One Episode Down. How Many to Go?

I'm not quite sure yet how I'm going to write these posts. No one wants to read a full recap of an episode of Oprah, so it's up to me to give you the highlights in as concise and entertaining a manner as possible. It might take me a few posts to get into the groove. Bear with me.

First of all, Oprah seems to be making this season all about her biggest fans, which I suppose is nice. She really does make people happy. But then, so do cults.

John Travolta walked Oprah out on to the stage at the beginning of the episode, and there was a lot of the two of them fawning all over each other. Oprah told John there's "no one on earth [she'd] rather be with." Poor Gayle. Numerous cuts to the audience let us know that there might not ever be a dry eye at an Oprah show for the next year. Also, is there a man present at all in that crowd of 300? John Travolta doesn't count. For a number of reasons.

Apparently John Travolta gave Oprah a wonderful toast on her 50th birthday, and this toast inspired a woman to go to Africa and build a house for a poor family. It's nice and all, but what I see is an excuse for Oprah to pat herself on the back. She makes the world a better place!

Bullshit line #1 for this final season -- "We still do our show about everyday people."

Way back when I was in first grade and Oprah premiered her show, her staff had worked tirelessly to bribe Don Johnson to be the first guest. For some reason, this involved Oprah sending him rhinestone sunglasses, which she then requested he return when he declined the invitation to do the show. We saw the clip of this happening, and then what do you know? Don Johnson walked out, wearing rhinestone sunglasses. Which I'm sure he'd just been keeping in his glove compartment all these years, right next to the backup dime of coke. He plugged his new movie (Machete; who knew?), and then said what he had to so that the production staff would unbind his children and allow him to take them home with him -- "The most important thing -- you're the greatest."

While we're talking about Don Johnson, can I just say how stupid it is for Oprah to get surprise guests at all? Even if we believe she legitimately did not know ol' D.J. was going to walk out there, who the fuck cares? If Oprah wants Don Johnson, she'll get Don Johnson. This isn't like surprising a normal person (one of those "everyday people" she loves so much) with his/her favorite celebrity. This is Oprah. If she wants a celebrity to show up wearing rhinestone glasses, she'll just send out her man-servant to whack someone on the head and drag him back to her private island. It's not complicated.



There was one thing I guess I sort of liked in this one. Oprah sent Gayle to Boston to meet this group of six best friends who get together once a week to talk about -- what else? -- Oprah. And probably the other things going on in their lives, but that's not Oprah's concern. Gayle told them they all get to take a road trip to Chicago to attend the premiere. Back in the studio, Oprah let us know that these ladies think the premiere is the next day. The show concocted quite the elaborate ruse, changing the back of the studio into a facade that looked like a parking garage, so that the ladies would be none the wiser when they pulled in thinking they were heading to their hotel. Instead, the driver took them into the "garage," which led them directly on to the stage, where they sat in the car, looking dumbfounded out at the audience (and Oprah). They were so damn happy to be there, and that took a lot of effort from the production staff, so kudos on that one.

At some point in a piece about surprising a dude, Oprah referred to him as a "man fan." Is fan suddenly only a feminine word? Is this like how there's no masculine version of "slut" or "whore," because society is so damn sexist that only women are promiscuous, while men are just "biologically geared that way"? Why can't she just call this guy a fan, plain and simple?

There's a chance I'm going to need to learn to pick my battles over the next year.

By now, if you've paid attention, you know the giant surprise that defined this premiere. You want to see 300 people lose their shit? Tell them you're taking them to Australia. That ought to do it. Yep, Oprah and the audience are going to Australia. And John Travolta will be the pilot. I hate Travolta. And I hate it even more that he's a pilot. As the daughter of an Air Force test pilot, something about celebrities flying really just rubs me the wrong way.

Here's how well this experiment is going over in my house so far:

Katie: How much time is left in this show?

Me: Fifteen minutes.

Katie: God, this is taking forever!

Travolta did a nice plug for Qantas. I mean, I know he's a spokesman and all, but the advertising reps at the airline ought to just save themselves some time and money, and just cut this clip from the show and air it. Piece it together with the Rainman scene in which we learn that Qantas is the only major airline to never have a crash, and you've got a marketing campaign to rival "I'd like to buy the world a Coke."

As Oprah detailed the list of things the audience is going to get to do in Australia, Katie came up with her own idea:

"You know what they're going to do down there? Fix the hole in the ozone. That's how big this season is."

So, how do you top a moment in which you tell 300 people they're getting a free trip to Australia with god damn Oprah Winfrey?

If you guessed Paul Simon singing the slowest song ever written in the history of the universe, you're correct. What an odd, odd choice of order for this episode. Why not end with the big surprise, with confetti falling and people crying, instead of with Paul "I now look like the crypt keeper" Simon singing what Katie referred to as the "I'm sucking Oprah's cock" song? Seriously. It was so. fucking. boring.

But Oprah did shed a single solitary tear.

And so did I, once I realized that I have to do this a billion more times over the next year. You know what shouldn't be a challenge? Watching television.