Well, if there’s one thing I like better than sitting on a knife or finding out that I need $1,600 of dental work, it’s watching a self-righteous sausage-shaped humanoid creature attempt to wrestle a temporarily disabled starlette out of her wheelchair on her prom night!
In any event, Glee’s achieved a style of Suckdom so Sucky that this episode was almost “okay,” just because it didn’t rocket me into a homicidal rage. In fact, my overall feelings of apathy for this episode are accurately reflected in how long it’s taken me to write this recap (and perhaps in the quality of this recap) — that being said, I do have a pretty serious rant about the first scene, so let’s just muff-dive in, shall we?
We open with Rachel monologuing in her bedroom about the “death of [her] dream” and then we move to the formerly-hallowed hallways of McKinley High, where Rachel continues monologuing with strained chipperness and masked devastation.
Rachel: “In some ways, it’s a relief– to be part of the crowd. My dreams are smaller now, maybe even more real — the wedding, winning Nationals — but first, prom. I’ll never walk the red carpet as a Tony or Golden Globe nominee… Next to my wedding, my prom dress will be the most important gown I ever wear… I’m surprisingly okay with it all. That dream was just a favorite old sweater that I kept around even though it didn’t fit anymore. I can grieve it and move on. I may have lost NYADA, but I still have Finn. So I’m not going to get everything I thought I wanted. Doesn’t make me a loser.”
So, there goes Rachel’s personality!
Okay. Do you have five minutes to listen to me tell a personal story and then rant? I hope so.
This happens. I mean — what’s happening to Rachel. I feel like I’ve been there, sort of. Like Rachel, I’d comforted my anxieties regarding “not fitting in” with my self-assurance that I was somehow exceptional — smarter, more talented, something like that. When did this change? At some point difference got exhausting and I just wanted a boyfriend, like the other girls had, and didn’t understand why the boys at my school (University of Michigan) didn’t like me, speficially — why I was hookup material and homework-helping material but never girlfriend material. “Girlfriend material,” it seemed to me at the time, required 100% heterosexuality, lifelong sorority membership, a submissive personality, tailored designer jeans, limitless bank accounts, realistic life plans and weighing 90 pounds or less. (I realize in retrospect wanting a boyfriend so desperately was all part of the “overcompensating” stage of my queerdom, but whatever.)
So I met a boy at my waitressing job who attended a nearby college. Over our 1.5 years together, he never once asked to see my writing or the films I’d made. He didn’t read, he’d never seen a play and he hated my friends. I’d always planned on moving to New York City after graduation but when I took him there, he hated it, and he hated it because it was so hard to find a parking spot. Instead, he campaigned for a post-graduation move to Las Vegas, because there’s no property tax there. He cared more about the perkiness of my breasts than about my alleged exceptionalism and since nobody told me I was too good for him, I assumed that I was not. This was me. I was not so exceptional after all. I was just another girl watching her boyfriend play Beer Pong.
I know this is becoming a too-long-story but here’s the point: at some stage of this dull, anxious stasis, I began resigning myself to the traditional future he envisioned for us, and there was something very comforting about that. I could do this! I thought. We could be just like the rest of his friends. My relatives would be thrilled! I could get excited about specials at Applebees and consider home ownership in the suburbs and watch sporting events with his frat brothers. It was almost a relief, freeing myself from the expectations of this alleged exceptionalism. I’d be choosing a tried-and-true life pattern enjoyed by 95% of the country’s population, nobody would question that! I was released from all the uncertainty and guesswork that came with pursuing “talent.” He thought I was “normal” (Obviously, I’d already quickly muted all of my ‘charming’ quirks) and he was “normal,” so therefore I was “normal” after all! Yay!
[Clearly this sentiment changed eventually, but that’s another story altogether.]
For Rachel, I think part of of feeling “exceptional” is feeling like the people around her are living a life she could live, if she wanted to, but she just doesn’t want to. It is feeling a little bit better than that. It’s being a snob, even when that snobiness is, when it all comes down to it, mostly a defense mechanism.
And so Rachel’s obnoxious temporary transformation in this episode, in all its anti-feminist glory, is actually one I potentially could relate to/believe — and do, in bits — but unfortunately cannot endorse because SHE DIDN’T APPLY TO ANY OTHER FUCKING SCHOOLS AND I CANNOT BUY ANYTHING ELSE THAT HAPPENS TO HER FROM HERE ON OUT.
Glee asks me to suspend disbelief every single minute but somehow this particular storyline’s improbability is particularly grating. It’s not Wacky and Over-The-Top like Brittany’s IQ, Inconsistent like Sue’s pregnancy or Unlikely like Quinn getting into Yale. I mean, let’s not even get into the fact that college applications are due in December or January, not June, or that the show has completely forgotten the tiresome hullabaloo around Kurt/Rachel’s apparent former conviction that “student council president”/”lead in the school musical” were crucial to their “applications.” (Disclaimer: I attended an arts boarding school and my boyfriend, roommate, and many of my best friends were theater students, so I know WAY too much about the audition/acceptance process for undergraduate theater programs, which causes/”doesn’t help ease” my frustration.) Let’s disregard the preposterous situation of NYADA coming to Nowhere, Ohio, to see Kurt & Rachel audition. Let’s not ask why Rachel doesn’t just audition for “The Actor’s Studio” with her impish boyfriend, as apparently they hold auditions whenever Finn wants them to! (Sidenote: as much as I’d like to make fun of Finn applying to a TV show, “The Actor’s Studio” is an actual drama school. It used to be part of The New School and I think the students in the TV show’s audience are usually Actor’s Studio students. Since 2005, TAS has been part of Pace University — BUT! — it’s just an MFA program, which means Finn would need a BA or BFA before he could matriculate at The Actor’s Studio, so it’s still stupid.) Let’s not discuss why Rachel didn’t apply to the nearby University of Michigan, or perhaps Carnegie-Mellon, Northwestern, CalArts, DePaul, Ithaca, NYU, NCSA, USC or even Julliard!
It’s supposed to be just another little detail we oughtta accept as part of this fake world. But it’s not, because it’s not just about college admissions, it’s about HOW LIFE IS, how human beings operate and how civilization is structured. We date multiple people until we find “the one,” we try on several dresses before purchasing, we apply to many jobs, we visit a number of apartments, we shop around for the best cell phone plan — for Rachel Berry herself and Berry’s aspirant parents to allow her to apply to one crappy imaginary theater school with no back-up plan is just completely and totally insipid. It would never happen and as a plot device, it’s the weakest weaksauce ever.
And when Rachel says, offhand, “that’s what you get for not having a back-up plan,” it’s just another example of Glee’s obnoxious meta nods to audience critique that leaves you wondering — “if you recognize that this is a problem, why don’t you JUST FIX IT?!” Because honestly, despite how improbable it is that Rachel would get rejected from any school, let alone many schools, this whole situation would have way more emotional impact and resonance if she’d applied to ten theater schools and been rejected from all of them. Flukes like that sometimes do happen. That’s a true thing.
Anyhow, thus Rachel moseys into the Ladies Room to find a bitchy yet earnest Becky Jackson practicing her Prom Queen wave, because she doesn’t have mirrors at home. Becky tells Rachel she’s a loser and SCENE.
Cut to Principal Figgins’ lair, where Brit-Brit’s been summoned for a smackdown regarding her insufficient actions as student council president. Apparently her sole accomplishment has been an ill-conceived memo regarding “drilling for babies,” which she later retracted, and Figgins is questioning her suitability for the position.
It turns out that Brit-Brit’s failing her classes and Figgins is suddenly concerned that her iminent de-throning would completely destroy her chances of admission to Imaginary St. Imaginary College Of Students Who Failed All Their Classes, which I’m guessing is in Bowling Green. Furthermore, he threatens to eradicate the Student Body President position altogether if she doesn’t up her approval rating, which’s non-sensical and arbitrary, just like the rest of this show.
Brittany: “I now realize I wasted an entire year belaboring the nuances of my fluid teen sexuality and getting caught up in Lord Tubbington’s Ponzi schemes. Then for a while, I stopped talking. But don’t want my presidency to be the last one at McKinley, I don’t want that to be my legacy.”
Couldn’t agree more — a better legacy would be “made out with Santana for two hours at graduation.”
Thus, Brit-Brit drops in on the three unfortunate losers of the Prom Committee, whose earnest pursuit of prom themes like “Stairway to Heaven” and “Castle in the Sky” are derailed by Brit-Brit’s assertion that castles are too heavy for clouds and stairways aren’t wheelchair-friendly, or whatever.
Brit-Brit re-routes the thematic conversation to her own idea for a theme — “Dinosaurs!” It’s brill, truly bril.
Girl: “That’s the worst prom theme ever.”
Brittany: “When you insult my dinosaur prom theme, that’s bullying, and I will not accept it. By the power vested in me as president, you’re all fired.”
Smear to Sue’s office, where Sue (who shines like a sunflower this episode, sidenote) is announcing the nominees for Prom King and Queen as Becky roosts adjacently with her limbs dangerously close to a xylophone unknowingly experiencing its last living moments.
Prom King nods go to Rick “The Stick” Nelson, aka that hockey guy who runs for everything, Finn “Bet You Never Knew A Potato Could Look This Human” Hudson and our very own President Brittany S. Fierce. Three cheers for smashing the gender binary!
Prom Queen runners include Missy Gunderson, Santana Lopez and Quinn Fabray. Becky, hopes dashed and aspirations toppled, smashes the xylophone defiantly in the manner I’d like to smash Finn’s stupid face in.
And onward ho to another directionless meeting of The New Directions, kicked off by a newly-empowered Brittany S. Fierce, Queen of the School, announcing the Prehistoric theme of this year’s fiesta. Mr. Schuster buoyantly enthuses that Figgins has invited the New Directions to sing at prom, as if these kids need an official invitation to sing anywhere.
Brittany: “Hello my fellow Americans, the theme for this years prom will be Dinosaurs.”
Santana: “Sheer genius.”
Brittany: “I was inspired by the new girl Joe who reminds me of a cavewoman. The refreshments will be berries, meat and rainwater…”
HAR. But dearest Blaine is stunned when Brittany declares a Prom Hair-Gel ban, due to some backwards Brittanyism regarding the Paleolithic era — or maybe “stunned” isn’t the right word. Horrified. Blaine is horrified.
I too am horrified, because it appears Kurt has massacred a plaid factory and the evidence is all over his head and mid-shirt-area.
Rachel, in her sixth outfit of the episode, tears mercilessly through the barely-hallowed hallways of McKinley High, shocked by the poorly designed “Finn & Quinn 4 Prom King/Queen” poster perched on the innocent walls of their fine educational institution. Rachel determines was Finn’s doing ’cause “Quinn can’t reach up that high.”
Rachel doesn’t want Finn and Quinn to dance together, but no worries there —
Finn: “If you haven’t noticed, Quinn can’t dance. She just about died coming to our wedding. She asked me if I would campaign with her and I figured it was the least I could do for our friend.”
Finn calls Rachel selfish, Rachel caws that she’ll be spending prom the same way she began high school, which’s watching Finn and the pretty blonde cheerleader bask in apparently offensive attention but IF I COULD JUST MENTION that the pretty blonde cheerleader, while still pretty and blonde, is no longer cheering, because SHE GOT HIT BY A TRUCK AND IS IN A WHEELCHAIR. Furthermore, she’s been given the unfortunate assignment of lusting after the Glee Project kid who, much like the other Glee Project kid, reminds us weekly why The Glee Project is a terrible, terrible idea.
Rachel’s become a harpy bitch, ’cause that’s what happens when one actually focuses on what they have in the present rather than what they might have in the future! No really, it is. That’s another thing about aspiration — it saves you from putting all your eggs in the basket of another fallible human being you’ve got no actual control over. That’s also why Quinn keeps reiterating her plans to go to Yale — it’s something bigger than where and what she is. It takes the pressure off the present, with its assorted thwarted expectations.
Cut to physical therapy, where Quinn’s once again insipidly paired with Teen Jesus and — surprise! — manages to walk a teeny tiny bit for a little while!
Teen Jesus is ready for Quinn to walk on water, but Quinn’s got other plans —
Quinn: “You know, maybe if I practiced a lot, I could walk into the choir room or into prom. So until then, promise me you won’t tell anybody.”
Back in the plastered-yet-hallowed halls of McKinley High, Becky Jackson’s completely losing her shit in what is, honestly, one of this episode’s best situations.
But Sue swiftly summons her unruly minion to the Bitch Chamber to tell Becky that “first you declared war on xylophones, then you ransacked the cafeteria line” and while Becky understands this to be true, she doesn’t understand Sue’s problem with it.
Sue explains that it’s Becky’s ruthless bitchy attitude that drew Sue to Becky in the first place, but “being a bitch doesn’t win you any votes.” This is patently false, obviously, although I can’t speak for Dear Dear Missy Gunderson, I believe Santana’s thrown out a few zingers in her day. But whatever.
Cut to the McKinley High auditorium, where Rachel launches into a lame stripped-down version of the intolerable Fergie song “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” which’s more-or-less endurable until Kurt’s head voice strides in, swallowing the room with its enormous this-is-out-of-your-rangeiosity.
Blaine asks Rachel if that’s the song she’s chosen for prom — SILLY BLAINE! The songs performed in the first 20 minutes of Glee are never the songs “chosen” for the last 20 minutes of Glee — and suggests that if it is, she oughtta look into something a tad peppier. I’d just like to throw this out there:
Rachel admits she’s not feelin’ prom, and Blaine agrees:
Blaine: “How do you think I feel with Brittany’s insane ban on hair gel? It’s prom, there’s gonna be balloons all over the place, not to mention the taffeta and the silk blends. The sheer amount of static electricity in that room is going to be terrifying.”
Anyway, Kurt points out, they don’t have to go to prom at all, do they? They do not.
Smear instantly to another directionless meeting of the New Directions, where Rachel jubilantly announces The Anti-Prom, which’ll take place at the Rooster Express Suite Hotel and involve “libations,” catered delicacies and all-night entertainment. Quinn asks her running mate if he’s in on this, and he assures her that he can indeed handle two women in one night.
Santana: “Okay how is everyone welcome when this is clearly just a party for you and the two gay Winklevii twins?”
Rachel: “Actually Santana, we’ve invited most of McKinley’s underclassmen.”
Flash to the hallway where Rachel tries to sell the event to an unimpressed Becky Jackson, and then smear back to the Directionless Meeting of the new Directions, where Santana continues smearing the Smack Down all over Barbara Berry:
Santana: “Can we just talk about what this really is? Rachel Berry isn’t getting her way, so she’s punishing the rest of us –”
Rachel: “Santana, that’s not the case at all.”
Santana: “Stop acting like you’re fine and start dealing with your crap. Look, you choked at your big audition. I get it. I’m sorry, but it happens. And I understand that you’re pissed off at the universe, but imploding on one of the last nights that we have to spend together because basically you’re just not in the mood to dance, is maybe the pettiest thing you have ever done. So have fun at your ‘I’m a victim’ party, acting like you’re not some selfish, self-centered, lame-ass wannabe diva from hell, because I’m gonna go to my senior prom with my girlfriend and my friends.”
Every time Santana says “my girlfriend,” I smile.
Back to the propaganda-ridden hallways of McKinley High, where Finn and Quinn are conversing on a topic I’ve long since forgotten when they’re interrupted by Prom Committee Girl #2, who finds Quinn way inspiring. “Your healthy normal legs are beautiful,” Quinn tells her following a monologue about the actual horrors of her situation. The girl commends Quinn on her bravery.
The girl exits the frame and St. Finn starts in on Quinn for “using her disability” to earn votes, because Finn is the Expert of the Universe who knows exactly what everybody else should and shouldn’t do all the time, forever and for always. This is how Finn makes me feel:
At last the moment we’ve been waiting for all our lives — Dinosaur prom! The couples parade onto the dance floor, Mike Chang geeks out over dinosaurs and everyone looks just absolutely stunningly lovely.
Then Brittany, dressed up like Pebbles Flintstone, launches into a song I’d never heard until Tuesday night but knew instantly had to be a Ke$ha song, ’cause it’s just that obnoxious, terrible and AGEIST.
Brittany’s quadriceps and Santana’s wingwoman support save the number, and I gotta give props to Glee for those props, ultimately. I would’ve loved to be a fly on the wall for the part where the dancers were informed they’d be performing with giant dinosaur heads.
Like all musical numbers on Glee these days, the camerawork is so smotheringly hyperactive that it’s impossible to appreciate — or even witness — any of the choreography that often redeems otherwise lame episodes and songs.
Finn’s on the prowl for a pig to roast over an open fire and imbibe via stomach tube — wait, no just kidding. He’s looking for Quinn and hears she’s in the Ladies Room, which he just walks right into as if it’s not a place where Quinn might not have her pants down and be urinating.
Alas, we circumvent that snafu ’cause Quinn’s not only not sitting on the pot, she’s also not sitting in her chair but instead is sort of tentatively leaning on the sink, which rockets Finn into a full-fledged St. Finn Self-Righteousness Fit.
Finn: “You can walk?”
Quinn: “Yeah. Isn’t it amazing? You’re seeing me take my first steps.”
Finn: “So you — you … you lied to us. To everybody.”
Quinn: “No, I mean, my legs are getting better, but I wanted it to be a surprise. You know, for when I walk up there and… and get my crown. The crowd will go wild. I really want this.”
Honestly this whole scene is befuddling — are we supposed to believe that Quinn’s fully functional and Finn’s outrage is justified? Are we supposed to see Quinn as being a manipulative bitch like Old Quinn, or just a girl who want to put on a good show? Why have we gone back in time sixteen episodes to when Quinn gave a flying shit about things like Prom Queen? Who are these people? Here’s the sad, final truth, my friends: I don’t give a shit anymore.
Finn: “Yeah. You may want this, but Rachel needs me, and … and I picked you over her. Do you know how stupid that makes me feel? You have everything. You’re gonna have your crown. You’re going to go to Yale. And tonight, thanks to you, Rachel has none of that, she doesn’t even have me.”
Quinn: “We’re a shoo-in. I need you.”
“You have everything,” he says to the girl in the wheelchair — and truly, for once , I’d like Quinn to actually respond to that accusation — which is so often made — rather than being force-fed another insane Alpha Bitch line ’cause they’re too lazy to come up with anything else. You know who else “has everything”? You know who nothing bad has happened to during the entire run of this show? FINN.
Finn: “No, you don’t need me, okay? I–I-I thought going through all that terrible stuff this year made you cooler, but no, you’re still the same old Quinn. All that matters is you.”
Quinn, for reasons known only to the steely writers of this mysterious program, then begs Finn to stick around for at least one dance. He does.
Meanwhile, at Chez Rooster Loveshack, the Anti-Prom Party People check in and survey the premises.
Becky’s hankering for a cocktail, Rachel wants a fashion show and Blaine & Kurt wanna watch TV. It’s gonna be a wild night!
We’re then rushed back to Prom, where Santana’s singing Selena Gomez’s “I Love You Like a Love Song” with glory and Brit-Brit’s changed into a Carrie Bradshaw-esque tuxedo/mormon-length-tutu interpretation that’s honestly totally horrid, but I’m forced to love it, in context.
Sam and Mercedes are dancing together while relishing in the sweet chords of their young love, and extras are sucking more face than Santana and Brittany have all season or ever will.
We then mosey over to Finn giving Quinn her requested “dance,” for which he’s dopeishly holding her hands with lackluster enthusiasm reminiscent of a teenage boy forced to dance with his obnoxious niece who keeps blowing snotballs out of her nose.
Quinn comments on how nice it is, and aren’t they having a nice time, but Finn’s addiction to sticking his shnoz into everybody else’s fucking problems simmers and boils over:
Finn: “Yeah I will as soon as you stand up and show everybody how much you deserve this, how much you deserve to be Prom Queen.”
Quinn: “Are you really doing this?”
Finn: What making you walk? Make you stand up and show everybody how much of a crazy liar you are? Yeah.”
Then, like a teenage boy who didn’t just get a heavy-handed talking-to regarding violence against women last week, Finn actually tries to physically remove Quinn from her wheelchair as if that’s not totally uncalled for and as if whether or not she justly or unjustly wins Prom Queen even MATTERS, at all, really.
She’s rescued — as we all are — by Teen Jesus (he like, died for our sins, you know?).
We’re also rescued by Sue, who inquires if Finn and his temper require ejection from yet another prom, but Finn kindly ejects himself, and we’re offered the sweet respite of a commercial break to really think about our lives and how we got to this moment, watching this show.
Back at the Anti-Prom, Becky Jackson’s pleased as punch to hear a knock at the door — perhaps it’s her shrimp cocktail! — and disappointed (as we all are) to see that it’s actually Finn Hudson, riding in on his white horse which he borrowed from the Knights of the Apocalypse.
Becky quips that Rachel’s been in the bathroom for 45 minutes and probs has “the runs” but nope — she’s just putting on her prom gown, and she emerges looking spectacular because duh, it’s Lea. Finn gives Rachel a stupid flower and she smiles like an idiot and they kiss and its gross.
But prom’s not complete, says Finn, without his friends —
Finn: “I want to dance with my fiancée , and dance with my friends.”
Should they return to Dinosaur Prom? Blaine’s concerned about the hair-gel ban — he shouldn’t be, because everybody at the dance IS WEARING HAIR GEL — but The Spirit of Friendship overrides The Spirit of Bumble & Bumble, and the gang ditches the hotel party for Jurassic Park.
This leaves Becky & Puckerman alone together:
Becky: “Are you ready for strip poker, Puckerman? Socks count as one item.”
Cut to Promasorous, where three dudes I dislike and one dude I kinda like and one dude who can’t act but sure can dance are singing a terrible song by “One Direction” (I bet their meetings are never directionless) regarding the beauty of a lady who does not recognize her own beauty.
Then the glowing Anti-Prom couples, lit from within via the sparkle of miniature bottles of Sprite, make their grand entrance, only to be rebuffed by Brittany who can smell Blaine’s hair gel.
Thus Blaine must exit the room and de-gel himself, or something.
Back at the anti-prom, wiley Becky Jackson’s gotten Puckerman down to his boxers. Puck counters by getting Becky down to her most emotionally naked spot, where she reiterates how much she wanted to be Prom Queen.
Puck takes matters into his own hands by crafting crowns out of beer boxes (recently delivered to the hotel room via magical elves) and insisting they hit up prom, dressed like idiots.
Cut to the Hallowed Hallways of Prehistoric McKinley High, where Rachel’s located Quinn Fabray for one of those heart-to-hearts that’d be better played out naked so that their hearts could actually touch, behind breast tissue, or whatever.
Rachel: “Wait, do you not understand what you mean to me? When we first met, you were everything I wanted to be: you were beautiful and popular, and you had Finn–”
Quinn: “How the mighty have fallen.”
Rachel: “No you don’t undertand. I still see you that way. That’s why I got so crazy. Because I wasn’t seeing the new Quinn. The still-beautiful, but humbled and inspiring Quinn. I’ve lost so much over these past few weeks and i honestly don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do with my life but when I look back on my high school career, the one thing, the one accomplishment that I’m gonna be so proud of is that I found a way to be your friend. So I’m apologizing to my friend. And I also want you to know that I voted for you for prom queen, and I really think you deserve it.”
Alas, before Quinn can tell Rachel how much she loves gardenias, Santana strolls through:
Santana: “Stop making out with Berry and get to the Spanish room, Quinn, time to count the votes and declare me the winner.”
Back inside Trainwreck prom, Becky Jackson & Noah Puckerman arrive with boxes on their heads to much revelry and, at last, an opportunity for Puck to bless the punch bowl with three tablespoons of vodka.
Cut to the Vote-Counting room, where Santana and Quinn are finishing up their fortieth re-count, determining that Finn Hudson and Quinn are the winners. However, Al Gore won the popular vote, and Quinn only snagged her crown by one little vote (RACHEL’S VOTE, GET IT??!!)
Quinn: “I won. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and I don’t feel any different.”
Santana: “Cool. I mean I guess you deserve to win? What with being a crip and all.”
This leads to the following asinine exchange:
Quinn: “You know, we’ve really had the dream high school careers. Mega-popular, doing whatever we wanted. Whoever we wanted. You know, I’m really not surprised that you and I were the top two candidates.”
Santana: “Yeah, well you know it would be boring if we weren’t so awesome.”
Quinn: “Don’t you wanna leave this place having made a difference?”
We cut to commercial, during which my girlfriend and I went through the Cycle of Possibilities — beginning with the possibility of Santana & Brit-Brit winning King/Queen and ending with the certainty that no, it’ll be Rachel, because Ryan Murphy hates lesbians and, apparently, poor poor sweet sweet Missy Gunderson.
We re-open at Dinosaur Prom, where Blaine’s making his tentative entrence into the world, sans shellack, and in fact he looks good — great, even! — but this doesn’t stop Brittany from calling him a Broccoli Head.
Blaine: “Is it really that bad?”
Kurt: “It’s not that bad.”
Kurt squeezes Blaine’s oh-so-adorable cheeks and says something sweet about getting to see the real him, hurrah, and this and that happens or something and then Figgins is onstage to make an announcement about reptiles in the toilets, and also to summon last year’s Prom Queen to the stage — “sassy male student Kurt Hummel” — to crown the new winners, which of course sends Kurt into low-level panic.
Hey, what about the Prom King though? Whatever happened to that kid? How’s he doing? I hope he didn’t hang himself from the ceiling with a belt or anything, that’d be so tragic, yet fleeting.
As was promised in the fifth book of St.Douchebag, Finn smugly snags the Prom King vote, which marks the first time in McKinley history that a bale of hay has won Prom King.
“We have prom anarchy,” Figgins notes when withdrawing and unveiling the Prom Queen vote, consequently announcing that due to an avalanche of write-in votes, Rachel Barbara Berry is the McKinley High Prom Queen!
Against the will of my brain and my eyeballs (that dress does wonders for Santana’s rack), I get teary-eyed during Rachel’s ascent, which makes me hate myself.
The first agonizing dance begins:
Rachel: “Is someone gonna throw pigs blood at me next, like in Carrie?”
Finn: “Look at me. You’re sexy, you’re beautiful, you’re an inspiration to every single person in this room, just like you are to me. From where you began to where you are now, you’re amazing.”
Meanwhile on stage, Quinn’s ambling herself and her stunning sparkly dreamshoes into an upright position while duetting with her dear friend Santana, the lady in red, to “Take My Breath Away,” which is, honestly, one of my favorite songs ever. “It’s a prom miracle!” says Sam.
It is a miracle because once again I find tears involuntarily springing to my eyes. Then, when Brittany mouths/signs “I love you” to Santana, I die.
Which brings me to this evening’s high note, which isn’t a note so much as a medley played throughout — Brittany and Santana, although never the focus, were present and accounted for throughout, their relationship was frequently referenced, and Brittany had lines. Like, LOTS of lines!
We end with a cute prom-picture montage:
The “cute prom montage” is followed by the ominous news that next week’s episode will be two entire hours long. Jesus.