Glee 311 Recap: Michael Would Probably Not Do This

This week on Glee, absolutely nothing happened. Brittany spoke maybe twice, Santana was off her game with insults and Sebastian succeeded in flying so far over the top that I’m shocked, really, that he didn’t fall on his head and get eaten by wolves. Furthermore, the agonizingly existant relationship between Finn and Rachel plodded awkwardly through the Idontgiveashit lake of lost lesbian minutes and emerged engaged on the other side. Just like Jane Eyre.

That being said, I fucking loved this goddamn episode! MICHAEL JACKSON GOODNESS!
Also, Brittany and Santana are gonna make out soon — on Valentine’s Day to be exact — so I will wait for my pudding.

Wanna watch it?

Wanna watch this?

Ok, let’s begin!

So, one of the Sectional Judges was “high as a kite” during judging, apparently, which is the reason The Troubletones lost the Contest Show, according to the Troubletones. Kurt disagrees and insists New Directions won because they hogged the stage for like fifteen minutes JUST KIDDING because they did a Michael Jackson song. Apparently this Michael Jackson fella is like the leprechaun of Glee clubs. Irish Breakfast really oughta go home at this point, what does he really bring to the table besides sweater vests.

Also, Kurt gave Brittany’s cat liposuction and turned the excess skin into a “hat”:

Enough of this nonsense talking! It’s time for the first musical number, Wanna Be Starting Somethin’!

Blaine, in the white jacket of an athlete from the past, dances with the sexual confidence of an adult and the joyful expectation of youth. The dancing children follow him through the hallways, into the library, and onto the glittery stage. Now we’re all in flashy costumes and everyone is Lord or Lordess of the Dance, all sex and 80s-style glitz. Santana’s dressed as a Sexy Nutcracker or maybe a Sassy Toy Soldier and Brittany is dressed as her Gentle Dominatrix Friend.

Next we travel to the ever-remodeling Java Joint, where the team is satisfying their never-ending craving for to-go cups and winterwear while discussing Rachel’s inexcusable Michael Jackson ambivalence, everybody else’s Michael Jackson love and Santana’s desire to throw a mocha in Rachel’s face.

Then, like a snake in the Garden of Eatin’ and Drinkin’ Coffee, Sebastian rains on their espresso parade by showing up, lords-a-leaping in tow.

Kurt: “Does he live here or something? Seriously he is ALWAYS here.”

Turns out during one of their many AM phone chats, Blaine slipped to Sebastian that the New New Directiontones would be covering “MJ” at regionals, so Sebastian’s decided to go all Bring it On-ish on their asses and decide that The Woebegone Warblers will also be doing Michael Jackson, who as you may/may not know, is an obscure pop musician from the 80s and 90s and a bit of the ’00s who recently passed away.

Luckily he sang like five thousand songs, so unless The Warblers plan on pulling a New Directions and hog the stage for three years and an intermission, I think we’ll be okay, but whatever. So then, this:

Sebastian: “Oh hey Kurt, I didn’t recognize you, you are wearing boy clothes for once.”
Santana: “Alright Twink, I think it’s time that I show you a little Lima Heights hospitality –”
Sebastian: “Unless you wanna join your relatives in prison that’s probably not the best idea.”

He goes on to say something about pinatas and really this would be an example of someone being so arbitrarily and bitingly racist that it stops being shockingly funny and starts being another opportunity to say, “OH COME ON, who would EVER say that in real life?” Also, props to Santana for standing up for her fellow Gay.

At Glee Club, everyone yaps about Blaine being a Warbler-4-Lyfe and a Traitor until Finn The Mighty Sensei opens his piehole and spews out some cheesy nonsense about teams. “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” says Will because, of course, he never says anything for himself anymore anyhow. Finn should be on salary.

Will’s magical whiteboard word of the week is WWMJD, which stands for “What would Marion Jones do?” and the answer is, she’d win three Gold Medals at the Olympics and then get in trouble for taking performance-enhancing drugs. It’ll be like the Sudafed episode, redux.

Time out: The way Glee talks about Michael Jackson this episode is so oddly arbitrary at times, like they could’ve stuck any pop star’s name into these kids’ easy sentences: “Michael Jackson would fight back!” and things like that, these intense generalities. “If Michael had listened to all that shit people said about him, he’d never have made all that music!”

Now, I’m no Michael Jackson superfan or expert, but aside from Artie’s Wikipedia Facts, nobody gets specific about Michael, and that’s unfortunate because Michael WAS specific. He was such a strange specific human being, specific in his beauty and in his decay and also in his talent. In other words, it’s obvious whoever wrote this episode is not a Michael Jackson fan but whoever choreographed this episode knew EXACTLY what they were doing.

Anyhoo, moving on…

The Warblers and the New Directions rendez-vous in a secluded parking garage to sing and dance. Santana and Blaine are like bugs-in-a-rug/bank robbers in their street clothes and black hoodies. The Warblers only have one outfit, like dolls. It’s time for BAD! Here’s Michael Jackson’s version, for your reference:

The number is hot and dark and punchy. The kids throb with the postured malevolence of mean baby birds as they play-kick the air and mock-fight with clenched fists and strained faces.

Then Santana has sex with the song and parts the sea and leads everybody to Egypt, where Sebastian throws a slushie at Kurt but gets Blaine instead. So now Blaine is basically blind or something. What a weird fucked-up Ohio these kids live in.

So, back at Glee, Detective Finn surmises that Slushie had rocks or darts or maybe an atomic bomb in it. Will morphs into a doormat and insists the children let the consistently reliable “system” to handle it. It’s Artie’s turn to give the “we’re always bullied we have to stand up for ourselves” speech this week and he ends it with “and don’t give me any of that It Gets Better crap because I’m not interested in it getting better. I want it to be better, like, right now.”

Guessing Murph hates the D-Sav. Anyhow it’s all a ploy to set up for SCREAM MOTHERFUCKERS! Here’s the Michael Jackson version:

Scream, for those of you who just got born, is Michael Jackson’s version of the Lindsay Lohan classic “Rumors,” regarding unfortunate press attention.

When Scream  debuted in ’95, I was one of the 64 million viewers glued to my set ready to have Janet Jackson blow my face off with her artsy makeup and crazy hair and middle finger. It’s a song about aliens who live in a pressure tank who want to hide or destroy things. It was Janet and  Michael’s first duet so it was a big big deal. It’s such a hot fucking song.

Mike Chang’s got Adam Lambert all over his eyeballs and hair and Artie’s kicking his wheelchair and covering his ears and screaming and doing slick robot-like dance moves. Mike Chang is dancing, like really dancing, and they’re both dressed like alien space-warriors. They look like kids singing a song they barely understand or kids who want to be tougher than they are — but both of those ideas work for this song, too, maybe.

But part of what made it work, obviously, is that Michael Jackson’s entire life up until that point made him want to scream, especially the few years leading up to it. Meanwhile Artie has been upset for like two minutes.

We zip on over to the Ladies Room for a Lea/Dianna rendez-vous heart-to-heart that’ll enable Faberry shippers to write new lines to go with these graphics without having to pull from a bunch of different scenes.

Rachel seeks Quinn’s advice on her stupid potential marriage to Finn because she’s completely lost her mind and NYADA is the absolute final one-and-only way to “make it” as a singer/actress EVER and her voice isn’t remotely Broadway-caliber WHAT?!

Quinn serves up a steaming platter of the truth, which’s Rachel absolutely CANNOT marry that giant monument to Play-Dough and Penis known as Finn Hudson because she’s got a big bright beautiful FUTURE and is a HUMAN.

Oh, PS when she wasn’t ditching class with the other goth steampunk kids, Quinn was applying to Yale and got in. Hey-O!  Since we’re talking about New Haven, I’ll be on a panel at Yale this Sunday February 5th at 6pm about sex-positive writing! It’s for Sex Week 2012. LIVE IN THE FLESH! I even cut my bangs for you! You should COME!

Quinn: “I’ve dated Finn, Puck, Sam — even thought I loved some of them, but by the time the snow falls in New Haven next winter, I won’t know why.”

Speaking of feminism, Quinn and Rachel have pulled a switcheroo, as Quinn’s impending feministy song will cement. Quinn’s going to Yale and Rachel Berry’s pondering whether or not she ought to commit forever to a gigantic slab of Venison named Finn Hudson. Huh. Quinn reminds Rachel that her whole life-thing lies before her and she’s mega-talented and I mean WHAT THE FINN FUCK?!

Quinn: “Women are finding themselves in their 30s now! Every magazine says it! We hardly know what we’re gonna want in fifteen years.”

I refuse to make the obvious lesbian joke. I REFUSE. However, I will point out that Quinn & Rachel spend a lot of time in the bathroom and that my only distinct memory of talking to Lea was when she was asking me for boy advice in the bathroom at New World Stages. ANYHOW, Rachel’s acting like a psychotic baby lamb on tranquilizers AND uppers.

Quinn: “You can’t change your past. But you can let go and start the future.”

Quinn always expected a man would ultimately define her and that she’d exist in relation to him. And then there’s Rachel, who never considered that possibility and now, in a moment of fear, is blindsided by this deceptively safe choice because its a popular choice — getting married, staying put. But Rachel’s supposed to be more than that.

Obviously this is all Finn’s fault.

Then Quinn launches into “Never Can Say Goodbye” and I feel it’s one of Glee’s best put-together numbers.

It’s a story about a beautiful fairy princess with golden hair, bright red lips and pillowy eyelashes wearing the long gown of a sophisticated back-up singer in a ’70s music video.

The Princess had always wanted more power, and she thought she could get it by being mean, and then meaner. But now things have changed and she’s singing about it. Because for her the power would never come from being mean, she was wrong about that. The power would come from the opposite place — from her brand-new willingness to disregard all that. It comes from effortlessly inviting young men to dance with her, all those little boys she thought she’d loved, and then carelessly casting them aside. Now she knows her fantasies and artifice were just that: fantasies. Artifice.

Then the princess goes to her locker to look at things that used to hurt but don’t anymore and at things she knows how to love better, now. Then she returns to the classroom filled with goofball child-singers. In this scene she’s easy like Sunday morning in her white dress and precise headband and tasteful cardigan. There’s no self-consciousness or agenda anymore, she’s just happy to be singing.

Next up, Kurt’s in one of McKinley’s many rooms for kids with too many feelings, stewing over Sebastian and fabricating fire-related revenge fantasies. Santana pops in and pops back: “today is your lucky day, because Auntie Snixx just arrived on the Bitchtown Express.”

They pitter-patter back and forth about the right philosophy behind their plan and, I assume, eventually select a plan of some kind. For Sebastian. Or whatever. You don’t really care, do you? I don’t. I don’t care much about the Sam/Mercedes duet that comes next either, so I’m just gonna run past it like Forrest Gump.

So wheeee Kurt is a “finalist” for NYADA, because NYADA is, apparently, a very unorthodox school with a strange admissions process. NYADA is leaving Julliard and Carnegie-Melon in its avant garde dust.

Anyhow, my girlfriend says that “Kurt’s Dad is the most under-appreciated member of the Screen Actors Guild.” Seriously every time he’s onscreen, she cries. She teared up during this scene.

“Hey Andrew McCarthy,” Santana says as she struts her black mini-skirtsuit-of-power-and-fantastic-rack into the Chair Storage Room. Sebastian, flanked with Wiley Warblers on both sides, slithers forward.

Santana: “Don’t know if you heard, but Blaine may lose an eye. The same Blaine who was just besties with most of you not four months ago.”
Trent: “Wait, are you serious? Is he gonna be okay?”
Santana: “Well, sure. If he doesn’t care about seeing in three dimensions.”
Sebastian: “Trent, I got this. Bummer about Blaine, he was pretty. He shouldn’t have gotten in the way, though. That slushy was meant for Kurt.” God, could he be more hateful?
Santana: “You may look like the villain out of a cheesy 80s high school movie, but you should know that I am fully prepared to go all Danny LaRusso on your ass. Admit you put something in that slushie. What was it, huh? Glass? Asphalt?”

Here’s the Michael Jackson version:

Here’s Glee:

The cellos strike up and Santana and Sebastian jot about like spies in the last scene of a movie stuck on a wild circular conveyer belt. The strings are hyper and serious. So they dart about. It really gets going when Santana starts singing. It’s like she’s begging you to stop asking questions with that “I don’t know, I don’t know,” or maybe it’s anguish from somewhere else.

When the song ends, Sebastian cracks like an unsub in Criminal Minds lured in via decoy suspect because they couldn’t handle anyone else taking credit for their work — he spills the beans to Santana that it was “rock salt” in the slushie. Then he tosses a rock-free slushy at Santana’s lovely face.

This is rock salt:

Back at Glee, Santana reveals she’d taped spy equipment to her underboob, which is the closest this show will ever get to her overboob, and henceforth she’s got a recording of Sebastian’s confession re:rock salt. But then Kurt the Turtlenecked Killjoy is like, bla bla bla haters bla bla payback bla bla bla come to the auditorium so we can beat them in song Bla bla i love seesaws bla bla bla bla.

Oh! Santana:

Santana: “If Kurt would’ve taped this to his junk, I would’ve never heard the end of it! We would have had a whole week of songs about it.”

Ooooh, show! Thanks for the wink and the nod! Your microwave is in the mail! Love it.  What a week that’d be, huh? Hopefully we could start with The Gay Pimp’s holiday classic, “Dickmatized.” What if one week Will strode in and wrote “The Gay Pimp Podcast” on the whiteboard? Wild.

Finn and Rachel duet unbearably (the unbearableness of it is exacerbated by the fact that whenever Rachel sings, she’s basically announcing to the world that she’s gonna ‘make it’, NYADA or not.) Do I have to tell you how I spent this scene, reader? Do I?

I remain in Child’s Pose while Artie Etc vomit cheez-whiz onto the screen via dim-witted platitudes about how the Warblers don’t “understand Michael” but The Glee Club does. This is 100% impossible because nobody understood Michael. He wanted us to, but he would’ve had to understand himself first, and I’m not sure that he ever did. SO STOP FRONTING, ARTIE.

Soooo everyone kerbangs to the auditorium to heal the world and make it a better place for you and for me and the entire human race.

During Black or White‘s unexpected morphing sequence my girlfriend pointed out that some Glee fans might not even know the reference and I said, Oh god, what if you’re right? But everybody knows this. You do, right? We’ve all seen this video. Right? 

The thing about the “Black or White” video, gushingly earnest adages and all, is that when I saw it, it felt at once of the moment and of the future. It felt ‘of the moment’ because it was a relatively optimistic time, a time when we enthusiastically organized our recyclables into new labeled bins and learned in school that racism was on its way out and we believed it, too. Like we could make it go away just by smiling. Michael Jackson, the eternal child, even provided us kids with an ambassador in his music video — Macaulay Culkin — rapping and causing trouble like the 10-year-old white boy he most certainly was.

But it was also ‘of the future’ because it was the fifth or sixth time morphing had been used in popular entertainment and the first time I remember seeing it. We were just dumbstruck by it. I couldn’t believe my EYES!

Over 500 million people in 27 countries watched the premiere of that video, the largest audience ever for a video premiere at the time. It felt like pop music for children and maybe that’s because Jackson famously remained almost child-like for so long.

Anyhow where was I? Oh yes, this:

One-two-three baby you and me!