Justified 4.4

Apologies, dear blog readers, but self needed time to “process.”  She loves this season of Justified, it is absolutely great.

Raylan is quite significantly thinner than in previous seasons.  Timothy, is it overwork?  Never mind.  You are still gorgeous.  Gorgeous with a capital “G.”

When self watched “Parker” last weekend, there was a scene where Jason Statham impersonates a rich Texan and shows up in Palm Springs wearing —  gadzooks! —  an enormous white Stetson.  But, in keeping with the over-the-top nature of the whole cheesy enterprise (which is not to say that self did not find the movie hugely enjoyable —  she did, and particularly for the chemistry between J Lo, Parker, J Lo’s real estate colleagues, and her Mum’s yippy pet dog), the Stetson was about 10 sizes too large.  Self kids you not, dear blog readers, it looked about three feet wide.

Anyhoo, back to last night’s episode of “Justified.”  The preacher’s sister shows up in the local sheriff’s office, looking truly woebegone.  Until then, self was kinda hoping that her preacher brother survived the rattlesnake bite on his arm from the last episode, but alas!  He was apparently dead, dead, deader than a doornail, and that was the reason for the sister’s wan appearance.

In this episode, Ava —  who is, as we all know, hot, but whose figure has been hidden, for many episodes now, under dull-colored clothes that look like they were rescued from the dumpster behind the Salvation Army store — finally returns to sultry glory.  That is, she exhibits cleavage.  Her top was a lacy thing, like something from Victoria’s Secret.  Slutty and very fine.  Way to go, Ava!  The actress who plays her seems to be hardening her jaw, which is entirely in keeping with Ava’s long but relentless descent into Lady Macbeth territory.

Meanwhile, the waif/whore Ella May returns to the fold —  er, to the bar.  There are aspersions cast on her trustworthiness.  Ava hands her $2000 and tells her to make a fresh start somewhere far, far away.  And, just to prove how sincere Ava is, she sends Ella May off with the most malevolent member of the bar crew, a dirty blonde with a sort of Grade B Gerard Depardieu look, who rises to the occasion by having a moment of crisis in a gas station restroom, where it is revealed that he is having qualms about shooting Ella May, who is pumping gas —  a whore pumping gas!  Quelle fabulous use of subtext!  Anyhoo, the reason we know henchman is having qualms is that he pauses to sniff a line of coke before preparing his pistol for the death blow.  He then walks out of the restroom, and —  well, self cannot tell dear blog readers what happened next for she had her eyes shut.  All she knows is that lunk kept calling, almost beseechingly, “Ella May!  Ella May!”  As if he were playing a game of hide-and-seek with her.  Self listened anxiously for the report of a gun, but there was none.  Perhaps Ella May had the smarts to secret herself beneath the car?  Hanging on to the undercarriage, or something James Bond-y like that?  Way to go, Ella May!

Raylan was given a very nice gun by his increasingly comely deputy, Rachel (now divorced, though self can’t say she misses the ex, whose face she can’t ever remember seeing, in three previous seasons).  It was silver and long.  He uses it to get back at his ex-lover’s husband, the boxer.  He shoots and shoots and gets shot himself, and the lady escapes with her life, her loot, and her vixen reputation, and Raylan discovers that the $10,000 she stole from him went into buying chickens.  Or were those fighting cocks?

No Deputy Gutterson in this episode.  Self has noticed that the producers never have Rachel and Tim in the same episode.  She figures they function as alter-egos for Raylan.  When Raylan is feeling hip and manly, they have Tim to exchange sardonic verbiage with.  When he is feeling woebegone, they have Rachel to bring out his sensitive side.  Gadzooks if that doesn’t work —  in spades!

In this episode, there were more of those Holy-Cow-Mother-of-All-Lines, the ones that display the fantastic American capacity for breath control, rivaling that of even Royal Shakesperean actors like Ian Holm and Derek Jacobi.  Only, the fun quotient is to the nth power, because these characters are doing the Shakesperean thang in rural Kentucky.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

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