And the intimacy continues. Whether its Oliver's turtle or April's project, or Mia's general presence, Paul is still allowing his patients to linger long after they've left his practice. It was a theme that ran through most of this week's episodes, that constant blurring between appropriate conduct and personal friendship. Like last season, it's never just a patient who anchors their own episode. Every action somehow bounces back at Paul, and I don't know if it's a personal weakness of his that he winds up so rattled by every movement they make. More than ever, this season seems to be about Paul's faults as a therapist as well as a man, and the unearthing of where that comes from.
Week Two lacked the immediacy of last week's premiere episodes, but you can already see certain ideas and themes that are being generated through each session. There's a harsher, meaner vibe to the stories this year, and it's arguably far more incestuous than the already frantic bending of confidentiality last season, with Paul intimately involved with the far majority of his patients. Whether its Mia and their history, his connection with April or the turtle hanging around in his office, he's allowing himself to be far more attached to these people than is probably good.
I'm assuming luring in new viewers wasn't one of HBO's major priorities while opening up the second season of In Treatment, one of the most absorbing and frustratingly subtle series around. While it's fine getting thrown into several of the series' new patients, the opening week spends a lot of time exploring the aftermath of season one. Notably, this involves Alex's bitter father, who has launched a malpractice suit against Paul. It's an interesting angle to start up the year, and lends the series an unexpected feeling of a dark cloud hanging over everything.
Appropriately for an episode bearing that title, this was mostly distracted by the idea of going home again and viewing past experiences from a present-day perspective. Joey and Pacey's resurrected feelings fold mostly into this, both characters still discussing whether or not they should really pursue anything together, the complications of their past relationship casting a major shadow over everything they have today. But there's a pleasant quality to these conversations; not burdened by over-analytical angst, instead being something smooth and relatable -- both of them deciding to step back and think it over before leaping in.
That sound you hear is the writers finally doing something right for a change. Castaways successfully restructures the show after recent weeks of drifting, firmly positioning Joey and Pacey as Dawson's Creek's go-to central couple. Stuck in a locked K-Mart after hours, this is a beautifully-written two-hander, one that explores both of them as individuals, as well as what remains of their relationship. Along the way, old resentments and disappointments are unearthed, but Gina Fattore's script remains steadfastly adorable, both actors easily slipping back into their old rhythms together and quickly making the audience at home collectively squee over the thought of them hooking up again.
I don't know when the writers first became aware that this would be the final season of Dawson's Creek, but there definitely seems to have been an attempt over these last two episodes to draw to a close the various shitty subplots that have been distracting away from the main cast lately, as well as position certain storylines as the focus for this final run of episodes. Not only does Clean and Sober resurrect a true sense of fun compared to the melodramatic lethargy of recent episodes, it also features a genuinely sweet resurfacing of the ballad of Pacey and Joey, a coupling that worked so well all those years ago, before being put on the back-burner to make way for more Dawson and Joey hooey. Some of that was fun, but it's absolutely the right time to bring Pacey back into the romantic fold.
Grams! Gosh, I've missed Grams. She probably had the most fun storyline here, not that there's a huge amount of competition, but it was the one most reminiscent of what the show used to be, before across-the-board suckage commenced. She and Clifton Smalls have gone their separate ways, not due to anything sex-related (Grams even making some crack about his last name not being entirely appropriate, which... gah), but instead because he wanted her to convert to Judaism. Sad and mopey, Grams is set up with C.J.'s similarly depressed uncle, an amusing double date scenario turning out to be a lot of fun. Sure, none of this is particularly interesting on a grand scale and seems to be headed nowhere in particular, but it at least utilizes some of the show's more underutilized actors of late.
Alias' third season is its most divisive in the show's history, many believing it to be the show's death knell, others finding its awfulness was more than a little exaggerated. When I first watched it nearly ten years ago, I was more in the latter camp, believing it to be less interesting than its predecessors but still generally absorbing. Watching it again, I'm more inclined to say it was an elaborate misfire. Granted, those first two seasons were so above anything else in this genre, an irresistible blend of high-octane thrills and moving character-based drama, that any lesser season would be treated worse by mere association. But it can't disguise how muddled and annoying season three wound up being, an opinion not improved a whole lot with this confused finale.
