''House'': Wilson blows a fuse
Although the House writers appropriately decided to call last night's episode ''Whack-A-Mole,'' a better title would have been ''Dr. Wilson and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.'' Poor, poor Robert Sean Leonard. My friend Monica (who simply refers to him as RSL) and I have had mini-crushes on him since seeing him in Kenneth Branagh's fantastic Much Ado About Nothing over ten years ago, and watching him grow increasingly indignant and furious this week was a sight to behold.
I mean, who wouldn't be angry under the circumstances? First Wilson's car and consequently, cell phone were towed by a vengeful Tritter, then his DEA license to prescribe drugs was revoked, and finally, he didn't receive an apology of any sort from his old pal, Mr. ''Maybe I Don't Want To Push This Until It Breaks,'' who basically left him out to dry. Yes, addicts put their need for a fix before everything else, but House really battered down ol' Wilson this week. The oncology head was also handily dismissed by Dr. ''Your cleavage is a smokescreen!'' Cuddy, who seemed strangely calm about the fact that two of her top people were in deep trouble with the law. (Me, I'd have sicced a hospital lawyer on Tritter's superiors at his precinct.)
My only real quibble relates to Wilson's hounding of House's ducklings for prescriptions (''scripts'') for his cancer patients. How is it possible that RSL is the only oncologist at Princeton-Plainsboro able to chicken-scratch his name for his terminally ill patients? Is there no one else in the entire department?
Meanwhile, the Patient of the Week was Almost Famous' Patrick Fugit, who played a teenaged waiter at a Chuckie Cheese-type funhouse. Acting as guardian to his two button-cute siblings after the accidental death of their parents in a car crash (Party of Five vibes, indeed), he was tuckered out by the job, and as a bonus, within a couple days of his entry into the hospital, he began to bleed out of every bodily orifice and developed fungal pus in his brain. Nice.
Cameron, Chase and Foreman all took their shots at diagnosis. As always, they were wrong, although Foreman did have a nice moment with Fugit's siblings. All three of the ducklings, to their credit, refused to write scripts for House's pain management.
What do you think, dear readers? Are you glad to see the whiteboard back in use? Who's the traitor next week? And how far will House fall into his Vicodin-deprived haze before shaping up (if ever)?