was wasted. Sam acknowledges this and then says, in a lovely pointed way, “But you weren’t and you promised.” When they both get in the Impala, Sam sits there with a rather grim expression on his face, not looking at his brother. Like, at all. A promise is a promise, and whether it’s to protect or to kill, Sam believes in that sort of thing. Plus, he looks really good with his hair in his eyes and his exhaustion tilting the corners of his eyes down, the hard planes of his jaw saying that he’s as stubborn as a mule and Dean better come through or else. (Letting me know in no uncertain terms that even when he’s not moving, Sam is still very, very sexy.) Oh, Sam, don’t you know how much this tears your brother up inside? The ep ends with the boys on the road again, which is where they love to be, and I where I love them to be. But I sense, to quote the Scarecrow, that it’s going to get darker before it gets lighter.

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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