Hello, my friends! It is I, D.J. Soft Batch, back to recap the second episode of season four of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. And, may I say, this season is kicking off nicely? Alliances are in place, reasons for war are nicely split between the incidents that have “already happened” and “have yet to happen on camera,” the new girls seem kooky and fascinating, and the Sisters Richards are in full villainous bloom. And may I say, it’s no small accomplishment for Kyle Richards to emerge as the most monstrous human who as ever lived on a season that features a cast member who is ACTUALLY INTO THE DARK ARTS.
Yes, Carlton is into some Satanic stuff and black magic we don’t know enough about yet to judge (call it a “Mysteri,” right?), but let’s begin at the beginning, with our pal Yolanda.
A quick, Yo-related disclaimer before I proceed: I realized, over this weekend, that Yolanda is my favorite Housewife. I realized that because I was thinking about her, fondly, during a moment when I was not watching the show. And why is she my favorite Housewife? Well, I’m not completely sure yet. It has something to do with her concurrent authority and vulnerability? Her old-school European glamour? Her Dutch matter-of-factness, even on matters on which she is completely wrong, like how her husband is not a creep and why, when you’re recovering from significant, Lyme Disease–related surgery, it’s maybe not a great idea to go on the Master Cleanse? Oh, and I do think Kyle was right and she was wrong when it came to that reunion matter — but I’m still on her side.
Speaking of Lyme Disease, Yolanda spoke frankly and was at once sympathetic, porous, and austere when she spoke about the painful unpleasantness she’s endured since a filthy tick had the nerve to bite her. She’s undergone “Lyme Brain,” a term of her own design for her reduced brain function, she’s been receiving treatments injected directly into her heart and facilitated with some kind of surgically implanted port, and she’s been visibly exhausted and in great pain. Oh, Yolanda! This is no make-believe ailment! And speaking of which — was Yo’s surgery to remove her port the first-ever televised procedure on a Beverly Hills Housewife that was NOT cosmetic? I know Ken had his hip thing, but he’s not a lady, despite what his tousled, Markie Post–in-the-morning hairstyle implies. Please set me straight in the comments below!
My point: Yolanda is ailing, and of course, for the sake of this show, we have to put her very real suffering into the context of the “Ugh, I wish this weren’t real, but it sadly is” concern of hers that, because she is sick, her Beverly Hills husband will one day leave her. That’s what men in Beverly Hills are wont to do, quoth Yo! And David Foster, who once hit Ben Vereen with his car, didn’t present the most convincing counterpoint when he told us, point blank, that “Lyme Disease helped him be a better husband,” and that’s a big deal considering just how many ex-wives of Foster’s that he’s cheated on and left for dead. COOL STORY, DAVID FOSTER. You know, I don’t completely buy into the idea that lizard people Illuminati control the world, but when you look at David Foster’s reptilian self-satisfaction, I can’t help but believe that, if there are Lizard People in control, he is the lizard-iest.
Speaking of Illuminati, after Yolanda and David illustrated their sickening dynamic and Yo told her (also-cleansing) daughter to chew her two almonds very carefully or else one day she’ll be as fat as a Victoria’s Secret model, we then took a visit to the gothic mansion of one Carlton Gebbia. Carlton, one of the two new Housewives, is a very intense, foul-mouthed British person who, according to promotional materials for this season, is also a witch. Another interesting thing about Carlton is that she decorated her house so it looks like Cher’s vagina circa 1993. Good for her!
In this scene, Carlton swore at her children, who all have Pick Up Artist names, and celery was also cut, I believe. She also mentioned her affinity for pentagrams at one point, which was a delicious preview of coming attractions! Should we create a fantasy football coven for the witch-iest Housewives across all franchises? (1) Of course we should, and (2) I call dibs on Danielle Staub, who can make birds die with her mind.
After checking in with Carlton, we visited Brandi in her unfurnished new home. Brandi unpacked some old poetry journals with the help of her mom, who is a Normal Human. Hello, normal human! How do you do? Funny to see you on this show! Brandi looked incredible in a slutty sweatshirt and pigtails, and told us that her father no longer speaks to her since she showed off her breasts at this year’s Oscars. And I’m sure I speak for all of us when I address Brandi’s dad and say: “Hey, dude — let’s all agree to forget this year’s Oscars.” Anne Hathaway won something, Seth MacFarlane hosted ... I mean, let’s just all agree to never speak of it again and move the fuck on.
Then Brandi donned leather fingerless gloves and a sheer Victorian top to watch Lisa Vanderpump dance the whatsit with her partner, Glog or Blerg. All of the ladies were in the audience to “support” Lisa, which is a synonym for “be on-camera.” Just look at Kyle’s smug bitch face in this still.
You know she’s ruminating on why the producers could have possibly passed her up for that gig when SHE was the one in Halloween. By the way, is that animal-print top she’s wearing available at KYLE — the store? Please let me know so I can cross the street when I accidentally pass that block.
We caught up with Taylor Armstrong, who has moved to Colorado with her Lawyer-Lover, and is therefore mercifully absent from most of the action in the series so far. I don’t hate Taylor as much as some of you guys do, but I do not miss her. And, again — it bears repeating — how much of a relief is it to NOT ever cut to a scene featuring Adrienne and/or Paul? I like Paul Nassif just fine, but I never want to see him on-camera again.
During Lisa’s post-DWTS dinner, everybody commented on Lisa’s great body, even though I honestly don’t see a difference from last season, as her figure was always slammin’, and Brandi mounted Ken at one point. His hip seems better!
After this came another goddamn scene at Kyle’s stupid home, in which new gals Carlton and Joyce stopped by along with one of Kyle’s non–Faye Resnick friends. Carlton kicked off the afternoon with a hilarious story about why her youngest child was crying when she left the house. You see, apparently a cat had killed a bird, and the dead bird was in the cat’s mouth. “I’m going to see what’s going on in the other room!” Kyle bleated, mid-story. And Carlton was having none of that. First of all, it is a major faux pas to interrupt a witch mid-story. ESPECIALLY if a witch is telling a story related to cats and dead birds. Those, to witches, are the juiciest, funniest stories EVER. They are basically hot gossip. Carlton rankled, Kyle fled, and somewhere, six more cats became mysteriously hungrier for blood.
Kyle, Joyce, Witchipoo, and What’s Her Name then retired to Kyle’s backyard, where a roundtable “Where did you meet your husband?” conversation ensued. Carlton kicked off the proceedings with a snazzy story about meeting her beloved after she physically assaulted another woman in a nightclub, and Joyce followed it with a long-winded tale about how she showed up to her first blind date with her husband-to-be wearing no makeup, and how, once she realized in the restaurant that the two of them were meant to be, she pleaded with strangers to lend her their disease-laden lip glosses in the ladies’ room. Carlton threw Joyce some Stevie Nicks “Stand Back”–era-level shade, and then Kyle’s friend killed a bee.
When the bee died, Carlton, who is able to feel the pain of animals around her spiritual force field, flipped her shit. And Kyle, in defense of her friend, explained to Carlton that it was okay that What’s Her Name killed the bee because Kyle is allergic to bees and “could die.” And while Carlton made a mental note of “spells to look up that involve ordering swarms of bees into terrible boutiques,” I wondered whether Kyle was really, in fact, allergic to bees, or if she’s like one of those garbage people who tell waiters at restaurants that they’re allergic to cilantro when in fact, they just don’t like cilantro. I wouldn’t put it past her, but this scene was really not about Kyle, despite what Kyle would like you to believe about the focus of every scene in the play of life. This scene was about Carlton summoning up the rage of all of her ancestors into her eyes, head, and face because somebody near her killed a bee. I applaud Bravo producers for finding Carlton. She is as interesting as Joyce’s arms are disturbingly skinny. Can you imagine if you were in that ladies' room with her and she begged you to use your eyeliner? I would toss her a Luna Bar instead and maybe a couple of singles for a sandwich and a coffee.
Meanwhile, Team Lisa-Brandi-Yolanda gathered at the House of Vanderpump to chat about Lisa kind of eating it on the dance floor (or, in their words, “Looking amazing”), and to stoke the flames of Yo’s animosity toward Kyle. Yolanda wasn’t particularly keen on reconciling with Kyle, after Kyle called her a liar at the reunion in regards to talking trash about Lisa while the group was abroad. And Lisa, who pointed out how chummy Kyle will be with you when her husband has a financial interest in selling your house, quipped that maybe Yolanda should put her home on the market if she wants Kyle to start kissing her Stroopwaffles. And Yo said something gorgeously bitchy like “I only use Malibu Realtors,” and the ladies all laughed together in the sun, and God smiled on the three women, because He saw they were good.
And across town, Kim, whose sobriety will never, thank Christ, affect her loopy, Jerri Blank–Meets–Baby Jane affect, got ready for her son, Chad, and her dog trainer, Slappy, to come by. Kim’s arc this season, now that she isn’t accusing her sister of stealing her house and ducking into bathrooms with coffee cups full of vodka, is that she has a dog that will one day take her life. Ha-ha! Kingsley the Pitbull is the source of a lot of comedy on this show! Because he chews up Kim’s shoes and is completely untrained, and will, as I mentioned, one day take her life! It’s a very funny subplot, and I grant the producers a hearty “Kadooze” for integrating it, in addition to the story line of Kim hiring a trainer who physically strikes dogs to keep them obedient, into this season’s shenanigans! After all, who doesn’t want to watch a man abuse a dog on a Monday night? Come for the bee, stay for the dog? Ugh. Carlton: come over at once and bring that book of spells commissioned by PETA.
A few miles away, before Lisa went to tape the “results show” portion of Dancing With the Stars that week, she puttered around the site of what will be a future gay bar called Pump. And I’m sure I speak for everyone when I plead: please, Bravo. Let Pump Rules exist as an online gay porno only. Do NOT commission a pilot presentation. Please. Don’t. Commission. A. Pilot presentation. Because I will probably watch it. Thank you and Amen.
Finally, Kim and Kyle gathered to watch their “friend” Lisa find out, on live TV, whether she would advance to the next round on Dancing With the Stars. They perched on giant, monogrammed velvet chairs in Kyle’s extremely classy screening room furnished by Skymall and paid for with promotional consideration by Sweet Tarts brand candy foods.
And as Lisa and Glorg stood in anticipation of the judges’ evaluation of their not-so-great dancing, Pumpy looked lightheaded, crumbled, and collapsed on the stage. It looked to me like she fainted. But not to Kim and Kyle Richards, who are both MASTERS OF THE DRAMATIC ARTS!
Kim and Kyle did not even spend ONE BEAT wondering whether Lisa was okay. They both leapt INSTANTLY to the conclusion that their frenemy had faked her fall! Kim said something like “I’ve never seen anyone faint that elegantly” and demonstrated how fake she thought Lisa’s pass-out was with the power of impression. Kyle laughed along with her satanic sister, and the episode went out on those two cackling monsters, up to no good. There were shades of the “Let’s hide Brandi’s crutches on Game Night” conspiracy aglow in their wicked eyes, which danced with the fires of mischief in tandem. But sadly, there would be no Brandi Glanville that night to reprimand them, nor to even rankle Kim enough to solicit the cry of “slut pig” from her thin, confused, quivering glossy lips.
I don’t know if Lisa faked her faint or not, but I will put this out there — I hadn’t considered it until the Richardses introduced the notion. I do think those two believe that all beings are as duplicitous as they are. Just another example of villains mistaking the golden rule for empathy.
What did you think of this week’s episode? Are you as smitten with Carlton as I am? And what of Lisa’s fall? Am I being too naïve about her collapse? Or should she and Marie Osmond put out their own line of smelling salts, post haste? Please weigh in below, in the comments section, and I’ll see you next week!