General Hospital's Best of the Week, January 26-30, 2026: A blizzard, a blackout, and several bad ideas

This week on General Hospital felt less like a snowstorm event and more like a full-blown stress test, the kind where everyone’s worst instincts get dragged out into the cold and left there to fend for themselves. Power grids went dark, family trees got messier, secrets got louder, and more than one person behaved in a way that strongly suggested they were raised by criminals, spies, or Tracy Quartermaine. If nothing else, Port Charles proved once again that when the weather turns hostile, so does everyone else.

General Hospital spotlight scenes

Josslyn, casually knocking out the electricity on Spoon Island like she’s grabbing a six-pack at the convenience store, screams, “I grew up around criminals and spies.” Hood up, gloves on, expression set to calm competence, she treated the “Danger: High Voltage” sign less like a warning and more like a suggestion. It’s just a neat little moment of problem-solving that says she’s done this kind of thing before, or at least grew up watching people who absolutely have. The beauty of the scene is how unceremonious it is: no triumphant music cue, no big reaction shot, just Joss doing something wildly illegal with the efficiency of someone who knows timing matters more than applause. By the time the lights go out on Spoon Island, she’s already mentally three steps ahead, leaving the adults to panic in candlelight while she disappears back into the storm like a college student who definitely should not be this good at destabilizing infrastructure.

Verbal knockouts

After Ava mentioned that Sonny didn’t think very highly of him, Sidwell responded, “That’s a pity, since I held him in such high regard,” delivering the line with the kind of courtesy that exists purely to disguise a threat.

Tracy told Gio and Emma her plans to retrieve her heirlooms from Drew’s house while he’s in the hospital. Emma asked, “What are you thinking? And will you need a passport and/or bail money?” Tracy’s answer, unsurprisingly, was, “No. But I always have those on me.” Just another Tuesday in Port Charles.

Tracy brought Martin bourbon in a pink thermos. “You put bourbon in Scout’s thermos!?!” he yelled, adding, “What is wrong with you? She’s a little girl!” Tracy responded, “I’m not putting it in her lunchbox. I’m giving it to you.” She then looked at him like the real scandal wasn’t the alcohol, but that he’d momentarily forgotten who in this room was the responsible adult.

Wardrobe MVPs

Brick arrived in Port Charles on Monday in a lavender suit, like a man who knows the room will rearrange itself around him without being asked. The cut is perfect, the color is just bold enough to feel intentional, not loud, and the tie is doing that quiet work of saying he’s dressed for business without advertising what kind. He wears it the way only someone with a past in intelligence ever can, relaxed but alert, like he’s eyeballing exits, tells, and lies while making polite conversation. This is a man who knows Jack Brennan, seems to peg Joss a little too quickly, helps when it suits him, and never looks surprised because surprise is a luxury he retired from years ago. The suit sells charm, but the posture sells control, and together they land Brick exactly where he likes to be: looking friendly, sounding helpful, and giving absolutely nothing away unless it’s on his terms.

Pop culture shoutouts

When Tracy explained that she made a copy of Scout’s house key the last time she was visiting Monica, Gio and Emma were aghast that she would take advantage of a little kid, and Tracy said, “I borrowed her key! I did not rope her into a game of Three Card Monte. Tracy delivered this with the crisp indignation of someone deeply offended at being accused of sloppiness, not morality. She didn’t steal a key; she borrowed it, and she certainly didn’t con Scout into a game of Three Card Monte, which is Tracy-speak for “I may be ruthless, but I’m not a street magician shaking down a child.” Three Card Monte, for the uninitiated, is the classic confidence trick where the dealer keeps shuffling cards so fast you’re guaranteed to lose, no matter how sure you are. Tracy’s point was clear and beautifully on-brand: yes, she plays games, yes, she always wins, but she at least has the decency not to run a shell scam on a second grader.

When Charlotte arrived at the Quartermaines, Danny greeted her and told her all the other kids were watching Frozen. “Guess that’s a good choice considering the weather,” she said. Frozen, of course, is a Disney animated film built entirely around snow, isolation, and people getting stuck inside together, which made it less a movie pick than an accidental mood board for the night.

A moment later, Danny handed Charlotte a blanket and pointed her toward the fire, and she remarked that she hadn’t realized it was going to be “all Call of the Wild out there” when she chose her shoes. Call of the Wild is Jack London’s book about things getting unpleasant very quickly once the weather turns on you. Charlotte wasn’t exaggerating so much as filing a status report: what should’ve been a normal walk turned into something you had to brace for. Which feels about right for a kid whose life has taught her that conditions can change fast and nobody ever gives you the right footwear warning in advance.

Best camera moment

Valentin stares out into the storm like he’s waiting for the weather to give him instructions. It doesn’t. Carly remains behind him, present but careful, letting him have the space to spiral quietly. There’s no drama in the blocking, no obvious cue telling you how to feel. It’s just a man standing still because moving wouldn’t help, as he’s doing the maths on how far Charlotte could have gone, how bad the roads are, and how many terrible decisions he’s made that might have led here. Port Charles may be buried in snow, but this shot makes it clear the real freeze is happening inside Valentin’s head, and Carly knows it without him having to say a word.

Observations, complaints & unhinged theories

I genuinely did a double-take when Wyndemere showed up this week, because that is not Wyndemere. That is not even Wyndemere-adjacent. Wyndemere is meant to be a brooding, vaguely Gothic Cassadine castle, all bad decisions and worse lighting, not something that looks like it hosts daytime school trips and a gift shop full of tasteful bookmarks. What we were shown looks suspiciously like Amsterdam’s National Maritime Museum, and once you see it, you cannot unsee it. I was relieved to discover I wasn’t alone, as the internet clocked it immediately and has been politely losing its mind ever since.

Below is a side-by-side comparison of the original Wyndemere as depicted on the show and the museum it suddenly resembles, and the contrast is… generous to call it creative license. Maybe Sidwell hired an aggressively confident architect, handed him a blank cheque, and said, “Surprise me,” resulting in a full-blown European glow-up that forgot the part where it’s supposed to still look like a haunted lair. Either way, Spoon Island apparently got rezoned for culture overnight, and I will never stop laughing about it.

What exactly is Cullum’s obsession with Sonny? The docks connection feels like the tip of it, not the whole story. Cullum doesn’t strike me as someone who fixates without cause, which suggests he pegged Sonny early as the kind of operator who doesn’t grandstand, doesn’t announce moves, and quietly dismantles problems from the edges. If Cullum believes Sonny would eventually work his way toward stopping whatever is happening on Spoon Island, it makes sense that Sonny wouldn’t be a threat to manage later. He’d be a piece you remove now, before it ever gets momentum.

We also learned that Jack and Brick go way back, which suddenly explains why Brick always seems to be one step ahead of everyone else while looking like he’s just a cool guy killing time. That easy familiarity, paired with past hints about his involvement in intelligence, reinforces the idea that Brick isn’t improvising. He’s operating from experience, and he doesn’t need to announce it. He just shows up, looks impeccable, and lets everyone else underestimate him at their own risk. Let’s not forget how he plugged the assassin who tried to kill Sonny. I’m very much hoping this isn’t the end of the breadcrumb trail on his past, because Port Charles could use a little more of whatever he’s been carrying around.

And then there’s the Faison problem, which refuses to behave. Yes, we now know Cullum has been actively messing with Anna, down to the cigars and The Severed Branch, so the psychological warfare angle is locked in. But that still leaves one glaring issue that can’t be shrugged off. When we hear Faison speaking to Anna through the speaker, it’s unmistakably his voice. Fine. That could be manipulation, tech, or theatrics. But when the camera flips behind the glass to the person in the room, we still hear Faison’s voice, clear and unfiltered. That’s the part that doesn’t add up. If someone were altering their voice electronically, Anna would hear Faison, but we wouldn’t. We’d hear whoever was actually standing there. Instead, the show lets the illusion hold on both sides of the glass. That leaves us with two possibilities: either production slipped and didn’t think through the audio logic, or this is deliberate misdirection, and the truth is going to be much stranger than a man in a wig and a soundboard. Either way, that question is now too loud to ignore.

Things I yelled at the TV

Okay, when Cullum was revealed to be not only Sidwell’s boss but the actual WSB Director, I very loudly yelled, “Oh, Fugicles!” because that was the exact moment the story stopped being a tidy criminal operation and turned into something much bigger and much messier. Suddenly, Spoon Island isn’t just shady, it’s institutional, which explains how so many pieces have been moving so smoothly without anyone tripping alarms. It answers a few long-standing questions while immediately dumping a suitcase full of new ones at our feet, the kind you don’t unpack so much as stare at in mild horror.

And yes, I know I wasn’t alone in yelling, “Ewww! Gross!!” when Danny and Charlotte kissed, because the family math here is not subtle. They are biological cousins, specifically second cousins once removed, courtesy of the Cassadine bloodline refusing to ever stay out of anything. Danny’s mother is Sam, the daughter of Alexis. Charlotte’s father is Valentin. Alexis’ father, Mikkos Cassadine, and Victor Cassadine, Valentin’s father, were brothers, which makes Alexis and Valentin first cousins, and Danny and Charlotte uncomfortably, undeniably related. This isn’t a grey area. This is a flowchart that ends in everyone needing to sit down and rethink their life choices.

EPILOGUE

Trending

By the time the snowstorm was well underway, Spoon Island was powerless, Wyndemere had apparently been rezoned for cultural tourism, the WSB had wandered fully into the chat, and several people probably needed to sit down with a genealogist and a strong drink. Josslyn knocked out the power and kept moving. Brick stayed impeccably dressed and quietly unsettling. And Tracy once again proved that planning ahead matters more than being polite. The week answered a couple of things and immediately made the rest harder to ignore, which feels about right for Port Charles once the snow starts falling.

General Hospital can be seen weekdays on ABC and Hulu.

×

Was this article helpful?

Thank You for feedback

Quick Links

More from SoapCentral