So we arrive at the conclusion of season 4 of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, ending much as it began. Tears, conspiracies, mis-placed anger, designer clothes. Andy Cohen who appears to be moonlighting as Dr. Phil attempted to find resolution to the drama, which is Bravo code for tried to sex up the season to make it more viewer appealing then the slow, sad sounding fart it actually was. All of it neatly tied with a bejeweled bow and sealed with clink of champagne (or in Kim’s case grape juice) like a golden turd.
Kyle decided Part 3 was the opportune moment to officially go off the deep end. Her child-actor brain instinctively sensed the fading of fame’s glorious light and so channeled the ghost of the still living Jack Nicholson to give her best ”You Can’t Handle the Truth” moment. This is her last shot to grab what remains of the dwindling spotlight and she leaped at the moment like a lioness with starving cubs back in the cave. “You’ve done me wrong!” she cackled at an obviously befuddled Lisa Vanderpump who sat in her seat stoically in her pink designer dress like an orderly at a Gucci sponsored psych ward. Kyle has dragged the carcass of tabloid-gate onto the floor to beat it one final time. This is her only story that has legs and she needs to capitalize on it before Andy shuffles the ladies off to the void of pre/post season obscurity and girl has a line of horrible clothes to off-load on HSN as quickly as possible. She steam-rolled thru Lisa and Carlton’s meek attempts at civility like a possessed lawn mower spewing out nouns, verbs and adjectives in a tornado of fame-obsessed rage. How dare you steal MY thunder with your spin-offs and dancing with the stars! she screamed in-between the lines. Lisa has become the epitome of everything she hates in the world. Success, class, fame, money and most importantly twitter and the gays love her. Of course she must be destroyed and if her husband has to be sacrificed as collateral damage, SO BE IT! There are an endless supply of Blonde Barbies in southern California to throw in front of Maurcio’s car in the hopes of catching his wandering eye. In her summary, Lisa is a vile and horrible person who is the number 1 threat in her quest to re-kindle the glory of her star-struck past and she will be destroyed…but she still loves her. It is the kind of insane contradictory logic that one must go to the Old Testament to find its likeness.
Kim slowly evaporated into the couch like a bottle of expired Febreeze. She was only able to harness her brain to focus on a single thought for the first 30 minutes, the rest of the time were instinctive knee-jerk reactions to whenever someone mentioned a code word imbedded in her brain: Kyle, Lisa, Party, Drunk. The aliens that constructed her skin suit obviously didn’t encode enough of the English language before they dropped her in California to begin the invasion.
Brandi attempted to salvage whatever meager remnants of viewer support she still has by taking her story-line on a detour thru Depression Valley. Suddenly she has come down with a case of the blues that requires her to push away the people she cares for while simultaneously wanting them to get closer. Perhaps this is a symptom of the aspirin allergy she has been suffering from the entire season. You know, the one that is slowly transforming her into a middle-aged Asian woman. Whatever the case may be she has books to sell and the best way to get the word out is to pin it to Lisa, Eddie Cibrian, and Joyce’s respective foreheads and shoot them with a bullshit cannon. Unfortunately she forgot to take the safety off and it blew up in her face, literally. Her story ends the same as it began, over-the-hill beauty queen from across the tracks trying to make it in Beverly Hills by pissing off everyone in a higher tax bracket then her. Its difficult to follow Brandi’s story as the reason for her insanity seems to change depending on how plump her cheeks are that week. But with books to sell and a desperate run at hanging on to her fading youth to fund, she is sure to return in some form or another to hold her position as one of the Disney Villains in Bravo’s stable.
Yolanda’s job at the final show-down was 2 fold; making sure the dung ball she has pain-stakingly crafted all season remains firmly in play with the elder housewives throughout the reunion, and carefully and strategically shutting down new girls Carlton and Joyce from kicking it out of bounds. With a new ‘do and attitude to match Yolanda summoned the spirit of Tabatha Coffey with such relish that I was expecting her to turn around and punch Joyce in the face each time the Latina Beauty Queen uttered a syllable. I have to say I was impressed with how she snake-charmed Carlton “witchie poo” Gebbia throughout Kyle’s monologue of green hued Lisa-rage. Although being married to David Foster I assume she has experience handling venomous reptiles. Our Nordic queen spent much of the reunion surveying the battle-field amused at the destruction she wrought on this hapless group of over-privileged women. She pulled the pin on her brandi grenade and threw it into the group whilst dashing for cover. Now that her work is finished she can return to her comically crazy lemon grove and wax the hair off david fosters legs, the Canadian tenors like smooth over hairy.
Joyce’s mouth has 2 settings, OFF and TSUNAMI. When in the off setting she sits perfectly poised resplendent in glittering jewels and exotic beauty. When ON its a flood of vocabulary of biblical proportions. I believe she made the final edit as a trailer for that new noah movie. However not even god’s wrath could over-come the combo of Yolanda and Brandi sucker punching her as she dared to inject a degree of logic to this insanity. We shall have none of that in the court of housewifedom. Carlton meanwhile saved all her rage and concentrated it into a death beam aimed squarely at Kyle’s forehead. This will be her undoing, Kyle is a loathsome shallow person, but we already know this. Going after her is like calling Bin Laden a bad man and expecting people to be surprised. Find a juicier target, before Andy snatches a bucket of water and throws it on your still budding career.
And finally we come to the grande dame of the franchise, M. Vanderpump. She attended this shooting gallery deflated no so much by defeat but like a woman who already gave 2 shits at the office but still has to suffer thru the sales-pitch. Her contempt for these women oozed from every pore knowing she has already broken out of her pen and is now grazing the fields of West Hollywood with Bravo firmly in tow. The question is not so much whether Lisa will survive without Housewives, but whether Housewives will survive without Lisa. Knowledge of that fact obviously sat in her perfectly coifed head as she daintily raised her bejeweled fist and extended her middle finger to the gathered hens in the immediate vicinity. This is Vandercoaster and we’re all along for the ride.
And so yet another season ends as our coven of cured hams shuffles off into reality obscurity and so begins the real fun. Watching these fame obsessed ladies who lunch huddle around their telephones waiting eagerly for that call from Bravo to confirm their return next season. That’s a show I’d love to watch.