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Wentworth Recap 2.12: Teal is the Warmest Color

The only person sulking harder than Franky in this episode is Fletch, who seems to blame everyone but himself for his dismissal. He’s walking out of the prison for the last time when he glimpses Jesus Kelly (the crazy-eyed prisoner we met last week) who is herself being transferred out of Wentworth. Sensing that this is his last chance to bring down Joan, he follows Jesus Kelly into her van and demands to know the secret of Joan’s past. She reveals that Joan was the one who crazied her eye, as punishment for witnessing her in the throes of passion with Giana, the inmate she loved all those years ago. As difficult as it is to imagine Joan in the throes of passion with anyone, at least this is actual confirmation of her lesbianism. Fletch manages to put together the fact that the social worker who took Giana’s baby was Will, meaning that Joan’s vendetta extends to him. He tries to call Will and warn him, forgetting that he and Will are on bad terms so all his calls will be screened, and also forgetting about THE EXISTENCE OF TEXT MESSAGES.

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IF ONLY THERE WERE A WAY I COULD SEND HIM A BRIEF, INSTANTANEOUS WARNING.

In the outside world—where they keep switching between blue and yellow filters; whoever commented that it looks like the DP forgot to white balance was dead right—Bea shows up to claim her gun from Liz. If Liz were a little more decisive, she would have just thrown that thing into the nearest dumpster, but instead she just hides it in her underwear drawer, where Bea finds it straightaway. She begs Bea not to go kill Brayden, not least because it would fuck up Liz’s parole, but is about as effective as a hen clucking at a tornado. Bea ducks out just as the police arrive in search of her. The funniest part of the whole episode is when the cops interrogate Liz and ask what that steak knife is doing in her room, to which she replies, “Waiting for a steak.”

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IT’S FOR MY OTHER JOB WHERE I AM BATMAN.

In the prison cafeteria, Doreen frets that Nash has abandoned her, since he was released four days ago and hasn’t come to visit yet. Jess comforts her like, “It’s OK; I’ll help raise your baby. I LOVE BABIES” and for some reason, this doesn’t set off any horror movie alarm bells with the other prisoners.

Also in the caf, a lookalike knocks Franky’s tray out of her hands. Joan watches the scene via CCTV with great satisfaction, and calls Franky into her office.

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SO, LIKE, WHERE ARE THE GAY GIRLS AROUND HERE ANYWAY?

Joan offers Franky her position as Top Dog back in exchange for her backing/hot butch hair and makeup tips. But as badly as Franky wants her power back, she wants to help Joan even less, so she holds off on making a decision.

Man, you guys, I kind of wish that anyone but Fletch had found out about Joan’s secret history. Fletch, you see, is a blunt instrument, and this is a delicate situation. His master plan is to burst into Joan’s office and announce his plans to take her down, including the name of the prisoner he’s using as his witness. Sure, his iphone is recording, but for the most part all it gets is him sounding like an idiot. He does tell Vera about Joan’s history, but since Vera has made herself a Ferguson clone, he doesn’t get much traction there. Joan, meanwhile, calmly places a call with her criminal buddy to shut Fletch up.

So we all agree that the best part of this episode is Doreen and Nash, right? Nash isn’t on the approved visitor list, so he yells for Doreen over the prison walls (I’m not getting choked up. YOU’RE GETTING CHOKED UP.) Doreen blurts out, “I’m pregnant!” And Nash is silent for just long enough to terrify everyone, but this yells, “I FUCKING LOVE YOU DOREEN.” And there’s no way my mere words are going to improve upon Shareena Clanton’s face, so here you go.

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YOU ARE FULL-ON CRYING NOW.

The only dark cloud on this horizon is crazyface Jess’ face. She is very angry she won’t be able to co-parent Doreen’s baby, but if she doesn anything to hurt either of them I will lose my mind. Give us this one happy storyline, show. We deserve it.

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