Missed the previous installment? Here it is.
Want to watch along? Here is the video.
Before we delve into the finale, I’m going to break my rule of showing the recipe in the beginning because I want to save it as a surprise. Yes, that means going through a football field of text just like the average recipe/food blog, but it’ll be worth it. Maybe?
Oh, and the ThatGuyWithTheGlasses.com address appears at the bottom of the video, so the screenshots will have it, too. If you were smart and didn’t attempt the black magic I suggested back in the episode two review, you’ll be even smarter and not attempt it this time, either. Maybe try it on a Care Bears DVD instead.
And, yes, I know this isn’t really episode six of Demo Reel, but I’ve been calling it that because I have strange habits. Also this post is going to be a bit more image heavy than the others. Strap in.
Demo Reel was cancelled on January 22, 2013. Despite their efforts to keep the series going, the Walker brothers conceded defeat. Perhaps it was foolish to assume they had a right to stretch more of their creative muscles. Maybe the fans weren’t really ready for something original that deviated from the Nostalgia Critic. Maybe Doug shouldn’t have killed off his most beloved character.
Regardless of the reasons, Demo Reel unleashed the internet version of Ragnarök onto ThatGuyWithTheGlasses.com and Channel Awesome. Site traffic dropped. Sneers and jabs littered message boards and forums. Fans in rented garments brandished ravaged effigies and pounded on the doors of Fortress Awesome, demanding the return of their scuzzy-goateed hero. Figuratively, of course.
The fans could not be silenced, could not be pacified through other means—not even through other Channel Awesome producers, who passed up a prime opportunity to ascend the Throne of Nostalgia (here I’m imagining a bunch of Nerf bats and Super Soakers bent and warped to create the thing).
Say, that’s what the game show should have been about: Other “hot shot” producers attempting to become the next Channel Awesome darling through a variety of degrading games. Brilliant! I should do my own YouTube show!
There was no other choice. To make things right by the viewers, the Walkers would have to bring back the Critic. But after the swan song Doug had written for the Critic, he couldn’t just sweep Demo Reel under the rug and pretend it never happened. A storyteller of any medium worth their salt doesn’t simply abandon a creation.
In fact, why only tell the story of how the Critic came back?
We open in the Demo Reel headquarters kitchen where Donnie is making himself a cuppa. Cups here are labeled with the first letter of everyone’s first name, so Donnie uses the one with the D. It’s probably safer that way. Quinn’s cup is probably laced with all manner of alcohol permanently fused into the material.
He dips out of the room to retrieve his camera, and returns seconds later to find…
… that the coffeemaker is pretty damn fast. I mean, just a few seconds and it’s already dispensing coffee? It’s even quicker when a couple of seconds later, Donnie reaches for the already filled cup. Holy crap, I want that model!
But the impossibly lightning-fast coffeemaker isn’t really the focus here. It’s the cup. Somehow it changed color and lost the D. If someone pulled a prank on him, they’re quicker than the coffeemaker.
Donnie passively accepts this strangeness and heads to the brainstorming room where his team is waiting for him.
TACOMA: So we doin’ this?
DONNIE: Yeah, I just needed to get some coffee.
TACOMA: That’s water.
DONNIE: *stares down at the cup for several seconds* So it is.
Hey, if it’s hot water, just add a lemon and you’ve got yourself a Tommy Wiseau staple.
In what I consider to be a fine “triptych” of the main three, Donnie, Rebecca, and Tacoma are at work. Revitalized after their close calls and emotional awakenings, the trio is ready to make good movies. It’s a new beginning for their tiny outfit. Rebecca and Tacoma are excitedly and vaguely discussing ideas while the camera slowly zooms in on a preoccupied Donnie.
Staring intently at the water, Donnie’s mind seems to get lost in the ripples. He can’t make sense of it. How did the cup’s design change? Where did the coffee go?
Come back.
Startled, Donnie looks up at Rebecca who’s trying to get his attention. They resume brainstorming for a Carmen Sandiego time travel movie. It’s a pretty solid concept and the boss is on board.
TACOMA: First things first, all our hopes rest on the Nostalgia Critic. People will love that.
DONNIE: What did you say?
TACOMA: I said all our hopes rest on nostalgia. Critics love that, and people will, too.
Yes, critics as a species are an ornery bunch, more so than people.
DONNIE: Oh. Well, obviously we got our leading lady.
TACOMA: We do?
DONNIE: Yeah. Rebecca.
TACOMA: She a friend of yours?
DONNIE: *incredulous* And yours! Dude, what the hell’s wrong with you? She’s sitting right over there—
As he thumbs over at the chair to his right, Donnie looks…
… mildly horrified at an empty chair.
Fearing that his sanity is slipping, Donnie tries a swig of something that may settle his nerves.
QUINN: A cup o’ warm Oirish milk, just like me grandmother used t’ drink every night when she would go to bedt.
DONNIE: *gulps* This tastes like microwaved Bailey’s!
QUINN: Ah! There’s more alcohol in that!
DONNIE: *sigh* Could it be I… possibly fabricated a person out of nowhere? It can’t be. She seemed so real.
TACOMA: Nope. It’s always just been you, me, and Carl.
DONNIE: And Quinn.
TACOMA: Who?
Donnie calls for Quinn, but nobody answers.
No reason for this shot, except to take a moment to appreciate Donnie’s arms (well, the one in shot). It’s only fair since I’ve done it for Quinn and Tacoma. Now if only he were dressed in animal skins, smudged with dirt, and half feral.
Oh, and I guess it’s worth pointing out that the warm Bailey’s is now Yoo-Hoo.
Tacoma does a search for Quinn and finds nothing. It probably would have helped if you had the guy’s last name. Or, hey, look up a list of members in the Irish Republican Army. Even Wikipedia has one and—
Huh.
Anyway, Tacoma can’t find any records of the man. Carl, who has apparently always worked alone, has had enough of this absurdity.
CARL: So are ve done vis dis little interrogation or vhat?
DONNIE: Yeah, yeah, you can go. *suddenly grabs Carl’s lapel* No, wait! If you go out there, you could disappear, just like everyone else! I— *pause* When’d he grow the goatee? He didn’t have a goatee before! Everything’s topsy turvy! It’s an upside down world!
CARL: Enough! Ze goattee vas a byproduct of drinking too much sauerkraut schnapps last night! Und it vas delicious.
Ew. I’ve eaten tomato aspic and popcorn ice cream, but I think that’s one of the few weird things I’d actually pass up.
Donnie is thinking of having himself committed. Like a true friend, Tacoma has been thinking of Donnie’s well-being and already called an ambulance. For going to a psychiatric hospital? Seriously, dude, I think you have to pay for that ride out of your pocket, and I’m sure Demo Reel’s petty cash box contains only a nickel and some silverfish.
TACOMA: I’ll tell you what, I’ll stay with you until it arrives.
DONNIE: Doesn’t matter. You’ll be gone like all the rest of them.
TACOMA: Donnie, I’m not going anywhere.
DONNIE: *frustrated sigh*
TACOMA: Donnie, listen. Let me tell you something.
DONNIE: What?
Tacoma, you liar!
Desperate messages from something unseen show up in the binder and on the whiteboard. Our alarmed hero runs through the warehouse and into the back hallway where he finds his last friend staring at the last door. At last, an anchor in this stormy madness!
Or even more questions than answers.
Dino Carl vanishes in an explosion of white light. Donnie flinches and covers himself as if struck. After a moment, he braves a glance at whatever was left in Carl’s wake. The screen floods with white and…
… we see a blinking cursor in a writing program. As a writer, I’m spooked.
We see Doug Walker himself going through the motions of writing. That is, having no motion whatsoever as the words seem to clog up the imagination like so many filthy wet wipes in a London sewer. A dreadful but common experience among those of us foolish enough to make keyboards our second homes.
Hold on a damn minute!
It was spelled Carl in the show but it’s spelled Karl in Doug’s script?
What—? How—?! No. No! But I saw it—I saw it spelled Carl in the subtitles when he was first introduced! I saw it spelled Carl in every episode’s ending credits!
Oh, God, the world doesn’t make sense anymore! It’s topsy turvy! It’s an upside down world!
*cough*
I’ll say this right now: If you’re not a writer or creator in some fashion, you’re probably going to find a lot of Doug’s scenes boring. Since I’m used to long stretches of inactivity and mental flailing for an idea, any fucking idea, I found these scenes relatable and entertaining.
Fingers poised, ready to depress the right keys and translate his thoughts into tangible words, Doug readies himself for the answer to Donnie’s encounter only to come up with nada. Try as he might, Doug can’t figure out what is waiting for his protagonist.
The garbage truck stops by, giving him a much needed break from writer’s block. After that task is completed, he returns to his comfy chair. Energies and imagination renewed, he’s now ready to have Donnie meet…
Nothing. Zilch. Zot.
He glares daggers at the word processor (personally, I prefer to glower broadaxes) when the doorbell rings. By this point, Doug’s entire day is going to be an entire series of interruptions from his non-work. I hope an insane neighbor comes by asking for a cup of air.
We don’t get that, but we do get a package. Well, Doug gets the package. And it’s the most disappointing thing he could receive: A copy of The Odd Life of Timothy Green. (I like how the airpack bag in his left hand flops over as soon as he sees the DVD. It’s almost like it’s sharing in his disappointment.)
Doug attempts to have it returned, but ends up dealing with gallingly lousy customer service over the phone.
DOUG: I ordered the original Odd Couple, not The Odd Life of Timothy Green. I don’t even think it’s the real movie, I think it’s a pirated version!
CUSTOMER SERVICE: *bullshit?*
DOUG: Mmh. That’s all fine and good, but what am I supposed to do with this?
CUSTOMER SERVICE: *smartass reply?*
DOUG: Oh, I see. Plant it in the back and see if a real movie grows out of it. Screw you!
Don’t worry, Doug, I once received a copy of High Stakes starring Veronica Hamel when I ordered High Stakes starring Dave Foley. (But I’m happy to say that I eventually did get that copy, which is rarer than coconut Pocky and the A Patch of Blue book.)
Despite this misfortune, Doug decides not to waste his mis-purchase. He puts on the movie and settles in for two hours and five minutes of feel-good family celluloid.
Rant mode has been engaged.
DOUG: Okay, so this is supposed to be a feel-good family film about a couple that plants a child in the backyard… No! First of all, before you grow your tomato child, didn’t you think, like, an orphanage!
Probably because orphanages in the United States don’t exist anymore. Group homes and “residential treatment facilities” do exist, and thanks to the Adoption Assistance and Child Welfare Act of 1980, we have the foster system in place.
DOUG: Everybody should get a Jesus kid! That’s what it is, a kid that pops up with no sex! Jesus kid! Or Anakin Skywalker! That’s even better!
Not to defend the movie or anything, but I do kinda like the “plant ourselves a kid” fantastical part of it. But that’s the only bone I’m throwing it.
DOUG: How’m I supposed to like these people? At all?! They’re all horrible! You are horrible people!
*brief pause for muffled groaning and kicking*
DOUG: People who made this movie should be studied! *jumbled words and spluttering* This is how they thought people would act!
I wholeheartedly agree. I have a semi-related question: Is Doug used to criticizing anything by this point? Do random things spark something in his brain and he rattles off an impromptu, coherent rant? I kinda wouldn’t mind witnessing that. Hand him a stick of butter and see what colorful diatribe flows from him. It’s gotta be like watching an artist paint in person. I’m thinking a verbal Wassily Kandinsky.
DOUG: You got balls, Timothy Green. Well, I don’t know, maybe you don’t, maybe they’re leaves.
Suddenly, he spots something in the hallway. Nothing to worry about, it’s just shadow people.
Here begins the mini parade of Channel Awesome-teers to help Doug out. Luckily for me, they’re people I recognize and sometimes watched. I was worried that I’d have to remember… That Person With The Clown Makeup…
Here’s Lewis Lovhaug AKA Linkara AKA That Comic Book Fan Trying To Create His Own Convoluted Expanding Universe. Drawing quite a bit of inspiration from MST3K (more so than the other reviewers), Lewis created some robot pals and sometimes had his reviews take place on his spaceship. A fictional spaceship, that is. YouTube ad revenue isn’t that generous. Maybe it would be if the ads would just play. But I’ll admit that he did put more creativity into his videos than… That Gal With The Anime Obsession…
*bland ringtone*
LEWIS: ‘ello.
DOUG: Hey, Lewis.
LEWIS: Hey, Doug, what’s up?
DOUG: I, um… got a bit of a question for ya.
LEWIS: Shoot.
DOUG: Do you think I did the right thing in ending the Nostalgia Critic? It’s just… you ever think we left too early? Like, there’s more things we could’ve done with him?
LEWIS: Whaddaya mean?
DOUG: *sigh* We stopped because we thought we were done, but… recently, a lot of new ideas have been coming to my head.
(As opposed to ideas coming to your hands? Pfft. Wait, tiny auxiliary brains growing in someone’s hands… now there’s a science fiction story…)
Doug goes on to tell Lewis about how he felt the same excitement watching Timothy Green as he did in the early days, and now he’s not so sure that ending the Critic was the right move.
LEWIS: Well, I’m not sure that I’m the right guy who can answer that for ya. Really, it boils down to you.
DOUG: Yeah. But… I made a choice, y’know, and… it just felt like it was the right time to go.
LEWIS: Your fans didn’t seem to think so.
DOUG: Oh! Did they notice? The ass number of emails asking the Critic to come back didn’t seem to tip me off! I can’t just do it for the fans, though. I gotta do it ’cause I wanna do it.
Lewis suggests that Doug bring back the Critic if he believes there’s enough material to keep him going, even if it’s for “once in a while.” Sound advice from a sound mind. Now Lewis is going to yuk it up with his robot buddy, Pollo, while constructing a new one.
Aw, that’s kinda cute. It’s like one of those microbe plushies. I like the mad cow one; it looks so angry!
Doug tries glowering broadaxes at that document, but the words aren’t budging. This would be a great time to start a variety of projects around the house. I’ve seen writers build some gorgeous decks while they avoided their manuscripts.
He keeps it closer to the workspace and opens a video from his hard drive. It’s a Nostalgia Critic DVD exclusive review of Doomsday Machine. (For those of us unlucky to have missed out on the DVDs, you can watch the review here.)
CRITIC: Hellooo, I’m the Nostalgia Critic, I remember it so you don’t have to! Ohhh, this is about as pretentious, sexist, downright pointless a movie you can ever see in the sci fi genre. It’s corny, it’s weird, it’s downright savage at times. Let’s take a look at…Doomsday Machine… So what are you waiting for?
CRITIC: Hm? You know it’s just a matter of time.
DOUG: *showing amazing composure* You’re not real. You’re just a… a fragment of my not very concernable imagination.
CRITIC: Maybe. Or maybe it’s like what you said before.
DOUG: And what did I say before?
CRITIC: How a character can become so real that they cease being a character. They become ingrained in your mind and you can’t get rid of them no matter how hard you try. Even to a point where they take on a life of their own.
Clearly not at the point of questioning his own sanity, Doug further engages with the Critic. He tries rationalizing with the brat-king. What is there to return to, what is left for him to explore, what other scraps of nostalgia could he possibly hope to scoop up and turn into viable content?
DOUG: What am I supposed to go back to, anyway? Quoting memes and running jokes?
CRITIC: It isn’t always about memes and running jokes! It’s about that passion for film and that love of making people laugh. And I know you still got a hunger for both.
The Critic has his own creator in his grasp. No matter how far Doug went with his creation, there was always something else waiting for him. But there were the obligations of a popular content creator, conventions, a regular schedule, other shows, and all this on top of his own life took a toll.
CRITIC: Face it, buddy. You weren’t done yet. You just hit burnout.
DOUG: I’m not going back.
CRITIC: Yeah? Then why don’t you just make me go away?
Doug does try. He opens Facebook, because an endless thread of memes, cat pics, fake stories from fake people with seemingly better lives should keep that pesky character away… until the Critic comes crashing through the side of the monitor, sounding like he wrecked part of the case. Switching to the digital rabbit hole of Google doesn’t keep him at bay, either.
Instead of trying an eBay listing of Teddy Ruxpin dolls, Doug opens a video from Todd… ah, hell, I can’t be bothered to look up his last name… Todd in the Shadows AKA The Token Music Reviewer AKA The Guy With the Half-Covered Face Schtick. My headcanon claims he’s part Gorgon and can’t allow mere mortals to look upon his visage.
But Critic is a tenacious little bugger.
CRITIC: See? You can’t make me disappear!
TODD: What the hell are you doing in my video?
CRITIC: Oh, piss off, Alfred Hitchcock!
TODD: Get the hell out!
CRITIC: You get the hell out!
TODD: I live here!
Doug exits out to the desktop. Placid silence fills the room, but there has to be a cacophony going off in his head. He has a lot to consider now. He spins in his chair to view the posters from the anniversary movies. (Yes, this was the best shot I could get.)
Look at those posters, those keepsakes of indie adventures. Look at those dedicated souls, those pioneers of this crazy genre. All those hours spent brainstorming, writing, editing, filming the pieces that made up the Critic’s world—a world that belonged to all those contributors and us fans. This manic worldbuilding experiment that laid the foundation for so many reviewers to follow. All the laughter, crying fits, bloopers, perfect first takes, late nights, early mornings, road and plane trips, conventions, hotel room recording sessions, crossovers, and silent vows to make the best videos possible. All those Patreons and Kickstarters from the other contributors that will never form an umbilical cord to my bank account. It’s all so much to take in.
CRITIC: Say, you ever Google “do a barrel roll”? It’s really cool!
That’s been around since 2013? I only just discovered it in 2018.
I mean, after all this tomfoolery and shenanigans, Doug makes a mad drive to his friendly retail pharmacy before making a desperate phone call.
That would be Lindsay Ellis AKA the Nostalgia Chick AKA The Poor Man’s Janeane Garofolo. (Sorry, that might have been insensitive to the YouTube star. I meant The Poor Person’s Janeane Garofolo.) Besides being the female counterpart of the Critic, the Chick was also that one person you knew from high school or college who immersed themselves so much in social issues that they could kind of put a damper on something that was supposed to be lighthearted and fun, no matter how informative or insightful their own work turned out. Or should it be That One Person You Knew… okay, I’ll stop With The Capitalization Motif.
*generic phone call ringtone*
LINDSAY: Hello?
DOUG: *muffled* Lindsay? Lindsay, I need your help!
LINDSAY: Doug, are you chewing on something?
DOUG: Tranquilizers! I took enough to kill a baby rhinoceros! *downs an entire bottle clenched between his teeth*
LINDSAY: Well, that’s a great way to start off a conversation.
DOUG: Look, you’re a friend and I just need you to be straightforward with me on something.
LINDSAY: Okay, what?
DOUG: Should I bring back the Nostalgia Critic?
LINDSAY: *dumbfounded pause* What?
Apparently, Lindsay has claimed the Throne of Nostalgia and the masses now flock to her for insights and analyses in a Daria Morgendorffer-esque vein. She’s quite adamant about keeping it that way, as she answers the question with a firm “no.”
LINDSAY: You made your choice and you should stick with it. The Critic had a great run, but now it’s time to branch out and do new things. I mean, do you really want to do this for the rest of your life?
A whole shit ton of You—*cough*—Too—*hack*—bers are trying their damndest.
DOUG: Yeah, you’re right. I do want to try new things. Thanks a lot, Lindsay. I know a lot of people in your position would probably have an agenda, but it’s good to know you always give it to me straight.
LINDSAY: Any time, Doug. Any time.
Oh, girl, you need to give your hair some TLC. Let me introduce you to argan oil. It’s gonna be your new best friend.
It’ll certainly do more favors than the one you’ve got hanging around you now. That would be Nella McLastName (I’m not looking it up… no, you go to hell). Nella is more than eager to do her bestie’s bidding and wastes no time.
Off she goes to her fuel-efficient assassin’s smart vehicle. She jumps in, revs the engine, and prepares for the long journey through the mean streets of New York City to the indifferent-but-still-kinda-annoyed streets of Chicago to put an end to Doug’s mission.
Don’t get excited. It’s nearly a minute of watching her trying to pull out into the street. It’s also a test of patience. Christ, woman, you’re driving a Fortwo! Seventy-five percent of that body is made from plastic. Kick the fucker out into the road and get rolling!
Nella eventually escapes the not-that-tightly-packed parking space. A quarter of a block later, she finds Rob Walker, who’s in New York doing… Rob things, I guess. She confuses him for Doug, which is a forgivable mixup. I mean, they’re practically twins.
NELLA: Hey, Doug! Yeah, that’s right, I’m talking to you. You shouldn’t be the Nostalgia Critic anymore! You should go off and… and do those new things! Everybody loves them! Don’t… believe the haters, man! Just don’t… be go… doing Nostalgia Critic anymore! So there!
The deed done, she drives off. Whew, that was close. For a moment, I thought she was gonna shake her fist at him.
Doug decides to phone up one more trusted friend for advice.
It’s Brad Jones AKA the Cinema Snob AKA The Cool One of the Bunch. Brad’s earlier fare consisted of exploitation and indie horror films, but he can make anything a fun trip, including a My Little Pony movie. He has that gift, unlike That One Guy With The Retreating Hairline Who Ends All His Sentences With Elongated And Needlessly Emphasized SILL-ah-buuuuuwwls.
*good cripes, use a different ringtone*
BRAD: Hello?
DOUG: Hey, Brad. I’m having a debate on whether or not to bring the Nostalgia Critic back.
BRAD: Oh, we-he-he-hell! Ha ha ha! I don’t care.
*phone call ends*
Doug feels even more stranded at the crossroads he’s paved for himself. Dude, I’m telling you, house projects are the way to go. That deck can be a gorgeous greenhouse in a matter of weeks! A she shed for the missus will have her thanking you for an entire month, helping you procrastinate even longer!
Seeking relief, Doug washes his face in the bathroom. (As an aside, let me say I fucking love that shade of color. It’s like plum-infused dark lavender.) He opens the medicine cabinet to get mouthwash—cheaper than booze, I guess—and closes it…
Looks like the Critic is starting with the man in the mirror, or the man outside the mirror… shit, this sounded better in my head.
CRITIC: Who’s to say you can’t do your other ideas?
DOUG: I’m done talking to you.
CRITIC: The only one you have to give up is Demo Reel.
Just as Doug is walking away, the Critic strikes him with the truth: Demo Reel was just a break from the Critic, and Doug wasn’t ready to give up a character he loved.
CRITIC: I’ll tell you what: If you answer this… honestly… I’ll go away forever. Tell me right now, without any hint of distrust… do you wanna do this again? Do you have that same passion you had before? That passion for comedy, film, and reviewing? Do you honestly want me to come back?
DOUG: *softly* Yes.
CRITIC: Then what’re ya waiting for?!
Doug finds his creation sitting at the kitchen table, ready to talk shop. As Doug rounds the table, the Critic watches him, a knowing, smug smile stretched across his face. But Doug isn’t going to let the Critic have his way entirely; the Critic may be the squeaky wheel that gets the oil, but Doug is still the driver.
They lay down some ground rules:
- Doug: Reviews every two weeks. “If we still want these jokes to be fresh and funny, I need more time on them, and that’s gonna be two weeks.”
- Critic: No more cutoff dates. “I want to review whatever I want, whenever I want. […] I won’t review anything currently in theaters! And besides, if you’re seeing something after it came out in the cinema, doesn’t that technically make it nostalgic?”
- Doug: The Odd Life of Timothy Green has to be the first review. It’s what sparked the Critic back to life in Doug’s mind, and so Doug feels like he “owes” it.
The Critic is averse to reviewing something that possibly nobody remembers, but if he could see the nightmares he’d be reviewing for the Christmas 2018 season, he probably wouldn’t mind a Timothy Green twenty-four hour marathon.
Everything is set. It’s time to go back to the desk, to the waiting script, and to Donnie. Doug finally writes the words that will set the ending into motion: the Plot Hole.
Like a blue vortex, the Plot Hole hangs in the air, hideous and serene all at once. Long strings of itself span out like tentacles, but grab nothing. Its core appears to be a point of no return, dangerous and waiting for a victim. Capable of destruction, it comes instead to restore.
PLOT HOLE: Hello, Donnie.
DONNIE: What? Wh-who are you?
PLOT HOLE: I am the creator of a web series that takes a critical look at nostalgic movies.
DONNIE: I-I-I don’t understand.
Suddenly, his friends reappear, none the worse for wear and ready to help Donnie make sense of things.
TACOMA: The person you are now is the direct result of a choice. […] A choice you made for the sake of the plot.
REBECCA: You sacrificed yourself to the Plot Hole, bringing order to chaos, logic to insanity. But something went wrong.
QUINN: Your moind couldn’t handle the paradox of your own martyrdom. It wouldn’t let you believe that were capable of such a selfless act.
Good setup and all, but where exactly has Donnie been all this time?
CARL: It iz ein […] a prison. A purgatory, forged deep in ze depths of your own neuroses und made flesh by ze Plot Hole. Now at last you vill know vhat it’s like to experience failure, und see through ze eyes of tortured child stars und vatch as all of your unbridled ambition crumbles into a mangy pile of heap. A lifetime of harsh criticisms atoned for at last.
PLOT HOLE: And it’s for precisely these reasons that you need to come back.
DONNIE: Come back? To what? I sound like a fucking maniac!
PLOT HOLE: To some. But to others…
*meaningful pause*
DONNIE: Who was I?
So the Plot Hole shows him.
Right there, after he sees the memories, Donnie ceases to exist. His true self has reawakened.
CRITIC: Oh, my God. You son of a bitch! Do you have any idea how much this shit scarred me?! Do you have any idea the hell I had to go through here? I-I was a godawful filmmaker! I made movies nobody liked! I tried telling everybody my good intentions, but no one ever listened to me! I was a horrible child star actor! My mother was destroyed by the Hollywood system! This is the worst possible punishment that could ever be devised for me! Sweet Jesus tap-dancing Christ with dinner and a show and a kiss goodnight!
PLOT HOLE: Yes.
(Pfft, I can think of worse. How about you finding the love of your life only to have her ripped away, plopped into another existence, and then find out that all her lifelong dreams are coming true without your meddling? Shit, there’s another idea!…)
But, yes, the very thing that destroyed the Critic has returned to bring him back after the harshest lesson he could endure. Being on the other side of the criticisms, the Critic now knows how the people he mocked may have felt. Everyone now is a person with dreams and ambition, someone with feelings, a creator with a desire to share. Just like the Critic himself.
Quite a lot of people complained about this, but I personally like the idea of an amorphous entity committing cosmic bastardry against a single soul just because it thinks he needs to learn a lesson in humility.
If you want my headcanon take on this, here it is: Think about when Tacoma said how “this place feels kinda removed from the rest of reality” and when Donnie ran into a Nostalgia Critic cosplayer at ShadoCon. They feel like clues the Plot Hole dropped. Whether it was to see how the dormant Critic would react or if the Plot Hole was amusing itself, I haven’t decided. Unintentional or otherwise, outside of my headcanon, they are clever touches in hindsight.
With his harsh lesson learned, the Critic must return. However, in order for his safe passage, another sacrifice must be made. The Plot Hole thought of that, too.
Ah, Douchey McNitpick, another of Doug’s characters, which represented the… douchey nitpickers of his videos. It’s good to see that his life finally has a purpose.
But what about the friends the Critic made? Sadly, they also belong to the Plot Hole now, and they’ll cease to exist as soon as the Critic leaves.
CRITIC: But… I’ve gotten to know ’em, and…
TACOMA: Hey, don’t worry about us.
REBECCA: Yeah, we’ve gotten through tougher scrapes.
QUINN: Loike killer turkeys.
CARL: Und Svedish terrorists.
CRITIC: Sure?
TACOMA: Yeah!
REBECCA: I think you learned your lesson.
QUINN: If you ever need a remoinder—*smacks a fist*—you know where to foind us!
CARL: Now valk through zat portal and face your destiny. Zat’s an order.
CRITIC: *smiles* Thanks, guys.
Braver than they’ve ever been, the Demo Reel crew are ready to face their fates. Dark pasts erased, current dreams never made real, futures never realized, all of it gone. Only simple, safe nothingness.
With a heavy sigh mixed with defeat and…
*sigh* No. I can’t do it. Not without another ‘tych. One more for the road, and I’ll make it extra special.
With a heavy sigh mixed with defeat and relief, Doug sends the Critic through…
The Critic opens his eyes to the glare of a fluorescent ceiling light. Nothing like the original room he used to record in, but it seems like home already. A soft box stands to the side. A camera on a tripod aims at an empty computer chair. A folding table stands, waiting for its inevitable abuse from smacks, slams, and headdesking.
Nearby, on the floor, is his beat-up crown. Hanging on the doorknob, possibly laundered and pressed by the Plot Hole itself, are his shabby robes. The king of nostalgia has returned.
CRITIC: Hello. I’m the Nostalgia Critic, and I’m back to remember it so you don’t have to.
As for Lindsay, she who hoped to hold the throne…
She’ll get over it.
So ends Demo Reel, a short-lived indie sitcom that never brought in the wave of original content Channel Awesome hoped to bring their fans. Like it or don’t, it was an honest attempt and it was more promising than a lot of people realized. I mean, when you think about it, Donnie and the others could have gone on to explore a slew of other movies. Fercrissakes, I could have had a Demo Reel version of Christmas with the Kranks. I fucking hated that movie! A Demo Reel take on it would have been the perfect balm for me! Not only that, I probably would have branched out from alcoholic drinks. Brainpie’s main fare could have been the Demo Reel series! I could have been reviewing all those fun episodes and creating little fedora-shaped tapas, layered gelatin shots, and a giant syllabub to celebrate the episode where somebody dies for real! But, no, the rabble wanted their ranty, goateed brat-king back and now I’m stuck reviewing the rest of The Draco Trilogy for the next two years!
Anyway. Now the moment you’ve been waiting or scrolled way the hell down for:
To make this oddity, you’ll need
- 1/2 ounce Kahlua
- 1/2 ounce Bailey’s
- 1/4 ounce Campari
- 1/4 ounce Jägermeister
- 1 miniature candy cane for garnish
- Have all ingredients chilled beforehand for best results. Alcohol goes down better cold, anyway.
- Mix together the Jägermeister and Campari and set aside. Trust me on this.
- Pour the Kahlua into the center of a two-ounce shot glass.
- Taking the back of a spoon and angling it downward over the Kahlua, very carefully pour the Bailey’s across it. It should form a “solid” layer if you did it correctly. (If the rising liquid touches the edge of the spoon, lift the spoon. If you’re not confident, you can stop pouring, lift the spoon, and then resume pouring, but I had no problem lifting and pouring at the same time. It just requires steady hands.)
- Rinse and wipe off the spoon to prevent too much mixing of the next addition.
- Take the Jäger-Campari combo and pour it across the back of the spoon. A little “feathering” between this and the Bailey’s is normal.
- Garnish with a candy cane.
- Remove candy cane as you knock back the drink, unless you want it to clatter into your nose, but I’m not one to judge how you like to drink.
Serves 1 reviewer who needs a buzz
This was the first drink I attempted. It also took the most time to create. Three months of weekends spent trying different alcohols, trying to layer them, and figuring out which measurements of each created the best overall flavor. Those numbers in the “Take” box aren’t arbitrary; those are the number of tries it took to make something I liked. Now you understand why I saved it for last.
This shot is really a modified B-52, with the Jäger-Campari taking place of the Grand Marnier. This was meant to show off the Critic’s colors in his main ensemble, but finding the right alcohols with the right colors and densities for layering was a bitch. The Kahlua isn’t pure black, but it’ll do as his blazer. The Bailey’s isn’t pale, but it’ll have to do for his shirt. But the top layer, which symbolizes his tie, took a lot of trial and error. It still didn’t come out the way I wanted. But if you consider how unhinged the Critic can become during reviews, you can take the veiny, bitter Jäger-Campari as a representation of those moments.
If there’s one thing I love out of everything I put in here, it’s the Campari itself. It’s a bitter drink, perfect for those dour moments in the Critic’s show, but it’s more about its origin than anything. It’s from Italy, where Doug was born on a Naval base. Consider it a small salute of sorts from a Coast Guard brat.
The tastes combine very well. You have “the heat, then the sweet” with some chocolate notes all wrapped up in a creamy texture. If you’re brave enough, you can down it all in one go, but you’ll be feeling buzzed for several minutes, and the flavors combined are intensified this way. If that’s your thing, then go for it.
As for the candy cane, I thought it was a nice suggestion for Doug’s favorite holiday. If you want to enhance the flavors, suck on the candy for a bit, then knock back the drink. The peppermint adds a little more burn, too. As for the tallish shot glass? It prevents the cane from dipping into the drink (if you hang it outside the glass, that is, ya dummy).
Admittedly, I wouldn’t mind improving on this one in the future. Maybe when I have a deeper wallet and a better resilience against alcohol. I came so close to making this a solidly layered drink, but it became more about the “wow” factor than presentation. It’s a little shabby, it’s far from flawless, but it’s worth loving… just like the Nostalgia Critic.
So here’s to you, Critic. Long may you live.
Prep Episode 1 Episode 2 Episode 3 Episode 4 Episode 5 Episode 6 Cleanup
