Rainsong

Did they tell us that Clayton is in medical sales? Because ongoing encounters with him are akin to visiting his dental clients can every week. A fear of needles can be a problem at the dentist. Mara has no such fears, we think, as certain uneven facial terrain has been smoothed over thanks to the toxin-turned-tonic known as botulinum. However, botox can do nothing for the hands which, as Dame Joan Collins often notes, reveal the age more readily than the face. Mara may be Puerto Rican, not Italian, but she’s got some knobby knuckles that would make Rocky Balboa think twice about hitting a side of beef like a heavy bag. The knuckles are visible as Mara self-soothes while the others speculate about Sarah’s fate – especially after the submarine Mara attempted to torpedo the good sloop Sarah. Mara is still moaning about Clayton’s single date choices and is unable (read: unwilling) to take the very large hint. We can be excused for starting to wonder a) if Mara is really 32 and b) what this ‘entrepreneur’ job description is all about and if it might involve other bachelors…as in parties. The claimed age of 32 would make a cat laugh leaving us with b) as the only mystery and one we’re frankly not bothered with solving. In a cruel irony, Mara celebrated the downfall of Shanae but has become her replacement as she sows discord. Small-but-mighty Sarah has dispensed with the tearful innocent routine and is returning triumphantly with a rose. She delivers a rather easily-decoded demand to know who dropped her in the soup with Clayton. The Unlucky Seven aren’t all that keen to participate in the inquest. They’re showing faces longer than Easter Island statues. Mara fesses up and she and Sarah attempt to kill each other with kindness. Another rose ceremony has been shoved into the first act of the episode, leading the audience to wonder, justifiably, if the producers don’t view the ceremonies as dramatic™ enough compared to the producers’ contrivances. Susie wants to ‘literally’ be invited into someone’s home although it’s unclear how one can be ‘figuratively’ invited (front door left open maybe?). We don’t have the heart to tell her that Clayton’s home features a…pool table as one of the parlor fixtures. ‘Nice to meet you, dear. Now rack ‘em!’ We’ve overlooked some of the over-the-top dress choices with long slits and low necklines but Rachel’s rather ludicrous red number with a train that would embarrass Princess Di wrapped over her arm is worthy of a fashion police APB. What’s the national drink of Croatia? Never mind – Mara is having her usual three fingers of vodka, consuming as much Dutch courage as possible as Sarah gives a disingenuous speech about being ‘grateful’ to sit in a room with 8 other women vying for the same boyfriend. Clayton enters to declare that he’s ‘getting to a place where he needs to be.’ If that makes a lick of sense to you, you may have a future as an author of Hallmark Cards. It’s indecipherable to the rest of us but the women are suitably impressed. Or maybe the producers have locked their passports in a safe and the women are worried they can’t get out of the country if they don’t play along. Serene has no choice but to be serene indeed and take short shallow breaths in that tight wrap dress. We can just about count her ribs. She’s clearly not partaking in the room service or catering. Or even the biscotti on the flight over. Clayton has presented her with a Mason jar with ‘fireflies’ aka string lights inside. ‘These are a trip, man. Like, you can’t see the batteries n’ stuff. It’s like totally rad, dude.’ OK he doesn’t actually say it but he’s thinking it. Despite the claimed mutual attraction, Serene body’s language says otherwise as she leans away. Their conversation continues to sound like a business meeting. ‘You were really listening to me. Thank you. If you stop at the front desk they’ll validate your parking.’ If Clayton is sitting ramrod-straight with Serene he’s practically curling up in Susie’s lap and purring. Who needs spoilers when you have eyes? Rachel is still giving the hard sell and medical rep Clayton doesn’t seem to notice the lines are canned. Mara has taken pacing the floor one step further and is now angrily circling the building with drink in hand. Cruella isn’t going out without a fight and, in fact, is engineering the fight herself…with Sarah. The mysterious, uncounted, unnamed, ominous and probably fictional ‘some of the other girls’ are invoked – a phrase that always strikes fear in the heart. Mara, now reduced strictly to manipulation, is nevertheless advising against said manipulation. The other girls say they’re tired of drama but they can curtain-twitch with the best of them as they peek. This is the 21st century catfight: passive-aggressive, full of self-help balderdash and insincere advice. This just in: the New Jersey Chamber of Commerce have officially asked Mara to stop talking. ‘Our state’s reputation is bad enough’ they say. The ceremony mercifully begins. Clayton is an easy target but the speeches are still increasingly strange and entirely self-centered. He sounds like a personal trainer motivating…himself. ‘I know I’ll be in love at the end of this. That’s what makes it all so worth it. By the way, I recommend this protein supplement.’ There are no surprises in the rose stakes, including Genevieve’s unbreakable black mood as she talks of ‘validation’ with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner finally getting fresh air…by working on a roadside trash pickup detail. Not even receiving the last rose can elicit a smile. The now-vanquished Mara is fairly sprinting across the cobblestones. She wants her person and is determined to get him even if she has to handcuff him to the radiator. Form an orderly queue, lads! Vienna! Now we’re talking. Houston seems a million miles away and so does Hvar. Mozart’s music plays (loudly), of course, and steins of beer are imbibed, of course. The only Austrian cliches missing might be a glimpse of Arnold Schwarzenegger or the Von Trapp Family. Bed-flopping has advanced to bed-jumping. Susie, unsurprising recipient of a single date, has embraced the artistic vibe of the Austrian capital by painting her trousers on. ‘Uhmigawd!’ she declares and not for the last time. Susie gets to visit a designer-to-the-stars and tries on a series of dresses with the happy confidence of a size 4. If we’re honest the leather and thigh-high boots she wore in are her best look especially when the alternative is a pink Big Bird number. It makes us wonder why they bothered with the fashion shopping earlier in the day except the haul has another purpose: it will set some teeth on edge back at the suite. Translated, the valet says ‘Good evening, I’m seeking Miss Susie.’ I knew that high school German would pay off one day. There is a very distinct Austrian accent even in the short sentence uttered. Susie is sitting idle in her undergarments, as you do, when yet another dress arrives. To use a Clayton-centric term, they’re just spiking the football now. The show’s accountants have a 24-hour rate on the hire car and they’re determined to get every minute’s worth. ‘Allo? Is that Schoenbrunn Palace? May we use your national landmark for bit of reality TV taping? Ja? Danke!’ Next call to…Chris de Burgh?! Chris could be forgiven for saying ‘No, I don’t want to sing that damned song again even if I wrote it’ but the gig calendar has been lean during covid. What are the odds neither Clayton nor Susie have any idea who he is? Actual Freudian Psychoanalysis involves a single patient. Long conversations. Multiple visits. Today’s sessions are airline-magazine, couples-retreat gibberish. Let’s call it Fraudulent Analysis. On an assembly line no less. All the best psychologists have finger tattoos…don’t they? Was Gabby running late to the filming set or is her hair supposed to be that messy? Genevieve is instructed to ‘try to express what you feel.’ That feeling is… silence. And then an expletive. Oh dear. Not even the most insightful counselors can get blood from a stone. Genny was a bartender of few words but she did us the favor of sending Shanae home. Rachel claims she didn’t see it coming. And nobody believes her. The psychologist doesn’t believe her inch-deep patter either in the session. Sarah manages to talk about Clayton at length without looking at him once. Our host declares that some of them have been ‘performative.’ Clayton looks alarmed at the word. Probably because he doesn’t know what it means. He thinks it refers to someone’s 40-yard dash time. Sarah is more sinned against than sinner but someone has to be the object of the insecurities so she goes. Clayton is downright angry when these separations occur as if he’s quickly running out of game tokens at Dave & Buster’s. Our big dumb jock is incapable of fair play and being conciliatory when it doesn’t work out. ‘If someone says they’re feeling insecure then…how does that become something that I need to fix?’ asks Sarah and for once we don’t have a snappy answer for her. She’s spot on. Grumpy Clayton is back talking about hometowns and a wife the way other people talk about placing an Amazon order for socks. The remaining women do plenty of performative frowning at being denied a rose but they’re secretly overjoyed at having skillfully and surreptitiously dispensed with another rival. Who needs ceremonies to pare the field down when you have whispering campaigns? Serene hasn’t quite managed to stay out of the drama but at least she’s not here tonight. Susie is floating above it all at 30,000 ft. The Witches of Eureka are just little insignificant dots on the ground below her. The World’s Longest Job Interview resumes with Serene declaring flatly that ‘they’re building something comfortable and trusting.’ If you say so. Our partners prove incapable of being comfortable or trusting as they struggle with the waltz, possibly the world’s easiest dance step and rhythm. The Austrians call out ‘1-2-3’ – and in English – but it’s no help. Surprisingly, we haven’t had a date involving ballroom dancing (always a Bachelor staple) but our couple obviously have four left feet between them so maybe that idea was nixed. Serene’s dresses are getting tighter and smaller, if that’s possible. Clayton is once again a fashion don’t with his cable-knit zip-up sweater and plaid sport coat. Suddenly thermal underwear tops don’t seem so objectionable. A second rose ceremony is squeezed in before (all together now) hometowns. With two of the roses already secured, it means the witches’ coven will be broken up soon after its formation. Rachel’s a lock for a rose leaving just Gabby and Teddi, who’s been frowning so much the past week even Clueless Clayton has noticed. Finally, Teddi’s frowns earn her a looooong coach-class flight home from Austria to California. It looks as though each family has a designated inquisitor and it’s safe to say we’re on their side this time. Sic ‘em!

When we last left our Bachelor, he was next to Horseshoe Falls. Sadly, it wasn’t to climb into a barrel. But taking Genevieve and Shanae on the same date is the stuff of real daredevils anyway. Gabby has memorized the wording of the 2-on-1 date card including the signature. It took a night of rehearsal for this Herculean task of recall but it may explain the bags under her eyes. The (mandatory?) morning meeting of the Shanae Discussion Committee is in progress, with all exhibiting the kind of expression you see in a dentist’s waiting room. ABC’s ‘Niagara Falls – Canada’ graphic is superimposed over…the falls on the American (NY) side. Remote learning hasn’t worked out too well for the video editors during the pandemic. Clayton has once again pushed his fashion boat out – this time he’s wearing a thermal underwear Henley shirt. How about a 1-on-1 date to a Brooks Brothers store? The loveseat is a mere 20 paces away from the date couch with a hedge for privacy (?). Genevieve’s long face gets longer as she gripes about being on the 2-on-1 date. Clayton’s brows are knitted but maybe he’s just trying to recall her name given their scant interaction so far. We’re back to job interview monotones from both. ‘If you have any questions about anything I hope you come to me. I’m at extension 429.’ How breathtakingly romantic. ‘I don’t know what Genevieve’s plan is,’ claims Shanae. Of course you do, dear. It’s the same plan you have. A few references to being vulnerable and struggling and a locking of lips. Shanae is in a green-with-envy suede jacket and Genny in snakeskin boots. Surely it should be the other way round? The reptilian Shanae sinks the fangs in and releases the venom by telling Clayton that Genevieve wants to go home. A calculator is unnecessary to do the Shanae math: 29 years old, single for 5 years, 3 long term relationships, which mean all 3 concluded by age 24. If we designate relationship age as 18 those ‘long terms’ aren’t very long at all (2 years average). Shanae’s sidebar-camera ‘scheming’ persona is as much of an act as her risible fakery with the Bachelor. It’s a rather obvious defense mechanism. If she pretends not to really care now she can pretend not to really care later. Oh and she wouldn’t mind a trip to Mexico where she can resume her antics and the producers will probably be happy to oblige. Shanae’s last on-camera pronouncement is a ‘like, literally.’ A fitting airheaded epitaph. Clayton says he learned a lot. If so, could he elaborate? Because those of us above his low signal-to-noise ratio aren’t receiving clearly. Shanae is sucking in her cheeks and exposing her cheekbones and resembles good old Glenn Close from ‘Fatal Attraction’ with obsessive, manic behavior to match. Clayton The Incoherent must ‘step away’ again. If this is how he reacts to a dating scenario, ladies, how will he handle disputes over loading the dishwasher or daycare dropoffs? The good catch is starting to resemble a trash fish caught in the trawler net. Or possibly even a rubber boot. The Niagara River rapids have nothing on the whoosh of relief felt by all when Genevieve receives the rose although she reacts as if someone’s handed her the electric bill for the month. Still, you can’t keep a girl with a low neckline and an exposed midriff down. Clayton wants some of that vodka sauce even if he and we have yet to see Gen crack a smile. Punches of violin notes sound, ‘Psycho’ style. Shanae is still doing her crazy-eye routine although this time it may be involuntary. The vigil-keeping suite-bound Bachelorettes are actually shedding tears at the removal of Shanae’s case. Or maybe they’re happy that they get rid of the plastic forks & cups now that there’s no risk of Shanae using cutlery & glasses as weapons. Fun & laughter are thin on the ground when Colorless Clayton is around so why not crack the bubbly and celebrate now? ‘That’s why I’m single,’ claims Shanae. Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure we could come with a few hundred other reasons in the next few minutes. A Shanae-less rose ceremony is, admittedly, a bit anticlimactic but had she remained there might have been a stampede to toss her off the lofty balcony. Safety first. Clayton has managed to match his shirt and pocket square so he’s entitled to a bit of post-Shanae fun in front of the fire. Sarah has her moment and then Rachel, with lips coated in Armor All, demands several more of those moments as Clayton’s tongue pistons in and out like a moray eel in a reef. Hunter finally gets a dip. No, not the Bachelor himself but a dip as in a dance move. Memo to Mara: Shanae’s exit doesn’t mean other people don’t irritate us. This is the second time you’ve done the obnoxious, annoying spoon feeding routine. If this is your version of flirtation, toss the manual in the fire and start over. If dozens of scripted and unscripted interruptions in the past have set our teeth on edge, we’re cheering like mad for Mara’s sloppy meal cut mercifully short by Serene. Mara regrets she isn’t back in Jersey to place a phone call to a ‘friend of ours’ and have Serene removed. Permanently. (I checked archive footage and yes it was Mara with the spoon on the first night. Unfortunately, I also realized that Hunter was/is the snake lady. I swear my comment last week about her having scales was coincidence but the snake is a large demerit.) It isn’t all bad. That atrium/arch thing is impressive in its design and materials although those chandeliers are hanging mighty low. The Bachelorettes and roses appear to be standing on a sort of Ouija board-style area rug. Entirely appropriate since YES, NO and GOOD BYE will be the responses and outcomes from this little ritual although we can do without any supernatural communication with the departed Shanae. Susie has bags of confidence in the unstated evening gown competition and why not? Team Green less so – both of the women in emerald are heading home, having rolled snake eyes. Mara may be the new producer’s pet able to cry on command but her rose tonight is merely prolonging the inevitable. Croatia is one of the most romantic places in Europe? Since when? I mean, I had a cousin who flew there to get married but I think that may have been because she married a Croat. Either that or it was cheap. Croatia does have quite the mainland coastline, to be fair and the destination island is nice. The gasps, screams and pearl-clutching aren’t very convincing. Probably because half the women couldn’t pick out Croatia on a map. Perhaps Croatia relaxed its covid policy earlier last year enabling easier entry/exit? Any site in the Mediterranean automatically gets the mandolin music cues as the ladies squeal at the sight of yet another hotel room, flop on the beds and gawp at the shoreline. Clayton arrives to take Teddi on a date and the Bachelorettes are Balkanized quickly with Mara in a Milosevician fit of pique. Filming schedules and travel budgets trump luurrrve connections so Clayton, Teddi et al are compelled to walk on the ancient stones in the rain under the world’s smallest umbrellas. The locals, at least, have the good sense to stay inside until better weather arrives while they mock the Yanks under their breath in the indecipherable Serbo-Croatian tongue. Teddi’s ‘big news’ isn’t all that big. She will remain chaste until marriage. Or love. Whichever comes first. Teddy has 10 known rivals sharing her hotel room seeking the same male as she but claims – in between incessant tucking of her mane – that she feels a great amount of trust. Our definitions of trust must different greatly then. Clayton is back on autopilot with his ‘thank you’ and ‘patience’ and ‘conversation.’ Clayton stages a trust-test by walking Teddi onto a rocky beach in her Lucite stripper heels. If she makes it, she’s wife material. If she doesn’t, she’s a witch. Mara’s clutch of decorum has slipped and she is in a gear that rhymes with witch. She’s on a group date ie no date at all and Sarah has the hole shot. Oops, better not use the word ‘shot’ around Mara right now. Clayton thinks there’s no more drama, no more tension. In other words, he isn’t thinking at all. A rather severe-looking Croat woman instructs the women to don suits of armor and the ‘no drama, no tension’ group are a bit to eager to comply. Now everyone resembles Honi, daughter of Hagar the Horrible. Horrible isn’t a strong enough word for the revolting food on offer in the next challenge. ‘My gag reflex is sensitive’ claims Gabby, who you may recall is a nurse and will see much worse than fish heads in her medical career. Mara’s barbarian banter proves insufficient. $100 transferred via Venmo to anyone who can translate what he says to Rachel during their impromptu meeting of the Dim Bulb Society. Quick cuts through the others lead us to Mara, who wants to speak to the @!$%#*&! manager. Clayton is used to his cheeks being kissed, not slapped, and has the look of a petulant child as Mara lectures him, then reveals that some in the harem are not completely devoted to the sultan. It’s probably just coincidence that Sarah, recipient of tomorrow’s date, is the subject of Mara’s whispering campaign. Clayton looks rather pleased with himself for deducing her identity after having anvil-sized hints dropped in his lap. It's Clayton’s turn for a date card and if we read our clock tower correctly it’s 2:25 AM? The anvils aren’t done dropping as competition veteran Susie, not to be outdone, drops the Big L anvil. Lunkhead Clayton is overjoyed, not least because he was worried he’d have to repeat his list of catchphrases and shapely Susie might notice the pattern. She’s got him eating svinjska jetra out of her hand. Mara’s sour grapes have had an intoxicating effect on Clayton who blindsides Sarah with the charge of Here For The Wrong Reasons. Clayton uses engaged, hometowns etc. as he would football terminology. The Journey™ is merely a series of downs and distances. I can’t do justice to Sarah’s less-than-eloquent response except to say it was impossible to count the number of ‘likes’ in her speech. At least someone finally has the presence of mind to use a napkin to dry her tears since tissues are verboten on the set. Clayton is more than a bit of a selfish bastard and quite obviously loves seeing the waterworks when the women experience doubt or conflict as some sort of proof of their feelings. Of all the targets of Mara’s wrath, inoffensive Sarah seemed farthest off the radar but the atmosphere is positively Cinderellian now.

One assumes that local chamber of commerce or film commission types work with production companies to show the good side of a city, to use John Fogerty’s famous lyric. When the location is Houston it seems quite the challenge as our opening beauty shot is of freeway overpasses, blocks of apartments and a flat expanse of…flat expanse. Well, it is Texas. And this is another post with only coffee to fuel it. Must get back to nighttime viewing with something stronger. Butter wouldn’t melt in Susie’s mouth but even she is joining in the Shanae slam sessions. Jill is still on this program for reasons unclear but maybe she’s an on-camera luggage porter. Clayton is on a beach wearing another clearance-rack item from Marshalls, this time a peach t-shirt. The clothing budget must have been sacrificed in favor of Chris Harrison’s severance package. He’s meeting up with Serene who is wearing cutoffs and not much else. In traditional Bachelor fashion they perform a docking maneuver before actually walking onto a real dock where there is an amusement park. Beats fishing, I suppose. Galveston (cue the Glen Campbell hit) was once struck by a fierce hurricane and the traumatized residents decided to effectively relocate the city inland which begat Houston. Although we’ve got some rather rough Gulf surf today, no tropical cyclones are anticipated to make things interesting. I’ll wager that ABC/Disney’s legal department were in two minds when they saw footage of a teacup ride that ripped off the REAL teacup ride at Disney World. The rides & attractions’ names are double entendres if your mind works that way: Iron Shark, Sea Dragon, Sweet Scoops, Pirate’s Plunge, Texas Flyer. There are even Galveston Juegos although most of the other Bachelorettes can top Serena in the juegos department. That’s a double-double entendre, by the way. Two people alone in a park is a somewhat spooky Scooby-Doo vibe but it does provide freedom to mash at will. Clayton’s dates all seem to culminate in some rather stilted conversations that sound more like job interviews with monotone I-was-glad-to-spend-time-with-you-today exchanges. Serena brushes up well with a slinky black dress. Clayton has been officially designated a fashion dead end with his speckled sweater that in no way matches his sport coat. He looks like he made a garment out of mom’s afghan. Clayton delivers a football pep talk in lieu of romantic overtures. Serena responds by closing her eyes as she claim to be ‘really happy too.’ Not according to that body language! Clayton is still in interview mode even as the tears flow. ‘Thank you for sharing that. Now, let me show you our 401K options.’ The world’s most scripted, least convincing embraces follow. This could be your husband? He sounds like your CPA. Someone in production must have heard our complaints about the paucity of rose ceremonies because here’s another one double quick. Unfortunately, the ceremonies appear to be airing in rapid fashion to subject us to more of the Shanae Sideshow including nervous hiking of dresses, desperate guzzling of wine and long faces all round. Hopefully candle holders have been secured to tabletops to avoid more hurling of projectiles. If Jill must return to her architectural history duties, she’s going down fighting. Clayton makes another stealth entrance and is sorry to interrupt. On the other hand, maybe they’re not all that into him. Understandable. Clayton is less interested in romance than he is in conducting an inquest into the football game aftermath. Sierra is happy to witness for the prosecution (again). Mara doubts that Shanae is wife material but so far it sounds like living with Mara might necessitate hiding all the sharp objects in the house at bedtime each night as well as keeping those bank accounts and phone plans separate and sending the bills to a secret PO box. On the subject of long(er) knives, Houstonian Lyndsey is feeling confident on home soil and gleefully sticking it to Shanae. Superjock Clayton isn’t concerned about upset women, ruined parties or ongoing drama – he’s worried about the trophy, an inanimate object. One of his own kind, you might say. Clayton gives his version of a meandering tongue-lashing. Crocodile Shanae generates the only sort of tears a crocodile can generate. Incredibly, the other women, mad as hell five minutes ago, nod along and believe the world’s most insincere apology. As Paul Newman observed in The Sting: ‘They wouldn’t let you in here if you weren’t a chump!’ Shanae fairly skips back to the terminally naïve Clayton who just wanted to suck face. On-camera, in private, Shanae cackles over her ability to fake sincerity. Clayton prefaces the rose ceremony by talking about ‘decisions.’ Thanks to some rather indiscreet video editing, we have a good idea what some of those decisions are already. Project Cleavage works in Genevieve’s favor. Eyes down there mean Clayton hasn’t noticed that Genevieve has yet to smile. No need for the dropped jaws and pounding timpani – anyone with an IQ above room temperature knew that Shanae was going to be here another week. One can almost envision the producers throwing their hands up in exasperation at their comatose Bachelor. More footage of verbal catfighting is all they have left. Lyndsey will have a short limo ride home, at least. Off to Toronto? Technically it’s international travel but still mainland North America. Might I suggest the US Virgin Islands for seclusion and beauty? No passport headaches either. Scratch that – the USVI are my getaway and I’d rather not encounter any of this lot there. Niagara Falls have been moved to Toronto? Does the Canadian government know about this geographic outrage? Is the establishing shot of Bridal Veil Falls on the American side a clever visual pun or are the producers not clever enough for such things? Apparently the Falls aren’t first on the itinerary and we are, in fact, in Toronto. Clayton is wearing…a Mr Rogers zip-up sweater. I give up. The women enter a hotel suite and we see the obligatory shot of them collapsing onto a bed. Chris Harrison’s payoff must have been even larger than we think as this date begins with a $25 street hockey set. ‘Have you ever eaten beaver before?’ Clayton asks. There are two kinds of people – those who would snicker knowingly at that seemingly innocent line and those who would not. One’s reaction might hinge on age and/or gender or possibly on having been on a school bus before. ‘Nuff said. ‘Is that really beaver tail?’ asks gormless Gabby. Have you seen a beaver’s tail, love? Not much edible there. And I imagine the aforementioned Canadian government would take a dim view of separating beavers, alive or dead, from their tails. I have some more shocking news for Gabby: elephant ears at the county fair aren’t really made from elephants. They’re positively whacking the audience over the head with the priapic symbolism of the CN Tower right between the two love loonies. A date card has arrived back at the suite. Genevieve has the thousand yard stare of post-traumatic stress. Or maybe she’s just bored. All but Genny and Shanae are on a group date, which means the return of the 2-on-1. Cue more ominous timpani sounds. Speaking of vibrating membranes, Gabby is apparently determined to avoid the use of a brassiere for a full 24 hours. Clayton is in brown suede. Of course. It’s not easy wearing green, Gabby laments. Clayton is actively participating in a conversation and asking topical questions. Maybe he’s had a drink or two. A man with a suspicious turn of mind might ask why all his dates end up in floods of tears. It *is* easy for the slim Gabby to parade proudly in her barely-there swimsuit. Heels and cobblestone are usually a bad mix but fashion needs must and the women are striding along confidently. Jesse makes an appearance along with, um, Russell Peters. Me neither. A roast emcee, they say. The unremarkable Clayton is an easy target for Peters who tells a few uncomfortable home truths along the way to nervous laughter as do the women, who obviously have had some help authoring their barbs. Mara fails to get into the spirit of the thing. Shocker. Has Hunter got scales under her clothes or something? Why is she being ignored? She’s a looker, a laugher and lighthearted. Way too good for Clunker Clayton. Susie is giving it both pageant-girl barrels now with her rehearsed gestures and wireless mic. A rose for Rachel? It’s half-commentary, half-question since my hand involuntarily fast-forwarded past her vapidity. The 2-on-1 is alongside Horseshoe Falls and we hope that luck will be a lady tonight, meaning that Genevieve stays and Shanae crosses the Rainbow Bridge back to the States. Not a pet or death or pet death reference. The actual Rainbow Bridge visible behind them. ‘It’s no surprise where we are,’ reveals Clayton completely surplus to requirements. Even the self-absorbed Bachelorettes probably recognize one of the natural wonders of the world roaring down nearby. Alas, the Bachelor won’t choose his Maid Of The Mist until next week.

If there were such a thing as a retroactive, time-traveling 911 call then we might dial that number to report a dozen or so women being held against their will in a large California house a few months ago. They have all the joy and zeal of a prison work detail riding a bus out to dig a ditch. Digging ditches is hard work, and so is Clayton. His sameness of approach with each female – with the notable exception of Susie – is less about playing it cagey with them (and the audience) and more about…a sameness of approach. He’s got a few stock lines of dialogue and can’t be budged off them. Body language is often a tell that can’t be edited out but Clayton’s poses, especially one-on-one on the couch, are as regimented as football pass patterns. Breakfast for the Bachelorettes is oatmeal – and more talk of Shanae. Faces are long but not longer than the odds that another day won’t be consumed by drama. If the first ‘day’ was the longest one then this has been the absolute shortest. We’ve zipped from daybreak to pitch darkness, bagels to bangles as the dresses, war paint and jewelry are applied. ‘This has been the most challenging week,’ says Clayton, overlooking that this is only the 4th episode and there haven’t been too many weeks preceding. ‘I go in a somber mood.’ Mate, if you want somber wait til you see the molars grinding in the parlor. The cat is set among the pigeons with rather suspect timing as they’re caught midsentence. Camp counselor Clayton is here to scold adult women who are putting up with being treated like children. To be fair, the am-not-are-too conversation between Elizabeth & Shanae that follows is childish and Clayton sits mute as his jaw juts into the Mojave Desert. Clayton’s method of ‘addressing it’ is to get up and walk away. ‘We’re not resolving, we’re talking about shrimp,’ he fumes in the hallway. But standing in the hallway is a metaphor for his refusal – or even inability – to mediate or to lay down the law. Shanae has two problems – an abhorrent personality as well as poor acting chops. She can’t pull off the villainess role because she has no real confidence unlike some previous focal points of dislike in this series. The shrimp motif has been well and truly worn out. The very large gap between self-created provocateur and producer plant is obvious. In addition to her hammy performance, hick Shanae struggles with basic vocabulary and grammar, uttering ‘I don’t want to end the note on Elizabeth and I.’ End the note? Using a nominative case pronoun as the object of a preposition sets my teeth on edge, especially as so many do it thinking it sounds intelligent (‘Between Michael and I.’ No. No no no no no.). According to my watch, Shanae has been ‘not talking about it’ for a full 15 min of screen time and probably 1 hour of real time. Clayton, if you want to be a daddy then you’re going to face more vociferous disagreements than this every day over trifles like who gets the red cereal bowl. Granted, 30 year old women can act worse than a tired, cranky 2 year old but closing your eyes and standing in the shadows isn’t going to cut the Gordian knot. The music director is doing his level best to pump life into this carcass with the pulsing string crescendos but it’s all for naught as Jesse announces the dreaded bad ‘head space.’ And brother, is there a lot of space in that head. The cocktail party is scratched before eyes and faces are. Clayton evidently expects The Journey™ to be a smooth, straight stretch of road requiring no steering, passing, signaling, or actual conversation among passengers. Call it Silent Bachelor Uber. Some of the disappointed Bachelorettes tiptoe near the realization that this is all a farce, that Clayton isn’t worth it and that they’ll merely get more of the same tomorrow with or without a cocktail party but, like the Stanford Prison Experiment, nobody is willing to break character. Fiery Genevieve may be a longshot in the Clayton Claiming Stakes but he is at least providing some entertainment on the backstretch, taking the lead in the anti-Shanae sentiment. Elizabeth is in bits again. Clayton says he didn’t want to carry on with the party but we’ve got a production schedule and budget to meet here so if sharp sticks are needed we’re still going to have a much-delayed rose ceremony featuring a not-so-coincidental Crayola-64 variety of colors among the evening gowns. Grumpy Teddi’s frown disappears for 0.1 second. Blink and you’ll miss it. The rest of us are still frowning at the forced-choice rose awarded to Shanae. Our personal trainer, good old Whatshername is leaving. Doc Kira is also going, which may explain her recent spate of appearances on social media. And there goes Elizabeth who took the bait (last shrimp joke, promise). Another encounter with Clayton concludes with the remaining Bachelorettes looking as if they’ve been told they’ll be taking cold showers in the morning. Gabby is crying before her tea cools, which isn’t a good sign. Batting fourth in the order, the Designated Complainer, Jill. Another tiresome Shanae oral self-inventory is mercifully cut short by Jesse’s hilarious attempt to oversell…Houston. Home of the refinery storage tank and strip mall. Urban chic? It’s not quite Milan, is it? With covid hindering international travel it was almost a dead cert they would remain stateside. But how about some of those nice mountains, beaches or resorts? Are we staying at the airport Sheraton and shopping in the international foods aisle of HEB for our date? Clarence has arrived at Clayton’s room. Not quite George Bailey’s guardian angel but Clayton is jazzed. Clayton tells Clarence he’s got strong connections. Er, which ones are those? Perhaps they were accidentally erased from disk. Always make a backup, kids! Flygirl Rachel has snatched a date (cue an XL frown from Teddi) and latches on instantly. As with the boat date earlier, the horseback date usually precedes the finale but here we are on the bridal, sorry, bridle trail. They’ve stumbled into a urban chic (?) backyard BBQ with a passel of strangers. Which is strange unto itself. As in awkward. Sitting on a dock, Rachel is whispering although they’re completely alone. Well, except for the shotgun mics with the gain cranked into the red. Lunch was consumed but dinner will be traditionally ignored. Clayton’s Big Move is the old What’s A Nice Girl Like You Doing In A Place Like This? Almost literally. Rachel replies with a cliché of her own: her ex was a cad. (But we like our cads. Our choirboys are the uninteresting ones). The country Jonas Brothers lay the foreshadowing on heavy and thick with the ‘growing old with you’ lyrics. Musical types will note the absence of amplifiers, PA gear and many of the instruments heard on the soundtrack. They’re singing live but much of the backing is a track. It’s deception on and offstage with the hearty Bachelor crew. Did Clayton actually say the line ‘I’ll never dim your light?’ I just cringed so hard my head ducked below my collarbone, like a turtle. That was painful. Sierra’s not my fave but if she is to be the instrument of Shanae’s destruction then let the claws be unsheathed. A marketing stunt for electric cars and, apparently, electric grills follows in the football tailgate lot. But if the grill wasn’t turned on electrically yet (and there was no smoke), why the hell was Clayton flipping burgers that weren’t cooking? I hesitate to play Columbo during each episode but these questions almost write themselves. The powderpuff football task is inevitably revealed along with the trash talk. Marlena has gone full jock on us but maybe she’ll impart an ACL tear for our entertainment. We can think of a possible target. Couldn’t we have two jersey colors that contrasted a bit more? Marlena’s team wins, natch. Hell, Marlena probably could have won singlehandedly. But at least it puts Shanae out of the afterparty. We think. The football trophy is in the shape of a loving cup (a term and a tradition with a very interesting history). Suddenly we have flashbacks to previews. Or is it previews to flashbacks? Either way, we know the trophy will come a cropper when Shanae, unloved and unwanted, storms back in for the 38th tantrum of the week and flings the trophy away in anger. Clayton is wearing a…a brown turtleneck? It must be from this year’s Goodwill collection. Matt James managed better choices than this. Faint praise. Teddi is attempting to use separation anxiety as a selling point. Clayton responds with ‘just keep being you.’ Uh oh. We’ve heard that before. Sierra is wearing another carafe of glitter. And rivaling Shanae for gobbledegook. ‘And it’s because based off of the character that we know of you to be.’ Eh? Which character is that? The indecisive Hamlet seems the most obvious. But Clayton may end up as Macbeth with his Lady bending his ear. ‘Shanae seems to be involved all the conflict’ Clayton observes, his little tungsten filament finally glowing. Alas, the bulb has dimmed again. ‘Weren’t you on the blue team?’ he asks Shanae. Yes, yes she was, Clayton. It was just a couple of hours ago. Can’t tell the players without a program, apparently, even if you’re the coach. ‘It’s not the Bachelor, it’s the Shanae Show.’ She may be a repellent creature but when she's right, she's right. Shame, really.

TS Eliot wrote ‘April is the cruellest month’ but we can only surmise that Eliot never tried the crowdsourced stunt known as Dry January. If he had, then he might have identified with those of us scraping by in the cold gloom with nothing but morning coffee to fuel our imaginations. It is, admittedly, much harder to insert tongue in cheek at 7 AM watching the playback than it is at 10 PM after a Talisker or two. It also means we can’t blame demon rum for our lapses in memory. After an idle fortnight many of the women’s names have been forgotten. The women are suited and booted – it’s a rose ceremony. And roses grow in soil. Dirt. Which is exactly what’s being dished on Cassidy (oh yes – her) and the rather flimsy, scripted controversy of a hometown boyfriend. Participating in The Bachelor to make someone jealous is akin to jumping in a swimming pool to demonstrate how sharply your trousers are creased. There might be some demonstrable effect but when Cassidy is one of two dozen women her odds are long, even with a rose at present. Consensus is usually thin on the ground in The Mansion™ but there are heads nodding all round that Clayton ‘deserves to know the truth.’ This sort of altruism is tarnished by the obvious fact that it's a tactic to eliminate a rival. Kate may want to take a ventriloquist dummy along with her for entertainment purposes when she shows properties as she has mastered the art of talking through her nose. In footage apparently edited out of sequence with a rusty axe, Cassidy lords it over the rest. Kate’s a trooper though. Only Kate and one other lady have the patience to remain in the parlor to listen to Cassidy’s tiresome self-praise. As Cassidy speaks, another Bachelorette (later confirmed as Rachel) is dancing bizarrely in the background. The sustained bass notes mean trouble as Cass is summoned and just HAPPENS to leave the coveted rose on the table. Foreshadowing! ‘I know what you’re going to say,’ declares Cassidy who nevertheless reacts with feigned surprise to Clayton’s question. Clayton seems to think that being The Bachelor means he’s not only presented with single women but with vestal virgins. No pre-show dating permitted at any time. Cassidy is trotting out all the tricks – nodding of head, deep sighs etc. To be fair she does maintain eye contact throughout but sociopaths are convincing that way. Less convincing is the story that’s changed three times in 30 seconds. First there was nobody. Then nobody became a friend. Now it’s a relationship that was going nowhere. If this is an alibi, we’d hate to see a confession! And now they’re both doing laps around the property with crews scrambling to shoulder their cameras. ‘He’s overwhelmed,’ says Ency. But why pursue or endure a drama queen when 20 (?) undramatic (at present) women are waiting patiently? Shanae claims ‘I didn’t hear any of that’ and she may be inadvertently telling the truth as she’s busy waging her own psychological campaign. Contestants and audience are united in their relief at seeing the big black SUV and hearing the slamming of the door. Enough of the hangdog looks, Clayton. You’ve successfully pulled a burr off your wool sock. Now march on. ‘The poison is gone’ one girl suggests. Camera cuts to Shanae. Or is it? Clayton’s back and he dispels any remaining illusions that he’s a fun-lovin’ dude. He’s merely a self-pitying misery guts and this rose ceremony has all the positive vibe of a fraternity hazing. We can understand long faces in the latter rounds but the smiles have disappeared already and it’s early still. Clayton is going for the non-threatening, unworldly women – and, of course, the two remaining bloodsport combatants who just happen to be the last two chosen on the night. Clayton, our opinion was already slipping but if you’re sending a sassy looker who also has cocktails secreted in her, er, cocktail dress home then we are even more disappointed. She’s a potential maneater who should keep the calendar clear for a trip to Mexico. The no-hopers and also-rans are usually obvious from the start but Ency and her pair of enhanced encies going home are a surprise. ‘Tonight was…a lot’ declares monotone, less-than-eloquent Clayton. Someone please connect this robot to a charging station. Oooh! Sensitive subject matter! What might that be? We know nudity is out. A catfight maybe? ‘I feel like a lot of the drama has gotten in the way of the reason we’re here,’ Jill observes. Yes, and that’s exactly the way the producers want it, darling. Finding luuuurve is surplus to requirements, especially after so many false dawns at the end of The Journey™. Jesse cheers them up with: ‘You never know when your last moment will come.’ Positively funereal. A group date is first and hopefully children and, er, Hilary Duff won’t be part of the activities. Everyone in LA is still wearing those damned masks except, notably, the cast members. Professor Plum is wearing a top so purple that we’re starting to suspect he’s colorblind. On second thought, can we have Hilary Duff again? It’s yet another appearance of the world’s dullest Canadian (despite numerous competitors), Kaitlyn Bristowe, her tacky crazy-quilt manicure and her odd shirt/dress/jacket hybrid that may or may not provide enough modesty when seated. I thought the border was closed, dammit! Exactly why this variation of the old truth-or-dare game had to be staged on an actual stage, in the dark, is unclear. Which adult among us has no flaws or skeletons in the closet? A ridiculous self-evident premise. Not that we expected a scientific exercise but the eyes are darting about the room and all we’re getting is follow-the-leader. Where’s the ‘date’ part of the group date? This is little more than therapy and not the entertaining Tony Soprano kind. Medical confidences? Not a bit of it. Air your dirty laundry for our entertainment. Emote on cue. Did someone mention the gym? Now Clayton is paying attention, bro. How much do you bench, he wonders? Wrong question. Evoking insecurities in a roomful of them is a torturous new low even for this program and this season. Is there a reason these truths couldn’t be revealed individually as part of getting to know someone? Hunter has definitely had a rough go, it must be said. All right, Clayton, don’t pinch your stomach if it upsets you. But pinch something else – your arm, your leg – wake up and stop wearing these damned hoodie/sport coat combinations. A sweater with a hood, no less! The gang march into…a disused bank vault. As you do. Insert joke about unlocking someone’s heart. Serene is, well, serene. Susie still nodding head animatedly. ‘I feel a strong connection with you,’ she declares. While staring at the floor. No spoilers known or implied but if she ain’t a finalist I’ll eat my cowboy hat. Clayton’s going in for seconds and thirds at the pageant afterparty. Back at the ranch, Clayton’s date card is written in a very feminine hand. Can’t they get the lad to write his own material? After an agonizing encounter group discussing the anguish caused by physical insecurities, Eliza and Clayton are now examining themselves in a full-length mirror. Psychologists’ clinical term for this is ‘pouring gasoline on a fire.’ Faith, hope and love have nothing on intractable narcissism. ‘Keep being who you are’ is Bachelor code for ‘you’ve got no chance.’ But Clayton is aware enough to know that after today’s conversation he would be crucified without wood or nails if he discouraged her now. So he plays along while keeping enough space for the Holy Ghost between them. Maybe Clayton wore layers because Genevieve is fanning him with her fluttering false eyelashes. Brrrr. She’s still affected by the events of today. Snap out of it girl, or the tinted Escalade beckons. Cinderella Mara is likely going to discover that no glass slipper will be forthcoming. The mirror turns out to be magic for Eliza. To invoke another Disney reference, the magic mirror didn’t work out too well for the Queen. Clayton and his apparently inexhaustible supply of hoodies are here to greet the petite Sarah who gives up a foot and a half in height. It’s hard to see the iconic LA City Hall without hearing the ominous Dragnet theme, which seems apropos for The Most Dramatic Season Ever™. Another Bachelor(ette) alumna, Becca is here to talk about comfort zones (ugh) and bonding, which seems cruelly ironic given her inability to hang onto a man. Painful candor about self image? That was yesterday. Today we’re exposing acres of flesh in a public park. Clayton is secretly rejoicing that Sarah is a fighting fit size 0 and has no apparent hangups about exposure. At the risk of being a stickler for the rules, this isn’t much of a scavenger hunt is it? What happened to ‘find a pair of rubber boots’ or ‘borrow someone’s golf club?’ Pinatas and karaoke aren’t really part of a hunt are they? Rapping instead of singing is cheating, Sarah! The clothes mercifully go back on, hoodie or no hoodie. Sarah is delivering entire sentences in vocal fry now. Clayton responds the only way he knows how – with slurpy kisses that sound like a toilet being plunged. The evening date is at the Van Gogh exhibit, where they’re going Dutch! *RIMSHOT* Oh come on – it’s Dry January! Work with me here! Sarah is an inveterate hair-fiddler but she looks bored more than anything else. Clayton’s wardrobe is getting worse, if that’s possible. He’s wearing a sport coat made out of your mother’s old sofa upholstery. Hopefully the spot where she dropped a cigarette that one time has been trimmed off in the tailoring process. The already tear-filled days fill up some more with Sarah’s story of her adoption and childhood although Sarah’s teardrops magically evaporate between camera cuts thus eliminating the need for tissues. Clayton has the same stock response to every tale he hears. It helps him understand etc etc ad infinitum ad nauseum. On second thought, can we bring back one of the old Bachelors? One of the rakes? One of those priapic smirking cads who just wanted to get his leg over as many times as possible? I can’t take much more of Clayton’s Dr Phil routine and his ‘thank you for that.’ To use another Holland metaphor, despite the long hours spent in today’s confessional booth it seems our Sarah is erecting a brick emotional levee that the rather drippy Clayton stands no chance of breaching. In other words, he’s being friendzoned in real time. Not buying the long embrace and the string quartet. Sorry. Another date card is being presented in their absence and Shanae simply will not shut up. Rachel now has the thousand-yard stare. Desperation or boredom? The remaining ladies head to the beach – cue surf guitar glissando (disclaimer: this writer has played one or two of those and typically has an ear out for them). Personal trainer Melina (who???) has come to the beach but is wearing enough gold to lose and keep an old man with a metal detector busy for a month. Hmmm…Kira’s figure seems to have changed since arrival night unless her red lingerie ensemble included a padded bra. Speaking of surreptitious changes in bustlines, Nicole Eggert arrives. Eggert famously had implants during her Baywatch heyday and, later, famously announced their removal. If the previous group date was about body negativity, today is all about body positivity. Or having to fake it in a red high-cut one-piece. Presumably helpful but strict grooming advice was issued this morning. And Melina is still wearing a jewelry store. Nicole is keeping the windbreaker on, thank you very much, especially as the sun refuses to shine. A pointless task involving sun cream follows, not least because Clayton’s arms are already burnt, apparently from a previous outing. Dark horse Gabby steals a win but we’re forced to endure as many shots of Shanae moaning and gritting her teeth as we are Gabby enjoying her time. The evening date features Teddi, who’s been nearly silent all day and has a face like thunder tonight. Clayton has the Members Only version of a leather jacket on. Just hopeless. Go on, give Rachel a kiss if it will stop her endless monologue. Gabby’s bringing a new kind of social lubricant. Did Shanae just pronounce it ‘ekspecially?’ ‘This is, like, happening!’ Clayton obviously isn’t so sure. The obligatory Two Minutes Of Hate for Elizabeth follows along with some hacktastic community theatre emoting. If the gormless Clayton falls for this routine he deserves his fate. Is there a hidden message in Elizabeth’s alphabet-soup dress? ‘I HATE SHANAE’ maybe? She’s playing defense – again - but her crying jag doesn’t have the desired effect. ‘He told me that I got everyone to gang up on Shanae.’ Well, the gang part might be accurate but Shanae doesn’t need any help creating enemies. It’s a bit of recruiter-on-recruiter violence as Sierra fires the first volley. The good news: the schedule has resumed and the next episode is only a week away. The bad news: the schedule has resumed and the next episode is only a week away. And will feature the time-wasting distraction known as Shanae. But the producers’ only alternative is more footage of cold-fish Clayton sucking face in lieu of conversation so they’re a bit desperate already.

It was once posited that The Bachelor was not only a seasonal replacement for the Monday Night Football franchise on ABC but that it also represented a symbolic passing of the gavel – sorry, the remote – from male to female in the primary viewer demographic. College and pro football playoffs have both been pushed later into the new year as a result of the expansion of schedules. Where there was once separation there is now overlap. In the case of the NFL, the cynical purpose will surprise no one: by moving the Super Bowl into February they are able to claim an entry in an additional month’s ‘ratings book’ and claim additional advertising bounty. Thus, Jesse Palmer’s seeming ability to be in two places at once – the Bachelor mansion and the national championship game. But it’s only the ‘magic’ of video tape, to use a common phrase of the past, as Jesse missed numerous football broadcasts in the fall to fulfill his Bachelor duties. It's daylight again, to use a Crosby, Stills & Nash album title, and the Bare Midriff Gang are whooping as they walk back (sans luggage) back into the mansion. Notable exception to the bare midriff look: Ency, wearing another dress requiring double-stick tape in order to display the merchandise to window shoppers and Bachelors. Back into the mansion? Where did they go? Why? After all that first-night log-rolling in a quest to stay in the mansion were they sent back to a hotel? Your humble scrivener, typically disdainful of pop-culture and social media trends (read: marketing initiatives), is nevertheless participating in Dry January. A similar, mostly successful attempt was made, mostly out of curiosity, a few years back with occasional backsliding. This one, so far, is strict. Until it isn’t. Watch this space. An optimist might say that Dry January is a new year’s resolution but one that must only last 31 days and is an opportunity to undo some of the excesses of the holidays. A pessimist might say that attempting to get through the coldest, gloomiest month of winter without the occasional social lubricant makes January, well, much colder and gloomier. The point of all that is that Episode 2 starts with an apparent massive continuity gap and it has nothing to do with being distracted by demon rum. I can’t vouch for the ladies, however, as they express delight and surprise at a house and furniture that we know they have already seen. Strange, even by the standards of this program. Squeals and giggles all round then for mundane things like staircases, couches and pillows. Where is Clayton? A mere 2.25 miles away, as the crow flies, at a hotel and he’s doing the first lean on a rail, stare balefully over the water of the season! It’s a bridge, not a balcony but why quibble. Clayton talks incessantly of having children. We mock the big lug but so far his monomania about finding a brood mare is a bit unsettling. Jesse notes he was once The Bachelor but avoids any of the less-enchanting details. This is a particularly scream-y lot of Bachelorettes and the enthusiasm threatens to shatter the glassware. Thus far we’ve seen of Run-of-the-Mill Rachel onscreen more than Clayton. It seems the producers always gravitate toward the women with a limitless capacity for stating the bleeding obvious in order to provide narration. But a surfeit of camera time early often portends a flood of tears later as the unfortunate, overeager Bachelorette constructs a Cinderella scenario in her imagination during the downtime, making the end all the more bitter. To no one’s surprise, Teddi, Kira and Ency, among others, are in the first group date. ‘Wait are those children?’ Yes, but they have nothing on grown women in the unprompted-screaming department. The low-cut, flimsy tops look a bad match for a bouncy castle, it must be said, not that Clayton will mind. Hilary Duff is here. ‘You’re the first concert I went to!’ Hilary wavers between a reluctant smile and extending two middle fingers for making her feel old (she’s only 34 for crissakes). A close-up profile shot of Ms Duff reveals either a hearing aid or an earpiece for communication and coordination with the producers. Carrying on an intelligent conversation with the vapid Cassidy may require some prompting. To be fair, it is not uncommon for performers to experience hearing loss due to the avian din of thousands of preteens screaming in one arena after another. Gabby struggles with the hinges on the kids’ playhouse, alone, while the hinges are coming off the doors of Casa Cassidy who declines to get into the spirit of the thing. And it’s only the first full day. Stage 5 Cassidy has already absconded with Clayton. She already feels chemistry but maybe that’s the pool chlorine. ‘If things keep kinda going this way…’ Which way is that? You only just met. Clayton isn’t so sure. Neither is his body language. One thing is certain: Cassidy has already been booked for Bachelor In Paradise where connections are declared by swivel-eyed contestants and discarded like empty bottles of Corona. Poor Wells. Undaunted, Cassidy chooses the failsafe approach of a headlock and dry humping. More remora than romance. Hilary wants Clayton to experience fatherhood. Hilary doesn’t mention the fact that she’s already divorced and remarried and that ‘fatherhood’ in her world involves blended families and bitter legal battles over custody. Details, details. Halter tops and water balloons are a bad mix and the ladies flee the castle while Clayton submits to a fusillade from what are quite obviously child actors. But no amount of theatrical training can mask their active dislike for Crazy Cassidy. Kids are so intuitive, ain’t they? Hilary Duff is an accomplished (?) actress but is also unable to hide her disdain for Cass. Polite nodding gives way to eyes scanning up and down as Hilary takes the full measure of the neuroses on display. Cassidy attempts to put both feet in her mouth simultaneously by dropping Genevieve’s decorated cake. Bartender Genevieve has dealt with a long parade of drunks in her job and would no doubt love to reach for a metal cocktail shaker to give Cassidy a resounding whack upside the head. Clayton’s questionable sartorial choices continue with a white hoodie…under a sport coat. Did he get dressed in the dark? The date rose beckons as we silently beg one of the girls to grab it and burn it in one of the candles, then storm off for good. Teacher Serene enjoyed seeing kids. She did? Seems like a busman’s holiday. She and Clayton trade hoary cliches about ‘making a difference.’ If looks could kill then Gen, Mara & Ency would be facing homicide charges as they glare at Cassidy who simply will.not.shut.up about her sordid snogging. Physician Kira is here to deliver some bitter but badly needed medicine as she tells Cass off. Apparently covid-related staff shortages may have sidelined the on-call makeup artist because these ladies are shining brightly in the klieg lights and that isn’t a compliment. Teddi needn’t worry about the drama. ABC/Disney/Clayton have provided her with a FastPass to jump to the front of the queue on demand. While Genevieve gets a consolation cake, back at the mansion obvious fave Susie pretends to be shocked at getting the first single date. Cue gritting of teeth among the rest. And the girly screaming seems to have stopped abruptly. Vampire Mara’s fangs are growing in the moonlight and we fervently hope she draws blood. Cassidy seeks blood as well…in the form of becoming a tick permanently attached to Clayton. Defenses of Clayton as a meathead-with-a-keen-mind are in jeopardy as the host awards the rose to his parasite. It screams producer plant but maybe the screams are just coming from the horrified viewers. Clayton’s bringing the big guns – make that big rotors – out as he drives Susie in the Benz war wagon to the helipad. Usually the choppers don’t appear til much later but Susie is the Secretariat of the season, ahead by 31 lengths already in the Belmont, er, Bachelor Stakes. A helicopter, boat, a hot tub, a jump? Is this season being edited out of sequence? This is usually final-date stuff. Clayton only wishes. Traffic is murder in Southern California so having air transport is a big advantage. Can the pilot drop Clayton somewhere on the return leg to get the poor lad’s haircut finished? This curly-bangs stuff doesn’t look playful; it just looks half-arsed and messy. As usual, the food at the ‘dinner’ goes unnoticed as our dating partners bat their 500-word vocabularies back and forth. Family’s important and…and…zzzzzz. A piano, a cello and Amanda Jordan. Well, at least we’ve heard of pianos and cellos before. Pageant Pro Susie is playing Clayton like another stringed instrument – a fiddle. After an exhausting day of using a crowbar to pry Cassidy off him, Clayton’s only regret this evening is that he doesn’t have the entire floral shop to give to Susie. Scene cut back to the mansion, where the inaugural meeting of the Glenn Close Fatal Attraction Society is being held with its charter stalkers Cassidy & Shanae as they plot some rather cold-blooded strategy. The society’s motto: they won’t be ignored! June 6, 1944 is often called The Longest Day but it had nothing on this first 24 hrs in the mansion, assuming we aren’t just seeing seamless edits. A second group date has been announced. Junior cat lady Jill has been left out and our architectural historian is ready to smash some windows and statuettes, historical or otherwise. Shanae is doing cheerleader moves, inexplicably, as the others greet Clayton. School teacher Ziwe (me neither), her none-more-preppy cricket sweater and her less-preppy wig are here to identify red flags, as if we haven’t seen enough already from Shanae. The seating arrangements are far from random. Shanae is positioned so she may get an eyeful of the confident Elizabeth touching up Clayton. People who give themselves nicknames seem odd, even sad and we won’t be using Shanae’s no matter how many times she mindlessly repeats it. To hell with Georgia or Alabama…we’re cheering Sarah for beating Shanae. Experienced sales maven Elizabeth makes a successful bid for Clayton, then it’s Sarah’s turn. If these women knew that kisses were ten a penny they might not get as jazzed but to quote the great Anthony Michael Hall: ‘Why are you messing with the fantasy? We know about the reality.’ Preliminaries concluded, Shanae has brought the water to a boil and is prepared to drop one or more bunnies into the pot, starting with the confident Elizabeth. The poison has been dripped into the gormless Clayton’s ear and has little resistance flowing to his reptilian brain as he now views Elizabeth as an adversary. Petite Sarah is short enough to stay out of the Drama Jet Stream which is about 5 ft 5 in off the floor (possibly higher to account for platform shoes) and scores a rose in the process. Elizabeth is starting to regret not ‘hugging’ Shanae’s windpipe good and hard but gets a few passive-aggressive swipes in as the evening concludes. Meow! Achtung! Berliner Eliza has a gameplan but insists that her gimlet-eyed approach will somehow create meaningful conversation. The plan involves scrapbooking and drawing stick figures. Clayton warms to the task since the stick figures remind him of his senior term paper as a Mizzou athlete. Gabby admits her bizarre and ever-larger pillows are ‘kinda scary’ but finally scores a kiss. Good thing, too, as she might have commissioned a Clayton king-size pillow-top mattress next. It wouldn’t fit on a twin bunkbed anyway. Ali-Frazier III has commenced. Tonight, their understudies Shanae and Elizabeth will be playing the roles of Smokin’ Joe and The Greatest as they spar for the third time, attempting to out-ADHD the other. Elizabeth, bless her, is sprinkling anti-Shanae sentiment throughout the property. The danger words ‘confront’ and ‘aggressive’ are uttered and that has them all on edge. Kate speaks for all of us, Society of Friends meeting style, with her droll disapproval of the contretemps. Might be a good time for a couple more of those airline bottles, Katey. I know I could use one. Oh damn, it’s still Dry January. Oh no…Cassidy has latched on again. We may need the Jaws of Life to extract Clayton from Cassidy’s pincers. Don’t call 911 just yet, as Sierra and her liberal coating of glitter are here to betray confidences. Mind you, ordinarily we’d frown on yet another girl dobbing one of her peers in but we’ll make an exception here. Speaking of extraction…is Clayton going to extract a rose? Jesse is goggle-eyed at the prospect. Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t know his Bachelor history the way good old Categorical Chris Harrison would have. The aforementioned NFL’s expanded playoffs have claimed the next Monday night slot and will bump Clayton and his untreated TMJ off the screen for two weeks. It’s less a rose ceremony cliffhanger and more a rose removal one. We hope Cassidy gets her comeuppance but perhaps the producers are well shot of her as we know all too well from the many previews that Shanae – who has dropped the cutesy nickname out of anger – will remain to torment us all.

As the covid days overlap and blend together, can it really be that long ago that the human incarnation of Mr Snuffleupagus, one Matt James, was casting his droopy eyes at the ground, floor, carpet and deck in various claustrophobic locations at the Nemacolin Resort as he moaned incessantly about what a burden it was to squire attractive women? Well, if we consider the fortunes of one Chris Harrison and have the occasional peek at the Bachelorette and Bachelor In Paradise we might paraphrase the master thespian (that’s an in-joke, the lads might get it first) himself, Judge Reinhold, in the cinematic classic Vice Versa: ‘Well, a lot’s happened since then!’ In an instance of bitter cosmic irony, perhaps it really WAS the Most Dramatic Bachelor Season In History! But with Harrison banished, paid off and playing $100 Nassaus at Riviera Country Club with Joe Pesci and Denzel Washington, it seems the producers are keen to reboot with a traditional male host in former Bachelor, social media gadfly and college football pundit Jesse Palmer and his drainpipe trousers. Perhaps Jesse likes the scruffy whisker look, or perhaps he just doesn’t have time to shave with his many jobs. Publicity is a two-edged sword and after the last season the blade cut deeply and drew gallons of blood from all the wrong people, including the presenter/producer. Those now in charge of the program have resolved not to join Harrison in exile. They know fake controversy, the kind that can be directed, reshot, PR’d, edited and scored, is preferable to the real thing which threatened to destroy the entire enterprise. And so, as the marketing blurb makes clear: ‘Midwesterner Clayton Echard is a throwback romantic looking for a partner, a great love and a best friend.’ That’s about as generic as it gets. Those social-climbing, instafamous LA & NY types may be easier to locate and recruit but they are as cynical as the producers themselves and invariably derail The Journey™ by playing to the cameras with a view to post-Bachelor notoriety. The little horndogs won’t even use the fantasy suite because their agents have told them to avoid the suite in order to avoid uncomfortable questions from the media after. Better to get the corn-fed farm boys back on the set – the ones whose physiques are from actual work or athletic pursuits, not hours of iron-pumping onanism opposite a gym mirror. Standard disclaimer: this writer rarely watches The Bachelorette, for a few reasons: 1) Female indecision is hardly a novel or dramatic concept, as any male who has watched incredulously as a date, a girlfriend or a spouse send the waiter away three times before simply ordering a drink or an entrée can attest. 2) Despite this indecision, the body language blasts out at about 120 dB when she meets the guys, revealing who the contenders are and are not immediately thus ruining much of the suspense. 3) Bachelorettes (plural) in captivity eventually bring out the claws and fangs but there is a high entertainment quotient. Bachelors in captivity are like caged lions or primates. Most of them studiously ignore each other until there is a rare challenge, a five-minute dustup usually featuring actual dust, and then they go back to ignoring each other. Downtime is VERY down among the Bachelors. Comatose. Unfortunately, a generation of Sensitive New Age Guys (SNAGs) means that the downtime is also filled with floods of tears. In fact, it now seems that Bachelors in Paradise or in the LA mansion are more prone to turning on the taps than the Bachelorettes who hiss, growl and claw and only seem to cry (briefly) as a post-traumatic reaction. The vocabulary also seems to have shifted 180 degrees as the males now talk about validation, feelings etc. while the women now swear like sailors. Anyway, the ABC suits want to knock 10 years off the calendar in the minds of the public and we’ll play along for now. Speaking of throwbacks, West Coast people regard the Midwest as a time warp. The establishing shot could have been anything wholesome like a football stadium or a town square...instead it’s a mundane view of a mundane subdivision complete with wheeled garbage cans, bricked-in mailboxes and those Lego-style split-level houses. A quiet residential street has bike lanes? The next shot, a Bachelor staple, is of a bird – a hummingbird. The only surprise is that they didn’t overlay the sound of a hawk screaming as they usually do. Clayton and his half-n-half haircut are carrying a camera. Dad is carrying a camera. Does the union know about this? Clayton’s jaw juts out past his belt buckle when he smiles. Has he dipped into the HGH supplies in the trainer’s room? I suppose we’ll have to get used to it. Maybe the beard is the male version of contouring for that big mug. And the women will have to get used to Clayton’s chin bumping up against their throat when they’re kissing him. Which appears to be often based on the previews. This man is sucking face like a teenager in a game of spin-the-bottle. Was that first shot of the preview the old jump-off-the-boat routine? Yes, yes it was. But it wouldn’t be The Bachelor – modern version – without launching immediately into footage of the women tearing strips off each other and the inevitable crying jags – all taken out of context of course. One familiar Midwestern/Appalachian expression is ‘doesn’t have sense to come in out of the rain.’ Unfortunately this seems to apply to Clayton in a preview shot of the finale as he stands outside with suit being soaked. Clayton shouts ‘I am falling in love!’ and we can almost hear the ‘Dude!’ appended to every sentence. So far, Clayton seems about as deep as a layer of Reynolds Wrap. It isn’t hard to imagine Clayton being an enthusiast of this horrific country-rap hybrid that has wrought more damage than coronavirus over the last few years. Jesse tells us Clayton is sincere. Like really really sincere. Great Pumpkin sincere. Clayton’s getting a hero’s welcome from some people who probably own a Shania Twain CD or two in Eureka MO for, um, being Clayton. Eureka means ‘I have found it’ which is what Clayton aims to do. A brief review of Clayton and outgoing Bachelorette Michelle is shown. Michelle’s students have written letters of consolation, because primary school kids are experts in adult relationships. Clayton is getting very choked up reading them. Or perhaps he’s just struggling with words of two syllables or more. Clayton is driving a Ford Bronco on a highway in LA. The OJ Simpson jokes write themselves. Shanae’s small-town credibility is unassailable as the nearest city over 10,000 souls is…Tiffin OH. Gabby is keeping it light but her tight end pun thuds immediately to ground in the thin Denver air. Rachel’s from FL but ended up in…Athens OH? That’s quite the safety school. Her native tongue is Vocal Fryese. Daria is a New Yorker attending Ivy League law school. Haven’t we seen the bolshy East Coast lawyer type before in Rachel Abosolo (I looked it up)? Chip on shoulder, you-will-respect-my-intellect? Happy to be proved wrong. Clayton will need to use what football quarterbacks call ‘eye discipline’ to stop himself from staring at Daria’s impressive pair of Yale Elis. The cameras leer shamelessly. Susie is a pageant girl but trained in martial arts in Japan. I do hope we see her hip-toss one of her rivals. Elizabeth’s a realtor and on the wrong side of 30. Uh oh. The Dangerous Type, as The Cars once sang. She no doubt has a stiletto in the handbag and isn’t afraid to use it. Those legs go all the way to the floor. Teddi and her mane and…her virginity…are committed to the fantasy suite. Only two of the three may survive. And there goes my theory about CA girls keeping their knickers on to ensure future entertainment gigs. Salley confirms that ‘trust issues’ are a euphemism for ‘boyfriend/fiancé playing away.’ Salley is a good example of someone with delicate features who would be a traffic-stopping, Charlize Theron-style knockout if she had a cropped hairstyle. Instead, it’s the ongoing curse of the Clairol Herbal Essence center-parted waterfall with or without extensions. Salley’s intro video features some neck-snapping edits between SC as in South Carolina and SC as in Southern California. In one shot she’s under a tree with Spanish moss, which doesn’t grow in CA. In the next she’s looking out at rocky, unmistakably California hills and on a rocky, undeniably California beach. She’s got a case of cold feet and it has nothing to do with the Pacific tide. We’re already getting a sidebar? A stealth visit? Tears? The episodes have been shuffled on us! Between the shaky video camera work and the stilted conversation between two shapely young people in a hotel room it’s also starting to look like one of THOSE videos. Ahem. Clayton’s libido, I mean, sense of empathy has been stimulated. He’s already laying on the hands. A rose given before kickoff? Before the coin toss even? Cheeky beggar. Salley is pacing in front of the ice machine. A metaphor perhaps. She bails. Clayton is left alone with his substantial underbite. Cheer up, mate, you aren’t even dressed yet. Clayton’s suit needs two more inches in the shoulders and an inch at the cuffs. Sarah is first. Petite but maybe she can still reach his tie and fix the knot. Then Lyndsey. Or is that Elizabeth? Are they twins? Sisters? In a season long ago Genevieve might have billed herself as a personal trainer but is now proudly and openly a bartender. Nice red dress but she appears to have borrowed some sparkly platforms from the band KISS, however. Ency is half Persian, half Korean, which means she gets two rental spaces in the mall food court for the price of one. The language lesson is dragging on and Clayton’s polite smile is frozen. Will this be on the test, wonders the ex-jock? Clayton is also admiring the backs of all the beaded dresses as the ladies enter the house. Perhaps he has an undeclared interest in fashion. Susie goes for the prop-reliant introduction with a joy buzzer. Claire is a spray tanner, which edges bartender for brutal vocational honesty. Serene means quiet and still. But she’s a teacher, which may trigger some serious PTSD in Clayton. Please don’t write him any letters yet, kids. Teddi & Tessa arrive. Tessa gives an anagram of her name, which causes Clayton’s gears to grind to a halt as he juggles five whole letters in his mind. We’ve had a Lyndsey W and now a Lindsay D. As in cup size. Clayton can’t tear his eyes away from the red sequins. Apparently this halftime pep talk is standard on arrival night and Clayton ducks inside for a moment. Kate’s another 32 year old realtor. Which means she knows where the best cocktail lounges are after a long hard day of two 30-minute showings. Location location location etc. Slim bordering on bony, Kate may have had a Marlboro 100 or two in her time but is trying to quit. By vaping. Forget the animals, trucks, toys & taglines. Kate has the booze. My advice to Clayton: propose immediately. Lyndsey W is already getting the stalker edit. I’m getting vibes of crazy old Melissa as in ‘I just ate like three pieces of pizza with onions’ Melissa. To be fair, she correctly observes that there are some questionable decisions being made in the introductions. You can hear the wind whistling through Hailey’s ears as she asks for her pickle jar to be opened. Dr Freud call your office. Jane arrives in a roadster and helpfully informs us it’s a vintage car in case we mistook it for a 2022 Tesla. Jane’s a social media director, which means she has a Twitter account. 63 year old Holly is here in her comfortable shoes. Now it’s getting weird. Maybe she’s been locked out of her tract home in The Villages and needs a big strong man to force a window open. No, it’s all an elaborate ruse. Lame, with a lamer pun, but elaborate. A bar mitzvah dancer? They don’t have any of those in Missouri. Kira arrives to play doctor. More groan-inducing personal branding taglines follow. Rianna has a cowboy hat. You know I approve. Eliza from Germany brings a sausage. Of course she does. Dr Freud call your office again. ‘I think we got off to a good start.’ No, honey, the durty gurlz never do. Neither do the girls bringing live animals, especially a damned snake. You don’t have to be a theology student to connect Adam, Eve and a serpent and the problems that follow. The black thong-covering box has been imported from Mexico for Samantha. Do the ABC suits realize we’ve seen far more – or make that far less – on Instagram every day? Toy trucks, big trucks. Here’s Shanae who is already annoying for her Northern Ohio tendencytotalksuperfastlikethiswithnospacesbetweenwords. Susie gets pulled aside first, which has to be a large hint. She’s got pageant girl patter, eye contact and she’s excited to be here. Oh, and she hopes to solve world hunger. Clayton’s eating out of her hand. Don’t give away precious family heirlooms or photos, dear. You might not get them back. Teddi has graciously offered her thigh as a resting place for his hand. She’s got a prominent chin too. I fear any children from the union might resemble Dudley Do-Right. But fear is absent as they go in for the kiss and the stirring string music (well, synthesizer strings) builds up. The other Bachelorettes are doing their best imitation of meerkats as they peer at the first-night lip-locking. Kira is the only doctor in history who is punctual for an appointment. But wearing only underwear must be quite a time saver. Can I steal him away from the cornhole & wings? Yes, please do. Oh wait, it’s for more food. ‘Oh you got a little something right there.’ Yes, and it’s because Mara smeared his face with the spoon. Can someone explain why women are intentionally messy and giggly when it comes to food tasting? Is it merely to give them an excuse to rub fingers over the face and lips? How about offering a napkin instead of a facial massage? Is this some baby-feeding instinct? Claire is drunk. Or is getting the drunk edit. And while that may have been annoying or provocative in the past it’s perfectly fine now. And that’s because after the horrorshow that was Queen Victoria we are inured to these antics. Be obnoxious. Combative. Rude. You can’t bother us as long as Victoria is elsewhere, comfort eating a tray of Oreos. Claire has been turfed out. Tsk tsk. Clayton’s got the hump temporarily but the rest are staying put. Teddi gets the First Impression Rose, which has been retitled The Golden Tonsil Award for Teddi’s prowess in soul-kissing. ‘She must have made a good first impression’ one other Bachelorette sagely notes. Well yes, as Teddi’s gameplan was rather simple and straightforward. It wasn’t as if they were discussing their favorite 17th century Latvian poets. A long night gives way to daybreak. Lots of tired, drawn faces but that may be due to 30 women in sleek gowns and tall heels having to wait in line for a single bathroom after a flute or two of champagne. Rose ceremony surprises: Serene Cassidy Mara Genevieve – the new Ashley Iaconetti. Fewer tears, more Fatal Attraction Tessa Rose ceremony non-surprises: Susie - they waited all the way til the second rose! Rachel – she’s had more camera time than Clayton Ency and her Persian/Korean cleavage possibly enhanced by Western hemisphere doctors Sarah Kate and her mini-bottles. Kira and her lab coat -specifically what’s underneath it Shanae – already previewed as the villain of the piece Alas, Lindsay D has been passed over. The D could have been for drama. Hailey is leaving but probably won’t remember any of it tomorrow anyway. Daria was a massive red herring and is on her way back to New Haven. Let’s be honest – it wouldn’t have worked out between a lawyer and Moose from Archie Comics.

Golf courses, for all their variety, beauty, natural features, meandering routes, man-made challenges, landscaping and meticulous care all have one thing in common: they start and end in the same place. As it is with Mystic Rock GC on the property of the Nemacolin Resort, so it is with Matt James, The Bachelor. He arrived tonelessly reciting his checklist of qualities ‘he wanted in a wife,’ a phrase tacky, archaic and crass at best and at worst a signal that here is someone unable to recognize, understand or form healthy relationships. Yes, he admits the last of these multiple times but he finishes as he started: with a list and not much else. If this season was devoid of content however predictable and repetitive then the finale was devoid of…nearly everything including movement and dialogue. Two hours of Matt staring into the distance had us wondering if we’d possibly mashed the Pause button by mistake several times. But there he was, leaning on a rail (of course), sitting on a curb, standing by a lake. How does one do a voiceover for thoughts when there are no thoughts per se? The production crew evidently had a collective, severe case of cabin fever. They could no longer maintain the ruse that a choice between two women had yet to be made. And, quite evidently, they gave up trying. As above, Matt wasn’t helping them or himself by repeating a few stock lines and signaling his intentions rather early on and in this last episode. Matt begins by damning Michelle with faint praise. Michelle is loyal, smart, etc. Matt sounds like he’s at a pet store looking for a companion. Rachael, on the other hand, is ‘someone I’m attracted to.’ CH is tearing his rapidly thinning hair out as Matt telegraphs the outcome a full two hours early. Matt’s mother and brother have arrived. Mom’s hair shows the passage of time as it’s grown out since the first episode. Brother John’s teeth show the absence of modesty, common sense or financial sanity as he sports a ‘grill’ ie a superfluous gold bridge covering his upper incisors. John is articulate as a fencepost, announcing his cunning plan to ‘pick up a vibe’ and ‘keep it real.’ Sherlock Holmes, he isn't. A scowl seems to be his only expression. His attempts to speak and keep his dental decoration in place only exacerbate his inability to communicate. The effect is one of a ventriloquist speaking without a dummy present. Well, at least as long as Matt is in the next room. Michelle gets the most generic introduction and grilling (sorry) in the history of the franchise and leaves, symbolically, as snow falls from leaden skies. Rachael arrives the next morning in the sunlight. She’s going second again, of course, but the sleight of hand is fooling nobody at this juncture. Rach & Matt are more intertwined on the couch and finishing each others’ sentences. Matt’s body language is in 80 pt font. He’s smiling & looking up instead of down as he speaks. Rachael isn’t stuffed in the SUV immediately following the meeting. Instead, Matt walks her into the woods for some more canoodling. If we get any more hints landing in our laps we’re going to get our thighs bruised. Matt finishes meeting with Mom & John and walks out wearing…purple pointed-toe ankle boots? Did he steal Mom’s footwear? What a joker. He’s been hiding his comedic light under a bushel all this time. Ah, here’s a reprise of the commercial from our friends at Trulicity. Trulicity’s side effects include nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, indigestion, fatigue, belly pain and decreased appetite. But then so do shots of Jägermeister taken at 2 AM when you’re well past the point of needing any more booze and your decision-making is poor. It also apparently makes you put on an ill-fitting lilac-colored v-neck t-shirt. Diabetes is no fun but Trulicity sounds like self-induced agony. Matt wants to talk to someone who’s ‘seen this process play out.’ Enter CH in a Mr Rogers zip-up sweater. Wouldn’t you like to be his neighbor? If not, hard luck cos he’s stuck on the Nemacolin property along with everyone else. Memo to Matt: you probably should have worked out by now that CH isn’t going to reveal anything and isn’t going to give advice. He’s going to do his unlicensed psychiatrist routine and make you do all the talking while he furrows his brow and nods a lot. Michelle is being subjected to unnerving doses of diffidence from Matt as they do a terrifying (?) rappel down a four-story building. Lanky Matt resembles a collapsing oil derrick as he ungracefully steps off the ledge. Michelle’s prize for reaching the ground is more diffidence from Matt as he regales her with talk of ‘pain.’ What a charmer he is. Michelle, there may be a big heart outline on the tarmac but if the three giant red flags behind Matt don’t provide enough symbolism we’re not sure what will. Michelle’s a trooper, lighting her own candles (more symbolism, it seems) and giving Matt a custom jersey which barely elicits a reaction from him. Where’s the bomb whistle sound effect? It might come in handy just now. Matt has jawboned the hapless audience into indifference if not outright hostility and now he’s going to give Michelle the same treatment. With 2,000 empty chairs and couches in the vacant, sprawling, Nemacolin hotel Matt has chosen to sit on…a concrete curb. CH appears out of nowhere a la Jiminy Cricket to listen to Matt moan some more about needing some time. CH resists the urge to grab a rock and smack his recalcitrant Bachelor in the back of the head with it. If you thought scripted reality was bad then unscripted, untethered reality is much, much worse. In a last-ditch bid by the producers to infuse the inevitable with some suspense, Matt has not-so-mysteriously scratched his final date with Rachael. The cheeky beggar! Rachael spent 30 min with a shoehorn getting those leather jeans on. Matt is STILL banging on about ‘this journey’ and what he ‘envisioned in this moment.’ A sensible person might point out that forming a relationship with a person is a hell of a lot easier when you actually interact with that person and don’t cancel crucial dates when dates are already rationed. God bless him, good old Neil Lane is here with his magic briefcase. Neil wants to talk to his agent about higher billing and larger typeface in the credits. Neil didn’t have this much onscreen dialogue in the previous five seasons combined. Matt wants a ring. Neil wants a deposit even though Mopey Matt The Indecisive may not propose. Speaking of previous seasons, finales were held in majestic places. Waterfalls, mountaintops, beaches. Matt & Rachael end up next to a fishin’ pond in PA where catch-and-release is in effect – just like Matt’s love life. Past the point of caring now, we’re chucking the poles, the tackle and the bait into the water and swimming for shore.

If this post is late – and it is – it’s because I fell asleep watching this episode. That’s not exaggeration or metaphor. I literally fell asleep. I can’t tell you with any degree of certainty if it was the 529th time Matt stared at the floor and said nothing or the 863rd time Matt stared at the floor and said nothing but by then he had lulled me to unconsciousness. The Journey™ To Move Forward™ And Find My Person™ has been retitled The Nemacolin Death March, with all due respect to WWII veterans of Bataan. Nobody, including Matt, wants to be there now. All are stir-crazy with the crazy factor ratcheted up due to the unchanging scenery, the unavoidable long stretches of doing nothing for the Final Three and the knowledge that someone else is having it off with ‘their’ man. Among the beauty shots of the Laurel Highlands we finally get shots of the trees that have shed most of their leaves – at least a partially honest sign of the passage of time. Still, they’ve been extraordinarily lucky with getting sunny days in late fall in SW PA. The Bachelorettes have been told to put their finery on, go to a random spot on the cart path and walk toward the camera – the voiceover will be dubbed later. Why they continue to show their cards to the competition in the big hotel lobby remains a mystery. Why they even bother going to the lobby remains another mystery apart from producers’ orders. CH walks in having stolen one of Bea Arthur’s cardigans from the ‘Maude’ display at the Hollywood Museum of Television. At his mention of an overnight date, Rachael shifts dramatically in her seat. Calm down, love – in this hothouse ‘overnight’ merely means ‘down the hall.’ Is anyone else struck by the irony of the best and most critical parts (prurience aside) of a TV program occurring off-camera with the host and the participants silently agreeing that being off-camera holds the most appeal for them? Either CH is practicing calligraphy in the 23.5 hours he isn’t on camera each week (and what *IS* he doing in the downtime?) or someone is ‘hand-writing’ his cards for him every year. Michelle is chosen first and actually says this: ‘I have no idea what we’re doing.’ I’m no psychic but my guess is it will involve an idle stroll across the ever-shrinking Nemacolin resort property, followed by dinner that isn’t eaten and wine that isn’t drunk, some chitchat, a card offering a suite and, upon acceptance, the ‘close the bedroom door’ shot. ‘Move Forward’ must be Matt’s pet phrase in his real estate vocation. To be fair, Matt is no longer Moving Forward and is moving dramatically sideways, even backward as Dad arrives. Our hopes aren’t exactly raised with talk of ‘demons’ and long uncomfortable silences. Despite the crisp fall weather or possibly because of the hot klieg lights, Dad’s bald cranium is suddenly streaming with perspiration as Matt defenestrates him on camera. Someone in the wardrobe department is clearly custom tailoring these casual/dress shirts for various cast members with their mix-n-match panels of stripes, checks and, in this case, blue camouflage. Dear Mr Neil Lane, we retract every snide remark we made about your hair, your tan, your canned lines. Parachuting onto the property has proven rather dangerous – just ask Rachael – but there is a private airstrip there. Call NetJets and hie yourself and your magic briefcase to SW PA! We need some positivity, dammit! Alas, it will have to wait. The haymakers are being thrown good and proper now. ‘You weren’t there for me’ (evergreen from broken-home kids) is counter-punched with ‘My own dad was killed when I was five.’ Top that one, Matt, you insolent whelp! Matt recovers enough to throw a ‘You were unfaithful’ jab, using his much longer reach to great advantage. Dad is on the ropes now and can only respond with a tame ‘Nobody’s perfect.’ Matt reluctantly cocks the elbow and delivers a hammer blow of ‘I thank God Mom left you.’ Dad, losing badly on points on all the judges’ cards, throws in the towel (there’s actually a towel available) and changes the subject as he asks himself ‘I sat through days of quarantine for this?’ Deceptive editing, hallmark of the franchise, takes on a rather sinister aspect here. Footage of Matt breaking down as a teaser doesn’t involve his romantic choice at all. But the background piano has changed from minor-key tinkles to major-key chords and suddenly the combatants are embracing. Deceptive editing? No. An hour’s worth of footage mercilessly deleted? Almost certainly. The sun has yielded to SW PA’s default late-year weather: cold drizzle. The wardrobe department are now throwing a silent tantrum as they festoon Matt in an appalling two-tone shaker-knit sweater. This one must have been saved from the Benetton dumpster behind the mall about 35 years ago and preserved until now. It looks for all the world like he has a fuzzy toilet seat round his neck. Matt stole a march on the rest of society by choosing his pronouns long ago. They are, in order of grammatical mood and preference: I, I, I, I, I, I, I, me, me, me, me, me, me, my, my, my, my, my. Borrowing slightly from the Postman’s Creed, rain shall not hinder the TV production schedule. In practical terms this means all umbrellas must be clear lest the camera angles be blocked. Matt & Michelle apply butter & milk (?!) to each other and sit in a horse trough. ‘It feels comfortable…like home’ she claims. I’ve visited plenty of Bob Evans restaurants but usually try to keep the dairy products on the plates or the biscuits. Maybe I’m doing it wrong? Grandma would quite rightly give you a thick ear if you showed up at breakfast in your drawers and a good spanking with a wooden spoon if you poured your corn flakes over your head. Oh no, Matt’s pursing his lips again. Nervous habit or poker tell? Let’s go with the latter as he’s leaning back ramrod-straight so far his chair may tip over. This sort of body language is screaming regardless of anodyne utterances. Unsurprisingly there aren’t any tortured debates about scruples, reputation or virginity in any of these dates. It’s fantasy suite or bust. Hey Michelle, you left that nice leather coat on your chair! And ‘gentleman’ Matt isn’t doing a damned thing about it now that – ahem – instinct has taken over. Randy billy goat. Now is probably as good a time as any to note that if the shot of the hallway is taken from the bedroom then the cameraman is…in the bedroom. Bit creepy, that. And shooting through the gas log fireplace is just strange. But needs must in a hotel where the angles have mostly remained the same. Michelle returns to the other two who have been apparently keeping an agonizing all-night vigil. A rational person wouldn’t want to hear the first word about Michelle’s assignation but Pavlovian suppression of rationality is a specialty here. And so Rachael asks ‘What did you guys do?’ Michelle, you know a lady doesn’t squish and tell! *rimshot* Editorial aside: despite a well-practiced level of skill with the DVR remote and/or the computer keyboard, the occasional second or two of advertising peeks through. Briefly on that subject: if a person is allergic to Trulicity, why would they take it? And if they don’t know if they are allergic to Trulicity, how would they know unless they took it? The disclaimers are Kafkaesque lawyerese meant to protect the company, not the patient. Then there is the Humira-taking lead singer girl with the tender tummy (yes I know about Crohn’s but work with me here) who keeps refusing food and turning up late to gigs because she’s in the loo. The band are as authentic as The Archies. The keyboardist stabs random keys with fingers outstretched. The guitarist is standing in front of the bass amp. The bassist is standing in front of the guitar amp. Both amps have the logos taped over – a cardinal sin among musicians fascinated by gear. How can each one hear his own instrument? The drums aren’t mic’d – he must be pounding them mercilessly to be heard. There is a massive speaker cabinet directly behind the keys player – she would be deafened by the end of the first number. And despite a sizeable amphitheatre venue, there is no other visible public address system. What are the singers singing into? The wind? What are the vocal mics for? Sorry but this sort of thing nauseates me. Maybe I need Humira. But apparently and inexplicably I need a TB test first. I freely admit I have played some rather unsanitary dives but as far as I know I haven’t been exposed to tuberculosis in any of them. Back to The Bachelor, Bri has been told to walk a mile, alone, into the woods. Any sane female would flatly refuse even in the daylight but Bri dutifully dons the puffy coat and traipses down the trail. The bottom of the budget barrel has been scraped as a tent purchased at a yard sale and a couple of logs comprise the romantic (?) rustic setting. We take back every joke we made about hot tubs popping up in remote locations – they could certainly use one now. Mercifully returned to the hotel (they probably know the carpet pattern in every room by now), Matt & Bri take turns doing the glistening-eye routine as they exchange stories of their no-account fathers. Bri empties the arsenal with ‘I love you.’ Matt foreshadows her fate by declaring tonight COULD change things. Oh dear. Sounds like his mind’s made up but why faff about with heavy things like commitment when you have someone keen to jump in the sack? Worry about hypocrisy tomorrow, young man. For now, The Journey involves getting your leg over. The video editors probably fell about laughing as they cut to a shot of Bri gripping the neck of a champagne bottle and, er, releasing the pressure. Subtlety has never been their long suit. To employ another playing card simile, Matt is dealing the Freudian slips like poker hands. It won’t be easy sending someone home, he declares, as Bri walks out of camera frame. We can take a hint. Back on the couches, Rachael continues to torture herself by listening to Tales Of The Night Before as the carefully-applied eye makeup threatens to run. ‘I went into fantasy suite week with zero expectations,’ says Matt, lying his fool head off. As cheesy and lewd as the term ‘fantasy suite’ might be, it also has some unwritten rules involving carnal knowledge. Rachael is nervous but not too nervous to wear a top that strategically puts cleavage and navel on display. A pottery class (?) ends abruptly with the instructor having vanished, the students splattered with clay and water, and a misshapen lump left on the wheel never to be fired into permanence. Quite the metaphor for this claustrophobic, disjointed season. Matt & Rach have moved on to a timbered love shack – no hotel rooms or tents here! ‘Is that one of the dresses?’ wonders Matt. Matt, if you ever ask your wife (whoever she may be) that, you will get a slap, a pout and possibly spend the night in the doghouse – especially when it’s a dazzling red dress. The rules are: you must remember every outfit worn, purchased, tried on, brought home, returned, altered, or merely hanging in the back of the closet. Failure to maintain this encyclopedic memory of all clothing in all life events is regarded, apparently, as premeditated hurtful indifference even though you can’t recall what shirt you wore last Friday (nor should you). Where you went, what you did, who you were with are regarded as minor details compared to the sartorial choices of your partner. When reminiscing over photographs of you as a couple standing in front of a landmark or a natural wonder eg The Grand Canyon, you should not talk about the Colorado River or the millions of years that elapsed in revealing the dazzling strata. You should instead talk about those cute cutoffs and sneakers. Also, have soothing answers at the ready for remarks like ‘Yeah they were cute but I can’t fit into them anymore. And look at my hair in that picture.’ This is important life advice so write it down. Again, I don’t make the rules but I can slip them to you on the sly. You’re welcome. Bri got a lone pop of a cork. Rachel gets a fireworks display. If these clues aren’t bold enough to see, consult an optometrist. Interestingly, they’ve been assigned a single color (black) for this RC. Keep that SUV engine running! This won’t take long. Matt can’t stop absent-mindedly rubbing his hands together even when he’s walking. Poor Bri probably sealed her own fate by revealing she’d left her job. They’re still maintaining the illusion of choice by giving Rachael the second rose despite her obvious front-runner status. As usual, all boxes of tissues have been banned from Fayette County for the duration of taping and Bri must manage her floods of tears without any help. Matt, the handkerchief has evolved from practical necessity in soot-choked urban streets to fashion accessory but for God’s sake snap to and give the poor girl your pocket square. There will be others. Pocket squares, that is. Next week arrives the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of [New] York; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

A step-by-step recount of the discussions and events of TWTA would be surplus to requirements. Instead, some general observations: 1) What you are seeing – and possibly even experiencing– is clinical depression. Individual, collective and now chronic. Whatever you think of covid as a disease and/or a threat isn’t really the issue – and is off-topic anyway. The response to covid is slightly off-topic except the relevant effect on these women and on the audience. Man is a gregarious animal. Even a herd animal. Any nonconformity is met with suspicion, then alarm, then anger, then a concerted attempt to squelch the nonconformity. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs still reigns. Any confrontations, standoffs or outright fights are met first with avoidance ie giving them room and avoiding collateral damage, then with wariness until it’s over or until a victor becomes evident at which point the vanquished will be isolated, ostracized, stigmatized. ‘Drama in the house’ follows this pattern. But drama is usually the product of being removed from the normal ebb and flow of everyday life and placed in an isolated – physically and mentally – environment. Unfortunately, this year’s crop of Bachelorettes were already showing the strain of isolation and ennui along with most of the rest of us. They did their level best to appear chirpy and keen when meeting Matt but couldn’t even manage to get through the first night without being irritable and resentful. These women were already below the equilibrium point on the emotional scale and any peaks in excitement or positive emotion barely reached this baseline – which meant the troughs were much lower and darker than usual. 2) Pre-packaged enlightenment and empowerment was about as appetizing as the equivalent pre-packaged airline dinner. Most of these women clearly fancied themselves skilled log-rollers in expressing their emotions but the practical result was the usual trite passive-aggression. Toxicity, validation, listening, taking it on board, rejection, etc. etc. The aim was not explanation or resolution. Instead, it was a poorly-veiled euphemistic exercise in name-calling. Saying ‘I have a lot of anger’ is a poor substitute for ‘You bitch!’ especially when ‘You bitch!’ would be more accurate and cathartic. In worshiping the Golden Calf of Grrrl Power, they were boxed in by their own intentionally-finite, officially-sanctioned vocabulary that was inadequate in describing or expressing their actual emotions…on a show where emotion is the coin of the realm. The Women Tell All? Not a bit of it. This was a load of psychobabble as each attempted to balance a surfeit of emotion on the head of a pin and inevitably failed. 3) In conjunction with the above, the absence of an audience as Greek chorus meant that the silence was often oppressive and deafening. Although audience gasps and laughs may have been prompted and occasionally insincere, participants in the past have played to the crowd in the offstage shadows. As inexperienced performers they might tend to overdo it when the adrenaline of immediate attention and feedback hits but obviously it’s much more interesting to watch. 4) Chris Harrison, as many have noted in so many words, has taken what used to be a show about the id and turned it into a show about the ego. We are now light-years away from randy red-blooded singles eyeing each other up and down and wiping the drool off their chins. Hookups might or might not lead to something more but without sampling the food how the hell does someone know if he will like the meal or the restaurant? CH-era Bachelor is a stultifying, morose, antiseptic, methodical ‘journey’ to find ‘my person.’ Vulnerability is, strangely, a more desirable quality than compatibility. Well over half the time spent on a date is occupied by pained expressions and painful confessions involving failed relationships, failed parents, and failure in general. Downcast looks, tears and hugs of sympathy, not attraction, have replaced smiles, laughter, playfulness and yes, good old lust. CH-era Bachelor/ette interviews are just as bad. CH has stolen the act of the off-camera producers by ‘talking up’ participants ie asking them open-ended, but still obvious, questions meant to evoke more emotion. Perhaps the hoariest media cliché of all is ‘How does it feel?’ yet that question is incessantly asked of athletes, movie stars, politicians, and the man on the street. The answer is usually obvious and fails any basic test of exposition but the media ask it anyway because preparation, thought and creativity are beyond them. 5) The Women Tell All? Where is the ‘All’ part? Most of the episode is consumed with footage we’ve already seen. It’s strange to hear the participants say they hadn’t seen their scenes before – why would they need to watch that which they experienced first-hand? Of course, the aim isn’t to illuminate but to manipulate. Chris wants an emotional, even a nervous, breakdown on-camera, preferably with a tight zoom-in. To be fair, some of the women bravely broke ranks and format to point out that what was shown on-screen was only a portion of the day-to-day and that such footage was either edited (shocker!) and was misleading or even contradicted the actual events. In addition, any resolution was rarely or never shown. Interestingly, these women were cut off lest they spoil the carefully-spun plot or were never called on directly (again). 6) And then there’s Matt. Bearded, clean-shaven, in-between stubble, whatever. He provides a very handy illustration of why playing blackjack in a casino for $100 a hand is so exciting while playing blackjack at home for pennies is not even though the cards and the rules may be identical. Without an incentive, motivation drops substantially. And he has provided little motivation. The woman talk incessantly of ‘spending time’ with Matt and mentally map out all the possible activities and things they want to say. But when their opportunity comes you can almost see the thought balloon over their heads: ‘Is this all there is?’ In a negative and a positive – or at least a neutral – way, Matt is a good case study in fatherlessness among male children. He’s made no secret of his regret and resentment regarding his upbringing and, to his credit, acknowledges that he is rather emotionally stunted and untethered now because he’s had no example to follow. It’s a pattern repeated in staggering numbers across the wider population and for every genteel Matt type there is at least one malignant product of fatherlessness, teeming with idiopathic anger and impulse control problems and taking it out on society. These women wanted to believe in the catalogue photo and description: tall, imposing, physically fit, emotionally open (apparently), ambitious, committed to charitable causes. What they got was insecurity, inconsistency, diffidence, inarticulation and avoidance of commitment even if that avoidance came the form of cutting off a conversation to go in for a soul kiss. In sum, the most frustrating thing for these women was not being away from Matt but having to puzzle over his actions, reactions and statements while in his presence. They had to supply all the energy. They couldn’t – or wouldn’t – blame him and instead blamed themselves or, as we saw, blamed others. The staging and airing of this year’s Bachelor season was a Pyrrhic victory in which ratings and interest were (mostly) retained but the ‘product’ inherently flawed by the lack of variety and freedom in their gilded cage.

‘Never complain, never explain’ was the mantra of Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother aka the Queen Mum. Good advice to follow except that the more ridiculous personages like Victoria are typically weeded out even with producers handcuffing them to the radiator and forcing the Bachelor to give them a rose. This makes the late rounds occasionally difficult to extract humor from as all regress to the mean of normality. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. Covid is the excuse but it’s difficult to shake the impression that moving the production around the nation as usual was viewed as too expensive and complicated so ‘hometowns’ were held onsite. It’s a nice enough property but there are only so many golf holes, hillsides, walking trails, cottages and lobbies to serve as sets and backdrops. Punxsatawney, home of the most famous Groundhog Day observance, is 83 miles to the northeast from the hotel but all concerned at Nemacolin must feel that they’re in the sequel to the Bill Murray film repeating the same day to day existence in the same place. CH informs the remaining Bachelorettes that their families are here. ‘Let me tell you who’s here.’ Oh we don’t know, Chris, possibly…their families? If the families are forced to come to the Bachelorettes for once wouldn’t the surprise of the ‘big reveal’ on video be worth capturing? Are we better producers than the real producers now? Hometowns have always been about as comfortable to watch as an extraction of wisdom teeth. There’s the giddy mom, the flaky sister, the hostile brother and the exasperated dad who asks the most obvious but never answered question about dating three other women. Not because he’s skeptical, mind you, but because he wishes he’d had the same chance before acquiring his ball and chain. Things might have turned out differently. Michelle starts the proceedings by going matchy-matchy with Matt right down to the snug jeans. Matt’s are so tight you can just about make out the lettering on the tag of his underwear. And what better activity in tight jeans than riding a bicycle? If Matt hadn’t already been emasculated by his trousers, riding a bike with a wicker basket on the handlebars has pushed him squarely into Pee Wee Herman territory. He might even wear a bow tie later. Michelle’s Zoom class ask the world’s most predictable questions (‘Is that your boyfriend?’) given that they are grade schoolers. Other questions sound suspiciously like producer plants and one little swot thinks we want to hear her read Hamlet’s soliloquy. Matt’s reptilian expression of wonderment and happiness involves him leaning his head back, mouth agape and letting his tongue go slack. The less said about the various families grilling Matt the better. His cliches are unchanging and unconvincing. If this is a person reliant on his vocabulary to sell living or office spaces it may explain the large-scale homeless problem in NYC. In what must be a first despite numerous quirky relations and gatherings over the years, Michelle’s family involves Matt in a…basketball game? Mom bodies up on The Bachelor which must also be a novelty. Mr Hardy has apparently lent a Prowler for Rachael’s use. Matt may be blindfolded but he still manages his hand-on-knee move. There are only so many open spaces and roads on the resort’s land – surely he’s aware that it has an airstrip and that driving at high speed in a straight line would have to use the airstrip? Or are we expecting far too much from the Dim Demon Deacon? ‘I know exactly what we’re doing!’ says His Dimness. What tipped him off? Was the prop plane with the large open door? The his-n-hers jumpsuits? The rigging? The near-total lack of action in this housebound season might be best exemplified by the editing of Rachael’s landing. It was used as a cut-to-black teaser last week and this. It was, admittedly, quite a hard smack and we never get an explanation of what happened from the jump guide or anyone else. But haven’t we seen enough shots of ambulances and medics to know that we rarely or never see actual emergencies? Rachael’s family seem exceedingly normal and well-balanced. Perhaps they should kidnap their own daughter to get her out of there and deprogram her. Fortunately, a soccer match or a baseball game doesn’t break out at the end of this night. Bri might have used the Jeep to good advantage to leave the compound but ends up in a nondescript field where she appears to be attempting to stare holes in Matt’s head. That is one lingering, unwavering gaze. Matt’s possibly feigned air of pleasant disinterest is being challenged now. There are two girls named Bri. His Bri’s mom has…a baby? 23 years is quite the gap between siblings. Doing some back-of-an-envelope math can we deduce her mother’s age when Bri was born knowing what we know about women’s biology? ‘I’m not scared’ of the baby, Matt says. He may be telling the truth. He doesn’t look scared. He looks terrified. The baby is crying irrationally over the awkward scene and we identify completely with the wee bairn. The closing sales pitches after each family meeting are numblingly alike. Which brings us to Serena. Perhaps one condition of her entry visa is that she will be realistic and honest with herself. Matt is wearing his nylon jacket from the Bobby Brady Collection. Like any good Appalachian he calls a beanie cap aka watch cap aka stocking cap a ‘toboggan.’ Serena thinks this is outrageous because a toboggan is a sled. But not in Appalachia, dear. When in Rome and all that. Defeating a competitive athlete even in a goofy pickup game of hockey can make him resentful in spite of himself. That may explain why this seems more first date than last date – along with, of course, Serena’s rapidly-vanishing interest in Matt. Don’t feel bad, ducks. We were there weeks ago. For reasons unknown Serena is wearing her camel eyelashes for a meetup with her family. Unless they regularly attend EDM nights together and are used to the extra-long lashes. And now, a transcript of the conversation between Serena and her sister: Yah. Like. Yah. Like. Yah. Like. Yah. Like. Yah. Like. Yah. Like. Yah. Like. Yah. Like. Yah. Like. Yah. Like. Yah. Like. Yah. Like. Et cetera. [truncated for brevity & reader sanity] CH is here to issue advice to Matt that is actually stage direction. He’s got a plane to catch. Chop chop. Matt is not her person. Music stop! Matt thinks it sucks because he wants what’s best for her. But isn’t getting rid of Matt best for her at present? Between the hockey humiliation and this rejection Matt’s ego has been holed below the waterline. Serena has flipped the script on The Bachelor – not by sending Matt packing but by actually having a tissue when she’s crying on camera. Tissues are in strangely short supply on this show but that seems to be intentional. Can’t have anything interrupting the floods of tears. A last RC but with three females and three roses the suspense is gone already. Matt’s speech is accusatory bordering on confrontational. He sounds like one of his football coaches before a game. Does this cat have ANY original material? Rachael is placed second as camouflage again. Bri reckons being last means her chances are the worst among the three. Michelle is counting her chickens. Usually TWTA is a jarring, frustrating interruption on the way to the finale but the energy has been drained out of this season already – not by covid but by Monotone Matt. At least we’ll get to see some ritual defenestration of Victoria.

If you’re a musician you can’t help but notice the score. As in accompaniment. Soundtrack. Background music – although composers resent that term. The musical cues on The Bachelor are a constant source of amusement as they are as melodramatic as the edits and the participants. Pounding drums. Strummy acoustic guitars. Violin crescendos. Hissing cymbals. Tubular bells struck. And that’s just for the teaser segment. And then there are the canned sound effects. A hawk’s scream. Crickets – always the same crickets at the same pitch in the same numbers. Apparently the producers and sound engineers think we need crickets for all night scenes because we’re too thick to notice it’s dark. Well, much of the nation got sound in spades. Thanks to a technical glitch it was all musical score and FX and no dialogue in the audio mix until about five minutes in. The Silent Bachelor Movie had a strange sort of appeal especially after the audio was restored and with it the inanity of the exchanges. Anyone who’s worked in retail can tell horror stories of the Consumer Reports types. Armed with a page torn, copied, scanned or otherwise duplicated, the CR shoppers believe they have the Magical Secret Knowledge in hand that will get them the best refrigerator at the best price. We might call Matt the CR Bachelor – he has a list that is unchanging regardless of circumstances, personnel, events, feelings, etc. Heather is still making her pitch. Matt’s ego has already been inflated to the point where it’s brushing the rough-hewn rafters in the Nemacolin Lodge and now he’s declaring that Hannah is ‘qualified’ to select a potential mate for His Royal Highness. For reasons unclear Heather is sent to face a jury of her non-peers. The Nasty Nine are here to tear the trachea out of the tardy Teutonic threatening their trysts. They may not all measure up as potential wives for Matt but that doesn’t mean they aren’t up to the task of humiliating a rival. Apparently, ‘toxicity and bullying’ are perfectly acceptable as long as you arrived on Opening Night. Jessenia confirms her MJ showdown was completely in character as she oozes even more poison while interacting with Heather. Serena C is perpetually prepared to put the boot in and Pieper sounds exactly like what she is – an immature brat posing as a ‘strong woman.’ Matt even apologizes twice to Pieper who replies each time with a cosmically-entitled ‘thank you.’ Heather is sent packing and the Bachelorette smirks fill the lobby. Matt is still talking ‘journey.’ Perhaps Heather can rent another minivan and drop off a thesaurus for him at the guardhouse. In the meantime, the producers resolve to get the photogenic Heather to a Bachelor In Paradise hut if they have to smuggle her aboard a UPS jet and airdrop her over Mexico. Finally we are rid of blood-drawing barnacle Serena C and it will be a pleasure not to have to type the extra initial. Her namesake has received a second date. Tantric yoga looks a lot like toddlers roughhousing with dad on the family room carpet. How, one wonders, would this enterprise proceed if Serena were not a rather limber size 2P? More music cues – this time pizzicato strings inform us it’s OK to laugh at this farce. And as Matt relishes a lingering close-up view of Serena’s Lycra-clad nether regions and intoning ‘I’m just taking in who she is as a person’ we’re going to do exactly that as we're used to supplying our own irony by now. To Serena’s everlasting credit she thought the idea and the execution were both rubbish and isn’t afraid to say so. She still cops a rose, though. That vocal fry is so deep it could cook a turkey. Aren’t Canadians required by law to be accomplished skaters? Serena isn’t exactly steady on those blades. Matt’s size 15 skates look more like skis. Ah well – they’re both mostly standing still as the fakest snow this side of the Happy Days Christmas episode blows in. Most of us have tempered our expectations for the show and its participants but we should still point out that this group date isn’t a date at all. There’s no activity. There’s no venue beyond the same old lodge. Matt asked for heavy stuff, to be fair, but Bri drops a case of kettlebells in his lap by telling him she quit her job to enter. It would be naughty and cruel to make any jokes about Abigail failing to read the signs of Matt’s growing disinterest so we will refrain. But he does at least bring things to a merciful end. It’s amusing to watch the production shuffle Rachael, an immediate fave of Matt’s and almost certainly a F2 contender, lower in the deck at rose ceremonies and on dates in a vain attempt to disguise this likelihood. Pieper wants no truck with choosing third-person pronouns. The only pronoun she seems to know is in the first person singular: ‘I.’ It’s not only her preferred pronoun it may be her most preferred word in the English language. This is a seriously self-obsessed little madam. We can almost hope she wins and makes Matt’s life a misery. Kit, who has, in fact, compromised considerably thus far is now informing us that she won’t compromise. If you say so, love. Kit doesn’t want a cheerleader. Matt resists the overwhelming urge to remind her he played football, dammit! The cheerleaders were over there. Kit is failing the salesmanship portion of a fashion career. Badly. She wants this. She wants that. She wants to travel the world while figuring it all out. She wants someone to twiddle his thumbs until she becomes the next Tory Burch. She claims to be a long-term investment. No, accountants call that an expense, dear. Investments are expected to produce a return. Matt’s lips are pressed together so tightly they might squeak. Stress abounds. He doesn’t like all this career-woman stuff. Doesn’t Kit know that Bri risked unemployment to be here? Matt wants a bit of groveling or he isn’t interested. They manage a chaste peck. There are the crickets again. Maybe some of us have spent more time in the country than others but memo to production: crickets eventually quiet down especially when it’s late and cold. With only one rose to award Matt can’t sustain the random-order ruse – Rachael walks it. Kit is in full bored-rich-kid mode and has (re)adopted her monotone as a defense mechanism. Rachael is giving it the I-was-almost-an-old-maid routine again. Are we meant to believe this lack of confidence from someone that attractive? Either this date lasted 20 days (and nights) or we’re being scammed by lazy editing. There have already been two shots of a full moon but now we’re looking at a crescent moon. October 2020 was a full moon on the 1st and a full moon on the 31st (Halloween of course) which means this was around the 11th or the 22nd. Monotone Kit has arrived at the Bachelor’s digs, once again confirming that if the participants REALLY want to meet up outside the dating format they can and they will – if the producers agree. She’s disaffected but not dumb. And leaving now saves face. Any hopes we had that Jessenia’s date might be pushed into next week are dashed when she and her ample backside turn up anyway. It’s a hellcat driving a Hellcat. With 717 horsepower under the hood, drifting in this vehicle might involve skidding off the Laurel Highlands and into Ohio or West Virginia. Don’t worry, Matt, they’ll send you the bill for the mirrors and the other damage. Wait! Maybe we’ll pay for it if you send Jessenia home. Let’s hope MJ is somewhere cackling like mad and doing a shot or two. It’s a double-RC episode. But for this ceremony half the roses have already been given – which means CH and his ominous last-rose warning come quickly. Did you know that in foreign iterations of ‘the franchise’ the hosts don’t bother with the warning – probably because it’s silly and surplus to requirements? Speaking of foreign reality shows, ‘pied’ is UK slang for pie-in-the-face as in rejected. So you could say we have a Pied Pieper. Oh wow. That’s bad. Sorry. It’s late. Moving on, Pieper and her favorite pronoun get to be strong women together in the limo back to the airport. Much-deserved karma for her antics with Heather.

Crikey, collective imagination and and wit have been loosed upon this thread! Very amusing/interesting. I do appreciate very much the various compliments here and elsewhere. I can confirm that I am neither 15 nor Bolivian. Like most, I keep avatars and screen names a bit cryptic/inscrutable in various corners of the internet but for reasons I can't recall I used my own actual photo here. Not exactly a risk on a par with John Glenn but it has been strangely liberating as well as strangely compelling to keep up with the show and the posts each week. Call it saving face literally and figuratively? The Senior Bachelor sounds intriguing. And familiar. I suggested such a format long ago but I'm guessing many have had similar thoughts. Did they specify an age range? It seems inevitable that such a program would mean baggage. Possibly lots of it. Divorcees, exes, kids, custody battles, property battles. The prospect of exploiting one or more widowed participants is probably irresistible to the cynical Fleiss/Harrison axis.

It’s time to concede that Matt has been woefully miscast as The Bachelor. Charm and guile are beyond his modest gifts. Banter is thin on the ground. Even basic physical attractiveness has been undone by his shrunken, folded-in body language and near-constant hangdog expression. Humor, especially the self-deprecating kind, is absent. Like others who can’t laugh at themselves, he’s ironically become a joke. A consolation prize. The silver lining: Matt should attend the casting call for ‘America’s Next Top Funeral Director’ where his lame patter, frequent clasping of hands and licking of lips and eyes welling with tears would earn him high marks for fake sincerity. And which casket were you thinking of, Mrs Jones? Matt is still talking about ‘finding a wife’ as if shopping for a car battery. The sugar-and-spice showdown between Jessenia and MJ is being resolved. Jessenia is whispering intentionally, nodding her head like a drinking bird toy and playing the innocent which the gormless Matt eats up. It’s the worst sort of telenovela except us poor English speakers can understand her insipid dialogue. MJ has acquired Anna’s Palsy – a Bachelor-specific condition in which the facial muscles that enable smiling become paralyzed. It’s all frowns and poker faces now from MJ who declares mental and emotional exhaustion. That should really tickle any male’s fancy. 2-on-1 dates in which at least some fun was on offer have apparently been scotched in favor of a 2-on-1 dramafest with, inexplicably, a rose to be awarded. What if both of them failed the test? MJ is dispatched and Jessenia gloats a little too quickly and loudly after her dodgy dewy-eyed performance. CH declares that Matt is also exhausted. These people appear to be young and fit but apparently sitting on one’s backside is physically taxing for them. Serena C is clearly an also-ran and a snake. Rather than inflicting venomous bites, she’s a passive-aggressive constrictor determined to wrap herself around Katie and slowly stop Katie’s breathing. Matt is apologizing. Again. This milquetoast says ‘sorry’ more often than your drunken sister-in-law who spilled red wine on your new carpet. The RC is mercifully brief thanks to a dwindling number of Bachelorettes but not brief enough to spare us several vignettes of Ryan in floods of tears. Have we seen Ryan and Matt alone together at all? If not, it’s a rather extreme reaction to the Bachelor's head on a swivel and the (bad) luck of the draw. Katie is more sinned against than sinner. She may not be quite the Billy Budd figure but at least we can say she’s making the right enemies in Victoria and Serena C. Katie lets her embrace linger but, sadly, it’s not long enough to keep Serena C from getting the last rose as Serena slots into the earache role vacated by Victoria. The next morning begins with a headcount by the gimlet-eyed Katie as the rest contemplate the value of a one-on-one – always pronounced ‘wunawun’ in Bachelorese – and the odds of getting same. Today it’s Pieper’s turn and that scraping sound you hear is Serena C gritting her teeth. Another not-really-spontaneous encounter is staged and Katie must fend off another attack but at least the practice is keeping her sword edge keen. Katie is becoming quite adept at identifying and dismissing false premises but Serena steams in with one anyway. Nasty piece of work, that Serena, made worse by our familiarity with the archetype in workplaces, social settings and families. Like Victoria, Serena goes for the self-soothing of stroking her hair – an unconscious signal of defeat. Could anyone blame poor Abigail for reaching up and switching off her cochlear implant during this overlong set-to for a bit of quiet? Meanwhile, a stunning blonde has arrived. Heather from Colton’s season apparently. Given Colton’s appalling Bachelor epilogue, she’s had a lucky escape. But she’s been informed that she’s a perfect match for Matt. So much for luck. Chris Harrison, camera crew in tow (of course), comes to chat with Heather. Insert Bachelor-themed joke about barriers going up and down. While the lowly guard is masked up, Heather is not, making the surprise cited by Chris rather less surprising since they obviously intend for her to join the cast. If Serena C thought Katie a threat she ain’t seen nothing as and when Blondie strides in. Nemacolin founder Mr Hardy’s fleet of vehicles is getting its share of camera time. First a red Porsche, now a white Benz war wagon. A deserted and therefore rather spooky fun fair has been set up for the Turtleneck Twins. Did I forget to FF my DVR? Is this a mascara or a toothpaste commercial? Oh wait – it’s neither. It’s blonde Heather in her quarantine suite. Carry on. Back inside, Katie steals a march on Serena C and the rest for the ‘wunawun.’ Sorry, Serena, he’s just not that into you. And neither are we, as it happens. Pieper begins the Ritual Of Never Eaten Dinners by – what else? – crying. It’s a particularly weepy season. Matt’s already had so many declarations of love directed his way he might think he woke up as David Cassidy in 1972. Speaking of pretty-boy musical types, Temecula Road (me neither) are here to entertain. The male guitar-playing third of the act has the Gibson logo blacked out on what is obviously a Gibson Hummingbird acoustic – identifiably by the, er, hummingbird on the pickguard and Gibson's trademark holly inlay on the headstock. But taping over logos and labels seems to be an obsession on the part of producers who are happy to traffic in ‘promotional consideration’ when it benefits them but not the other way round. Next day’s group date is an old Bachelor chestnut – bowling. A ‘big personality’ like Jenna Cooper of previous years isn’t here to entertain between frames but Serena C winding up on the losing side is worth a chuckle. Alas, the blue team are given a reprieve but it’s just as well as we might get more of Rachael in her leather trousers. Kit chimes in with the world’s most unenthusiastic ‘yay’ and Katie is nonplussed. We really must ask if Matt’s wardrobe has, in fact, been filled with clothing from the 1977 Sears Wish book. He’s got a floral shirt on that wouldn’t have been out of place on the Mike Douglas show. Serena P is a bit of a dark horse – fair play to her for keeping herself to herself. Everyone’s getting a face full of Matt – he’s really taking this ‘group date’ thing literally. Oh no – he’s reciting the winner’s podium positions again. Is this a Matt invention or a producer invention? Getting mentioned early may seem a good thing but it’s merely confirmation of runner-up status. Matt hands the rose to Michelle but he may as well had her a plane ticket – she’s a dead cert for the last rounds. Tyler and his ill-fitting t-shirt are here to greet Matt and to resupply him with cliches: ‘stay open’…’just be you’…’walk away with no regrets.’ Matt’s Katie date begins with her working those dimples for all they’re worth. Katie originally introduced herself in risqué fashion and Matt’s labored explanation of the day spa date sounds increasingly like an invitation to join a threesome with lunkhead Tyler – Katie’s expression is priceless and her relief is palpable when she learns it’s merely a prank. The dinner date has Matt in more tragically awful clothing – this time it’s a sparkly gold sweater from the last season of The Rockford Files. Katie is speechifying. Matt looks confused. Perhaps there are too many words of more than one syllable being used. Matt picks up the rose but doesn’t offer it. Now Katie looks confused. Now Katie is being driven away. And looks even more confused. You were plucky to the last, pet. Serena C has just a few minutes to exult over her vanquished rival before a Rival with a capital R enters in the form of a knockout blonde in a knockout white dress. Heather interrupts Pieper whose eyes scan up and down like an X-ray machine. An angry vein pops out across her forehead and she returns to the great hall to inform the others. And for once, that hissing sound isn’t from the cymbals in the musical accompaniment. It’s from the cats as they unsheath their claws ready to draw blood from Heather.

Part of the original pitch was that TB would become a replacement show on the schedule for Monday Night Football which typically runs 8 pm - 11 pm on the East Coast. Although 2 hours can be lengthy they still have an extra hour to fill with...something else. Occasionally TB (or Bachelor In Paradise) runs 3 hours (!). Repetition, teaser, flashback, and every other sort of time-filling gimmick are definitely employed to pad out the time window. Of course, the primary objective is to sell advertising so format, coherent narrative etc. take a backseat to such tactics. Anyone watching without a DVR does so at the risk of his/her own sanity. (Rest of post quoted the old fashioned way) >>When contestants are talking about having been there for weeks, are they actually there for weeks, or is it reality TV weeks, where the whole season is just a couple weeks? According to Popsugar.com, Arie's season taped for nine weeks. Since they typically move between locations and since those locations are often free lodging in exchange for promotion, they spend a week or less at each site especially given that cabin fever would set in regardless of scenery or activities and to keep audience interest by changing venues. Bear in mind that the field is always being trimmed down so most participants' time commitment is shorter (although they all must tack on the pre-production stuff like interviews, screen/lighting tests as well as ATFR). Given the jarring, often haphazard edits and 'time compression' visible onscreen, the timing of the rose ceremonies is largely up to the producers. You can see the exasperation when cocktail parties or rose ceremonies are delayed or denied due to some fatuous claim of emotional anguish of the part of the Bachelor. This show is and always has been one long exercise in Skinnerian, even Pavlovian, conditioning featuring rewards and reinforcement to the point where the women convince themselves they want to 'win' even if they don't really want to end up with the Bachelor as a life partner. >>Why is it that the eliminations are not at the end of episodes? It makes me OCDish and annoyed. They used to be and occasionally still are. You may see frequent remarks on these pages about 'mid-episode rose ceremonies' which seem to be generally regarded as an unwelcome innovation. The producers' aim, of course, is to condition the audience just as much as the contestants so shifting the carrot and stick around are apparently meant to keep the audience keen and ratings healthy throughout by preventing them from watching the first segment and the last segment only. Unfortunately, this also means a cliffhanger-that-really-isn't is concocted for episodes that don't conclude with a rose ceremony. >>Has anyone ever been like "No, I'm not accepting your rose?" Yes, it's happened, including in overseas versions of 'the franchise.' More often than not, however, there is a sidebar conversation prior to the ceremony in which a Bachelorette declares she's leaving voluntarily - after which Harrison informs the rest who feign shock and secretly celebrate the improvement of their chances. >>Are you basically guaranteed a rose when you go on a one-on-one date? Definitely not. There have been plenty of instances where chemistry failed to develop or the date's antics were so off-putting that the rose was withheld. >>It strikes me that the original pool of bachelorettes and certainly this culled down version is heavy on women of color, and a lot of the white women seem like they could probably feign being mixed. Only MJ and Kit I think of the current surviving contestants could not pull off being mixed IMO. Is that normal? Matt's preferences? Producer interference? Every season is different. Obviously this year much has been made of Matt's racial background. No doubt he's had input and it only makes sense for the producers always try to cast the most appealing field in order to maximize the chances of a positive outcome. But as with many things intended to be frothy, fun and diversionary in the culture, even reality shows have been dragged down into the usual political sewer where everything must be fraught with symbolism, weighed and apportioned to ensure 'representation' etc. The producers have been stung by past criticism of casting and this is a somewhat obvious response. >>How much is producer interference a thing? It's a HUGE thing, as nearly every alumnus/alumna will attest. As with trashy talk shows, the producers engage in a process known as 'talking up' where they may ask a participant an incessant number of questions in order to get them agitated and spoiling for a fight or a tantrum and then set them loose on each other hoping for blood. The manipulation is often so pervasive that the participants don't realize it's going on constantly but once they leave the show get very angry and resentful about it. Victoria, for example, has been such a repellent figure that the only person listening to her in shots is a black-clad production type. Infrequently you will see or hear producers off-camera or fully in-shot trying to talk participants 'off a ledge' when they threaten to go home. It's a rather cynical but necessary exercise in preventing cast attrition. Many of the so-called spontaneous encounters are completely engineered eg Bachelor sneaks out at night to visit his favorite. A sensible person would ask 'Why doesn't the Bachelor do this every night if he so chooses?' The only possible answers are a) he's not allowed and b) it's with the permission of the boss. On a more mundane level, if someone fluffs a line or misses a mark, then 'reality' will involve a second or third attempt. Occasionally you will see these outtakes at the end of an episode or an entire gag reel will be viewed on ATFR. The talking-head interviews are a giveaway. Nobody narrates in present-perfect-tense declarative sentences with noun/verb/object that way unless they are being asked questions and told to respond in such fashion. It's such a convention of reality TV now that most tend not to notice it. >>Like I can't believe that Matt kept QV around because of her looks or personality. Like is it crazy to think that he literally was forced to keep her on till about now? Producer 'plants' are like the theory of the atom before powerful microscopes were invented. We've always suspected they exist and there's plenty of circumstantial evidence to suggest same but we don't have definitive proof. The usual hypothesis is that the Bachelor quickly picks out 3 or 4 favorites. That's just human nature despite being on show with a rather distorted view of human nature ie one person can date 32 other persons simultaneously. To keep the suspense going the Bachelor agrees to retain the plant and/or a participant who emerges as a lightning rod for controversy. Bachelors who were hailed as popular choices often turn out to be boring drips or worse over the course of a full season - the only alternative to fill the hours is to provoke and film house drama. >>Is bringing additional women a usual thing with this show? As time has progressed it seems so. The Bachelor, The Bachelorette and Bachelor In Paradise have typically and intentionally had overlap to foster audience loyalty. Last year's plucky-but-tragic runner-up may be cast in the lead role to seek redemption etc. Back to the 'producer effect,' they are always gauging the participants' real interests and aren't above bringing in a old flame, a provocateur or a Hail Mary attempt to get the desired outcome. Much has been made of Matt being a Bachelor neophyte - never watched the show etc. so it's a different setup this year. >>Are we supposed to know who the woman in the previews is from a previous season or something? Typically yes but not all of us watch every season - rest assured there will be plenty of archival footage and exposition if the intruder is in fact a previous participant.

In one of life's great ironies, the locked-down version of The Bachelor is in the same fix as the women: trapped in a gilded cage watching helplessly as the birds peck at one another. He's making the same mistake as many of his predecessors, expressing sympathy that is interpreted as romantic interest and doubling his guilt quotient when his sympathy and his romantic interest both fade away. One non-spoiler bit of news about Victoria is that she is aware of and responding to the very large anti-fan club she has already drawn. Like many others of her generation and mindset, she expresses her defiance in a very strange manner: by posting a bikini photo. Unfortunately for her, the bikini's contours convey some facts that are better left between Vic and her OB/GYN. This was a difficult episode – for us, not the Bachelorettes. SW PA (only politicians and persons out of state call it ‘Pennsylvania’) is hundreds of miles from the nearest body of salt water but a few isolated incidents are like taffy on a machine puller – twisted and worked until they become a different concoction altogether. Just a few moments of excitement were drawn out into a rather stultifying two hours. ‘Strangers on a golf cart path’ is a weak pastiche of Sinatra but the new girls and the old manage to pass each other without exchanging pleasantries. Katie has, by necessity or choice, become the enforcer of the house which is just as well while Victoria is still there. Matt arrives to tell them all just how disappointed he is and describes the ‘qualities he’s looking for in a wife’ in the same tone of voice one might use when buying a new SUV. The buzzwords are flowing like the Monongahela now: toxic environment, culture of bullying, mob mentality, safe space. Hmm…maybe Matt spent more time in the women’s residence hall at Wake Forest than the athletic dorm. Katie takes another pull on her G&T and debates asking the masked-up bartender for a little more Dutch courage. Brittany is worried about her life being ruined which is a bit dramatic but nowhere near as dramatic as Anna’s steady march to the gallows. She appears to lose an inch in height with every step taken alongside Matt. She’s attached an I Dream Of Jeannie topknot and could probably use some magic, real or TV version, to extricate herself from this no-win situation. Not even elliptical passive voice helps her cause as the mic gain is cranked high enough to hear the HVAC hum. Anna’s departure is inevitable and to her credit she keeps the tears to a minimum and admits she made a grievous strategic error. If Victoria’s cleavage last week was unsexy, this week’s version just might cause puberty to reverse itself among unfortunate males subjected to the garish spectacle. Vic is wearing a bra whose only apparent function is to clash with her dress color – because the bra certainly isn’t performing any other of its assigned duties. The gap between Victoria’s girls is so wide that FedEx informs us it can’t guarantee overnight delivery between them. Victoria’s antics are an odious combination of hyperventilation, bearing false witness, playing the victim and self-delusion – all delivered in that mewling accent as she neurotically strokes her own hair. If they ever decide to remake ‘Misery’ they might want to consider casting Victoria in the role of Annie especially as she’s LA-based already. Matt has dispensed with the nervous tics of tongue and lips as he listens to Victoria’s inanity and instead has the same reaction as the rest of us by grinding his molars flat. As with many things Bachelor, a term like ‘cocktail party’ loses its old meaning and takes on a new less appealing one. There aren’t many cocktails and it isn’t much of a party. If Fleiss, Harrison et al want the most dramatic season ever™ they might consider increasing the booze rations. Victoria has served whatever small purpose the producers had in mind – to keep her on after several weeks would have tipped the biggest fix since the Black Sox World Series. The audio engineers have never been shy about inserting repetitive or incongruous sound effects – a hawk screeching, a cymbal crashing. They missed an opportunity to overdub the sound of a lavatory flushing as Vituperative Victoria made her long-awaited exit. The tricky part of capturing bright fall colors in SW PA is that the leaves are often dulled and knocked off the tree branches by SW PA’s other autumnal arrival: rain. The region has just 67 official clear days per year which means 300 other days of cloudy or worse. The confluence of three rivers and a variety of mountain ridges encircling the area mean a lot of the undesirable stuff gets funneled into and remains in SW PA. If the ladies think today was a dreary day then tomorrow might be just the same. CH arrives wearing his tracksuit from the Pat Boone collection. Pieper is talking very rapidly again but staring long, slow daggers at Rachael who has, to no one’s surprise, received a single date card. Mercifully, the fashion parade is mostly of shots of the petite Ravishing Rach in her various dresses and the fitting of footwear with the parallels to Cinderella too obvious to mention, especially with the carriage and horses that appear later. Matt’s clothing changes are limited to a kind of smoking jacket with an obi sewn onto the front. Sending Rachael back to the lodge with armfuls of shopping bags was cruel enough. Presenting her with a royal blue evening gown in front of the others was adding insult to injury. And what was wrong with the red one, considering Matt declared it his favorite already? Rachael may be hiding a brow technician in a secret location on the property because hers are flawless. She claims she lacks confidence despite all evidence to the contrary. Not sure we’re buying it from Our Girl, but Matt certainly is. The next morning’s group date involves mucking out horse stalls which must keenly remind them all of Victoria’s recent exit. MJ is doing a rather frantic over-the-top performance involving those threatening creatures known as…chickens. Her mother-hen strut comes to a halt when Pieper gets pasted by Matt, long and loud. One suspects that ‘Jessenia’ is a Latinate word for poison ivy. She has given MJ a good rash and the irritation and itching are already maddening. Kit has smiled more in this 24 hr period than she has in all the previous weeks. A cooking date doesn’t involve any actual cooking but she doesn’t seem to mind. MJ may not have committed The Full Anna but she’s still on thin ice with Matt who imagines he’s teaching kindergarten not Finding Lurve. It’s a shame because I know and (platonically) love a hair stylist friend who is just as headstrong and hard-charging but means no harm. MJ has some sharp elbows but Jessenia is one of THOSE types – someone who knows she isn’t going to win but will take out as many of her perceived enemies as she can before leaving herself.

A flawed hero at the center of conflict. Warring ethnicities. Warring cities and nations. Warring sexes. Warring religions. Warring classes. Peaky Blinders you ask? Oh, I watched that too. But I was speaking of The Bachelor. Actually, Bleak House would be a more appropriate title but that one was claimed long ago by a minor writer named Charles Dickens. It should be clear to all that catfighting, with or without boxing gloves and headgear, has become the main event with Finding Love and Getting Down On One Knee and Finding My Person and Completing This Journey pushed well down the undercard. Keen-eyed viewers will note that, for all the opprobrium directed at Mike Fleiss, The Bachelor’s descent into drama and drudgery coincided with Chris Harrison being elevated to producer. Fleiss, for all his faults, apparently tried to sell The Bachelor – person and concept – as a budget-conscious James Bond-type with fast cars, big wristwatches, seaplanes and waterfront mansions. Everything, perhaps, except a license to kill. Those Bachelors, including the ones who ended up on the raunchy Bachelor Pad, loved the curvaceous female form first and foremost. And they had plenty of curves and knowing smiles to choose from while recent crops of Bachelorettes look and act like adolescents with the odometer rolled over. Vulnerability and relationships had naff all to do with their personal laws of attraction however shallow and animalistic they may have been. Harrison-era Bachelors have been of the Sensitive New Age Guy type, blubbering about developing feelings, meeting his mom, meeting her mom, blubbering in front of both, then ultimately blubbering when he made his choice, made the wrong choice, attempted to reverse making the wrong choice or made no choice at all. The presence of abdominal muscles without a spine to anchor them was a medical novelty but CH managed to recruit several specimens of this type. Matt is the latest in this latter-day line of squishes. It’s taken only until episode 4 to get…the Railing Shot (TM)! Drink! Matt is pensive, leaning and sitting on the balcony’s wrought iron. Matt’s lodgings look like your middle school built with 80s architecture. Cowardly Victoria has moved from her Rocky Balboa look (one red, swollen eye) to more of a Walking Dead zombie look replete with dark circles. Katie, quickly climbing the charts on personality and perception, has Victoria pegged. Victoria careens between juvenile insults and ham-fisted attempts to sound measured and reasonable but those are merely a ruse to disarm the opposition. And there is plenty of opposition. We get a jarring transition from day – or even morning – to night and Matt is back with the second wave of bachelorettes. Mari employs the horrible cliché that ‘everything happens for a reason’ – a cliché made much worse through its use as a poor disguise for hindsight. It functions as self-protection for bad outcomes. Blaming fate is much easier and safer than blaming oneself. MJ is selling it harder than she’s sold any cut and color package at the salon. Not a spoiler but I think Matt has a ‘tell’ – when he’s with a girl who isn’t a contender he licks his lips a lot and presses them together. The faves get smiles and that goofy open-mouth expression. Pieper is a bit of a tryhard. Andshetalkswaytoofastmostofthetime. Then. She. Pauses. Andstartsupagain. The effect is similar to alternating between pressing the gas and brake pedals. Chelsea’s solution to her struggle with her hair was to ‘liberate’ herself from it. Or perhaps it from her. Either way, she’s cropped now and we now have the not-so-enervating backstory. Knuckle-Duster Katie and Voluminous Vic just happen to be in the same room of the lodge and just happen to be at opposite ends of a couch where the camera crew just happen to be. Other than that, it’s a completely random encounter. Yes, Victoria has the brass neck to complain that someone is being rude to her. Victoria has two charming means of communicating: threats and complaints. Katie swats both of them away and she hasn’t even put on the boxing gloves yet. Another Matt ‘tell’ on the group dates is his insistence on identifying those who placed 3rd and 2nd that day before awarding his rose. It could be a producer’s instruction but it’s unintentionally cruel and therefore hilarious stuff, especially because the ladies get excited to hear their names mentioned but quickly discover that it's only a consolation prize. The timeline is twisted further as we move from the end of the group date to the beginning of the cocktail party with nothing in between. ‘The girls climb the red carpeted steps in their finery’ shot has already been worn threadbare. And it's a bit cruel given the number of steps to scale in high heels. Kaili is wearing one of her hostess dresses with large cutouts that offer much more than a mere window into the soul. Anna is still gritting her teeth and still making an unconscious fist. Could come in handy later. After several rewinds in a futile attempt to understand what Pieper is saying, one is tempted to enable the captions until one decides that her dime-store 'strong woman' feminism isn’t all that interesting. Kit has her well-rehearsed art-exhibition champagne-and-canapes expression pasted on. Matt is no engineer but he’s managed to identify Katie as a house lightning rod. Bri has the equivalent of a Disney FastPass – no need for her to stress out like the others. Eeyore – sorry, Victoria finally gets her moment and decides the weepy approach is best. Uh oh, Matt’s doing that thing with his mouth again. Vic’s moment is mercifully brief as CH interrupts. Victoria, displaying the unsexiest cleavage you've seen since you once watched your great aunt bend over to use a dustpan, still has her silly fur jacket on, making her look like Margaret Dumont, snooty dowager of Marx Brothers films. Matt is being rushed to the front door. Is the tip of CH’s nose growing out and down? His profile resembles Gonzo from The Muppet Show. All that’s missing is a trumpet. The new arrivals are a mixed bag. BriTTany emerges first. Two Ts for TTacky as she swallows Matt’s face upon being introduced. Actually, let’s save one T for Tape as in the double-sided stuff keeping her dress in place. Minnesota Michelle has some odd underbite thing going on - her chin always looks in danger of colliding with Matt’s. ICU Nurse Kim has pushed the hospital occupancy percentages up by abandoning her post during covid. She’ll be back quicksmart, patients, cos Matt isn't keen. Catalina is named after an island but hails from a different one. A clash of tiaras with Victoria The Vindictive is guaranteed. The off-putting innovation known as the mid-episode rose ceremony takes place with snap decisions required on the new lot and the odds cruelly ratcheted up on the oldsters. Anna had better hope the recipients were chosen in advance because she looks like an outtake of Faye Dunaway doing Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest. The ceremony concludes with…Catalina giving the toast? Why? Ah well, it doesn’t matter since she mentions the ‘journey’ anyway. Drink again! Ben Higgins, who managed to lose Jo Jo to his eternal shame, is here to dispense what can only be bad advice. The girls arrive in designer jeans, boots, sweaters and jewelry – not quite the outfit suitable for getting wet and dirty. Magi is a trained pharmacist but can’t grasp the basic physics of a kayak paddle – namely, that the paddle blade must enter the water to propel the craft. Victoria can barely conceal her delight at having Anna join her in the cat club as they hiss about the others but mostly about Brittany. We’ve had many fakers, frauds and people who shaded the truth about their backgrounds and occupations but have we had a lady of the evening before? According to Anna, we have one now. For the first, say, 2/3 of the show’s seasons there were highs and lows and flatlines. In the Chris Harrison Drama Era there are few, if any highs. Most of it is flatline with some rather deep troughs – for example, telling your peers that one of your other peers is a tart as everyone stares at the floor. Michelle has bolted from the far outside gate to ride the rail - all before the first turn. They’re doing horrible things with their boots to that putting green but needs must. The other girls have been conveniently provided with binoculars to watch the balloonists. Those are Mr Hardy’s antique vehicles – the look but don’t touch rule is being violated here! Michelle demonstrates an impressive (?) memory of slogans from those cheesy 90s Successories posters that appeared in every office. One hardly knows how to describe the boxing contest. Ill-advised might be a start. These girls have no idea about protecting themselves. The celebrity guest certainly isn’t stressing it. And the headgear isn’t an adequate substitute, as we soon learn. This is no genteel sparring session – these women are swatting for all they’re worth. The horrified expressions of the onlookers are genuine for once. Matt is Rachael’s yo-yo. A flick of her wrist, a tug on a string and back he comes. Michelle, you may be wife material but Rachael is trophy material. Will Christian Matt honor his spouse or worship a graven image?

This one straddles the fence between 'in the media' and the most recent episode thread but... Many in the episode 3 thread commented on the curious chronology and other aspects of the Sarah Saga. There was puzzlement about her career (?) in broadcast journalism, noting that at age 24 she might have been a reporter for 1 or 2 years max before returning home to help her ALS-stricken father. There was also puzzlement over choosing to abandon those important duties to fly back across the country to participate in the Bachelor for potentially a long stretch of days. Finally, there was some cynical-but-experienced conjecture that she is simply attempting to parlay national screen time into another TV gig. Predictably, the 'emotionally devastated' (on the home and Bachelor fronts) Sarah is popping up on TV chat shows to discuss her departure and sounds rather chirpy. Some of it may be the usual PR rounds for notable Bachelorettes but one suspects that it may also be a combination of image rehab and audition tape.

If last week’s episode ended like that mysterious brown alcohol you probably shouldn’t have tried at 2 AM then this week’s begins with more of the same as we watch Victoria utter her scripted (by her or others) lines and we get an involuntary shudder just like we do when putting the empty shot glass down. Sarah’s ‘medical emergency’ has been completely forgotten and the rose ceremony concludes with, er, whatshername, Marylynn and the other whatshername leaving the premises with only Marylynn given another second of camera time. Toastmasters Inc. will be sending Matt a sternly-worded letter about his awful, awful post-ceremony speech devoid of inspiration. The only positive thing that might be said about it is that it manages to include every catchphrase and cliché including the interminable ‘journey’ and that Matt is excited to get to know each of them better even though Matt sounds like he’s about to fall asleep on his feet. ‘Here’s to love’ he says in a monotone as the women can barely be fussed to raise their arms to clink glasses. Oh Lord, Victoria’s talking again and looking around the room with her usual crazy whites-of-the-eyes expression. Group Date Pt 1 will, regrettably, include Vic and her shiner. Rachael is killing it with the Naughty Secretary glasses, an undimmable beam of sunlight alongside Eeyore, sorry, Victoria. Kit has taken an extra morning Valium or perhaps she’s dreading an outing with Victoria. Kaili has staged a predawn raid on everyone’s makeup kit and is wearing enough foundation to build a castle on. Matt has inexplicably been given an outfit remaindered from the 1977 Sears Wish Book catalogue: a turtleneck and a leisure suit [edit: didn't see the mention upthread til now!]. Oh goody – Ashley I’s back. What a relief. We feared she might have obtained a job at some point. Now she’s reciting passages from dirty chick lit and doing her best (or worst) book-club sales pitch and telling the conscripted authors ‘That’s. Hysterical.’ without actually laughing. Sex Toy Katie should have no trouble scrawling filth across the page. Suddenly Matt’s Dirk Diggler ensemble makes a bit more sense since he will be listening to the equivalent of Boogie Nights-era porn film dialogue. Cue the wah-wah guitar. Harrison is like the overbearing youth leader dealing with recalcitrant campers but the women quite obviously aren’t having it. Sarah is worried about his relationships with other women but surely she’s noticed they’ve only been there for a few days. Matt’s brought out the flat voice again. Don’t call us, Matt, we’ll call you, say RADA. Katie loves hearing him talk – but then, Katie thinks dial tones and the white noise of jet engines are exciting. Copywriter Anna’s writing is so trite that we are compelled to ask which ad agency dared put her on the payroll. Not quite Peggy Olson material. Rachael is taking the bold step of using first-person pronouns. Predictably, Victoria’s reading is pedestrian Penthouse Forum stuff. Matt’s turtleneck is gone leaving the rest of us to cringe like terrapins tucking their necks into their shells at his lame patter full of non sequiturs like ‘You all really pushed the limit today…it was great to see you in your element.’ Well, Matt, either they are smut peddlers or they are ladies. Make up your mind. Surprise! Rachael is pulled aside first again and gets a snog this time. Bri gets a follow-on as well. Serena P gets a single date card and the girls are well grumpy about it. Those frowns have edges so sharp they might damage the Nemacolin carpet. Sarah is sprinting headlong into bunny-boiler territory, interrupting Katie who informs the others. Victoria pretends not to know the name ‘Sarah’ but given that nobody wants to converse with Victoria maybe it’s not an act after all. Katie returns but can’t break Sarah’s white-knuckle grip. Matt delivers a few very audible (to Katie) kisses in a desperate bid to send Sarah packing. Sarah, unable to take multiple hints, heads into the lionesses’ den and becomes their scratching post. ‘It’s literally just between me and him,’ announces Sarah very publicly to a roomful of very annoyed rivals. Irony isn’t her long suit. Victoria’s nose is sweating again. It’s probably cold like a dog’s. She hounds Sarah about their previous encounter. ‘We’re worried about you,’ she says unconvincingly. Extending the zoological metaphor, Matt either has the emotional intelligence of a goldfish or doesn’t notice the snarls and scowls when he enters the room. Several of them look to be on the verge of nausea. Anna is a picture, gritting her teeth and making a fist unconsciously. Unfortunately, the picture in her case is ‘Guernica.’ In the second non-shocker of the evening, Rachael gets a rose. Attention Veronica: Rach is obviously the real queen here. You may not even be a lady in waiting. The Sarah approach has been tried before. The tears keep The Bachelor on his toes but eventually he tires of it – usually around the final 6 or 8 mark. ‘If you left that would be a tragedy’ says Matt robotically and rather un-tragically. Has anyone checked his back for a battery compartment? And damn me if he doesn’t have another turtleneck on – this one paired with a Steve Austin buckskin jacket. Maybe Matt is bionic. Sarah gets her kiss and the smirk gives the game away. Bit early to be breaking out the horseback riding date, innit? A braying ass in a brown coat settles in for a picnic with Serena P. A donkey is there also. Matt’s toasts are getting worse, if that’s possible. Maybe let the lady handle it next time? Matt must really like Serena – he’s approaching coherence and eloquence here. Another hot tub! Or is it the same tub on caster wheels? Bit of advice to Serena: don’t go back with that ponytail still wet! It's a telltale! The girls’ mood is bad enough and getting worse with Sarah returning. Katie doesn’t want Sarah to think she’s been bullied out. Except she was.

It's been over a year of so-called crises but now real hardship has darkened my doorstep as I am composing this missive on an iPad instead of a nice fast PC with my beloved ergonomic keyboard. I've dropped from 140 wpm to a meager trickle of characters and the constant need to correct typos. I can't say much more except a) it's warmer here than where you are and b) I'm not involved in any Bachelor-related production. The magic of technology allowed me to view this episode from a great distance. But like all bargains involving magic there is a dark side. A hidden cost. A bit of irony and tragedy to tarnish the genie's offering. In this case it is the obvious and forced 45 degree jamming of Victoria into every scene, scenario, conversation, competition and ceremony. Her antics are so over the top that one fully expects her to break the fourth wall and wink at the camera or to utter Shakespearean asides. We can be excused for thinking her name isn't even Victoria but was actually Melissa or Julie when she registered with the casting agency in LA where, conveniently, she is from. The constant training of cameras on Victoria means, unfortunately, that we must focus on her also, at least temporarily. There hasn't been a plant this obvious since a Buick station wagon smacked into the General Sherman sequoia. If Victoria is, in fact, 28 then those are all some very rough city miles featuring potholes, ruts, and missing manhole covers. Those dark circles stretch from her nose almost to her ears and the makeup and lighting professionals are apparently powerless to rectify them or to reduce the glare off her oily nose. Is Victoria putting away a full bottle of Cabernet per night? Polishing off an order of General Tso's chicken before bedtime? Based on her shapeless arms possibly both. That ain't a little bit of subcutaneous baby fat - that's the real adult version. A bully as written in the script, she's a 6 ft Amazon towering over her petite peers and terrifying them by honking through her nose like a riled-up goose. Sleeping on the couch? Off you go, Vic. You probably snore louder than a leaf blower anyway. Jessenia puts it into eloquent Bachelorette-ese: 'The energy that kind of, like, kind of melts off of her is, like, kind of intense.' An ATV ride in SW PA is the proverbial busman's holiday. One can find ATVs and trails anywhere in a 40 mi radius. An expensive resort property not required. We can be excused for thinking that every date this season will involve a soak in a pool or a hot tub no matter how remote the site. Bri is putting it in the shop window and Matt buys immediately. Anna is LITRALLY gnashing her teeth again...unable to converse without appearing to bite the air. If we must endure it at least she's gunning for Victoria. The only person on-set who will listen to Victoria is a production staffer as a flash of mask reveals. The early introduction of a hate figure, a lightning rod, is a 'tell' that the producers don't have heaps of confidence in their casting choice(s) or in the outcome where things haven't gone to plan for numerous seasons now no matter how stirring the music or how loud the cymbals hiss. Diverting early onto Drama Drive and adding filler is a sign of cynicism and desperation. If it works out for TB the they'll leave most of Vic on the cutting room floor. But there she is front and center. The bridal paint war is, I suppose, preferable to the period-costume photo shoots that are a staple. I've seen and met many photographers who don't flame harder than the Olympic torch but another staple of any Bachelor photo shoot is a fabulous, flamboyant loudmouth with a camera. I can't believe I'm going to suggest reality TV get real but donating the wedding gowns to those Appalachian locals who desperately want but can't afford them would be better than ruining them in an hour with paint and mud. Put the girls in camo and have at it while saving the gowns. 'Not all the ladies will go on a date each day'...but of course Victoria is here. Tacky to the last, she thinks that soul-kissing looks good in photos. Matt should have given her tongue a hard bite for sticking it in unannounced. Jessenia is here to tearfully issue her very long shopping list of demands for her future mate. Anyone who claims to be 'looking for a rock' is committing a Freudian slip. She's looking for a diamond and also revealing in Freudian fashion that she's emotionally unstable. Another dose of Victoria castor oil: 'I think he did think that I was just this fun girl all the time.' Even dopey Matt isn't that dopey. Sarah gets a biplane ride but the biplane merely circles the property. The golf course is nice but not that nice. She's nervous but not nervous enough to have forgotten an animal print bikini! ROWR! Devastating personal tragedy out of the way, let's suck face! Matt is checking in with his obvious favorites including Abigail and Rachael [natch]. That extra A in RachAel is throwing me off. Kit's bored monotone is actually endearing in an odd way. She's got that dead-behind-the eyes look that is common to kids raised in tony urban environments where most interaction is with dead-behind-the-eyes adults. Kit's way of expressing comfort with Matt is to tell him she's climbing the first hill of a roller coaster. But isn't that where the panic and screaming start? Victoria Falls is in Africa. Lions are in Africa. Lions, despite their reputations as noble hunters, are more than happy to attack the weakest member of a herd. Marylynn, already meek and mild, has received a flower from Matt. An orchid, not a rose. Victoria is insanely jealous. Perhaps her anger has something to do with the floral cap-sleeve dress fashioned out of Grandma's old silk drapes. Maybe she's angry that, with the dress and the chunky gold necklaces, she's being forced to recreate a prom night from 1978. Maybe it's all the wardrobe people could find in her size, making her even angrier. I think we've had an interrupted rose ceremony before, specifically by a fainting spell, but here we are again. At least a few of the favorites get their roses before Sarah - already home and dry from her date - collapses. Alas, it looks like next week is more of the same with Matt failing to get the lionesses to sheathe their claws. Again.

Cheers. I hope I do too. Don't let me down Matt! Ethiopian pharmacist: Magi Tart with a heart: Kaili Both received roses.

It’s been some time since any contact with the Bachelor ecosystem – not least because the ecosystem resembles an EPA Superfund site with poison, radioactivity and, er, glass from broken mirrors, smashed phones and wine goblets littering the ground. It was inevitable that a critical mass of alumni over enough time would make “news” (quotes intentional) as they carried on with life and relationships. The media have meticulously blurred the lines between publicity – as in press releases from reps reprinted verbatim – and actual newsworthy events such as a wedding or the birth of a child. Some so-called celebrities subsist entirely on PR disguised as news. The public’s interest in and affection for a Chrissy Teigen, for example, is in inverse proportion to her actual merit, charisma and talents. Yet a hapless alien visiting this planet might conclude she was president, empress and pope based on the volume of coverage of her spectacularly unspectacular and repellent personage. But, as we know, social media is the gasoline of celebrity culture. Its toxic fumes benumb the powers of reason and convince many that more, more, more is always better. Both the Bachelor producers and the participants claim they can pour petrol on their little tinder pile of publicity and control the resulting blaze but secretly both parties hope for a wildfire of social media posts and stories worth a fortune but for which they don’t have to pay a cent. Snark could be defined as cynicism combined with humor as demonstrated across these pages but in Anno Domini 2021 participants in The Bachelor franchise are cynical to a fault with no discernible humor involved. These people take themselves VERY seriously, steeped as they are in the self-esteem culture. Pensive poses, the odd monochrome shot and the surfeit of treacly cod philosophy in scripty font (eg ‘Be the best version of yourself’) are a substitute for originality and genuine sentiment. Like Linus Van Pelt standing in a pumpkin patch, we may seek sincerity but after all this time we have given up on finding any. Bachelorites of both sexes don’t seem to grasp that ‘empowerment’ is marked by a prefix denoting an external locus of control ie they are obtaining it from an outside source. This is all a long way of saying that the newer crop of contestants all have tongue planted firmly in cheek as they mug knowingly for the Steadicams. Their dreams are not of ‘finding love’™ but of Instagram follower counts spinning up like a car’s odometer. Why be a [insert occupation here] when you can be an influencer? They don’t want their phones to call Mom, they want to check likes and follows. Vulnerability is a premeditated means to an end. They know very well that, despite the constant exhortations and attempts to compete for The Bachelor’s attention and to reach the final, playing the role of Maleficent or Snow White and leaving in earlier weeks can raise one’s profile just as readily – not least because they know so many of the engagements and even marriages have failed (quickly) once the klieg lights are off and the vapors have dissipated. In most foreign iterations of the franchise none of the persons involved from producers to participants are under any illusions that ‘finding a wife’ is the objective and therefore they don’t even try. Points for honesty and realism there. In sum: if they’re not going to take it seriously then we aren’t obligated to either. Comments about their dress, appearance, utterances, actions may seem cruel or gratuitous at times but if Fleiss, Harrison and their PR machine treat the whole thing like a coarse pro wrestling circuit with 2-D designated heroines and villains then we are entitled to respond in kind with a clear(er) conscience. I, for one, am not a misanthrope or a sociopath but laughing at the human condition has always required a cold, dry eye and a thick skin. So be it. And now….here’s Matt. A Tar Heel now a New Yorker. Memo to Matt: your compass is pointed in the wrong direction, mate. He’s a commercial real estate broker? In New York? This is akin to operating a beer truck outside the Salt Lake Temple. It may seem like there’s a lot of business out there but it’s an illusion as the city empties out, perhaps permanently. I suppose it was bound to happen – TB’s base of operations is a place I know fairly well, having visited numerous times. The Laurel Highlands are beautiful and offer a drastic change in elevation (from the Monongahela Valley) not usually encountered in the Eastern US where mountains are typically preceded by rolling terrain and foothills. You may have seen the iconic red circle logo of 84 Lumber signs or stores. Founded by one Joe Hardy, 84 became a behemoth in the construction trade and Mr Hardy became a VERY wealthy individual although one still genuinely humble and hilariously profane even as he reaches his 97th birthday (!). His daughter Maggie has assumed command and is equally minted. Nemacolin is his playground, hewn out of some very rough terrain. I should have sought out Maggie to buy her a 200 year old single malt Scotch the last time I played golf there. She could be the first Sugar Mama. Ring me, Maggie! The recently deceased Pete Dye was the most in-demand architect of golf courses in the world for several decades (TPC Sawgrass, Harbour Town Golf Links at Hilton Head Island et al) and contracted by Hardy to create a course at Nemacolin Resort. Dye surveyed the site and saw hundreds of huge boulders the size of houses strewn across the property. Dye reported to Hardy that constructing a course would be impossible since the rocks would have to be removed at prohibitive cost before the first shovel of dirt could be turned over. ‘How much to remove them?’ Hardy asked. ‘Forty million dollars at least,’ replied Dye. The boulders were removed. The rest of the resort is equally of the spare-no-expense variety. It features its own airstrip and the private planes arriving are a damned sight newer, faster and more expensive than a biplane. Fair play to Matt for playing DI football as a Demon Deacon but fairer play to Matt’s mom! Crikey. Lean and lithe and all the more striking with the silver hair. Leather pants aren’t for the faint of heart or the fullness of leg. She need be concerned with neither of these. That also appears to be a very large stone on the third finger of the left hand. Neil Lane, eat your heart out. Single mom perhaps but not a single woman! The girls ‘don’t know what to expect’ and that’s, well, expected when being flown into SW PA. Pittsburgh’s airport, with its dozens of darkened, abandoned gates due to a lack of air and foot traffic, is a somewhat depressing welcome. One wonders why they weren’t flown directly to Nemacolin but then one remembers that coach airfare on American fits the production budget a hell of a lot better than a NetJets booking. Speaking of budgets, filming locations at beauty spots in the West and in foreign nations have often involved some fairly spartan accommodations even with the tit-for-tat promotional deals. But there are no spartan rooms at Nemacolin. Mr Hardy wouldn’t have it. Alicia is a NY ballerina dancing inexplicably in an elevator lobby. Given the dim long-term prospects for live performance in NYC she can be excused for dancing in semi-public elsewhere. Abigail is deaf…and plucky…and has smartly found an excuse to flee Portland’s ills. Australia/New Zealand Bachelorette Lily was also hearing-impaired but had a huge personality. She was so entertaining on the first go on The Bachelor NZ that she was brought back as a (planned) co-Bachelorette NZ for her own season and easily outshone her co-star, not least because her co-star was an indecisive drip. Kristin’s a lawyer. Bachelor lawyers are often a bolshy handful. Magi arrives just a week past the Christmas season and robs us of the opportunity to make bad puns about the Three Wise Men bearing gifts. She’s an Ethiopian pharmacist – a background the casting agents probably couldn’t devise even after several bottles of wine. Chicago Anna is the person you dread sitting near on a flight. Too much, too loud. Sarah is dealing with her father’s ALS. It’s not clear if quarantine is taking place at the resort but the stir-crazy behavior including dancing alone indicate this is the case. Matt is in a dinner jacket and bow tie. A classic look. He wants to talk to CH before meeting the women? Doubtful. Matt doesn’t know what to expect? Equally doubtful. I believe the term we’re looking for here is padding as in ‘we’ve got 2 hours of airtime and 1.5 hours of footage.’ Bri says she’s heard so much about TB but…she doesn’t know his name? Odd. Georgian Rachel makes it 2-for-2 in the emerald dress parade. She’s either a Hannah Sluss pure-and-innocent type or she’s a maneater prepared to claw and scratch as needed. Sarah TV is sequined, Jessenia is already issuing demands. Chelsea is from Brooklyn and almost as tall as Matt. Mari’s dress is cut down to the tops of her stripper heels. All have obviously been rehearsing their chat-up lines in their isolation but the deliveries are uniformly awkward. The second limo always seems more fun, doesn’t it? Given the real-time delays of shooting and reshooting entrances (we’ve seen some late ‘nights’ in which the rising sun appears) it must mean the second wave of girls are making good use of the free prosecco. Magi reappears – he won’t have a prayer of remembering your full name, love, sorry. Full marks to Sydney who eschews cheesy doggerel and declares Matt the hottest. Simple and direct. But Kristin breaks the spell quickly with her groan-inducing lawyerese. Oh no, it’s Anna again and oh no, she’s brought props. Khaylah has probably spent half her life correcting the spelling of her name. She arrives in an old Ford pickup for reasons unknown as the background music changes self-consciously to generic honky tonk. North Carolina? With 11 million state residents, what are the chances (cue rolling of eyes) of two of them encountering one another elsewhere? Serena C wears heels through airports, jetways and narrow aisles every day at work but trips climbing a single step. Good ice breaker though. Serena P may need to strap the footstool to her back for future use. Alicia is going to beat us over the head with the ballet thing, isn’t she? I can see that getting very old very quickly including among her peers who might smack her with a toe shoe. Are we meant to call Saneh ‘Goat?’ ‘Hooves?’ ‘Nanny?’ Alana is from Canada also. Isn’t the border closed good and tight? It should be to spare us from a Lady & The Tramp sketch. ‘It was playful…it was cute.’ If you say so. Kaili arrives half naked. She’s a hostess (ahem) from Chicago. With the hip tattoo and the fearless wearing of lace undergarments we can be excused for thinking her gig may be at Tiffany’s Cabaret near O’Hare. The cats are meowing now. Abigail, Corrinne are anodyne enough. Marylynn lays it on heavy and thick. Emani seems distracted. ‘I just want you to know’ seems to be the default preamble and Lauren delivers her version. How many jokes in school did Pieper have to endure about the spelling and connotations of her name? Seems to me I would drop the first E at the first opportunity. Things I’ve learned about hair stylists: they are fun. They are flighty. They are a bit crazy. The right brain dominates so creativity & unpredictability come in equal measure. But I would never say so when they're moving around the head and neck with a straight razor. MJ, then, seems to be a stylist meeting all of these descriptors. The lameness of the pizza ruse was salvaged by its disastrous execution. Katie presents a glowing sex toy, as you do, requiring the hasty reappearance of the blackout box before we’ve even seen any revealing swimsuits. Also revealing is that none of the others are all that shocked to see such an implement. A silent cheer for Serena P who accurately labels the increasingly elaborate and silly arrivals as ‘gimmicks.’ If Bachelorettes really wanted to win and had really done their homework they would quickly ascertain that the more quiet and mysterious the introduction, the more interested TB becomes. A slinky walk, a bit of eye contact and a short hello are worth all the props, costumes and cars combined – especially when the props include a tandem bike, a foam fish and a football helmet. Kit’s go-go dress is a nice departure. ‘Queen’ Victoria may be unaware that sedan chairs faded away in England about the time the real Queen Victoria acceded to the throne. Kit already scoring points with her disdain for Vic. Others are similarly unimpressed. Let the hissing and scratching commence. But first – a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it montage of the principals in floods of tears. Wake Forest is a Baptist institution. Is the group prayer a first for the show? It’s a nice touch although it may wrong-foot any atheists in the room who sensibly keep mum for now. ‘I’m gonna cry’ says one. But why? Rachael is giving a very strong Ashlee Frazier vibe. Ashlee just had her second baby and is well domesticated now but at one point Ashlee was like an obsessive, possessive rattlesnake - beautiful markings and venom in equal measure. It took a very brave, very lucky Bachelor to pick her up safely by the tail but a nasty bite was always lurking. Every stilted conversation with Kristin sounds like a job interview. Matt is saying ‘like’ so often the girls will never match the frequency. But they’ll try, God help us. We’re back to Rachael who needs no prop dog bowl – she’s got Matt eating straight out of her hand. She’s agreeing with everything he says, tilting and bobbing the head, flipping the hair, and leaning in. Body language 101. As Mark Twain wrote of Tom Sawyer: ‘The fresh-crowned hero fell without firing a shot.’ A quick game of chess? Oh those quirky Canadians. ‘Pressureful?’ Dunno, Mari, we’ll have to ask the judges on that one. And Mari should have said ‘Touch my bare skin with a faux phallus again and you’ll have it jammed into your earhole.’ Katie seems unfamiliar with the concept of keeping a joke brief. Victoria interrupting Kit with the queen/princess line is lame and obviously scripted. But then so is Victoria. A first impression rose and multiple kisses for Abigail?! Get in there, girl. And nobody would blame you for turning off your cochlear implants around Victoria, who talks entirely too much and too quickly. Mercifully, the RC arrives but not before a dozen out-of-context shots of girls turning their heads, making them all look furtive. Is that the first utterance of ‘journey?’ Someone keep a running tally please. Matt really keeps things suspenseful by making Rachael wait to be the…second person given a rose. Ah, well, he tried to make it look good. Kaili’s exposed-skin gambit pays off although she is now clothed. The Agonies Of Marylynn finally conclude. Katie? Ugh. Anna? Ugh ugh. Interestingly, the rose recipients seem to have been chosen in the exact order of preference. Nothing random about it, especially the tail-end inclusion of Victoria who is such an obvious producer’s plant that she should have to wear a nametag. To be fair, Alicia was a VERY large red herring with all the video lavished on her in this episode. The so-called twists presented in the season’s trailer are quite a bit less twisty when tests and quarantine are required for close contact. People just can’t drop in unannounced so the surprises obviously aren’t surprises. And there’s a mandatory ambulance shot! An appropriate conclusion given the times.

Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. That was the tongue-in-cheek warning on the first page of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain but as with most of Twain’s writings the message was delivered on two levels – the literal and the allegorical (or symbolic or coded). Fortunately for me, Twain’s works are in the public domain vis-à-vis copyright or else his estate might have long ago come after me for royalties from a derivative work because I borrowed from (ahem) his method at will. I would have nothing to pay them with but internet likes but who knows they might want their cut anyway. In the case of the final episode, however, I am unable to find a narrative and therefore unable to write one, so scattershot was the production and the editing. However, the motives, morals and plot were rather evident behind the scenes even if they remained unclear and chaotic under the unblinking camera eye. As others have noted, the producers were not fighting a war of attrition; they were fighting a war AGAINST attrition. Having flown the circus to the Australian bush, their animals began wandering off – the potential for yet another invasive species endangering native wildlife was great. In a show where every cough and sneeze is recorded in HD video and Dolby sound, they managed to allow Madison to leave the production 2 full days before the finale without so much as a still photograph of her departure. It’s tempting to put this down to gross incompetence but perhaps the crew was granted some R&R time and were off duty prior to the engagement/disengagement scenes. The blurring of episodic lines between the finale and ATFR and some prior shows meant that The Proposal (kettle drums, violins, wind chimes) was shoehorned into the first quarter hour of this airing which no doubt raised the antennae of every person watching who had an IQ above room temperature. There was simply no way they were going to fill 1 hr 45 min (less commercials) with Hannah & Peter cooing like doves on the couch. As is increasingly the case, The Bachelor spoiled itself with no help required from Reality Steve or anyone else. Another Twain quote, this time from Tom Sawyer as Tom was ordered to whitewash a fence as punishment. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. Like Tom, the producers faced a long hard slog to the end of the task as they attempted to wring drama from scenarios that lacked it. They were forced to create nearly 2 hrs of drama where none existed apart from a hacked-off Hannah and, God help us, Mother Barb. Mama Barb – homemaker, cook, nurturer, cryer - gave way to Mother Barb as in Mother Superior – fussy, judgmental, disapproving, demanding, haughty. With the hair color change she looked like one of the aging actresses still brought onto Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show or, for those rapidly accelerating down the hill, the $20,000 Pyramid. A Briton might compare her to a pantomime villain – over-the-top melodrama with lots of evil cackling and an adversarial relationship with the audience who boo and hiss on command. The inset shots of Mother Barb glaring at the video screen were inexplicably long and frequent. The inset shots of Hannah watching that which she already participated in were inexplicable (as in unnecessary) full stop. And, of course, there were inset shots of Peter doing the utterly fake sad cocker spaniel routine he’s perfected over two seasons of Bachelorwood. Mother Bates – sorry, Mother Barb was entirely predictable and consistent. It was all about her. Lest we forget, Pete Sr was a pilot too, which meant he was absent the house for long stretches which only increased her power. Context, such as the unavoidable delays that are part and parcel of any video production with a large crew, was unimportant to her. Like many control freaks she carries a sword and shield forged from Attribution Errors – anything good that happens is the result of her words or deeds, anything bad that happens is someone else’s fault. It’s emasculated her husband and made her boys deathly afraid to say a contrary word to her. She spoke of supportive DMs but avoided any talk of what must have been a flood of negative feedback. Trolling is never a good thing but common sense tells us there must have been some, especially given the nature of this franchise. It would take a heart of stone not to feel some sympathy for Hannah especially as she seemed to finally snap out of the gaslighting at the critical moment before the proposal. The skepticism on her face was evident throughout and by the time Peter did an Arie she adopted a grim, cynical smirk that no doubt many shared with her. As an avatar of the Instagram generation, Hannah was less upset about being a one-time-first-time fiancée and probably more upset that she didn’t get to post the captioned videos and photos that are de rigueur these days. A river of likes merely drained into the ocean. To echo comments upthread about Chris Harrison, he went far beyond observer, referee and counselor to having a direct role in the outcome (BIP participants can identify). His eyes betrayed him as he went from feigned interest to a rather intense look in his desperation to rescue this season (he’s a producer too). Many of us probably had flashbacks to lame ‘XYZ likes you, do you like her?’ dialogue from 7th grade recess as Harrison brusquely demanded to know if Madison was in love with Peter and vice versa. Madison probably thought they were going to go for a shot of her tonsils, so extreme were the close-up shots. Poor girl has a few problem spots in the complexion – don’t we all – and had them displayed on giant LED screens in the studio and across the nation. We can all agree that the strong-arming off-camera must have been intense, staged house or no. But she’s a sporting lass and consented to flying to LA to appear on the show. ‘We don’t know what’s going to happen’ Harrison intoned repeatedly. He thought it was a selling point but in hindsight it was a warning. Madison gamely appeared in the studio and for a fleeting few seconds it appeared engagement bliss might be in the offing until Mother Barb got involved. Mother Barb gladly kicked Peter’s sandcastle over without waiting for the tide to come in and claim it. She faulted Madison for everything from cold coffee to rainy weekends while, of course, exonerating her ‘Bud’ whose nickname should be reversed to ‘Dub’ because everything that comes out of his mouth is a cliché or a second-hand phrase. He’s a tape recorder. An automaton. Pouty lip on cue. Touch forehead to female’s on cue etc etc. To be fair Madison had plenty of trite phraseology at the ready including multiple references to the journey. You saw a 25 year old male doing what a 15 year old male should do ie establish his own identity and tell a parent to back off. Unfortunately for for him it was far too late especially after Mother Barb tore a strip off Madison after Madison had ignored her own conscience and taken part in this farce. Madison’s body language was as legible as a billboard – she stiffened up, looked down and away and generally employed every coping mechanism possible to avoid saying what she really wanted to say – but we said it on her behalf from our vantage points. The producers’ and director’s hair lay in clumps in the control room after they tore it out trying to manufacture a proposal only to have Mother Barb smash it to bits. ‘Taking it day by day’ is a far cry from Neil Lane And A Bended Knee and don’t they know it. There would be no repeat playing of The Proposal Crescendo (© Hacktastic Tunes, Ltd.), no cries of ‘WOOOO!’ from the studio audience, no promotional springboard for Harrison’s mention of upcoming series with or without Clare (ugh her again) appearing on stage. Epilogue: Madison will return sensibly to Auburn. Alone. She will meet a State Farm agent who was a practice squad football player for the Tigers and has third-row seats right behind the bench where Madison sits in the second row. A move to Birmingham or Atlanta may ensue. Peter will get involved with a divorced flight attendant who has long legs, a husky voice from sneaking cigarette breaks, a three year old kid and a dodgy ex who is behind on the child support payments. Mother Barb will break into random crying jags and wonder why the phone doesn’t ring as often and why it’s never Peter’s number.

The Bachelor Finale Part 1 takes place in Australia but swapping the Northern Hemisphere for the Southern and the Western Hemisphere for the Eastern changes nothing. We’ve reverted to the very first episode in which Mama’s Boy cedes the floor to Mama herself, whereupon she emotes, quivers, chews scenery and generally makes a fool of herself any time she detects the presence of a camera. Beyond that it’s an episode of nothingness as vast as most of the outback. There are lots of downcast looks, confusion, tears of frustration and futility and awkward silences – mostly from the poor sods like us forced to slog through this nightmare apparently produced the same day the video editor switched to decaf. According to some cursory internet research, birds of prey ie raptors in Australia include the hobby, kite, kestrel, baza, and harrier. One particular species not native to their biosphere is the red-tailed hawk. Through the magic of audio editing back in a darkened suite in LA, we hear the red-tailed hawk’s distinctive scream echoing over the Australian desert. Reality TV eh? If we are somewhat a captive audience we have company in the form of a studio audience inexplicably dressed to the nines as they…watch video monitors and applaud wildly for what even the most optimistic Bachelor fanperson must admit has been an appalling damp squib of a season thanks mostly to the appalling damp squib of The Bachelor himself. At least we can visit the lavatory, the refrigerator and the wet bar at our own convenience – the last of these being the most useful in combating the ennui of watching Peter Bloody Weber sobbing into a couch cushion. Again. Peter arrives in Alice Springs, enters his suite and…stands at a railing. Is Fleiss reading these missives and punishing our lack of reverence by forcing us to double our budget for wine & beer? It’s the standard pensive profile shot (no pun intended) again. It’s interesting to note that deepest, darkest thoughts are never uttered during full-face on-camera interviews and instead are delivered via voiceover. Peter is reunited with the family – well, Mom anyway. The rest barely get a look-in. Soldiers returning home after V-E Day didn’t get this kind of wailing reception. Pilot Dad is in remarkably good spirits despite the failure of his Modern Beta Male web site and lifestyle brand and having to deal with Mom every day, all day. Brother Jack is there also and wearing, er, pink trousers. Ahem. If Peter’s scruffy beard seems odd-looking on his choirboy face (despite the angry-looking scar on the forehead) then Jack’s facial hair looks even more incongruent. It’s almost as if he’s been sneaking some doses of Dad’s low-T prescription. Peter relates the story of the first impression rose and the first one-on-one date. Dad displays the sort of insight once reserved for the likes of Watson & Crick by exclaiming ‘two firsts!’ Well, yes, Dad, someone has to be first in each scenario and it shouldn’t come as a great shock that it’s the females Peter is most attracted to. Dad’s got a big old cross hanging round his neck which is highly ironic given the family’s view of formalized religion (more on that later) but perhaps he’s not as goofy as he looks and it’s meant to ward off the energy vampire known as his missus. Speaking of Mom, she apparently uses a patio broom to apply the shadow. It’s less a smoky eye and more a smoke damage eye. ‘Should I go get Hannah Ann?’ queries Peter. ‘Yes yes!’ respond the family. The next shot is of…Peter pacing aimlessly with hands in pockets (?). Chris Harrison is at that in-between stage of combing the hair forward to conceal the receding front while spraying the bangs vertical to confirm that it has, in fact, been styled somewhat. Hannah arrives with flowers in lovely plain brown wrapping paper. Dad, already well-trained at being well-trained, has adopted Bachelor lingo and uses the term ‘journey.’ ‘I see you and me’ says Mom, injecting herself again into the proceedings. Hannah is dragged outside to listen to Mom string clichés together - – it’s the most dramatic™ test yet of Hannah’s permasmile. If she can handle this she can handle anything. ‘It’s important that you never to change him and he never to change you [sic]’ says Mom who immediately contradicts herself with ‘but grow each other and make each other better.’ One suspects that Mom has those tacky pieces of slate hung around the house with ‘Live Laugh Love’ and ‘Bless This Home & Family’ hand-painted on them. Hannah & Peter are on a bench for a postgame cuddle. ‘I do love you’ announces Hannah but, strangely, says it to his shoulder while he looks down. Unless, perhaps, she’s reading cue cards. You don’t have to be a Sherlock Holmes-level reader of body language to detect something amiss (or fake) here. And isn’t it well past time for Peter to drop the ‘Ann?’ How about plain old Hannah or even ‘Han’ ie a nickname born of familiarity and affection? After more unnecessary carny barker hype from Harrison, Madison arrives. These two lovebirds are as cheery as a pair of strangers in a dentist’s waiting room. The eyelashes are just too much. Distracting for their length and separation – they look like lines of longitude on a globe. ‘How you doin’?’ he asks. ‘Not good’ she half-sobs. ‘MOMMM!’ shouts Peter. OK, not really. But he wanted to. Madison is forced to hand the emotional thumbscrews over to the Weber family as they cross-examine her about her very reasonable and explicable desire to avoid premarital sex. Mom isn’t having it and sets out to mark her territory. Norman Bates, all is forgiven – even your mother wasn’t this controlling. ‘She’s not there for you,’ announces Mom. Peter nods dutifully. Oh God, here come the waterworks again. Mom’s made her choice – Hannah – and expects her boy to follow orders. But what’s this? Peter has located a spine. Well, at least a vertebra. ‘Come on, this is insane right now – don’t do this to me’ he objects. ‘I trust you…I trust you’ says Mom. Yes, we’ve seen this trust in spades, haven’t we? The camera cuts to a pair of multicolored spiky lizards. No, it isn’t Part II of The Women Tell All featuring Tammy & Mykenna, you bad thing, it’s some of the local fauna – the aptly named Thorny Devil (Moloch horridus – which is a great screen name by the way if you’re undecided on one) with its combination of camouflage and protective hide to deter predators. Is this a clever visual joke? If so, just who is the thorny devil's human analogue – besides Sydney, I mean? One of the lizards is rocking aimlessly back and forth and we can identify – some of us have adopted the self-soothing mannerisms of Rain Man while sitting on our couches watching this vacuous season. Madison & Pete take a helicopter tour over Uluru and Peter makes a groan-worthy analogy between the ancient sandstone formation and their love (?). If you’ve happened to see an episode of Kath & Kim (a playful but pointed satire of the Aussie middle class) then you know that insects, particularly black flies, are a constant pest on the continent, occurring in far greater numbers than almost anywhere in the States. Someone might have told the Yankee production team as they’ve chosen to film in the arid interior where food is already scarce for said insects. As a result, the Deep & Meaningful conversations are punctuated by Distracting & Frequent swatting of bugs by the hapless principals. Madison suggests it may be time to surrender – but what does that mean? More downcast eyes and knitting of brows follow along with sad-sounding piano with lots of reverb. This is either the most disastrous one-half of a Final 2 (all together now) in Bachelor history or we are being set up for a rather obvious happy-ever-after even if Harrison claims it’s all still undecided in the present day. Harrison has arrived on scene and is trying out a bit of beard stubble himself. By now his MO should be familiar to all. He pretends to listen but is really there to toss out one or two open-ended questions to get The Bachelor to make statements pregnant with meaning and thus provide fodder for promos and trailers. It’s then Hannah’s day in the sun and as more than one wag on Twitter noted, it may have been worth watching this year just to see five minutes of joey kangaroos casually hopping into the shelter building. A champagne picnic follows and then, inevitably, more of Peter moaning with constant references to ‘being happy at the end’ as if the emotional payoff will be as easy and automatic as flipping a light switch. The previews of the finale of the finale, as it were, reveal more histrionics from Mom which is a great temptation to record the upcoming episode and essentially inflict a spoiler on oneself. In the meantime, visit your local purveyor of beverages and stock up because we are sure to get multiple railing shots.

Only quoting this to elucidate. Savannah had a red hot go at VP, calling her 'the fakest person here' and tearing a strip off her for her antics re: Alayah. At least one person in this room was applauding.