The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills
Oh, bonjour. I didn’t realize you were going to be in Paris. I’m here, too!
Last night’s Real Housewives of Beverly Hills started with a mini-intervention and ended up in France with a possibly tipsy Kim. Not a lot happened in the middle, but at least we didn’t see Faye Resnick once.
We began with the protagonist of the episode, Kim Richards’s nose. The nose took its host to visit Kyle in her coveted “sitting area adorned with turtle shells.” While there, Kim expressed what could have been concern but existed only in judgment and contempt, around the disconcerting possibility that Taylor might be an alcoholic. Bravo added its editorial voice into the fray by fleshing out Kim’s accusation with a black-and-white montage of Taylor’s wine-iest, suitcase-iest moments, and then Kyle was agreeing with her sister that the best course of action would probably just be to go over to Taylor’s house together right then and there to confront her as a team of two.
And confront her they did! It actually went pretty well. Kim started to cry and so did Taylor, and Kyle did, too, because she hates the notion of missing any attention or looking heartless. Taylor actually took well to the feedback, dismissing the ol’ “Didn’t know who was taking care of her daughter during a last-minute getaway weekend with a random dude she had just met” incident to admit that yes, when it comes to dealing with her shitshow of a life, it’s a lot easier to do so after four drinks. Anyway, whew. No drama there! You’re relieved, too, aren’t you Bravo? LOL, no you’re not.
Around this time, we were granted a visit with on-again off-again cast member Yolanda, who seems to make fewer appearances lately than the way-less-glamorous/WAY-less-likely-to-blow-her-husband-daily Marisa Zanuck. Yolanda was throwing her ex-husband — who, we learned, cheated on her — a housewarming party after redecorating his home. All normal. And we also learned this episode that everybody in the cast of this show owns swans as pets/home accessories. If I were that rich, I’d keep monkeys, but I guess class is as class does.
Fellow swan-owners Lisa and Ken arrived at Mohamed’s home for the party, as did Brandi, in a dress slightly more demure than her elegant Oscars gown. No judgment, Brandi. If I had your body, I would only wear three Band-Aids and a length of floss to every occasion. Marisa Zanuck was also there, wearing blue eye shadow and dissing her husband loudly to anybody who would stop and politely listen to her cuckholding yapper flap and chatter, like so many windup teeth. There was also a douche-off between her and David Foster, during which David commented on Marisa and Dean’s marriage being long enough for him to want to “trade in his wife for a new one,” then tried making that horrible statement seem slightly less misogynist by adding, “That’s MY track record, at least!” Nice stab at self-deprecating humor, you disgusting monster. This loathsome sentiment was somehow topped by Marisa, who hijacked it for her own agenda. “I should trade DEAN in!” she joked, meanly. “Because I’m like a MAN!” Yecch. Is there any worse crime in a community of women for a lady to identify with men — and not just men, but the disgusting, “leave your wife for somebody younger” type of man — over connecting with her female contemporaries? I don’t think so. Not in this world, where sympathy with your jilted lady peers is the currency of friendship, over kindness or loyalty (ask Camille! look at her and Brandi!). In this instance, Marisa acted like the female version of Samuel L. Jackson’s character in Django Unchained, if that movie were about gender instead of race. Shame on her.
Otherwise, Mohamed’s party was more or less drama-free. Yolanda confronted Taylor, asking her whether she had a problem with her, and Taylor was like “No,” then said later in her testimonial that the source of her Yolanda shit-talking during that dinner one time came from her being pals with one of David’s Foster’s thousand exes. But Mohamed’s party didn’t seem like the right time to bring up that shit. And somewhere, a Bravo producer bit his or her dainty fist in frustration. “Come on, you swans,” he thought, “pick at each other like your eyes were made of rye bread crusts!” Not this time.
In fact, the closest thing to violence Mohamed’s party hosted was my reaction when David Foster sat down to play the pi-anny. I hate it when people do that. You know, David Foster: Most party guests believe they are in a safe space when they attend private events. They go about their business believing that they did not sign up for a sing-along … because they didn’t. Oh, Lord: Spare me from the spontaneous music-maker.
At this point in the episode, we learned that everybody in the cast was coincidentally headed to Paris concurrently; Lisa and Ken were going to stop there en route to visit Warren, Ken’s son from his first marriage, and Warren’s cougar wife, who also happens to be one of Lisa’s former friends. I want to say Mrs. Warren’s name was Margot or Hortense or Elaine? Who cares. They live in Saint-Tropez and have more money than anyone should, and in France, Giggy gets his own saucer of water at the bar.
Back at LAX, Kim, Kyle, and “Maurice,” on their way to France, killed time at the airport by talking about what Kim’s “tricks” were when she was still drunk all the time. “I used to put wine into coffee cups!” Kim exclaimed, holding a coffee cup. “I wish my house had a sitting area!” She added. “I know,” her disgusting sister Kyle said in response. “I know everything about you. I know what you’re thinking right now!” “Ha-ha!” responded Kim. “I’ll bet you do!” It’s a little game they play, and have since they were kids. It’s the “Kyle knows everything” game, wherein Kyle pretends to know everything for attention and for the sake of pretending to be compassionate, and her sister believes her and resents her with the power of eleven burning suns. Oh, how I hate Kyle. She’s just such spotlight-seeking garbage. If I can leave you all with one message after all of the RHOBH recaps I have done, it is this: Alternately beware and pity the out-of-work actress — she’ll make audience members out of passersby by holding them hostage to her failings.
Around this time, Marisa Zanuck called and told Kim, Kyle, Mauricio, Brandi, and Yolanda that she wasn’t going to be going to France with them because her father-in-law died suddenly. That meant she was going to have to abstain from shit-talking her husband for the entire period of shivah, which is why you could hear a strain in her voice. RIP, Dean Zanuck’s dad. Dean Zanuck, call me. I will make love to you and not disparage your personality.
So the women went to France without Marisa and soon met up with Lisa and Ken, who had had their fill of catching up with Ken’s kid and his wife’s bare shoulders in Saint-Tropez. They all convened in Paris. Kyle and Mauricio blocked the view with their revolting lip-locking, and Yolanda felt sorry for herself for being there without her lizard-y, Ben Vereen–hitting husband.
There were fireworks, Brandi lost her voice, and Yolanda wore a cocktail dress with a racer back. Giggy waddled into Kyle’s hotel room, and Adrienne was not missed. It was a fun trip, for them. But, at this point, I personally would have rather been watching Face Off. Have you seen this show? It’s Top Chef for special-effects makeup artists! Most of the contestants look like either Suicide Girls or complete mutants! It’s THE BEST. I watched two seasons this weekend on Apple TV. I’m obsessed with Face Off!!!!!!! Adrienne Maloof should be on Face Off, don’t you think? They could have a challenge where the contestants all have to make a Battlefield Earth–looking villain based either on Maloof’s looks or her personality. Somebody start a Facebook group!
My point is, this episode was reasonably drama- and action-free. Thank God for Kim, who stumbled onto the balcony late enough to make a scene and goofy enough to be perceived as completely sauced. Then again, her hypothetical tipsiness could be a red herring — or a mock turtle. In other words, what’s the difference between drunk, not-making-sense Kim, and sober not-making-sense Kim? Punctuality? Compassion? Who knows. Que sera, sera. That’s French, right?
See you guys next week for more French Follies! And please comment below on the moments I missed. Au revoir!