#lets be hypothetic #lets say mike weston is a follower #do you even know how brilliant this is #how cruel indeed but #how fucking brilliant this is purely psychologically #the amount of work that’s been put into this #how fucking clever and patient it is #that mike has been able to worm his way in under ryan’s skin #just by doing the simplest things #by caring #by making ryan an obvious mentor figure #a father figure #a hero figure #by letting ryan know of this fact #letting ryan lead the way #making ryan care #making ryan see mike as someone innocent #someone he needs to protect #someone he can trust #not only does mike make ryan trust him #he makes him feel responsible for him too #makes ryan feel like a bad guy without intention by simply being an innocent victim #because mike might very well be the pictured definition of an innocent stand-up guy #and by letting ryan hurt him #by letting others hurt him because of ryan #he also makes ryan feel like the bad guy #makes ryan torture himself for being unable to protect him #makes ryan hate himself more than he probably already does #and if ryan’s close to slipping away from him #then mike plays on his emotions #makes him feel guilty #and you know what #if mike’s a follower #sooner or later it will come out #and a masterpiece work will be revealed #and do you know just how crushed ryan will be then #because this #right here #is already torture for ryan #imagine the pain when he finds out that mike #someone he cares for and trusts #has been torturing him on purpose all along
Blaine runs for president and Kurt gets coutured-up on one of the more effective Glees in a while.
More or less, Darren Criss’s Blaine Anderson is the best thing about Glee: smooth and charismatic yet understated in his performances, modern but not militantly repetitive with his progressivism, he’s maybe the one character on the show who’s remained blemish-free—spared any of those cringe moments that hit like Scud missiles so often in the Glee world—largely by way of the writers’ uncharacteristic restraint in his deployment. (I guess there’s nothing wrong with Sugar, though it is a tad off-putting that Vanessa Lengies has been playing major roles as high schoolers for a full decade now.) So I’m simultaneously pleased and nervous when “Makeover” opens with a voiceover from the starry-eyed dandy, accompanied by a decent Tears for Fears cover and a vibrantly production designed montage of McKinley High’s silly plethora of clubs. Later, as he stands at a podium in a front of a (pretty funnily) sparse audience, getting tremulously hyperbolic as he defends his right to use hair gel—“next thing you know they’ll start burning books… and then they’ll probably start burning people, too”—I begin to suspect that he’s such a good performer that even the writers’ best efforts to throw him into that atonal squirm-zone where most of the other characters sit, shivering and lost, will fail to derail his winning energy.
The Blaine storyline, though—man, it’s like this kid’s embodied charm is magically writing for him—dovetails very well with the New York stuff and, so gratifyingly, with knottier maneuvers of episodes past, as he feels Kurt drifting away from him and realizes his presence at McKinley becomes rather superfluous in his boyfriend’s absence. “Yes, people,” I think loudly at the showrunners. “You can do it.” If Glee could transplant the narrative satisfaction and affecting tone of Blaine, alone at his own party, fruitlessly dialing Kurt’s cell to all the flapping limbs of its ungainly show-person, we’d be having a different conversation about its place in the TV world. And I would have to start trying at my job.
Hip, hip, hooray! It’s a Blaine episode! Or at least that’s how it seems when the show opens on him singing a quintessential ‘80s hit, “Everybody Wants to Rule the World.” Let’s be real; Blaine’s the best, and if they turned this into The Blaine Show, I’d be cool with it. Now that Kurt is gone, he’s feeling out of place, but I really hope his conversation with Sam isn’t foreshadowing a decision to ditch McKinley High. (Unless it’s headed toward a spin-off, in which he and Kurt just critique Treme for an hour. In that case, I’m in favor.)