It is immediately clear that this episode is going to be a slog.  Englishman Harrison Ackroyd comes into his wife’s bedroom and announces that their help Essie “has done something triumphal with kidneys and bacon.”  How many warning signs can you find in that sentence? ^[1]

Harrison has Sylvia sign some papers before he goes to work.  He warns her he will be late that evening like every Friday night while he selfishly entertains clients to pay for their sumptuous house, separate bedrooms, help, and triumphal breakfast meats.  She is left to her knitting which John Newland told us is how she spends her days.  As her husband leaves, he says, “Have a good day.”  Alone, Sylvia says to herself, “A good day.  What is a good day?”  I think she also might be sketchy on what is a good night.

She gets dolled up for a stroll down memory basement.  Essie joins her downstairs and wants to throw out some of the junk.  Sylvia does not want to get rid of anything because she lives in the past — a sweater she wore during the Occupation in Paris, her diploma from the Sorbonne, a transmitter she used to talk “across the Channel”, flags she used to welcome the Allies into Paris, and a F*** You From France T-Shirt. ^[4]

Essie puts aside a box that says “A game for young and old” to send to the children’s hospital.  Sylvia clutches it and says, “Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy”.  She rushes upstairs with the box and locks herself in her bedroom.  She takes a Ouija Board out of the box.  She moves the planchette around the board and moans orgasmically, “Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy . . . . I needed it so much!”.

Moses . . .

Sylvia sends Essie out late that night to buy a birthday cake because Harrison forgot her birthday again. ^[6]  She returns and carries it upstairs, candles ablazing.  Essie complains that she had to go to 3 shops to find enough candles.  That is not the way to get a raise.

The next morning, as she is serving breakfast, Essie tells Mr. Harrison she overheard his wife laughing it up in her bedroom and moaning the name Jeremy.  Now that’s how you get a raise.

Harrison confronts his wife, but she denies anyone was there.  He says, “Sylvia, what you do is your own affair.  Frankly I don’t mind as long as you’re clever enough to keep it that way.”  He just wants his name kept out of the newspapers, although it will be prominently featured in next month’s Cuckold Digest.

He’s not a complete cuck, however, because he hires a PI to follow his wife.  She never meets another man, but is seen talking to herself a lot.  He also has her conversations taped.  He hears her yapping on and on to Jeremy but not a word from him, which sounds about right.  Sylvia begs Jeremy to let her see him just once.  Sylvia catches Harrison listening to the tape and says, “How dare you!” ^[3]

. . . oh, Moses!

There is a twist, and it is a fine one that leaves you thinking.  However, the path to get there — even from this point — is so tedious that I can’t go on.  It took me a month to get this far.  The story is not the problem; it is the performances.

Once again, why are they setting another episode in England? ^[1] Harrison is such a proper sexless English twit that it is impossible to regard him as a human being (kind of like Charles in The Crown).  Sylvia is just insufferable with her “Moses, oh Moses!” style of acting. ^[2]  Newland, you are a great director, but you’ve got to restrain the screeching brats and hammy adults.

Even compared to the carnage from yesterday (i.e. a month ago), this was a painful outing.  Thank God the reliable Alfred Hitchcock Presents is next in the rotation.

Other Stuff:

• [1]  For those scoring along at home, this is 8 out of 14 episodes of this American series that take place outside the USA.  Still no paranormal activity in Africa or Asia, though.
• [2]  Sadly, none of those readings are as histrionic as I remember.  Maybe I’m thinking of another movie.
• [3]  Apologies for using that Greta clip in 2 consecutive posts.  But you must have a heart of stone not to laugh.
• [4]  A few years ago, I saw 2 girls in Panera Bread wearing matching souvenir T-Shirts that said F*** You From Florida (without the ***).  It made me sad to realize that our country’s standards have deteriorated so badly that I was eating at a Panera Bread. ^[5]
• [5]  That was a cheap shot.  I have no beef with Panera except their sandwiches seem to get smaller so often, it’s like I’m backing away from them.  Which I guess I am.  Also, their drink and condiment stations are usually a nightmare of poor design.  C’mon man, you’ve built a thousand of these things and still can’t figure it out?
• [6]  Before you think too poorly of Harrison:  Sylvia earlier admitted to forgetting his birthday too.  So this layabout, with nothing better to do, shouldn’t point fingers.