This whole show feels a bit like it’s suffering the same kind of crazy Izzie is: seeing dead people, going off on tangents, not making a whole lot of sense. I mean, I say this because — like Alex — I care. I like Grey’s Anatomy. I like it so much that I hold it to a higher standard than your basic hospital show or soap. I’m rooting for it to pull itself together.
But we’re now into sweeps month. This is not how Grey’s should look during sweeps. Or at all, of course, but especially now.
First, and most egregiously, there was this Denny nonsense. Izzie is now having sex with dead people. This could’ve packed some kind of punch if: a. It were closer to the time of his death — a year ago at the very, very latest. (Let’s face it: I would’ve welcomed this over the George affair; it’s all relative evils here.) Or b. This hadn’t been done to much greater effect in a little movie called Ghost. At this point, why don’t we just break out the pottery wheel and call it an homage? Because otherwise it just seems like a lame attempt to revive a very popular, resonant plotline that worked a few seasons ago. The one up side: At least this time he wasn’t wearing a fishing sweater. I hate how he always looks like he’s about to hit the high seas off Maine in a cozy cable knit. Oh, I take it back, one other (small) up side: Alex and company hearing Izzie moaning from outside her bedroom and him shrugging, ”Relax. She’s flying solo. It’s hot.” Funny how quickly he switched from insensitive lout to model boyfriend, no? Maybe we should all try sex with dead guys more often.
Next, there was this creepy intern let’s-do-medical-procedures-on-each-other pact. Admittedly, it’s a compelling concept: One intern got an epidural so his colleagues could practice; then things went too far with Sadie agreeing to an appendectomy. I just wish our interns — back when Mer et. al. were interns — could’ve done it. Because I’m just not that invested in these interns, so it suddenly feels like I’m watching some other show I’ve never seen before about people I should care about but don’t. I don’t want to invest in them, because I’m already invested in too many Seattle Gracers. So it’s tricky to make these folks a main storyline. I don’t think I truly cared until it became Cristina and Meredith’s problem to clean up. Somehow, when it comes to the main docs, even the ones we hate, we care about. That’s the magic of Grey’s, at least when it is cooperating and being adequately magical.
I did, however, enjoy some of the medical storylines of the evening. Admittedly, I’m personally invested in the topic of hypochondria. The woman who came in thinking she had stomach cancer because she had stomach pains? The stuff that people kept making fun of her for, like diagnosing herself with fatal diseases by using the internet, and thinking she had tumors when she had simple headaches? Let’s just say I get it. (Oh, come on, who hasn’t looked up their head cold symptoms and come out of WebMD thinking they might be having an aneurism?) Didn’t love seeing lovely Josh Malina, once of The West Wing and Sports Night, relegated to pooping in a cup so his onscreen wife could have a ”fecal transplant,” thus replacing the ”good bacteria” she lost by self-medicating. But, hey, in this economy, we all take the work we can get, right?
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