This was an underwhelming episode, with some editing issues, but very clearly plotted the way the rest of the season is going in.
The episode opens with Abbie singing her little heart out at karaoke and she sounds amazing as well as looking cute. Well, cuter than usual. The reason for this is that the gang has apparently gone on a double date, and while the two ladies can definitely do better, it’s nice to see them all relaxed and smiling. Ichabod and Hawley don’t have a song. It is understandable that Ichabod doesn’t find his teenage jams in the charts anymore, but I suspect Hawley just doesn’t want to admit he’s a Celine Dion boy.
Nothing good lasts forever on this show and Nick has to go away on business, promising Jenny he’d be back later in the night. Wink wink. Nudge nudge. This business seems to be a surprise visit from a woman names Carmilla, which according to my dash is a creature of the night that fancies ladies. This one seems to have a past with Hawley, a rather unpleasant one judging by the fact that he flinches when she calls him Nicky. Perhaps he just knows that with that name he’ll be forever in the shadow of her Minajesty. This blast from his past wants access to Theodore Knox’s estate.
2.13 seemed to be split into two very distinct stories. One was a by the numbers bottle episode about a murderer, while the other was the heartbreaking tragedy of a man coming back from the dead only to be met with well-founded suspicion by the people that love him. The killer did make my hair rise on occasion, however, Irving’s return and everyone’s response to it was much more fulfilling.
The episode starts almost like a procedural; there is a man going about his business, that business being art restoration, only to find blood. A suspicious amount of blood. Instead of discovering a body however, this poor man faced something decidedly supernatural and went through his own personal Lady Macbeth moment when the blood disappeared without trace.
Sleepy Hollow is back! (Only to go away again for a couple of weeks). For the first time in a while I’m actually feeling excited about things to come and even though it might be post-hiatus emotions, let’s see why.
Henry is gone! Much of what frustrated me in the first half of the season was centered around Henry, so when Ichabod got up on his feet and started looking for people whose fates I care more about, I felt a sigh of relief that Henry was nowhere to be found.
The only one really searching for Henry was Katrina, who believes her son risked everything to save her. It’s been about a month but I’m fairly certain Henry’s defection had more to do with who he decided deserved to be his father. As everybody dusts themselves off and breathes a bit easier, we get a cut to six weeks later.
This episode was full of epic fights and starting us off we have Abbie’s GPS vs. the Apocalyptic Storms, which is incidentally an excellent band name. Ladies, gentlemen and otherwise identifying individuals please place your bets, we are about to announce a winner. The GPS loses this battle flickering out of life and taking the entire car with it.
What with feeding and dressing people, buying leather jackets and now car problems, the apocalypse is going to leave Abbie Mills penniless. In the grand tradition of every mechanic in the history of mechanics, the person they take the car to won’t be able to fix it immediately. Apparently everyone gets spare parts from one specific cupboard that leads to a parallel dimension which is the only place spare parts can be stored.
Frustrated and grim, Ichabod Crane doesn’t believe in the saying ‘all work and no play make Crane a very dull boy’. Of course he is a very complex man, so his distaste in the game could be a cloud of moody deception there to hide the fact that he doesn’t know who Cher is. After all, this is the sore loser that tried to equate Pinocchio to George Washington.
Fortunately for him, Abbie has a good head on her shoulders and realizes that the Apocalypse is going to start a lot sooner if they don’t take a break and re-group. Unlike Ichabod she not only knows that they have limits, but to admit when they have reached them. Or to put it differently, Ichabod is the student that has completed their revision but keeps on studying through the night and Abbie is the one that gets some damn rest and actually doesn’t look like the living dead when it’s time to sit the exam.
This episode was basically about multiple suicides, so if you think that might be triggering best stay clear of it and this review. Which is unfortunate, since we finally have an episode featuring more of the Mills sisters together, kicking evil’s butt and hugging each other. The show’s strength is the Mills sisters and the sooner the writers understand that the better.
Once more, the episode starts with the Cranes, though this time instead of enjoying dream/nightmare post-coital snuggles, they are enjoying an own-brand version of the Bachelor. And yes, they are enjoying it, even Ichabod, despite his complaining and especially because of it. The man loves nothing better.
What was interesting about this scene was the couple’s contrasting approach to love. Katrina sees it as a gift, something beautiful and wonderful, but also something that you choose to bestow. Ichabod sees love as having more of an 80’s rock ballad twist to it. Lighten up dude.
This episode opens with a glorious post-coital flashback scene between Katrina and Ichabod. Given the fact that it seems to be taking place between extended periods of them not seeing each other, as well as the theme of the entire episode, I’m guessing this is the night cute baby Jeremy was conceived. Awwww!
I was very happy to see an absence of the dreaded L-shaped cover but even happier to find out through Katrina’s complaints that General Washington was coming between the couple. I hope she shares this with Abbie so that they can make fun of Ichabod as a team.
We open with a distressed and disheveled Ichabod and since I’m a very classy broad my first observation was that it looked like something that rhymes with chasm denial. It’s actually yoga, because apparently that’s how young kids these days train for the apocalypse, a far cry from alcohol and demon blood dependency, which was the Winchesters’ approach in days of yore.
What follows is an argument about the legitimacy of the word buns and Ichabod’s firm (heh) belief that Ms. Minaj’s popular song should have been ‘My anaconda don’t want none unless you got double jugs, hun’. It somehow still works.