Oh, how very long it seems it’s been since we last checked in on our wildly dysfunctional friends in the Hamptons.
I don’t know about you, but it took me a few moments to get my bearings while watching Revenge’s latest installment, as I tried to piece together where exactly we left off almost two months ago. If you’d had a camera trained on me, I probably looked as worried as Jack at the beginning of “Doubt,” staring off into space, biting his fingernails, wondering what the hell has happened to disrupt the order of his Montauk life. Actually, we should all be forgiven for letting a little bit of the episode title into our brains. Will these last six episodes, pushed back so they could air together in an uninterrupted block, live up to the standard set by their highly addictive, intricately plotted, unapologetically sudsy predecessors? It’s impossible to answer that based merely on “Doubt,” because this was something of a “breather” episode, a cool-down after the quicksilver pace of “Chaos” and “Scandal.” I, for one, was disappointed that Revenge didn’t check in on Takeda or Fake Amanda or do more to shed light on Emily’s ultimate endgame.
Quite frankly, I can’t imagine what that endgame could be at this point, because, well, it seems like Emily has already achieved ultimate revenge against the Graysons. What better payback could there be for her wrongly accused and imprisoned father than for the Grayson scion to be wrongly accused and imprisoned? But Emily doesn’t seem to want Daniel to pay for the sins of his parents, either because of some high-minded belief that her vendetta shouldn’t leave any collateral damage in its wake or because, like Tyler, she’s infatuated with Daniel’s “pretty mouth.” It’s gotta be the latter, right? Meaning that Takeda really does have Emily figured out. So if she makes any overt attempt to spring Daniel, the Japanese billionaire might indeed “release the Kraken,” i.e. Amanda, who would surely reveal everything about Emily if turned over to the authorities.
Victoria, for one, really wants Amanda Clarke to be the fall guy. And though she’s disappeared, one link to her still remains: Jack Porter, Amanda’s scruffy, hoodie-wearing boyfriend. Apparently, Jack’s learned nothing from Geraldo Rivera about the evil of hoodies, nor has he ever watched a CBS procedural and learned that, um, you don’t ever wear the outfit you wore when handling a bloody corpse. That’s just bad fashion and bad forensics. Because when Nolan stopped by the bar, Jack seemed to be wearing the same hoodie that the Graysons’ sketch artist was putting on paper to ID the mysterious hooded beach perp. Idiocy runs in the Porter family, it seems.
NEXT: Would Fitzgerald, Faulkner or Hemingway have drowned their sorrows in wine coolers?