It's a wonder there wasn't a run on the grimy corporate squat of abc à la Quo Vadis? (1951) for the drastic disaster of this "reveal," which ended up showing that this show had at last run aground - or went belly up like the Poseidon except sinking to the bottom in the process. I bailed completely on this production afterwards, from that 40th-rate "Fallon" & even worse "Steven," a nasal voiced beadyeyed long nosed pretender whose only ... contribution, to put it generously, following this garbage dump episode was as a laugh festival in the opening credits (suitably muted over the horrendous overwrought "downgrade" to its theme), I can still see it when this pale imitation (no pun) was depicted failing utterly just with that gesture of yanking his tie off ("oooh!" So Not), let alone his water treading performance, to invoke Al Corley's deepset-eyed brooding intensity that had my weekly Dynasty gatherings figuratively flapping our Tara fans & clutching our pearls swooning over that boy. "Not anymore" with these radical bean counter caused changes that took all the grit, all the stuffing out of the scandalicious Carrington clashes & replaced them with uninspiring acting & retread storylines that were like watching a looped Code Blue resuscitation sequence, trying to force life back into a body with too many transplants in it. My outraged group, who if there'd been this communication method back then would have torched the resulting barren landscape where our favorite nighttime show had once flourished, were unanimous in our derision of these un-improvements - along with, contrary to other observations, much anger for that Locklear individual to not have gotten the chop. The roar of "SHE'S still alive?" about cracked the paint on my walls, + the river of invective afterwards would've made a tidal wave jealous. We did not "love to hate" that scheming screeching slip of a baby banshee, as with dear sweet J. R. Ewing; we just plain hated her from the gate as being no more than a dragging anchor on Steven's character, just bare malevolence personified (with far overrated looks & wanna-throttle-her voice) that could not rise to anywhere *near* the sophistication of Alexis in her dirty dealings. Her we of course loved to hate - & if the network penny pinchers had even dared to think of leaving her a bloodsoaked wreck in Moldy Avia or whatever it was called, I know there would have been a full-scale riot to leave them monkey suits shredded amongst the ruins. Whoever this "Samms" person was, aside from sporting a dull colorless name that did not recall Olde Hollywood glamor, her entire slate of eyerolling attempts to be Pamela Sue Martin "deux" didn't measure up to just 1 of the latter's performances - in which she said not a single word but like a classic Method actor unforgettably conveyed, when Daddy killed Steven's man, more powerful amazed shock at what had happened in her face alone (the Background Score in that moment seasoned things up quite well). Those people proved they deserved the money they were asking for. It's really something now to reflect that this production with its anemic replacements managed to stumble along for another 4 years, having started out with this way off the mark attempt to reconstitute "Who Shot J. R.?" - the audience numbers were merely anticipatory, not indicative of an "It's Quality Work!" assessment - but we who hold the original iteration in high(er) regard have much to enjoy before in more ways than 1 a gang of hardly terrifying terrorists laid waste to our beloved "Dynasty."
Review of The Aftermath
