Scream Queens Episode 11 Recap: Black Friday

Photo: Courtesy of Fox.
Does anyone else suspect this show is about robots? Dean Munsch must be one, due to her supreme French-leaning intellect and ability to transcend death by both puffer-fish venom and extreme cryotherapy. Remember when she teleported out of her own shower? It’s so obvious now! Time-traveling terminator seems much more likely than descendant of Rasputin, no matter how compelling Neck Brace’s argument is for the latter. Like, we get it, Lea Michele. You’re showing off.

And the dean can’t be the only AI on the now-closed Wallace University campus. I think EVERYONE IS. Why would they stick around? And how else to explain Ariana Grande, in general but specifically on this show? Machines, I’m telling you. All of ‘em. You have to admit that the way Grace bots out to Pete — “I am a sentient woman, sitting next to you with open eyes and an open heart” — just seems…crazy. I figure she must be on remote control, no question about that. But who is “playing” her? Is it the dean? Has Jamie Lee Curtis been remote-controlling every single character (except Denise Hemphill, formerly of Secure Enforcement Solutions, who is above her or any law) this whole time?! It would certainly explain Chanel No. 3’s radioactive earmuffs…

I’m just sick of fighting the facts, okay? My robot theory is as plausible as anything else on this show. In episode 11, certain “people” are switching modes left and right. Sexy robo-puppet Zayday doesn’t want to kill Dean Munsch, but then she flip-flops. Paper doll-droid Grace backs out of killing Dean Munsch and sleeping with investigative journo-bot Pete, then does try to get him in bed since she wants her first to be a “great guy.” Clearly she’s delusional, and not just because of all of her terrible hats. According to the suddenly sex-shy Pete himself… HE IS A MURDERER!
Photo: Courtesy of Fox.
Which leads us (this is Scream Queens, never ask questions) to the dramatic reading of Boone’s will, party of two. Get this: Chad Radwell’s dead gay friend bequeathed his most cherished possessions — namely, a shoebox full of lube — to Pete Martinez, the former Dickie Dollar Scholar wannabe who never seems to have a clear end goal (let alone a concluding paragraph) in sight. The real shocking part about this scene by far is that Pete has a last name. My wild theory of the night — much wilder than the robots — is that Pete was born female, Boone was his twin brother, and they’re both the Red Devil killers. And it's insecurity, not guilt that prevents Pete from scoring with Grace. Boom. Answers. Robots.

Add one unqualified cop to the dead body count, please. During an after-midnight mall lockdown that was somehow not as scary as the movie Mannequin because IMHO the Red Devil has yet to really come alive, our dead-inside killer shoots one of new police chief Denise Hemphill’s henchmen — this time with a crossbow and arrow. Of course, Denise Hemphill couldn’t care less about her fallen soldier, not to mention Chanel No. 1 staging her own arrow wound to the chest a few feet away on the floor. Maybe Chanel assumes she's on hidden camera for a Black Friday/Hunger Games crossover docudrama. Maybe Denise Hemphill is orchestrating all of these murders while playing dumb. Or maybe Denise Hemphill just found a cheeseburger in her pocket. When it comes to Denise Hemphill, anything is possible. Case in point: She still insists the Red Devil is Zayday.

Overall, this episode is a slow tease and burn before next week’s finale. The poolside meeting between Dean Munsch and Chanel is sort of funny in a “for once Chanel isn’t going rogue” kind of way (more evidence of the dean’s exquisite mind control), but points must be taken off as this is the third scene in a row to serve as a glorified Samsung commercial. I bet Jamie Lee nabbed the product placement deal herself, that robot bitch!

Who is Pete running from: his mysterious phone enemy, the devil in his tiny closet, or himself? Is Dean Munsch playing everyone in an elaborate mousetrap, the end of which is a bathtub full of red wine, short-ribbed for her pleasure? Damnit, now I’m thirsty. See you next Tuesday for the explosive conclusion to the haziest animated blood-drip of our lives!


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