Pop Vultures

Beverly Hills 90210, S02 E06:Pass/Not Pass

Last week: Brandon irresponsibly took on a Big Brother role to an abused young boy, had him taken into foster care and promptly abandoned him, never to be heard of again, while Kelly’s mom started dating David’s dad. This week: Brenda and Andrea are both hot for teacher, and Brandon finally buys his new car, which predictably turns out to be a disaster. Hurrah!

Chez Walsh: in Brenda’s bedroom, Brenda and Andrea bicker about choosing a scene for drama class. Andrea shoots down Brenda’s suggestion of Annie Hall and, when Brenda bitches that Andrea’s not making any suggestions, Andrea tells her that it’s OK for Brenda, as she’s Mr Suiter’s pet, but Andrea has to do well in order to pass. Brenda immediately puts on her smug face, and, ignoring Andrea’s angst, asks what makes Andrea think she’s Mr Suiter’s pet, to which Andrea laughs and says it’s just obvious that he likes her. As Brenda’s face moves from smug to scheming, Andrea anxiously reminds her that he’s a teacher, but Brenda tells her to consider the possibilities: he’s creative, he’s articulate, he’s intelligent and he looks pretty good in faded jeans. “Brenda, he’s our teacher,” says Andrea, but “Not for long,” says Brenda, “summer school gets out next week.”

At the beach, Steve and Kelly sit down on adjacent sun loungers – wait, when did those two become friends? I thought they still hated each other – and Kelly fretfully says that she thinks it’s starting to get dark earlier. Steve tells her she’s just paranoid, but Kelly insists that she isn’t: everywhere she goes there are back to school sales. As they recline, Steve grabs Kelly’s arm – which looks pretty blemish-free to me – demanding to know what THAT is, and Kelly admits that she starts to get a little eczema when Labour Day looms on the horizon. “Summer’s about over, isn’t it?” says Steve sadly.

Brandon appears as Kelly stares at a flyer that has appeared from nowhere and says that it’s official: the End of Summer Luau is next weekend. She passes the flyer to Steve, who says that pretty soon he’ll be fighting over a parking spot at West Beverly. “We’ll be fighting over parking spots,” says Brandon proudly, and announces that he’s almost got enough for his ’65 ‘Stang. Henry approaches and hands Brandon an envelope, saying that this should put him over the top, and Brandon opens it: “I am so there,” he says triumphantly. He and Steve slap hands, and Henry tells them that when he got his ‘57 ‘Bird he became his own man. Yawn. And what’s with all this ‘Bird and ‘Stang nonsense? People don’t refer to their ‘Cedes or their ‘Bishi, do they? Or maybe they do in Beverly Hills.

In a bookshop, Andrea holds a book in one hand and a pencil in the other while trying out lines from a play in a ridiculously overblown English accent, thus demonstrating why Gabrielle Carteris never had a career after this show. As she shakes her head in despair, Mr Suiter approaches, smiling: “Andrea Zuckerman, browsing in a bookstore,” he says. Andrea jumps, but recovers well. “Mr Suiter, doing the same,” she says, smiling shyly. Mr Suiter says that it seems a little unfair that he can call her Andrea, but she can’t call him Chris. Nonplussed, Andrea says that it’s just student/teacher dynamics, and he unctuously suggests that they change their dynamics here and now, “…Andrea. “OK, Chris,” Andrea says awkwardly, and I’m going to follow her lead, as I’m sick of my spellcheck constantly balking at the name “Suiter.” They smile at each other.

Chez Walsh, over breakfast, Brandon waxes lyrical to Jim about how his future car has been redetailed and rechromed. Sensibly, Jim asks how she runs, and Brandon dismissively says that the guy at the lot says she “purrs like a kitten and runs like a cheetah.” Jim suggests he go into work a little late so that they can pick her up together, but Brandon says he doesn’t want to put Jim out – he still has to swing by the bank and pick up the cashier’s cheque before he can go and pick it up. “Cashier’s cheque?” Jim asks sharply, saying that if the car dealers don’t trust a personal cheque from Brandon, Jim wouldn’t be too confident about trusting them, but Brandon points out that this isn’t Minnesota, and Simon’s been holding the car for him all summer. You know, Simon really doesn’t strike me as an American name.

Brenda comes into the kitchen, and Cindy tells her that while she was in the shower, “Hawaii called.” Brenda gives a disinterested “thanks” and walks out, as Jim boggles: “Dylan McKay calls from Hawaii, and Brenda doesn’t scream at you for not dragging her out of the shower?” he asks. “Poor Dylan,” says Cindy, looking surprised, “I guess it’s out of sight, out of mind.” Brandon takes advantage of the distraction to tell Jim that he thinks that picking up the car is just something he ought to do on his own. Jim says he understands, but clearly doesn’t.

School: in acting class, Andrea tells Brenda about the scene she wants to do: it’s about two women and their dynamics together, how their lives intersected, and their relationships with men. Brenda interrupts to say that she doesn’t want to intersect, she wants to do a comedy, but Andrea reminds her that she’s done comedy before. This will allow Brenda to stretch as an actress…and besides, Chris suggested it. “He did?” Brenda asks, pants-wettingly overeager, and immediately suggests they try it out and see how it goes. Brenda goes up to Chris and sycophantically tells him that the scene from The Turning Point was a really terrific idea, and she had already been thinking of taking a risk on a dynamic character piece. Given that Chris was mere feet away when Brenda was telling Andrea that she wanted to do a comedy, a lie of this sort seems unwise, but Chris is either deaf or scheming, as he merely asks Brenda if she can keep a secret. Excited, Brenda she asks if it’s about her, and Chris tells her that he intentionally paired her up with Andrea because he thinks she can help Andrea open up a bit. Brenda smiles, flutters her eyelashes and says she’s flattered. Much smirking and flirting throughout.

At the used car lot, Brandon gazes lovingly at his dream car. There is a great deal of vapid banter between him and Simon, the fat, sweaty, Southern used car dealer, who comes across – of course – as stupid and insincere, but unsuspecting Brandon hands over the cash.

Brandon drives his new car along the freeway to the accompaniment of insipid rock music, and I feel like I’m failing in my recapping duties by not describing this car that Brandon’s been jerking off over all summer, but I know so little about cars that I can generally only identify them by colour, and am therefore very easily confused. Let’s just say that it’s a kind of medicinal yellow convertible. Driving, driving, driving. This scene is way too long, and I do not care about this storyline. Brandon stops at some traffic lights and makes eyes at the woman in the car next to him, whereupon the lights change and the woman pulls off, as Brandon’s car stalls catastrophically - won’t start, smoke billowing, distressing grinding noises, the works. Cars behind him honk in increasing irritation, as Brandon frantically turns the key again and again, and I like this scene so much better now. Yay!

Back at the car lot, Brandon pulls up in a taxi and strides up to Simon, who cheerily asks what he can do for Brandon. Brandon angrily demands his money back, but Simon just laughs and asks why in the world he would want to do a thing like that. Brandon tells him that that car Simon sold him is at this very minute blocking traffic on Sunset Boulevard. “Ah,” says Simon, who is clearly evil, “this is a problem of semantics here. The key is in the wording, ‘that car I sold you,’ That’s your problem now.” Ignoring his weaselling, Brandon repeatedly asks for his money, but Simon tells him that Brandon bought the car, and if he is experiencing some difficulties with it then by all means get that sucker into a good mechanic just as soon as he can – but that car was in prime condition when it left the lot. Simon scuttled back into his office, leaving Brandon impotently enraged, to the extent that even I feel a tiny bit sorry for him. Don’t worry, though, it won’t last.

Chez Walsh, that evening: Jim asks Brandon what the bottom line is, and Brandon wearily explains that the engine has to be completely overhauled. Jim angrily points out that all he’s heard about for the past three months is how gorgeous this car looks, but he’s heard next to nothing about how it runs, and now he understands why. He asks Brandon about the warranty, and Brandon says there is no warranty. Now, I am clueless about buying cars, but even I know that buying a car without a warranty is dumber than dumb. Jim shakes his head and says he knew he should have gone with Brandon, and asks where the car is now. Brandon is silent, but finally admits that it’s in the impound in the San Gabriel Valley. “Of course,” says Jim nastily, “that’s a perfectly logical place for it to wind up.” Brandon explains that when he went back to the used car lot to complain, a tow truck from the sheriff’s department just happened to be cruising by. Jim asks how much it’s going to cost to get the car released, and “$250,” Brandon mutters. “How could you throw away all your money like that?” Jim bellows at Brandon, enraged, but Brandon gets to his feet and tells Jim, rightly, that it’s not Jim’s problem, and Brandon will deal with it. Unable to let anyone else get the last word, Jim tells him that yes, Brandon will deal with it, but there’s a lesson here, and it’s in Latin: caveat emptor, let the buyer beware. Thanks, you tedious, smug, moralising arse.