'Gossip Girl' Finale: Blair Witch Project
Jan 10, 2008, 01:26 PM | by Youyoung Lee
Categories: Mini TV Watch
The end has come, but fear not readers — there are many ways to get your Gossip Girl fix post-January 9th. Here are some ways to dampen your GG withdrawal:
a) Watch reruns and play Guzzle Girl, a GG-themed drinking game for New Yorkers. Sling back a shot for every location mentioned that you’ve been to/drank at/fornicated in. Double-time if it’s in your 'hood (Example: Dan: "The Sunshine Theater"; Me: Bam! Bam!).
b) Listen to Ed Westwick's indie rock band, appropriately named The Filthy Youth. Egads! Send in a picture of yourself with the self-damning phrase "I'm a Filthy Youth"; admire your picture once it's posted online with the string of other teenagers, strangely all female.
c) Go to the Palace Hotel's Gilt Restaurant and order yourself a grilled cheese with truffle oil, inspired by the show, for only $50. Get escorted out after barging into the back kitchen mumbling something about a gooey, attempted rape scene.
None of these options are as good as the real thing, natch, as proved by yesterday's episode — the last of the season and, with no word on a resolution to the writers' strike, likely the year. Already known for its hyper-dramatization of teenage life, GG delivered interventions, helicopters, brawls, and emergency escape routines worthy of a David Blaine special. B.'s world came crumbling down, and she tried to pull a Serena van der Woodsen by running away to her father's French chateau, chartering a helicopter to JFK airport. (Cue misty-eyed parting between B. and S. at the heliport.) This plot point might have legs if I were watching Survivor: Manhattan — The Live Finale, but is the only way a Waldorf can be dragged out of the island by air? More likely, it was a thinly veiled excuse to have Serena's golden tresses flutter in the wind one last time. Yes! Thank you for that.
We began with the news of S.'s pregnancy scare spreading through the Upper East Side faster than an STD in the movie Kids; also, there were more extras on the show than I have ever seen in the entirety of the season. Who were these people? Are those homeless people I see in Central Park smoking a doobie actually students at Constance Billard? Anyway, clad in a wide-lapel cardigan, Rufus channeled his inner Masterpiece Theater when he lectured from an armchair, "Since the time you could talk, your mother and I knew you were very special." "I love her!" Dan then professed, which ostensibly grossed Humphrey the elder out since he abruptly stood up and walked away. What great parenting: Ignoring the matter, then letting out a "Yes... yes... yes... YES!" upon learning of the false alarm that enables you to continue with your ferocious dating life. Priorities.
This being the last episode, they had to cram Everyone Who Matters into the show, like the oft-neglected Eric, Jenny, Minority Twins, and a rare glimpse of two of Rufus' ladies. But how lame was his "I only hung out with groupies who chose me," routine with Girl No. 2 at Bedford Gallery, basically admitting to a bevy of one-night stands? Even more vexing was when Girl No. 2 administered the instructions, "In two days you're going to call me and thank me for your dating faux pas; you'll ask me out to dinner, someplace elegant but intimate, and we'll have a fabulous time. Got all that?" But wait, Rufus had to kill any magic by calling her immediately with a s***-eating grin, in a MeSoCleverLOL kind of way. Yuck. Jenny had it right when she asked Dan, "Why are you taking his advice? He's old and alone.'"
I was shocked to find myself rooting for B. (pictured) when she planked from her inner circle, since the new crop of queen bees looked, well, sad. Like poor knockoff Louis Vuitton bags in Chinatown next to the real, glistening thing. They possessed neither the charm, the beauty, nor the wealth (in Jenny's case) that would excuse B.'s acrimonious behavior (and her Prada mini turbans). Call me vicious, but I wanted to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off of lil' Jenny's face the entire time. But I suppose that's the point — in order to recognize the cruel cycle of hypocrisy, we must be taken out of context.
Predictably, news of B.'s infidelity and subsequent possible pregnancy resulted in the breakdown of a brotherhood — and chipped away at poor B.'s mental health. (Cue lots of slow-motion reels and tender piano ballads here). She lashed out at everyone possible: "Have fun playing with yourself," she screamed at Chuck; "Low-rent boyfriend" and "social-climbing sister who wears my hand-me-downs," she said about the Humphreys — but saved the best for her gal pal: "I can’t believe you don't get it. The rules are different for the Serena van der Woodsens of the world. People expect you to party, and be wild, sleep with whomever you want, run away, come back... You shot your reputation a long time ago. It doesn't matter what you do, but I'm a WALDORF!" Has B. been taking lessons from CeCe "I don't like my ice cubes to get lonely" van der Woodsen? Her tongue was quick as a whip. The only thing that could silence her? The increasingly reptilian Chuck, of course, who probably waited years to pull out this bone-rattling speech: "You held a certain fascination when you were beautiful, delicate and untouched. But now you're like one of the Arabians my father used to own — rode hard and put away wet."
What a fabulous run it's been. I'll finally finish with a declaration of love: Like Dan's confession to Serena and her less-than-enthusiastic reply, just when my love for the show swelled to an all-time high, GG takes a pre-emptive bow at the finish line, but I'll be there waiting for it when it comes back. Who else is with me?
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