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by Michael Kelly

Y&R resolves not to mislead, tease and insult the intelligence of its viewers by giving them a lot of hype, red herrings and half-baked or completely unresolved issues regarding the mysterious, highly touted secret pasts of its characters, which ultimately only showcase the incompetence and manipulative grandstanding of the writers.

Let's start with Nikki Newman, Bobby Marsino and the mind-numbing melodrama surrounding the death of Newman's 5 year old friend and Marsino's brother Joshua Casein.

While the enthusiastic fans of actress Melody Thomas Scott (Nikki) are feeling all moist with excitement and gratitude because their favorite leading lady, after years of egregious neglect by the scribes, has been given such a prominent, tear-stained tale of overwhelming angst, recriminations and attempted redemption with which to sink her teeth into (as well as having been being a major player in 2004 in the Abby's paternity and Cameron Kirsten story lines) that has inspired soap mags and columnists to bestow upon her considerable and well-deserved kudos, the GCN has believed all along that this sad saga is nothing but logic defying rubbish. All sizzle and no steak.

We're not supposed to ask why Nikki's emotional trauma is the type she can turn off and on like a faucet, which allows her to banish the unsightly flashbacks and muffled voices in her head with the snap of a perfectly manicured finger and slum it up in glamorous gowns while playing hostess at Marsino's meat market. We're not supposed to ask why Nikki complained hubby Victor is unconcerned with her pain one moment only to claim she can't discuss it when he asked what's wrong with her the next.

We're not supposed to inquire as to why Bobby Marsino didn't get a freaking clue long before Vic spilled the beans that his wife is obsessed with and throwing money at him like a drunken sailor because she killed Joshua despite how Nikki confided in Marsino at length about having shot the life out of a 5 year old boy and that her behavior has been so bizarre since he confided in her about his older brother's disappearance. Talk about failing to put two and two together. What a dim bulb and a boob Bobby is.

We're not supposed to roll our eyes in disgust because two men Mrs. Newman is acquainted with who reside in the same one horse town were suspected of being the younger brother of her accidental victim. We're not supposed to feel we've been had by scribes who not only used the undefined past of Brad Carlton to string us along but have yet to reveal the content of those sealed documents which reveal the new name Carlton assumed when he moved to Cleveland as a kid and the reason behind said name change.

We're supposed to buy private dick Paul Williams' miraculous ability to get his grubby hands on those papers due to the help of an unidentified reporter who is also the butt buddy of the crooked judge who authorized the name change. We're supposed to buy Williams' complete lack of a conscience and moral fiber which allowed him to disregard professional ethics and Carlton's right to privacy so that he could coddle his rich friend, former lover and client. On second thought, the previous statement is the only aspect of this amateurish mess we can buy.

That's certainly not true of Nikki's father Nick Reed selecting of all places the property of the paint factory (which is now the Wreck Center) where he was then employed to bury Joshua's body or his lame decision to stash Nikki's ruby earrings and birthday party home movie in the file cabinet located in said factory. Talk about taking lame, unnecessary risks.

Worst of all, Y&R expects us not to ask why little Casein's supposedly loving and responsible parents would either allow their young son to leave the house without knowing beforehand he was off to a playmate's birthday party or that they knew he had spent the day at the Reed home and were too stupid or uncaring not to make a beeline for the Reed residence with the police at their side when night fell and their son failed to return home. No damn way. Only Swiss cheese has more holes in it than this tripe. There should have been a far more sensible, satisfying way to fully utilize the acting prowess of Melody Thomas Scott than this Casein crock, which was 2004's Lamest Attempt At Emmy Baiting On Behalf Of A Beloved Actress.

Let's move on to Arthur Hendricks and the fact we'll likely never know if he was a cold blooded killer and fortune hunter who offed his former wife and the mother of his step-son Harrison Bartlett.

It's bad enough Hendricks had long been written as nothing but an elderly white knight who wanted nothing but to share his final years in a state of perpetual bliss with his newfound daughter and old flame. It's bad enough the writers seemed to overlook the fact Artie was so concerned and appalled by Chancellor's life endangering boozing that he walked out of her home and life and didn't return until after she emerged clean and sober from rehab and that a gold-digger with murder in mind would never walk away from the old goose who lays the golden eggs simply because she's a lush. Big strategical error there, as was Artie opting to live at the ritzy Athletic Club instead of Katherine's mansion despite the fact he lacked the funds to even pay an old medical bill.

And don't get me started on how out of character Katherine and Jill Abbott's suspicion of Hendricks was given how he treated them always with nothing but the utmost affection and respect. Certainly not when a raving lunatic they didn't know from Adam named Bartlett had initiated the slanderous allegations that smeared Hendrick's character and didn't have an iota's worth of proof to substantiate his claim.

On the subject of Harrison, let's remember those high-pitched, angry confrontations that took place smack dab in the middle of the God Have Mercy Medical Center corridor between Bartlett and either Chancellor or Abbott while he was on duty as a bed pan pusher, lab technician, or whatever it was he did there. Let's remember how Bartlett not only gained access to the Chancellor mausoleum but found Arthur's old room, where he just happened to plant a life insurance policy taken out on Katherine on which Harrison forged Hendricks' signature.

Last but not least let's remember how Bartlett just happened to leave Genoa City the same day Arthur did without it being established whether or not Hendricks was in fact a murderer. Inept writing and character assassination is unforgivable enough but to simply banish these characters without even the flimsiest attempt at a resolution undeniably demonstrates the contempt the scribes have for their loyal, long suffering viewers.

The only redeeming feature of this fiasco was the sophisticated, vital presence of actor David Hedison (Arthur), whose hiring exemplified the Best Casting of a Male Role. It should be noted and lamented that this veteran with more than 50 years experience in show business, who brought much needed and obviously far under appreciated class to a cretin-filled Genoa City, was not treated with the respect his talent deserved.

If only we could have wished Damon Porter a sincere, long awaited and eagerly anticipated bon voyage in 2004. But no. In fact, he's still very much a part of Genoa City society because of the tragic past the writers whipped up for him last year, which earned the honor of Most Ambitious Attempt To Salvage and Broaden An Under-developed, One-Dimensional and Despised Character.

As to the question of whether or not the revelation Porter had an 8 year old son who was shot dead 8 years ago by an ultimately paroled Dominic Hughes was successful in establishing depth and audience sympathy for a pretentious, mumbling clod once defined by New Age conceit, attracting the romantic advances of nearly every woman in town and by stomping on his sofa like an overgrown ape, the answer depended on who one asked.

While there were times when this reporter was moved by Porter's plight, there was something about the way the man bawled and brayed against Hughes and the cold, cruel world they both inhabited that had the ability to grate on one's nerves and wish this morose, down in the mouth drag would simply dry his tears, shut up and go away.

Even worse, we were subjected to endless hemming and hawing between him and girlfriend Phyllis Summers about Hughes' parole hearing and if it was wise for Porter to attend. As it turned out, it was much ado about nothing because the day after Phyllis took it upon herself to chat with Hughes in the private visiting room of the Georgia state gulag where he was confined and she blabbed her fat mouth off about Porter wanting to see him dead, it was learned the hearing that was supposedly a week away took place off-screen, parole had been granted and Hughes had somehow scraped together the airfare to jet to Genoa City!

Due to the bone-headed, glaring inconsistency regarding the date of the hearing, Porter's decision was made for him. He couldn't have been there if he wanted to be, which is what he should have told his bitch of an ex-wife "Yo" Adrienne when she carped about him blowing off the hearing.

But the insanity didn't stop there. There was the groan inducing showdown between a gun toting Dominic and a Samurai sword swinging Damon in Hughes' seedy motel room that nearly caused both men their lives and brought on a horrendously hare-brained conspiracy to commit murder charge for Summers and Porter despite the fact it's their word against that of the convicted child killer illegally possessing a firearm. Not to mention that this massive mess could have been entirely avoided if only Phyllis had called the police rather than Damon after overhearing Dominic brag to a co-conspirator about their intention to rob a convenience store and what suckers Summers and Porter were for believing he had seen the error of his ways. But no. Phyllis had to charge into Hughes' dive and confront this violent goon in her classic bull in a china shop type of impulsive stupidity.