Archer: House Call Review

It turns out that the FBI is like vampires: you let the right one in, and you're doing 25 to life.

I am starting to think that the Isis gang is not going to make it in the cocaine racket. Four episodes into Archer Vice, they have successfully lost 149.4 kilos of cocaine, which is (Time) Lord knows how much in pounds, aka Doctor Who money. Plus, they already have a federali sniffing around their house like a vampire. You let the right one in and you’re doing 25 to life.

Worst of all, Pam is still eating all the Florida snow like its yogurt. Literally, she’s placing it in her cups of yogurt as if she’s auditioning to replace Jamie Lee Curtis in an Activia commercial. Hence, this week’s Archer Vice, “House Call,” is about the group knuckling down and sorting out its problems in a professional, clear-eyed manner: they send Krieger after Pam and a kidnapped Cheryl with his personal arsenal of tranquilizers that’s large enough to arm the whole of Grenada. Why do I get the feeling this isn’t the first time that Krieger has hunted multiple women at once with tranq guns?

This marks the second “bottle episode” in a row of our ditzy group of wannabe’ Montanas shuffling around the stately Tunt Manor while an outside force threatens a failed intervention for Pam. And yet this week may have been even funnier if simply because it reminded me of an Agatha Christie story (or Scooby-Doo, as Archer notes) where one lone lawman walks around a mansion of lunatics with something to hide, namely the piles of cocaine in the kitchen. The FBI agent shouldn’t have gotten in the front door, but by simply following the screams of Ray as he is terrorized by Pam-Kong, he can use the “in plain sight” law to find out why the Tunts’ previous house call was from the Yakuza. This also promotes two soul-searching moments. The first is the seemingly final bow of Ron.

After being introduced as the kind-hearted Cadillac dealer, and mildly “man of his time” racist husband of Mallory, he always felt like a temporary addition. Still, I hated seeing him go. As the most level-headed member of this gang of screw-ups, he could act like the Greek Chorus for the audience in mocking their stupidity. Now, he just may be the prosecutor’s chorus, as he teased Mallory that he’ll cooperate with the FBI. I sense a future episode involving either Ron coming back as a threat or Mallory sending Sterling on a mission to make him a permanent floor model.

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The other, more pleasant development is that Lana planned to also turn canary on the Isis crew, but at the last minute admitted she couldn’t leave Sterling behind. And this is AFTER he suggested she give him a goodbye blowjob or rim job, or whatever she had time for. It probably helps that Sterling is reading up on everything he needs to know to become an abandoning father.

But for the main storyline of the night, it ends with wonderful plotting possibilities. Well, not for Pam. We’re going to settle for the same old wonderful ones involving her cocaine habbit, because honestly she’s getting kind of hot. And with only one mind control device Krieger and Cyril could choose to either save her from the cocaine that in the short-term has given her weight loss but in the long-term will kill her, or use it to free Cheryl of her stage fright, enabling a coattail ride to the top of the country/western musical charts. I think we all would make the same decision…

…Goodbye Cheryl and hello Cherylene! Let the good times roll!


-MALLORY: We throw her a party with an enormous cake! Cyril, could we spare another five pounds of cocaine?

LANA: Mallory!

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MALLORY: Ugh, 2.27 kilograms then. Who are you, Thomas Corwin Mendenhall?


-KRIEGER: This place is like a rabbit trail. There are secret passages everywhere.

CHERYL: I think that’s why the colored maids never felt safe. They’d be polishing or whatever and suddenly, GRANDPA! Yeah, dressed up like a ghost.


-KRIEGER: God, knows [Woodhouse’s] a little gilf.

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ARCHER: That’s a thing?

CYRIL: How do you not know the different kinds of porn?

ARCHER: Because I have sex with actual women, Cyril! My girlfriend’s not equal parts the Internet, a tube of Kentucky jelly, self-loathing, and a sock.


-FED: Goddamit, just what do you people think the letters FBI stand for?

ARCHER: I bought a T-Shirt once where it said for “Female Body Inspector.” God, is Myrtle Beach not the best?

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FED: Pull a stunt like this again and you’ll never make it back to Myrtle Beach!

ARCHER: I probably wasn’t going to anyway. Turns out, it’s actually not the best.

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4 out of 5