Determined to extract enjoyment from this week's episode, regardless of the circumstances, I settled in. My previous attempt to avoid hate-watching had failed miserably, leaving me merely capable of nitpicking at an episode that, despite its polished execution, squandered its potential on offensive, lazy, and broken humor. This time around, however, the episode was harmless, if not hilarious—adequate enough to satisfy. (Let me emphasize, as some readers mistakenly equate criticism with dislike, that my affection for Modern Family remains steadfast. I fully anticipate another genuinely stellar episode in the near future!)
Almost instantly, a hated subplot emerged, embodying the pet peeves of diehard hate-watchers: Phil's hapless attempt at freezer organization. A turkey narrowly missed Claire's foot, and her irritation at Phil's refusal to apologize sparked the gem of a line, "Honey, I apologize for dozens of things every day that actually happen. Should I start apologizing for things that don't, how productive would I be then?"
Luke, predictably, uttered his signature "the Sixteenth Chapel," while Phil, the epitome of the Cool Modern Dad™, felt more at ease bouncing on a trampoline than teeing off on a golf course. Jay, seeing Phil as the breadwinner for his grandchildren, took pity on him and the pair headed out for a day on the venerable golf links. A plea to television producers: Let's lay off the golf, shall we? There's already a dedicated golf channel, and countless others catering to sports enthusiasts. The demographic that enjoys watching people linger on a golf course must be minuscule. I lack hard evidence, but seriously, it's a small crowd. Perhaps laser golf could be a game-changer, but until then, I stand firm in my conviction to enhance the future of sitcoms with this mandate.
"This is boring, is he dead?" Lily inquired about the baby, whom everyone simply referred to as "the baby." My frustration mounted, fearing the show would shy away from naming him either Fulgencio or Joe until Gloria dropped the delightful "Fulgencio Joe" towards the episode's close. That would suffice.
Returning to the topic of Lily, the epitome of a wonderful child. Her youth is no barrier to comprehending that Dylan is, quite simply, a buffoon. Tonight, we uncover fresh insights into Dylan's peculiar world: he's the creative mind behind a best-selling T-shirt featuring a lion proclaiming, "Moo. I'm a horse"—a design choice that beggars belief; he's a master at soothing babies, employing a technique reminiscent of a sitcom cliche; and while he's proficient at peekaboo, his skills pale in comparison to a certain acquaintance in Chicago. (Dylan, what kind of life are you living?) Haley and Dylan spend their days pretending to be family, a charade that hints at a future unraveling. Sadly, their climactic fight lacks any semblance of conviction.
Nathan Lane, a veteran of stage and screen, renowned for his roles in 'The Lion King' trilogy, 'Timon and Pumbaa's Wild Adventure: Live and Learn,' and a stellar ten-episode stint in the TV series 'Timon & Pumbaa,' reprises his role as Pepper for the third time. Pepper's signature pep talks involve slaps, and Lane delivers the line "I like big putts, and I cannot lie" through gritted teeth, followed by a glare at the camera that brooks no doubt. He savors and nails the line "I have it on my iPod Phone," as one would expect from a seasoned performer.
Mitch has been honing his golf skills with the intention of besting his father. However, things don't quite go as scripted. Laughter ensues. Instead, he and Jay find themselves sobbing in tandem in a golf cart, serenaded by Harry Chapin's poignant "Cat's in the Cradle." (Incidentally, the song's meaning has sparked lengthy discussions in comment sections, rivaling the length of this recap.) Phil, ever the GIF-worthy character, experiences the ultimate high-five backfire, resulting in comical burn.
Manny lands the role of a lifetime as the Phantom of the Opera. However, his eternal rival Luke possesses a singing voice—a voice he refuses to share! Cam, meanwhile, ponders taking to the stage himself. But Manny is determined to sing! (Ultimately, Luke will succumb to the allure of performance.)
Now, wouldn't Cam be concerned about accusations of nepotism in his relatively new teaching gig? For those of you who had a drama teacher as a relative, did they cast you in roles? Did this pose any issues? Your thoughts are welcome.
Claire's subplot, revolving around Phil's habit of leaving golf balls and other mundane clutter strewn about, is unrelentingly harsh. If you were to look up the word "inane" in the dictionary, alongside the definition, you'd likely find a GIF of Claire's exasperated reaction to Phil's comparatively benign slothfulness. Imagine over thirty framed photographs adorning the Dunphy staircase—can you picture such TV-perfect domesticity? Thirty-plus pictures? On a single staircase? My limit barely stretches to a dozen, maybe twenty at most. Thirty? Never, under any circumstances.
Alex, the science-enthused skeptic who doubts "all unquantifiable phenomena," finds herself oddly captivated by Gloria's psychic as soon as the conversation turns fiery about boyfriends. Though it seems Alex is merely toying with them, which is somewhat amusing. Has it really taken fourteen episodes for something entertaining to unfold involving Alex, or am I overlooking something? This season, Alex has been woefully underutilized.
It's delightful to see Fred Willard back in action, albeit briefly—and in a theater, no less! BINGO!—even if his screen time amounted to little more than a fleeting presence without much in the way of plot, lines, or jokes. His journey from Florida to witness his grandson's performance in a play is quintessentially Dunphian. Here's hoping he sticks around for next week's episode.
Phil and Claire's sheer delight and astonishment at their usually unremarkable son taking center stage in the play is one of the most heartwarming moments in recent times, albeit it tips into silliness as Phil has a meltdown. However, it remains a positive aspect overall. (P.S.: I'd probably shed tears too. Ninety percent chance of that happening.)
