The religious penance theme continues in this episode. Conrad's ill health is fed by a little bottle administered by the unlikely nurse Emily. Come on, in real life, unhampered by a scriptwriter holding in the reins, Conrad would have rushed out for a second opinion, and he'd have been in the very best of convalescent care, not at home being tended by the next- door neighbor, but okay, somebody is spinning a good yarn and I'll just shut up...
The dream sequence with Charlotte picking up the knife and stabbing ol' Conrad in the heart... She was so intense, so devastatingly beautiful, fragile yet resolute, such unearthly perfection, words fail me, I can't describe just how awesome she was, you gotta see that for yourself...
The Patrick character. The way Victoria looks at him, this beefcake offering for the laydeeezz, don't tell me she is for one single little moment thinking of him as her long-lost son.
And Conrad and the priest drove off in the Ferrari Testarossa and they rode and they rode and they rode and then THEY HIT A POLE. A pole. It was standing there by the side of the road, just as regular telegraph and electric light poles do, and then this umpteen million dollar bucks car slammed into it and WHOOSH! it was on fire (as is the American way with colliding cars, they are apparently on a level with the Hindenburg) and CONVENIENTLY the way-too-informed-to-keep-around-in-the- (semblance-of)-a-script character can have his timely exit. Hell, they weren't even intoxicated and there wasn't even one oncoming truck. Oh how corny can you get?
