Archer-hating wife update: It’s my birthday, and it’s the Archer season finale. AHW and I are in a mellow and tractable state. Expect a slightly rambly recap with some typos.
(Note: In a previous life I was a professional copyeditor, until I realized that the job was essentially work therapy for people with otherwise untreatable disorders ranging from OCD through the whole autistic spectrum and all the way to florid psychosis. I don’t know where I fall, personally, but I got out of the life with only a slight mania over Oxford commas and em-dashes. And a sense of shame about published typos in my own work that burns like a small sun.)
So here we are on the SS Sea Tunt, with our beefy silver fox terrorist haranguing away on the big monitor. Yes, yes, the oceans are fucked and it’s our fault. I want to know why you’re wearing a wet suit with a diving knife as daywear.
Meanwhile, priorities: Lana’s getting the mission parameters straight, and Mallory’s tearing the place apart looking for booze. And it appears that Sterling has seen True Lies recently and remembered the camera gun trick.
Nose boop! Such comradely hijinks! Ray is the fucking Dalai Lama for letting that slide while he has a straight razor in hand.
I’m mentally doing calculations for what the impact of the DSV from that height dead-dropping to the ocean surface would be in newtons, and it’s making me glad I’m so bad at math. Ray’s broken nose is a gift. Meanwhile, Cheryl/Carol has hustled up glue faster than Mal can find booze.
And what’s more familiar about this show than a duffle bag full of liquor? I wouldn’t worry about a DSVUI, though, unless Aquaman comes swimming up in mirrorshades with a ticket pad.
Teotwaki? I say it again: This show gains a 20% minimum fun boost with the captions on. And speaking as a dude who’s drunk West Virginia white lightning: Mallory’s bones are going to dissolve in about two more gulps.
Uhhhhhh Lana’s puking and refusing alcohol. Anybody? Anybody? Archer is one nose boop away from triggering a firestorm of destruction.
And Pam somehow gets line of the night with “No?”
THE BRIDGE IS WHERE THE CHAIR IS. Got it.
And we get a quick lesson in philanthropic non-profit management, in case you needed some explanation for why international organizations with fleets of ships have smelly college kids blocking sidewalks begging on their behalf. Yes, Cecil is stone broke, and C/C’s family nickname is Beans.
And Doc Silverback has been down here in Sealab for two years brewing up this headcase plan. No missiles down here, just knives. And, to everyone’s hideous misfortune, a .380 modified by a naked cloned mad engineer under the influence of a coke volcano, a decanter of yellow chartreuse, and Neil Peart. Little tiny bang, little tiny hole, and here comes the ocean.
And yes, dreadful vegan girlfriend is Kristen Schaal. Can’t believe that took me two eps to sniff out.
And, in case you forgot this is an office comedy, here we are in the break room. And I suddenly crave a Dr Pepper and a snack cake. Or I did, until someone suffered an obviously fatal trauma at the business end of a soda machine. Nice compound forearm fracture, animators. It’s not really an ep until someone coughs blood.
And the escape plan doesn’t involve Lana in a wet suit. God. Damn. Everything.
Wait, spoke too soon. (Yes, I write these things in real time. Well, I take notes in real time and fill in details and better jokes on second viewing. You should see the first drafts.) Since Lana has copped to being preggers, the Abyss-style escape plan involves drowning Sterling, who is weirdly sentimental about family for someone so deeply and centrally traumatized. By a woman who would buy champagne at duty free. Dear god.
Someone’s been waiting all season for Archer to confess his love to Lana. It wasn’t me, but I hope you’re happy. And back in the OSHA-compliant DSV, Sterling gets revived on the three count, which makes him a little giddy and frisky. And since he’s essentially a human labrador puppy, this leads to disaster.
Well, not much of one, since everyone’s back on the Sea Tunt with drinks and blankets, and Mallory is serving as Greek Chorus walking us through the happy ending scenario. I know, phrasing.
So, we have to wait for next season to get our cyborg fight, after Ray gets repaired. I can live with that. It’s hard to feel cheated by a finale that involves destroying an undersea lab and killing someone with a soda machine. And pint jars of moonshine all around.
Anyway, it’s my birthday, and I have cake to demolish. So, until next season: Boop.