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 was such a whim. Requiem isn’t the DUMBEST SHOW EVER anymore (see my post on the I-Land), but I couldn’t stop watching it because THE CLOTHES. Whoever styled that show is A GENIUS.
I’m still looking for that fisherman’s sweater.
I figure, it’s been a while since Requiem, and I recently watched American Horror Story Season Whatever: Apocalypse. (Nota Bene: NOT the best show to watch the evening before a major hurricane is about to hit your neighborhood)
Okay, first of all, this one is better than the I-Land... I mean Requiem… but it bugged me enough to want to write it out. FYI… 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 to say it is scary murder porn.
AHS: The First Season was the best, because DUH. Favorite Episode: The one where the house throws down with the would-be serial killers.
I also liked the season that was in New Orleans with the witches. It was a bit 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, puh-lease. Do you know how much property values are here? We would have exorcised the crap out of that land, developed it right up, and made it into another fine planned homeowner’s community.
Hey, there’s an idea for you, Ryan. American Horror Story: HOA.
I didn’t watch the carnival one, the asylum one, or the cult one.
ANYHOO, AHS Apocalypse opens in L.A., because why wouldn’t it? L.A.’s about to get wiped out.
(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 IS A GRUNT? IS IT A YES? IS IT A NO? WHAT IS IT?
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?)
Joan Collins is there, too, yay! I do not know how because my S.O. will not surrender the remote, 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.
Okay… so, there are bombs, and the rich doucebags are all freaking out about that, then somebody opens the cockpit door…. AND NOBODY IS FLYING THE PLANE.
I have questions. I google Can a plane take off without a pilot? Turns out they can, but it’s up in the air as to whether or not they should. (Get it? I said up in the air. Ha ha. Ha.)
My S.O. snorts and stands up. He’s all, this is so lame. They’re dead.
I’m all, maybe.
He’s all, they’re dead, and even if they’re not dead… which, THEY’RE DEAD… this is so This is the End.
And I’m all, yeah. Can I have the remote?
He tosses it to me and goes downstairs to watch something else.
I go to the kitchen to get a soda. Why not include a pilot if you’re trying to rescue your daughter from a nuclear holocaust? Billionaires can be so cheap.
My S.O. yells, “Don’t touch the sodas, we’ve got to save them for after the storm, you know, for when there’s no power.”
I grab a soda. If I were a billionaire, I would definitely put a pilot on my plane for my daughter.
My S.O. orders a pizza.
I start the laundry.
I see the T.V.’s on. Oh yeah. American Horror Story. I sit back down and resume watching.
While the L.A. people are flying around in what’s left of the atmosphere, we’re now focusing on these two genetically perfect kids for some reason or other.
Sacrifice, party of two.
The people who are going to sacrifice them are called “The Cooperative.” It’s an Evil Co-op…
Cooperative… Collective… Cooperative… Collective… Does this ring a bell for anybody else?
Where was I? So our sacrifices are taken to an 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’ll come to me. Then Sarah Paulson shows as Mrs. Danvers. (Don’t know who Mrs. Danvers is? Google it.)
Yeah. Sacrifices, welcome to the Church of the Black Mass.
Paulson’s even carrying a candle. I’m thinking, Stay very close to the candle… the stairway can be treacherous.
Sarah Paulson Danvers tells the Sacrifices the rules, because she’s like that, and because without rules there would be no plot. Break it down for us, Scary Movie.
Apocalypse World has three rules:
- Dress in the color of your caste. Yes, there’s a caste system, but it’s cool because our genetically perfect couple is on top. That’s because THEY’RE SACRIFICES.
- Be on time. In a world without time, it’s important to be prompt.
- And NO SEX. I assume that’s because sex equals death in every horror movie ever made, and because everyone’s going to have sex, which means they’re all going to die. (She doesn’t say that part, that’s from me.) Also, SACRIFICES CAN’T HAVE SEX.
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 (who the hell are they, and why are they there?) Adina Porter is there, too, and Evan Peters is all, this sucks, (and I’m thinking yeah) and the rich girl is so-ooo 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 SACRIFICES BUT 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.