I am a librarian, which means I like books. It also means I’m into statistics.
I mention this because the stats say my most popular post is a review I wrote several months ago about Netflix’s Requiem. It makes me laugh, because that post was such a whim. Requiem is the DUMBEST SHOW EVER, but I couldn’t stop watching it because THE CLOTHES. Whoever styled that show is a genius. A GENIUS. I’m still looking for that fisherman’s sweater.
So I figure it’s been a while since Requiem, and I recently watched American Horror Story Season Whatever: Apocalypse. BTW NOT the best show to watch the evening before a major hurricane is about to hit your neighborhood.
Okay, first of all, it’s better than Requiem… but there’s a lot going on in it that bugged me enough to want to write it out. FYI… THIS REVIEW WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS.
So, it’s like this. I’m not a big AHS fan. I don’t love it… I don’t hate it. It is what it is… which is scary murder porn.
AHS: The First Season was the best. The two leads were amazing. I love the episode where the house throws down with the would-be serial killers.
I also liked the season that was in New Orleans with the witches–kind of thin, plot-wise, but it was so pretty–and I always like it when Jessica Lange puts on her best Blanche Dubois.
Roanoke takes place in my part of the woods, and I was, like, oh, please. (Although Lady Gaga was AWESOME, like she was in the the vampire one, and I’m sorry, but why are people surprised she can act? She won a Golden Globe for being a vampire. Plus, she’s a performance artist, which is a fancy way of saying ACTOR).
I didn’t watch the carnival one, the asylum one, or the cult one. Why? Reasons.
ANYHOO, AHS Apocalypse opens in L.A., because why wouldn’t it?
(No, not by storms, but by nuclear weapons. Filmmakers love destroying L.A. Check out this article for a list of movies featuring a decimated L.A.)
There’s this OBNOXIOUS RICH GIRL who’s getting her hair done and she’s all, I wanna be an Instagram influencer, and her hairstylist, Evan Peters, is all, you’re rich, you don’t have to be an Instagram influencer, and then Carrie Fisher’s daughter is there, and there are sirens, and the rich girl’s dad’s like, Grrlll, you need to GET OUT because it’s NUCLEAR WAR…
…and then my phone buzzes a for real alert that we’re under a tropical storm warning…
I ask my S.O. if he’s got the patio cleared. His non-committal grunt means I have to go look, because what’s a grunt? How is that a yes or no? I mean… it’s a grunt.
I get back just in time to see the rich girl, Evan, Carrie Fisher’s daughter, and JOAN COLLINS are all on this plane.
(No, my S.O. didn’t pause it because he was like, I said there was nothing on the patio, and I’m all, you grunted, how is that an I said?)
ANYWAY how Joan Collins got there I do not know, but how cool is it that she’s there? I haven’t seen her in YEARS. I’m all, holy crap, she’s still Dynasty-ing on with her bad self.
One thing I do know is that a show with Joan Collins means somebody’s getting bitch slapped. I’m just saying.
Okay… so, the rich doucebags are all freaking out because NOBODY IS FLYING THE PLANE. I’m, like, how did it take off? I mean… how?
My S.O. snorts and stands up. He’s all, this is so lame. They’re dead.
I’m all, maybe… but the plane? I mean, somebody has to take off and land.
That’s not the point, he says. He’s all, even if they’re not dead… which, THEY’RE DEAD… this is so This is the End.
And I’m all, yeah, but… the plane?
He goes downstairs and turns on the news.
I follow him downstairs to get a soda. I mean, you need a pilot to land and take off. There’s too many factors involved in flying that preclude it from being remotely controlled.
He’s, like, don’t touch the sodas, we’ve got to save them for after the storm.
There’s weather patterns, clear air turbulence… a plane needs a pilot for take-off and landing. I grab a soda. I can’t displace reality for this, I say. It’s too far-fetched.
He’s all, I’m ordering a pizza.
I go back upstairs and get the laundry together because we’re not supposed to get hit until Friday night, so I might as well get the laundry done.
I see the T.V. Oh, yeah, AHS.
Whatever. I sit back down and drink my soda.
In the meantime, the show’s moved on. We’re no longer focusing on the L.A. douchewads. Now we’re following these two kids who are, like, genetically perfect or something. I’m thinking SACRIFICE.
So, there’s this group called “The Cooperative” who has “saved” their lives. That sounds like yay, except that this is American Horror Story, so it’s not yay. It’s never yay in American Horror Story.
Cooperative… Collective… Cooperative… Collective… Does this ring a bell for anybody else?
Where was I? Right, these two genetically perfect kids as spotless as a spotless lamb used in ancient sacrifices eons ago get taken to this underground facility where everybody is wearing black anti-contamination suits that look like old school witch suits.
On their way in they run into this vignette. I’m, like, hold on. This looks familiar…
Okay. That reminds me of something… um… another show, maybe? I can’t remember.
What’s its name? I know this one. I swear.
Oh, whatever. It’s not important. Anyhoo, Sarah Paulson shows up, doing her best Mrs. Danvers impression. (Don’t know who Mrs. Danvers is? Google it.) She’s all freaky AF, but that’s not surprising. I mean, it’s the apocalypse. What do you expect?
BTW, am I the only one who’s picking up on the Church of the Black Mass vibe that’s going on?
Paulson’s even carrying a candle. I’m thinking, Stay very close to the candle… the stairway can be treacherous.
Next, Sarah Paulson Danvers tells them the rules, because it’s a horror story and there are rules. There are always rules. Break it down for us, Scary Movie.
Apocalypse World has three rules:
Okay, so besides the you-know-they’re-going-to-be-sacrificed couple, the spoiled asshats from L.A. are also there–SURPRISE–along with a really cute gay couple, and Adina Porter’s there, too, and Evan Peters is all, this sucks, and the rich girl is whiny, and Billie Lourd is a MARTHA, and all they get to eat is this cube that looks like Soylent Green.
Then Goth Kathy Bates in black lipstick (oh, sorry, I forgot to mention her; she’s here, too) accuses Evan Peters and Stew (one of the gay guys) of radiation contamination. After scrubbing off their first layer of skin, she shoots Stew in the head.
I’m all, like, HELLO, EGREGIOUS? UNNECESSARY? WE ALREADY SAW THE MARTHAS GETTING EXECUTED, DID YOU REALLY NEED TO KILL STEW, TOO?
Turns out, they’re having STEW for dinner. Get it? Ha ha. Ha.
This causes much consternation.
But then the music changes to Morning After and everyone’s like yay! It’s going to end!
But it doesn’t, because it’s the APOCALYPSE, and somebody does this voice over, and there’s a fight about food AGAIN… HOLY CRAP these freaking OVER-PRIVILEGED DOUCHEWADS who haven’t lost any weight despite their whining… ALL OF THESE PEOPLE SUCK, EXCEPT FOR THE COUPLE, BUT EVEN THEN, CAN THEY BE GOOD IF THEY’RE HERE? I MEAN, CAN THEY?
Next, this OLD-FASHIONED HEARSE CARRIAGE WITH BLACK HORSES SHOWS UP…
… and this guy’s got this passport…
…and they let him in, and he’s all, I’m here to inspect you, except this guy is, like, THE ANTICHRIST, because he’s the grown up baby that was born in the first season. I watched that season, so I know that.
And that’s about it. Sorry for the abrupt end, but that’s kind of how it ends. Abruptly.
After this episode, I think my S.O. is right. They’re totally dead and in hell. Which means this show is like the Good Place, except that it’s taking itself SO FREAKING SERIOUSLY.
Okay, so I’ll be watching this now, because my S.O. and I have a bet on whether they’re all dead or not, and when and if the kids will be sacrificed. I’m winning on that one, I know.
FYI: The Good Place comes back next week, I think.