The two-hour Farrah’s Story was a kind of home-movie diary of Farrah Fawcett’s life covering roughly the past two years of living with cancer. Much of the time, the camera was handled by her friend Alana Stewart, sometimes by Fawcett herself; some sequences — interviews with Ryan O’Neal, as well as a few of her doctors — looked as though they were filmed in a TV studio. It all cohered as a long, sad story that was sometimes almost unbearable, sometimes fascinating.

Anyone who has experienced or been in contact with someone diagnosed with cancer knows the outline of Farrah’s “story”: the doctor consultations and hospital visits, the often-painful treatments (Fawcett undergoes them in both California and Germany), the moments of happiness and despair. I was struck by how curious about the disease Fawcett has been, eager for information from her care-givers, giving good, hard stares at pictures of the spread or remission of her diagnosed anal and liver cancer. In those moments, she was most like the sturdy young woman so many people have long admired.

Because the TV special used the format of a journal from which Fawcett reads sections in voiceover, there was a lot of positive-thinking asserted, and the inevitable phrases one falls back on to try and make sense of an unimaginable death sentence: cancer as “my own private war” and “it’s seriously time for a miracle.”

In the middle of Farrah’s Story there was a chunk of time spent inveighing against the tabloids for reporting things that aren’t true and photographers who crowd her in public places to snap pictures of her in a weakened condition. Fawcett referred to The National Enquirer as being “as invasive and malignant as cancer.” This anger, as it was expressed by both her and Stewart, is a little baffling: After being the subject of tabloid reporting for decades, she could have expected this, and isn’t the reporting on her condition the least of her worries? Then again, however, no one can know what brings emotional pain to another person.

Her son Redmond, freed from prison for a three-hour visit in leg-chains, is a sight the heavily-sedated and in-pain Fawcett seemed to have been mostly unaware of, and that was a small mercy. It was nauseating to see Redmond, serving time for felony drug possession, give a leering smile to the camera.

Because of Fawcett’s eagerness to film so much of the past two years, the cameras caught interesting moments beyond the engulfing grievousness of her condition. Two stood out for me: a German doctor, trying to take her mind off the pain Fawcett was enduring, asked her to name her “best films.” Fawcett said, “Oh, Extremities or Burning Bed or Small Sacrifices.” And there was also one remarkable phrase she uttered in describing herself now: “a blonde nothingness.” Sad, yes, but also startlingly poetic.

More on Farrah’s Story: Producer files lawsuit over upcoming Farrah Fawcett documentary

In an exciting season finale that pitted brother against brother, the Apocalypse against another season of happy demon-hunting, Supernatural came to a smashing conclusion last night. The nearly season-long, emotionally-charged struggle between good and evil fought by both brothers Sam and Dean, ended up as it has so many times on Supernatural: the guys were betrayed by gals. But with a difference this time around.

The season finale began with some scary-good flashback scenes featuring yellow-eyed Azazel killing “a bag-full of nuns” and setting up the final, present-day battle. Dean had to overcome his growing hatred of his evil-possessed brother, his desire to help redeem Sam’s soul almost overwhelmed by his anger. (Or as the nicely creepy Zachariah put it, “You’re our own Russell Crowe, complete with surly attiutude.)

To me, the character that really popped this season was Misha Collins’ Castiel. Cas is a highly intelligent, doom-struck fellow with the rumpled trenchcoat and stubble of the comic-book hero John Constantine. His scenes with Dean were terrific confrontation/debates.

Ultimately, however, this episode, written and directed by creator Eric Kripke, peaked with the boys facing the taunts and challenges of Lilith and Ruby. With misdirection worthy of a magician, Ruby convinces Sam to kill Lilith. Turns out, though (ah, day-after spoiler alert), Ruby had tricked Sam. Dean busts in, the brothers are united, Dean stabs Ruby with the super-duper knife, and as Sam and Dean stand side by side, they tumble to the fact that the Apocalypse will commence. Lucifer is the bad moon rising on this dark, bloody-good show. In a final blast of blinding white light, Supernatural said to the brothers and to us, in effect: See ya next season, suckers.

But we’re happy suckers, aren’t we? Did you think the season-ender was as good as I did? What were your favorite moments?

Fringe showrunner/executive producer Jeff Pinkner has provided an analysis of last night’s boggling final scene. Check it out and tell me what you think:

The final moments of last night’s Fringe were so startling — and please read my earlier post on them before reading this, thank you — that I neglected to comment on a few things.

1. How cool (if rather impractical) was it that the energy cell David Robert Jones needed for his alternative-reality-piercing was hidden in Nina Sharp’s artificial arm?

2. I see on the message boards that some of you think the New York Post cover shows a corner-picture of Ted Kennedy referred to as a former president. My TV freeze-framing isn’t great, but to me it looks like a gray-haired JFK: In other words, I think in this alt-world, Kennedy wasn’t assassinated.

3. All three stars’ performances were superb. Anna Torv has turned Olivia Dunham into an intense but sensitive agent; her mixture of doggedness and acute awareness of the moods of others make her a first-rate herp. Joshua jackson’s Peter has evolved from mumbling wiseguy to a cagey but humane skeptic. And John Noble has moved walter’s comic eccentricity into the realm of serious poignance.

4. In my previous post, my closing question should have been, Where in physical space (not “time”) is Olivia now? Fringe has made it clear it’s not a time-travel show like Lost, but rather an alternate-universe show. this appeals immensely to me as a DC Comics Silver Age fan who enjoys the notion of parallel-but-different worlds and characters.

5. For a show that must be on a tight budget (they’re moving the production to Canada for next season), the images of the torn-asunder bodies, ripped when caught between the closing of “holes,” were beautifully, startlingly executed.

6. I also notice in some of your comments that a few of you think it was a little insensitive of Fringe to use the Twin Towers as its final-shock image. Does using 9/11 imagery still feel premature to you? I thought it was handled very well, but since others have mentioned being put off by it, I thought I’d throw it open to discussion.

In conclusion, I echo what I said last night: great season-ender to a terrific series. Now, please tell me what you think. Thanks.

Well, there I was, watching the Fringe season finale, merrily taking notes about how much villain David Robert Jones, wrapped in his head bandages, looked and sounded like Claude Rains in the 1933 movie The Invisible Man, and getting goosebumps when, just before a commercial break, Nina Sharp said, “William Bell is not in this world.”

But then my mind was blown not once, but twice, and if you don’t want to know why, please stop reading now:

First, when Walter Bishop visited a grave whose headstone read: “Peter Bishop 1978-1985.” What did this mean, since we know Peter to be our grown-up Josh Jackson, not a dead seven year-old?

Then there was the final scene, the long-rumored reveal of Leonard Nimoy as William Bell, Walter Bishop’s former partner in science, co-author of the ZFT manifesto, and CEO of Massive Dynamic. Agent Olivia Dunham seemed to have stepped through one of the “soft spots” in the world discussed earlier in the episode, emerged from an elevator, and entered Bell’s office.

There, the camera panned across a table; a newspaper headline read “Obamas Set To Move Into New White House.” Sorry? New White House? Then she met Bell — a grimly smiling Nimoy. She asked where she was. He said, “It’s very complicated.” She looked out the window. The camera pulled back, to take us outside the office building she was in. We saw that she was standing inside one of the World Trade Center’s twin towers.

The title of the episode was “There’s More Than One of Everything.” That, combined with the revelation of what Nina called “another version of this planet,” helps explain why there could be two Peters, one dead, one alive. And why Nina herself could have spoken to Olivia to set up the William Bell meet ‘n’ greet, and just a few hours later be “out of the country.”

But the references to world events: Are we to think that there was, in this “other reality,” a terrorist attack that destroyed the White House (thus the “new” one the Obamas were moving into) but not the Twin Towers?

This was the season climax of what has proven to be a great new series: Fringe has vaulted to the upper reaches of current television. And clearly, this is going to require more than one blog post. So I’ll start by asking you: What did last night’s Fringe mean? Where in time is Dunham? Let’s get a discussion going, and regroup, shall we?

Move over, Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin: Justin Timberlake has joined the ranks of repeat-hosts who always lift Saturday Night Live to a higher level of quality. Timberlake was all over the show last night, singing and acting in everything from current recurring sketches (in drag as “Peg,” he perked up Kristen Wiig’s wilting Target store bit) to musical numbers (playing keyboards during Ciara’s performance of “Sex Love Magic”), and reviving oldies (he and Jimmy Fallon popped up for a “Barry Gibb Talk Show”).

Perhaps best of all, Timberlake and Andy Samberg did a Mother’s Day-themed sequel to their “D— In A Box” digital short. This one once again managed to make vulgarity witty, as their dorky-hipster characters hymned mothers they’d like to — well, this was one for the MILFs in the SNL audience, complete with cameos by Susan Sarandon and Patricia Clarkson:

The “Weekend Update” segment featured Chris Pine, Zachary Quinto, and Leonard Nimoy in an amusing Star Trek plug. But the scene-stealer was Fred Armisen’s superbly tasteless New York Governor David Paterson, bumping into the scenery he was stealing and making non-stop New Jersey jokes.

As for Timberlake, his energy and good nature seemed boundless, whether he was crooning through an opening parody number about hosting (“I love you!” someone shouted; “I love you, too!” he shouted back without missing a note) or taking part in a sketch about Irish immigrants arriving at Ellis Island. His thick-brogued “Cornelius Timberlake” said, “I dream of a day when my great-great-grandson will bring sexy back.”

Certainly Timberlake brought the funny back to SNL. Did you watch? What did you think?

Wanda Sykes may be known to most of America as Julia Louis-Dreyfus’ pal on The New Adventures of Old Christine, but at the White House Correspondents’ Association Dinner, she re-established herself as a mow-’em-down stand-up comic. This was the annual evening of joking in front of an audience of media types that range from print reporters to celebs (ooh, there’s Kate Walsh! Mariska Hargitay! OMG: Sting!). In the recent past, Stephen Colbert performed an artful evisceration of President Bush using his Colbert Report persona.

Sykes dropped her sitcom impishness and was all-Wanda, all the time. In the line that drew gasps from the posh crowd, she attacked Rush Limbaugh for saying he hoped the President’s policies would fail. “That’s treason,” she said. “That’s not saying anything different from what Osama bin Laden is saying… I think maybe Rush Limbaugh was the 20th hijacker but he was so strung out on Oxycontin he missed his flight.” Yow. “Too much?” she asked rhetorically.

Sykes lauded Obama as “the first black President–unless you screw up. Then it’s ‘What’s up with the half-white guy?’ ‘Who voted for the mulatto?’” Saying he was “so accessible, rappers give you their demos,” Sykes established a thoroughly irreverent tone. Warming up, Sykes ragged on Vice President Joe Biden’s chattiness by suggesting he’d give away state secrets if captured by terrorists.

But Sykes reserved her most jagged-edged material for nattering nabobs of negativity such as Limbaugh and Sean Hannity. Referring to Hannity’s offer to be waterboarded, she scoffed, “I can break Sean Hannity just by giving him a middle seat in coach.”

Wanda Sykes had a strong opening act: President Obama killed, as comedians like to say, in his own lead-in routine. He said Dick Cheney was busy working on his memoirs, “tentatively titled How To Shoot Friends And Interrogate People.” He made a series of “In the next hundred days… ” jokes the way David Letterman rattles off “It was so hot out today… ” yuks. “In the next hundred days,” Obama said, “I will strongly consider losing my cool.” Indeed, the President exuded a Johnny Carson-like aplomb in delivering his lines, chuckling at some of the punchlines as though he appreciated how well his joke-writers’ material was going over.

Afterward, over on MSNBC (which aired the event along with C-SPAN), there was some post-dinner analysis among fuddy-duddies including Pat Buchanan. The panelists said the President and Sykes’ jokes were “very, very crude on the Republicans.” Tidy up that grammar and the point was accurate. Is this the way the dinner’s humor is going to play out in the media in the days ahead? If so, good. Sykes was both brutal, and brutally funny.

Did you watch? What did you think?