Luba’s Comics and Stories (2000) #2

Lcs2 Another issue in and I’m fine not having read Luba’s Comics and Stories in line with the Luba series. I was worried about it before, but this issue features a direct continuation of Fritz’s flashback reveals from last issue and has a character who dies in the Luba run appearing. So it’s like old home week a bit.

The issue opens with Luba quickly introducing the tale—it’s a story of Pipo and Fritz, and it’s so over-the-top, it’d make Luba blush. Creator Beto Hernandez stakes out quite a feat with that promise, and he delivers. See, Pipo and Fritz are on a sex vacation. They’re in a foreign land—presumably somewhere in Latin America—and they’re trying out as much local pecker as they can. Pipo’s not not throwing men at Fritz in hopes Fritz gets hot and bothered enough to accept her advances too, which causes a lot of argument on the trip.

Of course, they’re also in this country during its celebration of freedom from Catholic colonizers however many hundreds of years before. Things get unsafe for tourists, especially Catholic ones. So there’s built-in action, drama, and danger. But it’s mainly about the sex (and Fritz’s gun kink).

The gun kink has been around since at least Luba, if not Love and Rockets prime, but this issue reveals where it all came from. It figures into Fritz’s flashbacks from last issue, which raises the question of focus—sure, Pipo gets the cover and is the ostensible protagonist, but most of the issue’s either about her mooning over Fritz, trying to get into Fritz’s pants, or trying to keep her and Fritz safe. The protagonist is Pipo, but the subject is Fritz.

Beto touches on some of the weirdness—Pipo admits to Fritz the only reason she’s okay with Fritz dating her son, Sergio, is in hopes Fritz will see Pipo’s benevolent gifting of her son as a stud as a reason to get try ladies—specifically Pipo. But Pipo’s fully aware of her intrusive courting; straight seduction’s not working, orgies aren’t working, let’s try old-fashioned bribery.

It’s a wild time. And not just because they’re playing sex tourists. Actually, even though there are some extremes, Beto’s relatively restrained with all the sex. There’s a lot of emotionality to them—the only time Pipo ever gives voice to her feelings, they’re about loving Fritz—so most of the sex scenes themselves are dialogue-free, but Pipo’s context for them is always apparent.

The issue’s outstanding work from Beto, who usually will go either too far one way or another with the sex, but he evens it out perfectly for this issue. I sort of figured Comics and Stories, at worst, would be a solid anthology series, but Beto’s doing a lot of work in them. Of course, he might be done with the continuing story threads now. But I’ve learned never to bet against Los Bros. Especially not when Beto’s trying to show off how good he can be when showing off.

The one-panel call back to Tonantzín is a gut punch. Beto does such damn fine work.

Luba’s Comics and Stories (2000) #1

Lcs1 Creator Beto Hernandez released Luba's Comics and Stories simultaneous to the regular Luba series, which I knew when I was reading Luba, but didn’t attempt to read both in publication order. I’ve been a little worried about it, and, based on the first issue, it certainly seems possible there are going to be connections I’ll miss. However, I’m confident Beto will deliver, regardless of whether I forget some minutiae.

On the last page of this issue—which has a feature with Fritz, Petra, and Luba (though Luba’s just an observer) and then a backup with Venus—there’s a scene about Fritz’s belly-dancing, which I remember was a brief subplot in the regular series. Now I’m wondering if there’s a great panel of Venus looking at the reader only without the commentary until now.

And the first story opens with a gallery show, and I wonder if there’s a crossover with the main book.

Comics and Stories is going to focus on supporting characters from the Luba cast, though Fritz and Petra have both been protagonists in their own right over the years. This adventure has Petra hijacking a sisters’ night out; Fritz wanted to take everyone to her boyfriend’s S&M photography showcase (the boyfriend’s a model, not the photographer), but then Petra got drunk and decided it was time to roam around.

They have a handful of adventures in the present, one sister telling Luba about the other, and then the comic goes into flashback, giving some insight into Fritz and Petra’s pasts. Petra gets the first story, Fritz the second. Both are bittersweet tales, which Venus’s backup later makes even more so. There’s a lot more humor to the Venus backup because she’s such a great narrator, but Beto also incorporates it into the feature. The Fritz and Petra story ends on a narrative gag, only to find an immediate wistful follow-up, which gives it a lovely conclusion.

It’ll be interesting to see what Beto will do with an interconnected companion anthology spin-off for his interconnected anthology series. It will continue being great, but these stories are both relatively familiar (i.e., Fritz and Petra have already played protagonist, Beto’s already done Venus backups). A whole series of character development for great characters doesn’t sound bad, and Beto’s way of echoing between the two stories is phenomenal.

After one issue, Comics and Stories is almost exactly what I figured it’d be, though potentially with more Easter eggs (reverse Easter eggs? Inverted Easter eggs?). Hopefully, they don’t become too relevant to the plots, and I can’t keep up.

But the comic? It’s awesome. More, please.

O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000, Joel Coen)

O Brother, Where Art Thou? is a frustrating, adequate success. There’s some excellent filmmaking and even better performances. Still, the Coen Brothers’ adaptation of Homer’s The Odyssey is at times too stringent and, at other times, narrative spaghetti on the wall. The falling pieces are co-stars John Turturro and Tim Blake Nelson, who spend the first half of the movie establishing themselves and seemingly firmly affixed, only to drop.

The film’s got three creative impulses: an Odyssey adaptation set in the Deep South during the Great Depression (and seemingly the most whitewashed Southern movie since Gone With the Wind), Turturro, Nelson, and George Clooney doing a prison break, and then Clooney trying to reunite with ex-wife Holly Hunter. The third impulse ties into the first, with the Brothers Coen entirely sacrificing the prison break movie to enable the romantic comedy.

Sort of. It’s all intertwined, with various details relying on previous details from another impulse—not to mention the entire “old-timey” musical aspect. The musical aspect is the foundation; everything else, except maybe the Clooney and Hunter stuff, is built off the musical. And it works. The only real disappointment is the finish, a series of deus ex machinas punctuated with a reminder of where the third act went wrong, then a nostalgic pull on the heartstrings for the good old days of the 1937 South, when they beat racism for good.

There’s also the whole other aspect of the film’s title being an empty reference to Sullivan’s Travels only very much only to signal the film literate in the audience.

Anyway.

Besides all that mess, O Brother’s a delight. Clooney, Turturro, and Nelson all give fantastic performances. Knowing the Coen Brothers have it all storyboarded and there aren’t rewrites makes it all the more impressive as the actors start flexing their physical performances. Lots of busybodies and silly expressions, often in the background, and it’s swell.

Clooney’s the suave, fast-talker of the group—when Hunter swoons at his nonsense, it’s more than believable as the audience has been swooning to it for over an hour at that point—Turturro’s the dim one, Nelson’s the dimmer one. And immediately lovable. Turturro’s initially a little potentially dangerous, while Nelson’s always huggable if they weren’t covered in mud and probably manure.

Their adventures take them through various Odyssey-related set pieces, though anyone substituting O Brother for CliffNotes would fail the test. Even without the Cyclops (John Goodman) ending up at a Klan rally, realized as a musical number out of Fantasia. They meet several interesting characters: Goodman, guitarist and the boys’ Black friend, Chris Thomas King (who sold his soul to the devil to play the guitar better, a perhaps too gentle reference to Robert Johnson’s Cross Road Blues; King plays “Tommy Johnson”), Michael Badalucco as “Don’t Call Me Babyface” Nelson, and state governor Charles Durning.

Oh, yeah. Durning’s failing re-election campaign against reformer Wayne Duvall is the major subplot, which also wasn’t in The Odyssey; though it’s been a while. And Durning’s such an abject delight it doesn’t matter. The Coen Brothers use that subplot to make the second half work.

The best performance ends up being Clooney, though, for a while, he’s got serious competition from Turturro (before Turturro disappears and they have Clooney turn up the charm). Clooney seems like he’s got one peak through the first act but then reveals he can take the performance higher, which is fun to watch. The film appropriately appreciates and revels in its leads’ performances.

Hunter and her new beau, Ray McKinnon, are just fine. Hunter’s stunt casting in a thin part; she’s just got to be exasperated and charmed by Clooney, which is also the audience, while McKinnon’s just got to be a capable dweeb. Though based on third-act revelations, there’s a whole other potential layer to McKinnon the film pretends isn’t there.

Racism, it’s the racism layer.

Anyway.

Incredible photography from Roger Deakins (though the digital color grading is really obvious if you know it’s there) and fantastic production and costume design, courtesy Dennis Gassner and Mary Zophres, respectively. And the music’s great.

O Brother is an excellent time, with some major and minor asterisks.

Love’s Labour’s Lost (2000, Kenneth Branagh)

It’s a funny idea, and it would explain a lot about Love’s Labour’s Lost, but I don’t think screenwriter, director, and co-producer Branagh cast Alicia Silverstone on a bet regarding whether or not he could get her to deliver an okay monologue.

He succeeds and she succeeds, but just okay, and it takes most of the movie. No, outside Adrian Lester, Natascha McElhone, and maybe Carmen Ejogo, Branagh doesn’t seem to have any actors in the leads he’s happy with. He’s one of the eight leads, of course, and he’s delighted with himself. He shows off somewhere in the late second act; he and McElhone get to do a scene from a great Shakespeare production in a middling adaptation on a disappointing set.

Branagh’s Labour’s is set just before World War II. Unlike some adaptations, the World War II setting will be necessary to the film’s narrative. Unfortunately, not so much to the character development because Silverstone’s the Princess of France, and asking her to do character development and deliver one okay monologue is a bridge too far.

Okay, real quick, here’s the setup. Top-billed and “lead” Alessandro Nivola decides, with war looming, he’s going to lock himself up in a library and learn for three years. Obviously, in the original play, there wasn’t World War II looming, but the effect in this Labour’s is to make Nivola seem like a foppish Eurotrash jackass who doesn’t care about the Nazis. Or would if Nivola had any character development. The film’s a musical—supposedly a thirties musical homage but not at all because there are usually only six performers and the movie’s Panavision—and Nivola manages to sing, dance, and monologue just well enough for his performance not to be a failure. He doesn’t succeed at anything, though, not even on a curve, especially not as far as romancing Silverstone.

See, Nivola and sidekicks Lester, Matthew Lillard, and Branagh have sworn off women for their academic pursuits. Silverstone and her sidekicks, McElhone, Emily Mortimer, and Ejogo, are on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan (or whatever Nivola’s country’s called, sadly not Freedonia) and they read the boys won’t be able to talk to them. Because of Branagh’s staging, directing, and Silverstone’s acting, the intentional trickery falls flat. There are multiple disguise sequences, which Branagh also messes up. He does a great job directing some of the film—not the musical numbers, except when it’s Nathan Lane, who’s the GOAT, and somewhat Timothy Spall, who feels like a Branagh idea gone wrong, not a studio casting mandate.

Oh, right, another thing: the songs performed by these not singers and dancers (except Lester and Lane) aren’t original to the film. They’re doing covers of thirties show tunes, which weren’t written with World War II or, you know, the King of Navarre’s romance troubles in mind. There are some good numbers (very much not dinner theatre Fosse) but never particularly good. Never good enough to cover the problems. So why do them?

Though when they’re not doing a musical number, Branagh relies on composer Patrick Doyle’s score to do all the film’s emoting. Even during Branagh and McElhone’s scenes.

The film barely runs ninety minutes and manages to plod through much of that runtime. Unfortunately, it takes way too long to get anywhere with the romance pairings—the musical numbers are asides, irrelevant to the plot—and then it’s time for the movie to end. Except, Branagh’s still doing a World War II movie, and he somehow brings it to a satisfactory conclusion. Miraculously, given the film’s annoying newsreel footage summary device… not to mention the very uneasy previous eighty or so minutes. It’s a hell of a save.

Performances: Branagh, McElhone, Lane; they’re great. Lester’s good. Spall and Ejogo get an incomplete. Nivola and Silverstone pass, him likable, her sympathetically. Lillard and Mortimer aren’t entirely unlikable, but they’re too thin to be sympathetic.

Technicals are all good. Alex Thomson’s photography’s great. Utterly wasted but great. And editor Neil Farrell is up to Branagh’s considerable requests for cutting the film into something sensical.

Whoever did the lackluster sets… it’s not their fault. Either Branagh didn’t have the money he needed, or he was bullshitting his way through the project. Seems more like the latter.

But one hell of a save for that finale.

Frasier (1993) s07e18 – Hot Pursuit

Hot Pursuit is the second of two season seven “Frasier” episodes credited to writer Charlie Hauck. Considering the job he got on this one, it’s understandable he wouldn’t be back. It doesn’t seem fair to give a new writer an episode about Kelsey Grammer and Peri Gilpin wondering if maybe they ought to just get it over with and jump the shark and sleep together. It’s not a bad idea for an episode. It’s executed poorly here, but it’s not necessarily a bad idea. It’s just too basic, which is a surprise since the other half of the episode is a subtle delight.

The episode opens with Grammer returning from a week in Boston to visit son Freddy and, consequently, ex-wife Lilith. And, consequently, her late twenties stud boyfriend. No cameos, just exposition and some mid-life crisis facial hair for Grammer. He’s only home for a scene before Gilpin shows up at the door to pick him up for their broadcasting conference. While they rush out, Saul Rubinek—Jane Leeves’s fiancé, only in the episode for this one scene—tries to hire John Mahoney to do some light surveillance. Mahoney’s enthusiastic, but David Hyde Pierce makes him promise not to do it.

Oh, in addition to the Rubinek bit, Hyde Pierce is around long enough for he and Grammer to make fun of Gilpin being jealous of blondes. It’s a nasty bit for everyone; it’s intentionally bad for Gilpin, but it also makes all three regular male cast members come off like assholes when they tease her about it. It’ll be back later. It’s Chekhov’s reductive female character trait.

Half the episode will be Hyde Pierce and Mahoney doing a bonding arc, while the other half is a single-set comedy of offscreen errors to get Grammer and Gilpin alone together and having big singles sads. They also talk about how long they’ve been working together—seven seasons, sorry, years—and how it makes them one another’s most successful opposite-sex partnership.

If the writing were great, if it were some kind of very special episode (maybe Gilpin directing, at least Grammer), there might be something there. Instead, it’s an awkward kicking of the show’s tires, trying to decide how desperate they are to gin up a new twist. Except, of course, they were one of the last nineties sitcoms not to have made a similar move, which… just makes it seem more desperate.

The resolution is okay but not good.

The Hyde Pierce and Mahoney arc, however, is sublime. It’s heartfelt, funny, and incredibly well-acted. Grammer and Gilpin try in their arc, but there’s nothing to work with. Sure, they’ve been playing these characters for seven years, but Grammer’s been hung up about Lilith’s never seen new boyfriend for twelve minutes, while Gilpin’s been jealous of blondes her whole life for eleven. It’s nowhere near enough ado about nothing.

Sigh.

Frasier (1993) s07e17 – Whine Club

Whine Club is half a regular “Frasier” episode, half a “mythology” episode, meaning working on the season’s low-burning arc about Niles (David Hyde Pierce) and Daphne (Jane Leeves) getting serious about other people when they should (?) be getting serious about each other. It’s also got an excellent subplot for John Mahoney where he and his friend’s widow, played by a wonderful Anita Gillette, enjoy commitment-free naughty sexy-time in their sixties or whatever. And it’s directed by Kelsey Grammer, who usually does more auspicious episodes.

It all might be okay if it weren’t entirely about villainizing Hyde Pierce’s new girlfriend, Jane Adams. She comes over for brunch, and everyone hates her. Will they or won’t they tell Hyde Pierce fills the last five or six minutes, comedy of errors-style. Except, as the episode points out earlier, everyone hated Hyde Pierce’s always-unseen ex-wife Maris, so it’s no surprise they don’t like the new girlfriend. Since we’re seven seasons in and Hyde Pierce’s marital problems subplot started in season three, I can’t remember if there was ever a period when everyone didn’t make fun of Maris (with Hyde Pierce around).

The whole point of the episode is to show how wrong Adams is for Hyde Pierce, what with Leeves right there and almost out of reach again because she’s getting married, but it just comes off as shitty to Adams. We get it; she’s a harpy. Mahoney reminds Grammer everyone hates all he and Hyde Pierce’s romantic partners (they don’t bring up Shelley Long, but Mahoney hated her too). Grammer and Hyde Pierce hated Mahoney’s steady girlfriend, played by Marsha Mason (who the show didn’t like for being working class). Way to remind the show’s got lousy parts for women.

The writing credit goes to executive story editor Bob Daily (his first scripting credit on the show) and Jon Sherman (his second). It feels like two episodes smooshed together because there’s actually not any whining in the brunch section. Unless you count Peri Gilpin complaining Grammer roped her into a brunch from hell. Grammer planned it before he and Hyde Pierce got into a fight about their wine club, which only takes up seven minutes of the episode (and feels like the non-mythology part of the show).

Anthony Head guest stars during the wine club scene. He’s great. It’s a shame it’s just the one scene.

There’s some hilarious stuff in the episode—drunk Leeves is a standout—but it’d be a lot better if it weren’t so craven.

Frasier (1993) s07e16 – Something About Dr. Mary

I’m not sure where to start with this episode. Jay Kogen’s got the writing credit, and he’s had his name on some good episodes in the past. But why they ever thought they ought to do an episode like Dr. Mary. Dr. Mary is played by Kim Coles, a Black woman (and possibly the first significant Black guest star since the first season), who is filling in for show producer Peri Gilpin while Gilpin has her apartment painted. Guilty white liberal Frasier (played by anti-liberal Kelsey Grammer) met Coles while doing an outreach program for job training.

After initially being shy about getting on the air with Grammer, Coles quickly dominates the show but changing the format. Instead of stuffed shirt Grammer, it’s hip, sassy Black lady Coles—who adopts the “Doctor” moniker because it sounds good, which is one of Grammer’s last straws. Dad John Mahoney just thinks Grammer’s avoiding talking to her about her performance because she’s Black, while brother David Hyde Pierce points out he once had a Black friend. As though someone in the writer’s room decided the lily-white cringe wasn’t cringe enough… Grammer then points out rich Black people aren’t really Black people.

The episode also includes an ableist subplot to distract from questioning whether Hyde Pierce, Mahoney, and Grammer are really the ones to be talking about race. Grammer and Gilpin making fun of a colleague with a speech impediment.

The episode employs various devices to show how Coles’s becoming more popular—apparently, the radio station is taking out advertisements mid-broadcast—to the point, it threatens Gilpin’s return. Station manager Tom McGowan loves Coles because she makes the show more popular and, for a radio show, better. Grammer never considers the possibility radio professional McGowan might be correct. Gilpin’s the only one with a vested interest in staying, and she’s happy to move on if the money’s right.

The episode’s subplot has Hyde Pierce taking up kickboxing, bumping into Jane Leeves, and then cooking for her and Mahoney because she’s milking the injury (at Mahoney’s insistence). It’s fine. At least Mahoney’s not saying “massa” during it (spoiler, he does in the other plot). And there’s some good physical comedy for Hyde Pierce.

Grammer’s got a broken part, as does Coles, who will eventually have to forgive Grammer for being too scared to talk to her like a person because she’s Black (and a woman). But both of them have good moments.

Something About Dr. Mary, besides the title, doesn’t so much not age well as reveal how white creatives had (read: have) such ingrained misogynoir, they can turn it into an entire sitcom episode but never acknowledge its existence.

Oof.

Frasier (1993) s07e15 – Out with Dad

As usual, I regret not keeping better track of writing credits. Joe Keenan gets the credit this episode; he’s been writing “Frasier” since season two with numerous big successes, but based on Out with Dad, I’d have thought him a newbie. The episode picks and chooses plot points from outstanding—and memorable—episodes and mixes them a bit. Dad John Mahoney tells Mary Louise Wilson he’s gay, so she’ll stop flirting with him, and she sets him up with her… well, wait, Brian Bedford’s English.

So maybe her brother-in-law? Anyway, Bedford is Marg Helgenberger’s uncle, which is important because Kelsey Grammer’s interested in Helgenberger. Only Bedford’s interested in Mahoney, so Mahoney has to pretend he’s gay for the evening, except gay and unavailable. He can’t come clean about being straight because it’ll mess up Grammer.

People being confused about Mahoney being gay goes back to season one. And the family pretending they’re something other than cishet WASPs most memorably happened in the “let’s pretend we’re Jewish” episode, but I’ll bet there have been more. Out just stirs them together a little differently.

Oddly, it’s a Valentine’s Day episode too. Grammer ropes Mahoney into going to the opera because otherwise, Mahoney would be at home watching chick flicks with Jane Leeves and Peri Gilpin. David Hyde Pierce was supposed to go with Grammer, but Jane Adams (who doesn’t appear) stayed in town special for him. Grammer doesn’t want to give up his seat (to Adams to go with Hyde Pierce) because he’s got the hots for Helgenberger, another opera-goer. When he and Mahoney get there, Mahoney waves at Helgenberger to be extra, but Wilson thinks he’s spotted her. Confusion and hijinks ensue, including Mahoney drafting an unlikely person as his romantic interest.

It’s an amusing episode; it’s just entirely redundant. There are some good laughs (and nice human moments, eventually, for Mahoney), but it’s an adequate episode for a sitcom in its seventh season, nothing more. And Helgenberger makes almost no impression, with first Wilson, then Bedford running all her scenes.

Solid direction from David Lee probably helps a lot. Again… fine, with asterisks.

Frasier (1993) s07e14 – Big Crane on Campus

Oh, “Frasier: Season Seven,” why do you continue to taunt me? This episode has Jane Leeves and David Hyde Pierce cooking together and being adorable for the first time since Leeves found out about Hyde Pierce crushing on her. It’s a good scene, with Hyde Pierce getting to more fully participate—previously and problematically, these scenes have been from Leeves’s perspective (way to get a big subplot: it’s entirely in service of the dude). Sheldon Epps directs the episode and knows how to make it work. It’s a regular “Frasier” scene, only a little different; Hyde Pierce isn’t the awkward one; now it’s Leeves.

If I’d been watching this episode in February 2000, I’d have been fully committed to the idea of them getting together. Best thing for the show.

Whoops.

Otherwise, the episode’s a Kelsey Grammer-centric episode. He’s just happened to meet his high school crush (a hilarious, brassy Jean Smart) and can’t believe she’s being nice to him. Once they actually start seeing each other (there are some great scenes with Smart teasing a blubbering Hyde Pierce), Grammer discovers she’s a little too brassy for his tastes. Except he can’t give up the prom queen, not with their high school reunion just around the corner.

Outside Leeves and Hyde Pierce’s kitchen moment, everything in the episode’s in support of Grammer (and Smart). She’s a relatively featured guest star, getting a lot more complicated scenes than Grammer’s girlfriends usually get. Peri Gilpin’s around to talk Grammer through dating for the wrong reasons; she gets a classic literature book club C plot, which comes back in the end credits sequence as a way to be shitty. It’s an unfortunate finish to a strong episode.

First and foremost, it’s an excellent showcase for Smart, who was only a few years from starting to be appreciated in 2000. Or closer to it than “Designing Women.” It’s also proof they can do a mythology moment well for Leeves and Hyde Pierce. Mark Reisman, another new-to-the-show-this-season writer, gets the credit. And, finally, it’s a solid outing for Grammer. It treads somewhat familiar territory but with a fresh enough angle. He tends to be really good with his guest stars, and Smart’s no different.

So, another good episode to convince me everything’s fine and we’re not driving toward a cliff in a Winnebago.

Frasier (1993) s07e13 – They’re Playing Our Song

I’m feeling a little like the boy who cried wolf, on the lookout for “Frasier”’s inevitable, impending fall; the show’s two episodes away from the “mythology” two-parter, and those two episodes have been excellent. This one’s all about Kelsey Grammer going overboard while composing a theme song for his show. Station manager Tom McGowan wants something simple, a catchy jingle. So, of course, Grammer’s got a full orchestra, choir, and David Hyde Pierce on hand to perform some spoken word. All on Sunday overtime.

It’s mostly a Grammer episode. There’s some ensemble work in the build-up, with Hyde Pierce helping Grammer with the initial composition, dad John Mahoney offering a much better idea and being ignored, and then Jane Leeves finally going after the icky old chair with a super-powered vacuum. Peri Gilpin gets to hang around at the beginning since it’s a radio episode. Eventually, she’s just in the audience, too; everyone’s there to watch whatever Grammer’s going to do.

There’s a lot of good banter—the script credit goes to David Lloyd, who’s had his name on numerous great “Frasier” episodes—and the finale even brings it around to Mahoney and Grammer having a father and son moment. Mahoney, Leeves, and Gilpin all get a little in their audience portion of the episode. Gilpin’s latest boyfriend is an unemployed musician, Leeves knows Mahoney’s song is good, and Mahoney’s confused about the free donuts. Then Hyde Pierce gets a lot of material, but it’s all in reaction to Grammer and his magnum opus writing. There are lots of smaller guest parts (the orchestra members) who only interact with Grammer, usually with excellent banter.

It’s also nice for McGowan to get a little more than usual. He sticks around for most of the plot this episode, whereas he usually gets a scene and then disappears.

David Lee does a fine job directing. It’s just a really good episode. If I’d been watching it at the time, I’d have thought they had their impending big changes all figured out. Little would I have known….