OMFG. This show is everything. Somewhere, the Walking Dead and True Blood showrunners are all hanging out at a bar, crying into their whiskey and wondering if they can bear to ask Ryan Murphy for advice. Oh, and all the thanks and love to my hilarious friend and fellow AHS devotee, Brian, for coming up with the title of this recap. Nailed it.
We get another horrifying LaLaurie Flashback opening tonight, in which the Madame massively cockblocks her daughters. When a cute guy starts making moves on one of her three girls, Borquita, LaLaurie decides to test him with a fun little parlour game where she shows him all of the eyeballs and small intestines she’s harvested from her slaves and sees how long it takes for him to run. Borquita is understandably pissed, and starts plotting to kill her mother, along with her other two sisters, but naturally, LaLaurie gets wind of this and locks her own kids up with her mutilated slaves. Nice. Her parting shot to Borquita is a threat to fill her mouth with shit by Christmas, which I guess is the alternative to getting coal in your stocking? Man, old-timey Christmas traditions are weird.
Back in present day, Borquita is back like the Bride, ready to throttle her mother and toss a candlestick at Spalding. (She’s not alone. That giant group of zombies is still hanging around outside. We’ll get back to that.) Queenie tries to voodoo-doll her, to no avail, but LaLaurie shows up to skewer her own zombie daughter with a fire poker. Mother of the Year is a pretty close call between Fiona and LaLaurie right now (especially because LaLaurie characterizes this stabbing as the kindest thing she ever did for her daughter, which is… no, actually, that’s completely true). Downstairs, Cute Neighbor is outside admiring the zombies’ awesome Halloween costumes when, during a casual levitation session, Marie orders the zombie apocalypse to begin. He gets a partial disembowelment for his trouble, and Nan runs out to save him, because I spent the entire episode yelling at everyone in the coven to STOP OPENING THE GODDAMN DOORS ALREADY OH MY GOD. Luckily, Zoe arrives with a chainsaw and pulls a Bruce Campbell, decimating every zombie, save for one who shows up when the battery has already died. Good thing Zoe’s power is vanquishing demons with a wave of her hand and stopping spells from the extremely powerful Marie Laveau! Wait, her power is murderbanging? Oh. Interesting. Oh, and then, the following morning, they burn all of the zombie parts on what is undoubtedly the worst smelling bonfire of all time, because yes.
Where was Fiona during all of this? She was at the world’s worst hospital, where no doctors are ever around and the lights are constantly flickering (seriously! This was giving me a full on rage blackout! How does anyone get anything done around here when they literally can’t see anything?!), hallucinating old dudes in diapers telling her that Cordelia’s acid attack and subsequent blindness (damn, poor Cordelia), and making quick pit stops in other people’s rooms to bring dead newborns back to life (WHY IS THAT WOMAN LAYING IN A POOL OF BLOOD NEXT TO HER DEAD BABY SERIOUSLY WHERE ARE THE MEDICAL PROFESSIONALS). Creepy Hank shows up, yelling at Fiona about being the worst mom ever, while Fiona can obviously tell that Hank is a total dick. A lone nurse, unconcerned with all of the broken lightbulbs in this shithole, says one of them has to leave, so Fiona gives Hank a moment along with his wife, where one touch from his hand gives Her Blindness a play-by-play of every evil he’s committed. What? How? I don’t. What.
The Council is back, sentencing Fiona to exile since the only thing she’s brought to this school is destruction, but Fiona expertly turns this around, letting them know that Myrtle has been creeping around New Orleans for weeks, and her disfigured hand is absolute proof that she was behind Cordelia’s acid facial. We already know that the sentence for this is burning at the stake, so Fiona, Myrtle, and the whole gang set off for the pyre, set to a stunningly perfect soundtrack (Dr. John’s “Right Place Wrong Time). In her most fabulous moment of all time (until next week’s episode), Fiona slowly lights a cigarette, asks Myrtle if she has any last words, and then interrupts Myrtle’s whining about burning versus boiling with a casual flick of her cigarette, setting the pyre ablaze. GOD. DAMN.
So, we think we know who’s behind the acid attack, but as it turns out, Queenie was just over in the next room, quickly voodoo dolling Myrtle to frame her. When she shows up in Fiona’s room, wracked with guilt, Fiona tells Queenie she’ll make her the next Supreme, because the rules on this show are changing constantly. Can you just promise Supreme to people? Don’t they have to be born the Supreme? I don’t really get it. Upstairs, Spalding wants to play with his new dolly, but dead humans usually start to decompose and smell, so her arm comes right off. And he just Febrezed the room! For shame! Oh, and where’s Misty been? Little Stevie is over at the pyre, where that meddling kid brings a nicely blackened Myrtle back to life. Thank God. Frances Conroy has to keep being a BAMF on my television forever.
Oh, and last week Zoe lost Kyle, but I guess he’s just gone with no consequence at all. I’m sure it’s fine for a stitched-together, reanimated corpse to be wandering New Orleans, especially considering how violent he is. Great!
This show is sick, and twisted, and over-the-top, and magnificent, and fabulous, and hilarious, and genuinely terrifying, and the most fun I’ve had watching TV in longer than I can remember. Plus, everyone on this show is getting such great material for their Emmy reels. So I’d say it’s a win-win. See you next week, when Jessica Lange keeps turning this show into a cigarette commercial! (Seriously, has anyone ever looked cooler? Can she can Jon Hamm have spin-offs where they just chainsmoke into the camera?)