There's been a bit of belt tightening around the old homestead these days, a condition that has opened my eyes to how much life in this city revolves around spending money. Turns out all there really is to do in L.A. is eat and shop and drink, which means there aren't a whole lot of options when you're trying to conserve money (and gas) by cutting back on these delightful pastimes.
One benefit to this is that I've been reading at a furious pace lately, catching up on a number of books that had been sitting idly on the shelf for far too long. I read The Road by Cormac McCarthy this weekend, and I haven't been able to get it out of my head. It's a beautifully written story, but good GRIEF is Cormac McCarthy bleak. I'm actually just basing this assessment on The Road and the movie version of No Country For Old Men, but judging by those two examples, I'd say that The Joker from Dark Knight has a rosier outlook on the human condition.
Speaking of which, I was SUPER excited about the new Batman movie, despite the fact that all the billboards planted around town of Heath Ledger looking maniacal kind of freak me out. It didn't disappoint. I really liked Batman Begins, and I love Christan Bale in the role. But the movie completely belongs to Health Ledger. Even after all the hype I was totally blown away by his performance. It definitely does add to the creepiness of the character to know that the actor died so soon after making the movie, but mainly it's just sad to reflect again on how incredibly talented he was. If for no other reason than his indelible performance in Ten Things I Hate About You back in the late 90s, I will always remember him fondly.
And just so you don't think my weekend was all gloom and doom, I also saw the excellent band Wolf Parade in concert. (I realize that movies and concerts, and $10 drinks at said concert, don't really fit into the new ethos of fiscal responsibility. I plan to do better next week). There are two kinds of concert-going people that I simply don't understand:
1. People who sit.
and
2. People who stand still.
It seems to me that the whole point of going to see live music is for the experience--to let the lights and the music and the collective rhythm of the crowd wash over you. Apparently, in this area I break rank with my fellow white people because I MOVE at concerts. I tap my foot, I bob my head, I flail my arms around wildly. Yes people...I Dance Like No One Is Watching. Because, really, is there any other way?
Showing posts with label Pop Matters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pop Matters. Show all posts
Monday, July 21, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
XOXO
After watching the season finale of Gossip Girl on my resurrected TiVo (it lives, yay!), and after long and serious consideration I have come to a conclusion: I don't quite get the hype about this show.
This is not the first time that I've failed to embrace the current "it" show. But I'm a little perplexed by my ambivalence to G.G. because, you see, I LOVE teen dramas. I actually consider myself a bit of a student of the teen drama genre, which is a high-falutin' way of saying that I have watched A LOT of shows that I'm now probably much too old for.
So why can't I fully get on board with Gossip Girl? I'm not sure if it's due to my advancing age, my evolving taste, or simply the fact that the show is not that good. I'm inclined to think it's probably a combination of all three.
To be fair, I haven't seen all of the first season. I dropped it off my Season Pass after the first few disappointing episodes, then decided to pick it back up after New York Magazine somewhat hyperbolically declared it the Best. Show. Ever. Sure I may finally be older than the actors playing high school students on TV, but that's hardly a reason to allow myself to fall off the cultural radar completely, right?
The frustrating thing is that the show can be addictively fun and it does have flashes of snarky brilliance, usually when it's satirizing the cutthroat machinations of the Upper East Side social scene. But I just don't think that any of the characters--with the possible exception of Blair--are all that interesting. Take the season finale in which (OMFG) no one actually slept with anyone except for the old people, Buffy's sister was sent packing with a minimal amount of drama and Nate "Manbangs" Archibald's dad, who no one cared about anyway, fled the country.
And also, why are we supposed to be excited about the Blair-Chuck pairing? Did I miss something? Didn't he try to date rape at least two of the characters at the beginning of the season? Why are we supposed to root for the romantic inclinations of a would-be sex offender?
I think that my main problem is that even though the show is based on a series of books, which granted I have not read, it still seems so blatantly derivative of The O.C. In fact, a lot of the characters are just watered down versions of their West Coast predecessors.
To wit:
-Often distraught, substance-abusing heroine? Check
-Hyper-verbal, lovelorn hero who finally gets the girl he's pined after? Check
-Kids from the wrong side of town thrust into world of wealth and privilege? Check (although, come on, a giant loft in Brooklyn is still a looong way from Chino.)
-Childhood friend and first love who turns up again for sole purpose of causing trouble for golden couple? Check
-Skinny blond mother character? Check
-Wisecracking but wise father character? Check
-Loser father character indicted for financial improprieties who conveniently disappears from show? Check
-Every episode being built around "THE party of the season," which will inevitably end with someone getting punched? Check
-Season finale revolving around a wedding and a break-up, culminating in poignant slow dance? Check
So does that make Georgina the Oliver of Gossip Girl? And if Josh Schwartz is basically going to re-package every character from his first show, then where oh where is Julie Cooper?
This is not the first time that I've failed to embrace the current "it" show. But I'm a little perplexed by my ambivalence to G.G. because, you see, I LOVE teen dramas. I actually consider myself a bit of a student of the teen drama genre, which is a high-falutin' way of saying that I have watched A LOT of shows that I'm now probably much too old for.
So why can't I fully get on board with Gossip Girl? I'm not sure if it's due to my advancing age, my evolving taste, or simply the fact that the show is not that good. I'm inclined to think it's probably a combination of all three.
To be fair, I haven't seen all of the first season. I dropped it off my Season Pass after the first few disappointing episodes, then decided to pick it back up after New York Magazine somewhat hyperbolically declared it the Best. Show. Ever. Sure I may finally be older than the actors playing high school students on TV, but that's hardly a reason to allow myself to fall off the cultural radar completely, right?
The frustrating thing is that the show can be addictively fun and it does have flashes of snarky brilliance, usually when it's satirizing the cutthroat machinations of the Upper East Side social scene. But I just don't think that any of the characters--with the possible exception of Blair--are all that interesting. Take the season finale in which (OMFG) no one actually slept with anyone except for the old people, Buffy's sister was sent packing with a minimal amount of drama and Nate "Manbangs" Archibald's dad, who no one cared about anyway, fled the country.
And also, why are we supposed to be excited about the Blair-Chuck pairing? Did I miss something? Didn't he try to date rape at least two of the characters at the beginning of the season? Why are we supposed to root for the romantic inclinations of a would-be sex offender?
I think that my main problem is that even though the show is based on a series of books, which granted I have not read, it still seems so blatantly derivative of The O.C. In fact, a lot of the characters are just watered down versions of their West Coast predecessors.
To wit:
-Often distraught, substance-abusing heroine? Check
-Hyper-verbal, lovelorn hero who finally gets the girl he's pined after? Check
-Kids from the wrong side of town thrust into world of wealth and privilege? Check (although, come on, a giant loft in Brooklyn is still a looong way from Chino.)
-Childhood friend and first love who turns up again for sole purpose of causing trouble for golden couple? Check
-Skinny blond mother character? Check
-Wisecracking but wise father character? Check
-Loser father character indicted for financial improprieties who conveniently disappears from show? Check
-Every episode being built around "THE party of the season," which will inevitably end with someone getting punched? Check
-Season finale revolving around a wedding and a break-up, culminating in poignant slow dance? Check
So does that make Georgina the Oliver of Gossip Girl? And if Josh Schwartz is basically going to re-package every character from his first show, then where oh where is Julie Cooper?
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
It's True...We're SO Lame!
Hopefully, Obama's eloquent speech on Tuesday will spark a mature and serious national discussion about the issues of race and identity.
But in the meantime...
References to the blog Stuff White People Like are popping up everywhere lately. It seems to get quite a mixed reaction from readers, but I have to say that I find it pretty amusing. (I guess ironic self-derision is also something that white people like). I always knew that I was extremely white, but I didn't realize that I was such a walking, talking, blogging, public radio-listening stereotype.
And after my love letter to The Wire in my last post, I got a real kick out of #85.
But in the meantime...
References to the blog Stuff White People Like are popping up everywhere lately. It seems to get quite a mixed reaction from readers, but I have to say that I find it pretty amusing. (I guess ironic self-derision is also something that white people like). I always knew that I was extremely white, but I didn't realize that I was such a walking, talking, blogging, public radio-listening stereotype.
And after my love letter to The Wire in my last post, I got a real kick out of #85.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
This Is What Happens When You Don't Pay The Rent
We all have certain things--movies, books, plays, whatever--that we loved so much when we were young that, even when we outgrow them, they remain inextricably linked to a time and place in our lives. Which is why I felt a twinge of sadness when I heard that "Rent" will be closing on Broadway after 12 years. You could make the argument that the musical, for all intents and purposes, ended a while back when Joey Fatone assumed a lead role. But the play will always hold a special place in my heart.
It's hard for me to express now, or even to fully recall, how deeply this show affected me when I first saw it at the tender age of 16. It an awakening to a world that was passionate and exciting and so different from everything that I had ever known or experienced. They were bohemian artists! Who were gay! And had AIDS! (Well, that last part never struck me as particularly glamorous.) Nonetheless, I longed to throw off the shackles of my benign suburban existence and join them in that gritty urban wonderland known as the Lower East Side.
Because I didn't have the cash to pay bourgeois theater ticket prices, I only saw the show twice when it came through Chicago. But I played the soundtrack on a loop for a year. Or for 525,600 minutes. One way to measure a year is by the number of times you listened to the "Rent" soundtrack when you were 16. My friends were similarly obsessed, and we sang the music everywhere: in the car, at the lunch table, during press nights for the school newspaper. Even when I went to college, I first bonded with one of my best friends over how much we both loved the show. (She was one of the original "Rent-heads" in New York and to this day will not reveal to me how many times she's seen it.)
But time has a funny way of tarnishing the idols of our youth. When the movie version was released a couple of years ago I went to see it, partly out of nostalgia and partly hoping to rediscover what I had loved so much about it. Instead, I found myself slightly irritated by the whole production. While the characters on-screen were singing about artistic integrity and living La Vie Boheme, all I could think was, "Why won't you pay your rent? I pay rent. Everyone I know pays rent. Get over yourselves already and pay your damn rent!"
On a side note, it probably wasn't the brightest idea to have most of the original cast reprise their roles in the film version, considering they are now well in their 30s. There comes a point when squatting in an abandoned warehouse ceases to be an act of youthful rebellion and just becomes vagrancy. Also, as Matt pointed out when we left the theater, Mark's movie kind of sucks. It appears to be just random shots of his friends mugging for the camera. No wonder he and Roger couldn't even afford a space heater.
Even though its cultural moment has ended, I suppose that the show will still live on in some form. Something in its message about breaking convention and the desire to create a niche for yourself in the world will always resonate. However, I don't really know what the current generation of youngsters will make of "Rent" in a world where AIDS, while certainly still a very serious disease, doesn't have the same life-shattering implications that it did in the mid-90s. Where being openly gay no longer has the same power to shock the wider culture (even my grandmother liked that "Will and Grace" show), and if you want to be an avant-garde filmmaker all you have to do is upload videos on YouTube from the comfort of your parents' home.
Ultimately, I suspect that the phenomenal success of the show was emblematic of a specific time and place, just as I will always associate it with a specific time and place in my life. But if there's one thing that "Rent" has taught me over the years, it's that we all need to grow up sometime.
It's hard for me to express now, or even to fully recall, how deeply this show affected me when I first saw it at the tender age of 16. It an awakening to a world that was passionate and exciting and so different from everything that I had ever known or experienced. They were bohemian artists! Who were gay! And had AIDS! (Well, that last part never struck me as particularly glamorous.) Nonetheless, I longed to throw off the shackles of my benign suburban existence and join them in that gritty urban wonderland known as the Lower East Side.
Because I didn't have the cash to pay bourgeois theater ticket prices, I only saw the show twice when it came through Chicago. But I played the soundtrack on a loop for a year. Or for 525,600 minutes. One way to measure a year is by the number of times you listened to the "Rent" soundtrack when you were 16. My friends were similarly obsessed, and we sang the music everywhere: in the car, at the lunch table, during press nights for the school newspaper. Even when I went to college, I first bonded with one of my best friends over how much we both loved the show. (She was one of the original "Rent-heads" in New York and to this day will not reveal to me how many times she's seen it.)
But time has a funny way of tarnishing the idols of our youth. When the movie version was released a couple of years ago I went to see it, partly out of nostalgia and partly hoping to rediscover what I had loved so much about it. Instead, I found myself slightly irritated by the whole production. While the characters on-screen were singing about artistic integrity and living La Vie Boheme, all I could think was, "Why won't you pay your rent? I pay rent. Everyone I know pays rent. Get over yourselves already and pay your damn rent!"
On a side note, it probably wasn't the brightest idea to have most of the original cast reprise their roles in the film version, considering they are now well in their 30s. There comes a point when squatting in an abandoned warehouse ceases to be an act of youthful rebellion and just becomes vagrancy. Also, as Matt pointed out when we left the theater, Mark's movie kind of sucks. It appears to be just random shots of his friends mugging for the camera. No wonder he and Roger couldn't even afford a space heater.
Even though its cultural moment has ended, I suppose that the show will still live on in some form. Something in its message about breaking convention and the desire to create a niche for yourself in the world will always resonate. However, I don't really know what the current generation of youngsters will make of "Rent" in a world where AIDS, while certainly still a very serious disease, doesn't have the same life-shattering implications that it did in the mid-90s. Where being openly gay no longer has the same power to shock the wider culture (even my grandmother liked that "Will and Grace" show), and if you want to be an avant-garde filmmaker all you have to do is upload videos on YouTube from the comfort of your parents' home.
Ultimately, I suspect that the phenomenal success of the show was emblematic of a specific time and place, just as I will always associate it with a specific time and place in my life. But if there's one thing that "Rent" has taught me over the years, it's that we all need to grow up sometime.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
These Were A Few Of My Favorite Things
I know that we're already well on our way into 2008. But while 2007 is still fresh in our minds, I wanted to take a look back at some of my favorite books, movies, TV shows, etc. from the past year. I should note that not all of them were new in 2007, it just happened to be the year that they were new to me.
Movies:
-Once
This was hands-down my favorite movie of the year. Such a lovely and understated romance that felt hauntingly real. And the music was amazing, of course.
-Atonement
I'm a sucker for sweeping romantic epics, particularly sweeping romantic epics set during times of war. It's also a wonderful adaptation of a wonderful book that seemed like it would be really hard to adapt.
-Superbad
I really can't remember the last time I laughed this hard at a movie. Between this and Juno, my age-inappropriate crush on Michael Cera is undeniable.
TV Shows:
-Friday Night Lights (Season 1)
Let me state for the record that I hate football, and that living in a small Texas town where high school football is regarded as the reason for living is pretty much my idea of Hell. But the first season of FNL definitely stands as one of the great discoveries of 2007. It's a beautiful portrayal of just such a town and the people who inhabit it. Season 2 has been a disappointment so far (the Landry storyline? Really?), but Season 1 is an almost flawless work of art.
-Chuck
It's been a pretty disappointing season of television all around (damn you, Hollywood executives!), but Chuck was an unexpected surprise that has emerged as my favorite new show. It's fun and clever and every scene set in the Buy More makes me laugh. Josh Schwartz continues to indulge his self-referential streak, but I'll forgive him because of the awesome Halloween episode homage to "The OC."
-How I Met Your Mother
I'm a season behind on this show, having just finished Season 2 on DVD. It's such a genuinely funny show with characters that you wish you knew in real life. Speaking of which, I recently found myself standing behind Jason Segel at a coffee kiosk at the mall and it was all I could do not to start singing, "Let's go to the mall...TODAY!"
Books:
-The Year of Magical Thinking (Joan Didion)
Such a beautiful and heartbreaking depiction of love and loss.
-Special Topics in Calamity Physics (Marisha Pessl)
Part murder mystery and part coming-of-age story, the writing is a bit overblown but the book is a lot of fun to read. I can't quite explain why, but I've always been a big fan of stories about precocious adolescent girls who solve crimes.
-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (J.K. Rowling)
Great read and a solid finish to a fantastic series (except for that irritating epilogue).
Music:
-Bishop Allen
I'm not very good at writing about music, but Bishop Allen's second album "The Broken String" is a perfect blend of smart, infectious indie pop. Flight 180 is probably my most played song of the year.
-Wolf Parade
An awesome band introduced to me by my friend Sarah, who is a devotee of band member Spencer Krug. Worth seeing them live just for a demonstration of Krug's aerobic keyboarding.
-Once soundtrack
See above.
Overall, a pretty good year in the annals of pop culture. Feel free to holler back with your favorite movie, book or celebrity meltdown from the year that was.
Movies:
-Once
This was hands-down my favorite movie of the year. Such a lovely and understated romance that felt hauntingly real. And the music was amazing, of course.
-Atonement
I'm a sucker for sweeping romantic epics, particularly sweeping romantic epics set during times of war. It's also a wonderful adaptation of a wonderful book that seemed like it would be really hard to adapt.
-Superbad
I really can't remember the last time I laughed this hard at a movie. Between this and Juno, my age-inappropriate crush on Michael Cera is undeniable.
TV Shows:
-Friday Night Lights (Season 1)
Let me state for the record that I hate football, and that living in a small Texas town where high school football is regarded as the reason for living is pretty much my idea of Hell. But the first season of FNL definitely stands as one of the great discoveries of 2007. It's a beautiful portrayal of just such a town and the people who inhabit it. Season 2 has been a disappointment so far (the Landry storyline? Really?), but Season 1 is an almost flawless work of art.
-Chuck
It's been a pretty disappointing season of television all around (damn you, Hollywood executives!), but Chuck was an unexpected surprise that has emerged as my favorite new show. It's fun and clever and every scene set in the Buy More makes me laugh. Josh Schwartz continues to indulge his self-referential streak, but I'll forgive him because of the awesome Halloween episode homage to "The OC."
-How I Met Your Mother
I'm a season behind on this show, having just finished Season 2 on DVD. It's such a genuinely funny show with characters that you wish you knew in real life. Speaking of which, I recently found myself standing behind Jason Segel at a coffee kiosk at the mall and it was all I could do not to start singing, "Let's go to the mall...TODAY!"
Books:
-The Year of Magical Thinking (Joan Didion)
Such a beautiful and heartbreaking depiction of love and loss.
-Special Topics in Calamity Physics (Marisha Pessl)
Part murder mystery and part coming-of-age story, the writing is a bit overblown but the book is a lot of fun to read. I can't quite explain why, but I've always been a big fan of stories about precocious adolescent girls who solve crimes.
-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (J.K. Rowling)
Great read and a solid finish to a fantastic series (except for that irritating epilogue).
Music:
-Bishop Allen
I'm not very good at writing about music, but Bishop Allen's second album "The Broken String" is a perfect blend of smart, infectious indie pop. Flight 180 is probably my most played song of the year.
-Wolf Parade
An awesome band introduced to me by my friend Sarah, who is a devotee of band member Spencer Krug. Worth seeing them live just for a demonstration of Krug's aerobic keyboarding.
-Once soundtrack
See above.
Overall, a pretty good year in the annals of pop culture. Feel free to holler back with your favorite movie, book or celebrity meltdown from the year that was.
Monday, October 01, 2007
You Are What You Watch
Last week was a very eventful week out in the world. Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad (that's pronounced "I'm in a dinner jacket," thanks Katie Couric!) visited Columbia University. Bill O'Reilly made an even bigger ass of himself than usual. Some truly awful stuff went down in Myanmar/Burma.
And, oh yeah, Tyra Banks demonstrated the proper position to assume whilst receiving a bikini wax on national television--thus heralding the beginning of another Fall TV season.
I was a little bummed when it occurred to me that I wasn't particularly excited about any returning show. My beloved Veronica Mars is gone, off to solve the mystery of why we should care that The CW even exists. I've declared this season of Grey's Anatomy Dead On Arrival, and Battlestar Galactica doesn't come back until the winter. For the first September in a long time, I was sans appointment television.
Then, I realized that this is really an opportunity for a fresh start. My Season Pass function is a blank canvas waiting to be filled. So I decided to treat the new television season as if it were all-you-can-eat night at the Schezwan Palace--that is to say, stuff myself with little bit of everything and then see what brings me back for seconds.
So here for your viewing pleasure is a quick run-down of the hits, misses and first impressions from the past week:
Heroes: Unlike the rest of America, I didn't really fall in love with Heroes last season. I'm giving it a second shot to suck me in, mainly because Kristen Bell is joining the cast. The real battle this season will be to see who emerges as the most adorable, blond super-girl on the show. (My money says Veronica Mars kicks the cheerleader's ass).
Gossip Girl: I figured that if it was even half as fun as the first season of The OC it would be worthwhile. So far it seems trite and over-the-top soapy...yet still better than seasons 2-4 of The OC. I doubt I'll stick with it. Could it be that I've just gotten too old for teen dramas? (Nah....)
Chuck: The nerds have indeed inherited the earth. Or at least a bunch of national security secrets. The pilot was fun, we'll see how it goes.
30 Rock: The new season hasn't started yet, but I'm planning on bumping this up to Season Pass status. I adore Tina Fey. I kind of want to be her.
Dirty Sexy Money: I decided to check this one out because it starred Nate from Six Feet Under. The money part is accurate, but I'm not really sold on the dirty and the sexy. (On a side note, Dakota Fanning's little sister is on the show. She looks so much like her older sibling that I'm really starting to think there's a factory somewhere in Hollywood that mass produces Fanning children.)
Moonlight: Watched this one because V.M. alum Jason Dohring is in the cast. Instead of playing the bad-boy high school love interest, he now plays a bad-boy immortal vampire, which is like three steps up the bad-boy ladder. But still, a show about a vampire who fights crime in Los Angeles? It's already been done--and byJoss Whedon, which automatically means it's been done better.
How I Met Your Mother: I recently watched the first season on DVD after hearing some good things about it, and I was totally charmed. The show is sort of like Friends' cooler, more down-to-earth cousin. And if his appearance in "Harold and Kumar" wasn't enough to renew your all-encompassing love of Neil Patrick Harris, his performance on HIMYM will. It might even be leg-en-dary.
That's all for now. If you have any suggestions or recommendations feel free to pass them along, although it looks like my plate is going to be pretty full. Also, sometimes I like to, you know, read stuff.
And, oh yeah, Tyra Banks demonstrated the proper position to assume whilst receiving a bikini wax on national television--thus heralding the beginning of another Fall TV season.
I was a little bummed when it occurred to me that I wasn't particularly excited about any returning show. My beloved Veronica Mars is gone, off to solve the mystery of why we should care that The CW even exists. I've declared this season of Grey's Anatomy Dead On Arrival, and Battlestar Galactica doesn't come back until the winter. For the first September in a long time, I was sans appointment television.
Then, I realized that this is really an opportunity for a fresh start. My Season Pass function is a blank canvas waiting to be filled. So I decided to treat the new television season as if it were all-you-can-eat night at the Schezwan Palace--that is to say, stuff myself with little bit of everything and then see what brings me back for seconds.
So here for your viewing pleasure is a quick run-down of the hits, misses and first impressions from the past week:
Heroes: Unlike the rest of America, I didn't really fall in love with Heroes last season. I'm giving it a second shot to suck me in, mainly because Kristen Bell is joining the cast. The real battle this season will be to see who emerges as the most adorable, blond super-girl on the show. (My money says Veronica Mars kicks the cheerleader's ass).
Gossip Girl: I figured that if it was even half as fun as the first season of The OC it would be worthwhile. So far it seems trite and over-the-top soapy...yet still better than seasons 2-4 of The OC. I doubt I'll stick with it. Could it be that I've just gotten too old for teen dramas? (Nah....)
Chuck: The nerds have indeed inherited the earth. Or at least a bunch of national security secrets. The pilot was fun, we'll see how it goes.
30 Rock: The new season hasn't started yet, but I'm planning on bumping this up to Season Pass status. I adore Tina Fey. I kind of want to be her.
Dirty Sexy Money: I decided to check this one out because it starred Nate from Six Feet Under. The money part is accurate, but I'm not really sold on the dirty and the sexy. (On a side note, Dakota Fanning's little sister is on the show. She looks so much like her older sibling that I'm really starting to think there's a factory somewhere in Hollywood that mass produces Fanning children.)
Moonlight: Watched this one because V.M. alum Jason Dohring is in the cast. Instead of playing the bad-boy high school love interest, he now plays a bad-boy immortal vampire, which is like three steps up the bad-boy ladder. But still, a show about a vampire who fights crime in Los Angeles? It's already been done--and byJoss Whedon, which automatically means it's been done better.
How I Met Your Mother: I recently watched the first season on DVD after hearing some good things about it, and I was totally charmed. The show is sort of like Friends' cooler, more down-to-earth cousin. And if his appearance in "Harold and Kumar" wasn't enough to renew your all-encompassing love of Neil Patrick Harris, his performance on HIMYM will. It might even be leg-en-dary.
That's all for now. If you have any suggestions or recommendations feel free to pass them along, although it looks like my plate is going to be pretty full. Also, sometimes I like to, you know, read stuff.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
No Spoilers, I Promise
It's done.
For five consecutive nights that stretched well into the early morning, my head has been filled with horcruxes and hallows, wand lore and wizardry. And friends, I am tired.
So it's time to close the book on Harry Potter and return to the real world. As an unabashed fan of the series, I have to admit that I feel a bit of loss now that it's over. At the same time, I hope that J.K. Rowling sticks to her guns and ends it here for good. If the dreadful Star Wars prequels taught us anything, it's that even grand epics have a limited shelf life. When the story's told, it's time to walk away.
Still, it was easy--and fun--to get swept into the frenzy that accompanied the release of each book. Cultural moments like these are rare and, if ever a body of work was mostly deserving of its hype, it's Harry Potter. But as compulsively readable as the books are, I think there's an even stronger force at work behind Potter-mania.
Over the last few years, I've read the latest installment in the series while riding the subway in Boston (back when adults were still embarrassed to be reading the books in public and removed the dustjackets), in the common room of the London flat I lived in, the stifling hot Brookline, Mass. apartment I subletted the summer after college, an airy suburban California house and, finally, in my new apartment in Los Angeles. If you've been a fan of the series since early on, then Harry Potter and friends have probably been with you longer than half the people in your life right now.
It's tempting to scoff at pop culture and the over-the-top displays it sometimes inspires. The phrase itself suggests something that is disposable and frivolous--but to discount the impact of pop culture in our lives is to overlook what a powerful unifying force it can be.
Sure, it may seem stupid to bond with someone just because you both share a love of cheesy WB coming-of-age shows or, at one point in your lives, could sing along with the entire soundtrack of "Rent." (I've had lasting friendships develop from both of these things). But we live in a world where we're constantly moving--changing jobs, changing cities, changing friends and communities. Pop culture is one of the few shared experiences we take with us wherever we go.
It seems like we now tend build our communities around the things we love: the books and music that inspire us, the TV shows we slavishly follow, the movies we line up for on opening night. When something as massive as Harry Potter comes along then, for a short time, we're part of a global community.
While I myself draw the line at costumes, I can understand what drives people to don their Hogwarts finest and head to their neighborhood Barnes & Noble. Sometimes we just need to feel swept up in something much bigger than ourselves. (Unless of course it's something creepy, like the Manson Family. Or Scientology.) But if you like to go to Comic-Con in a strom trooper costume every year, may the force be with you. If camping out at your local bookstore on Harry Potter-eve is your poison, I say embrace the obsession!
Then go grab yourself a squishee and get in line for The Simpsons movie.
For five consecutive nights that stretched well into the early morning, my head has been filled with horcruxes and hallows, wand lore and wizardry. And friends, I am tired.
So it's time to close the book on Harry Potter and return to the real world. As an unabashed fan of the series, I have to admit that I feel a bit of loss now that it's over. At the same time, I hope that J.K. Rowling sticks to her guns and ends it here for good. If the dreadful Star Wars prequels taught us anything, it's that even grand epics have a limited shelf life. When the story's told, it's time to walk away.
Still, it was easy--and fun--to get swept into the frenzy that accompanied the release of each book. Cultural moments like these are rare and, if ever a body of work was mostly deserving of its hype, it's Harry Potter. But as compulsively readable as the books are, I think there's an even stronger force at work behind Potter-mania.
Over the last few years, I've read the latest installment in the series while riding the subway in Boston (back when adults were still embarrassed to be reading the books in public and removed the dustjackets), in the common room of the London flat I lived in, the stifling hot Brookline, Mass. apartment I subletted the summer after college, an airy suburban California house and, finally, in my new apartment in Los Angeles. If you've been a fan of the series since early on, then Harry Potter and friends have probably been with you longer than half the people in your life right now.
It's tempting to scoff at pop culture and the over-the-top displays it sometimes inspires. The phrase itself suggests something that is disposable and frivolous--but to discount the impact of pop culture in our lives is to overlook what a powerful unifying force it can be.
Sure, it may seem stupid to bond with someone just because you both share a love of cheesy WB coming-of-age shows or, at one point in your lives, could sing along with the entire soundtrack of "Rent." (I've had lasting friendships develop from both of these things). But we live in a world where we're constantly moving--changing jobs, changing cities, changing friends and communities. Pop culture is one of the few shared experiences we take with us wherever we go.
It seems like we now tend build our communities around the things we love: the books and music that inspire us, the TV shows we slavishly follow, the movies we line up for on opening night. When something as massive as Harry Potter comes along then, for a short time, we're part of a global community.
While I myself draw the line at costumes, I can understand what drives people to don their Hogwarts finest and head to their neighborhood Barnes & Noble. Sometimes we just need to feel swept up in something much bigger than ourselves. (Unless of course it's something creepy, like the Manson Family. Or Scientology.) But if you like to go to Comic-Con in a strom trooper costume every year, may the force be with you. If camping out at your local bookstore on Harry Potter-eve is your poison, I say embrace the obsession!
Then go grab yourself a squishee and get in line for The Simpsons movie.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Moorening Sickness
So, I recently saw the new Michael Moore documentary "Sicko." Actually, this post is coming a bit late as I saw the movie a week before it opened at a special screening in Santa Monica. (Let it never be said that I'm not at the cusp of the cultural zeitgeist.)
There is a very specific kind of audience that attends a screening of a Michael Moore film in Santa Monica a week before it opens. To put a finer point on it, it's a group that leans so far left it's a wonder the theater didn't tip over into the Pacific Ocean. Since I have a long standing love-hate relationship with Moore's films, it was interesting to watch the movie in the church of his most devout disciples.
There's a reason Moore has become such a polemic. His movies are provocative, entertaining and anything but objective. His greatest talent may be in his ability to take on Goliath-sized issues and dissect them down to a basic human perspective. It's one thing to know that the health care system in this country is broken; it's another thing to meet a man forced to decide which of the two fingers sliced off in an accident he could afford to reattach. Narrating with an air of wry weariness, Moore makes a pretty airtight case for a U.S. health system that has failed the people it's supposed to serve on every level. (With a few jabs at Republicans thrown in for good measure.)
But the biggest problem with Moore in general is just that you don't really believe him a lot of the time. It's never enough to allow the overwhelming evidence to speak for itself, he's compelled to make enormous factual leaps to hammer his point home. In "Sicko" he takes us on a whirlwind international adventure to show just how much the U.S. sucks in comparison to everywhere else.
To this end, he spends the second half of the film extolling the virtues of socialized medicine in Canada, the U.K., France, and Cuba--places where health care is universal and free to all. He makes his jolly way across several countries, interviewing helpful doctors and satisfied patients who gently mock the U.S.'s inferior system. Admittedly, it will make you green with envy to hear about free hospital stays, doctors who make house calls in the middle of the night and social services that provide live-in help to new mothers. One of the best ironic laughs comes when Moore--playing the skeptic--triumphantly uncovers a cashier window in a London hospital. Only it turns out this is not where patients come to pay for services rendered, but rather to be reimbursed for their travel expenses.
But here is where my Moore frustration really kicks in. A few years ago, I spent a semester studying journalism in London. While this hardly makes me an expert, I do distinctly recall media reports about long wait lists for procedures and patients left unattended for hours in hospital emergency rooms (sounds familiar). As we were walking out of the movie a couple of weeks ago, I overheard a woman telling her companion that her friend in Britain pays for private insurance because of frustration over the inefficacy of the government-run system.
This is not to say that I'm opposed to socialized health care or anything that would be an improvement over the managed-care system we've got now. But considering that I was confronted with evidence of an imperfect European system without having to leave the theater, it's surprising that Moore was unable to uncover even a shred of discontent on all of his travels.
I imagine it is because he is less interested in documenting than in sending out a call to action. And his main point, that we should free ourselves from the yoke of for-profit insurance agencies, is well-taken. One of the most interesting observations he makes in the film is that many aspects of American life are already socialized--education and public safety to name a couple.
Imagine living in a nation where privatized police and fire departments tried to increase their profits by expending as few resources as possible. What if when you called 9-1-1 to report a crime in progress, a board had to review your claim and determine whether it merited a response? It's a lunatic notion--but surely responsive and affordable health care is just as essential?
I guess the basis of my Moore-inspired schizophrenia is that I admire him for raising these points, but dislike the arrogance that leads him to discredit himself at every turn. He's a guy who views the world in black and white--an irritating habit that liberals are constantly berating Republicans for. In some ways, Moore really isn't that different from a neo-con, except that his evildoers happen to be Republicans.
There is a very specific kind of audience that attends a screening of a Michael Moore film in Santa Monica a week before it opens. To put a finer point on it, it's a group that leans so far left it's a wonder the theater didn't tip over into the Pacific Ocean. Since I have a long standing love-hate relationship with Moore's films, it was interesting to watch the movie in the church of his most devout disciples.
There's a reason Moore has become such a polemic. His movies are provocative, entertaining and anything but objective. His greatest talent may be in his ability to take on Goliath-sized issues and dissect them down to a basic human perspective. It's one thing to know that the health care system in this country is broken; it's another thing to meet a man forced to decide which of the two fingers sliced off in an accident he could afford to reattach. Narrating with an air of wry weariness, Moore makes a pretty airtight case for a U.S. health system that has failed the people it's supposed to serve on every level. (With a few jabs at Republicans thrown in for good measure.)
But the biggest problem with Moore in general is just that you don't really believe him a lot of the time. It's never enough to allow the overwhelming evidence to speak for itself, he's compelled to make enormous factual leaps to hammer his point home. In "Sicko" he takes us on a whirlwind international adventure to show just how much the U.S. sucks in comparison to everywhere else.
To this end, he spends the second half of the film extolling the virtues of socialized medicine in Canada, the U.K., France, and Cuba--places where health care is universal and free to all. He makes his jolly way across several countries, interviewing helpful doctors and satisfied patients who gently mock the U.S.'s inferior system. Admittedly, it will make you green with envy to hear about free hospital stays, doctors who make house calls in the middle of the night and social services that provide live-in help to new mothers. One of the best ironic laughs comes when Moore--playing the skeptic--triumphantly uncovers a cashier window in a London hospital. Only it turns out this is not where patients come to pay for services rendered, but rather to be reimbursed for their travel expenses.
But here is where my Moore frustration really kicks in. A few years ago, I spent a semester studying journalism in London. While this hardly makes me an expert, I do distinctly recall media reports about long wait lists for procedures and patients left unattended for hours in hospital emergency rooms (sounds familiar). As we were walking out of the movie a couple of weeks ago, I overheard a woman telling her companion that her friend in Britain pays for private insurance because of frustration over the inefficacy of the government-run system.
This is not to say that I'm opposed to socialized health care or anything that would be an improvement over the managed-care system we've got now. But considering that I was confronted with evidence of an imperfect European system without having to leave the theater, it's surprising that Moore was unable to uncover even a shred of discontent on all of his travels.
I imagine it is because he is less interested in documenting than in sending out a call to action. And his main point, that we should free ourselves from the yoke of for-profit insurance agencies, is well-taken. One of the most interesting observations he makes in the film is that many aspects of American life are already socialized--education and public safety to name a couple.
Imagine living in a nation where privatized police and fire departments tried to increase their profits by expending as few resources as possible. What if when you called 9-1-1 to report a crime in progress, a board had to review your claim and determine whether it merited a response? It's a lunatic notion--but surely responsive and affordable health care is just as essential?
I guess the basis of my Moore-inspired schizophrenia is that I admire him for raising these points, but dislike the arrogance that leads him to discredit himself at every turn. He's a guy who views the world in black and white--an irritating habit that liberals are constantly berating Republicans for. In some ways, Moore really isn't that different from a neo-con, except that his evildoers happen to be Republicans.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Catching Up
I know I've been away for a while, but let's jump right in with a discussion of the series finale of "The Sopranos."
I'm sure many viewers will read lots of existential meaning into the abrupt cut-to-black that ended the ground-breaking show. I'm not one of them. I thought it kinda sucked.
Did the dark, silent screen mean that Tony has finally made his violent exit from the world? Or are we meant to believe that it's not really an end...that the movie never ends, but rather goes on and on and on and on? Maybe the tension-filled final minutes in the diner were meant to represent a kind of purgatory, and the Soprano family is destined to eat fried onion rings together for all eternity.
Who cares. In it's heyday "The Sopranos" was a brilliant, original, operatic drama. The last couple of seasons it seemed to become bloated with its own importance (sort of like Tony Soprano himself). After a penultimate episode that saw the end of Silvio's pompadour, the death of teddy-bear-like Bobby Baccalieri, and ended with Tony holed up with a shotgun--all I wanted this week was some good old-fashioned whacking. Instead, I got a philosophy lesson courtesy of Steve Perry.
I'm choosing to believe that in those final seconds, Tony went uncharacteristically gently into that good night. However, the main things I will take from this finale are a bit more prosaic:
1. That you should never trust a guy in a Members Only jacket and
2. That I'm not the only one who requires three attempts to parallel park
Moving on...
Last week, I vowed to go on a strict Paris Hilton-free media diet. After a week spent following updates on her scheudenfreude-filled trip to the pokey, enough was enough.
Why? I wonder. Why this frenzied fascination over a woman known for little more than sporting an impressive array of blond hair extensions and coining the phrase "that's hot?"
The only explanation I can come up with is that Paris is sort of like a modern-day Marie Antoinette. Anger over her shamelessly irresponsible and over-privileged lifestyle has reached critical mass, and it seems the only way to restore the balance is to chop off her head. Or, you know--since we don't do that anymore--take away her hair extensions and send her to jail.
Think it's a bit of a stretch to compare Paris Hilton to Eighteenth Century French royalty? Well, I would point out that her name IS Paris, and that both women seem to share a love of baked goods.
And finally...
If, like me, you're desperately in need of something to restore your faith in pop culture you should check out the film Once. It's a really beautiful and understated love story. I saw it this weekend, and I adored it. You will too, promise.
I'm sure many viewers will read lots of existential meaning into the abrupt cut-to-black that ended the ground-breaking show. I'm not one of them. I thought it kinda sucked.
Did the dark, silent screen mean that Tony has finally made his violent exit from the world? Or are we meant to believe that it's not really an end...that the movie never ends, but rather goes on and on and on and on? Maybe the tension-filled final minutes in the diner were meant to represent a kind of purgatory, and the Soprano family is destined to eat fried onion rings together for all eternity.
Who cares. In it's heyday "The Sopranos" was a brilliant, original, operatic drama. The last couple of seasons it seemed to become bloated with its own importance (sort of like Tony Soprano himself). After a penultimate episode that saw the end of Silvio's pompadour, the death of teddy-bear-like Bobby Baccalieri, and ended with Tony holed up with a shotgun--all I wanted this week was some good old-fashioned whacking. Instead, I got a philosophy lesson courtesy of Steve Perry.
I'm choosing to believe that in those final seconds, Tony went uncharacteristically gently into that good night. However, the main things I will take from this finale are a bit more prosaic:
1. That you should never trust a guy in a Members Only jacket and
2. That I'm not the only one who requires three attempts to parallel park
Moving on...
Last week, I vowed to go on a strict Paris Hilton-free media diet. After a week spent following updates on her scheudenfreude-filled trip to the pokey, enough was enough.
Why? I wonder. Why this frenzied fascination over a woman known for little more than sporting an impressive array of blond hair extensions and coining the phrase "that's hot?"
The only explanation I can come up with is that Paris is sort of like a modern-day Marie Antoinette. Anger over her shamelessly irresponsible and over-privileged lifestyle has reached critical mass, and it seems the only way to restore the balance is to chop off her head. Or, you know--since we don't do that anymore--take away her hair extensions and send her to jail.
Think it's a bit of a stretch to compare Paris Hilton to Eighteenth Century French royalty? Well, I would point out that her name IS Paris, and that both women seem to share a love of baked goods.
And finally...
If, like me, you're desperately in need of something to restore your faith in pop culture you should check out the film Once. It's a really beautiful and understated love story. I saw it this weekend, and I adored it. You will too, promise.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
In Defense of Ally
Where have all the good women gone?
That was the only question I was left with after watching last week's episode of "Grey's Anatomy." Once a devoted viewer, I only catch the show sporadically now--usually tuning in just often enough to be utterly confused by the plot line. (What...Izzie slept with George?!?!) But I was kind of curious about the new spin-off, and Taye Diggs is on it, so what the hell?
The entire two hour episode of the reigning chick show fluctuated between the female characters at Seattle Grace obsessing about their failing relationships and upcoming marriages, and the female characters at the Los Angeles wellness clinic obsessing about their failed relationships and inability to get pregnant.
In the most painful scene from the episode, the main character breaks down in a hospital stairwell after successfully performing a life-saving surgery. Pouring her heart out to her potential love interest, she wails that she feels "dried up" and "barren," two phrases surely guaranteed to bring the boys a-runnin'.
Then, in perhaps the worst line of dialogue ever intended to sweep a woman off her feet, the potential love interest says, "I'm going to kiss you now. With tongue. So you feel it."
"Ok," she dazedly responds, clearly swept away by the romantic impetuousness of his declaration.
Are we really supposed to believe that we are most attractive to men when we're on the verge of a nervous breakdown? I guess it's lucky for us then that emotional distress is so easily cured with a little bit of good tongue kissing.
In a New York Times review of the episode, Alessandra Stanley laid it all at the feet of "Ally McBeal." Ally, she argues, was the beginning of the end--the cultural turning point where sex-starved basket case became the new female model.
I've always been a defender of Ally, since I was a bona fide fan of the show for the first couple of seasons. After all, pop culture has always embraced adorably daffy career gals as its heroines. Ally wasn't the first, she was just the most extreme example to date. The ladies of "Sex in the City" also took some heat for spending so much time talking about guys despite being successful career women. Again, that part never really bothered me. I have a number of extremely bright, career-oriented female friends, and I know we spend more time talking about relationships than the stock market.
The thing is that we relate to these fictional women not because they're perfect models of feminist ideals, but because (just like us!) they're works in progress. They struggle with figuring out really matters, juggling intelligence and ambition with the desire for boys to like them. They just do it in bigger apartments and with better shoes. I always felt that the best female characters possess an inner well of strength that ennobles them even while they're breaking down.
No matter how her heart had been broken or how Mr. Big had done her wrong, Carrie Bradshaw would strap on her Manolos and strut down that New York City sidewalk. Buffy didn't curl up in a fetal position after sending her boyfriend to a Hell dimension; she got up the next day and kicked some more vampire ass. Even poor, scrawny, neurotic Ally usually ended each episode on an optimistic note, rocking out to yet another Vonda Shepard song or cavorting with her imaginary baby.
The difference between those characters and the women of "Grey's" is that they never seem to get off the mat. A show that started out as a dramedy about young doctors is now about women who exist in a persistent state of distress over their annoyingly nicknamed boyfriend du jour. There's a fine line between relatable and pathetic.
Even sadder is that several of the remaining good female characters in TV land are disappearing from the airwaves. Those fast-talking Gilmore Girls will not be returning to Stars Hollow next season, and Veronica Mars' tough-as-nails teenage detective is fighting for her life. Apparently, a modern-day Nancy Drew who lives by her wits can't compete with a reality show that equates female empowerment with the ability to bend your leg behind your head.
Maybe those wannabe Dolls can find a new career path in Seattle as wannabe surgeons?
That was the only question I was left with after watching last week's episode of "Grey's Anatomy." Once a devoted viewer, I only catch the show sporadically now--usually tuning in just often enough to be utterly confused by the plot line. (What...Izzie slept with George?!?!) But I was kind of curious about the new spin-off, and Taye Diggs is on it, so what the hell?
The entire two hour episode of the reigning chick show fluctuated between the female characters at Seattle Grace obsessing about their failing relationships and upcoming marriages, and the female characters at the Los Angeles wellness clinic obsessing about their failed relationships and inability to get pregnant.
In the most painful scene from the episode, the main character breaks down in a hospital stairwell after successfully performing a life-saving surgery. Pouring her heart out to her potential love interest, she wails that she feels "dried up" and "barren," two phrases surely guaranteed to bring the boys a-runnin'.
Then, in perhaps the worst line of dialogue ever intended to sweep a woman off her feet, the potential love interest says, "I'm going to kiss you now. With tongue. So you feel it."
"Ok," she dazedly responds, clearly swept away by the romantic impetuousness of his declaration.
Are we really supposed to believe that we are most attractive to men when we're on the verge of a nervous breakdown? I guess it's lucky for us then that emotional distress is so easily cured with a little bit of good tongue kissing.
In a New York Times review of the episode, Alessandra Stanley laid it all at the feet of "Ally McBeal." Ally, she argues, was the beginning of the end--the cultural turning point where sex-starved basket case became the new female model.
I've always been a defender of Ally, since I was a bona fide fan of the show for the first couple of seasons. After all, pop culture has always embraced adorably daffy career gals as its heroines. Ally wasn't the first, she was just the most extreme example to date. The ladies of "Sex in the City" also took some heat for spending so much time talking about guys despite being successful career women. Again, that part never really bothered me. I have a number of extremely bright, career-oriented female friends, and I know we spend more time talking about relationships than the stock market.
The thing is that we relate to these fictional women not because they're perfect models of feminist ideals, but because (just like us!) they're works in progress. They struggle with figuring out really matters, juggling intelligence and ambition with the desire for boys to like them. They just do it in bigger apartments and with better shoes. I always felt that the best female characters possess an inner well of strength that ennobles them even while they're breaking down.
No matter how her heart had been broken or how Mr. Big had done her wrong, Carrie Bradshaw would strap on her Manolos and strut down that New York City sidewalk. Buffy didn't curl up in a fetal position after sending her boyfriend to a Hell dimension; she got up the next day and kicked some more vampire ass. Even poor, scrawny, neurotic Ally usually ended each episode on an optimistic note, rocking out to yet another Vonda Shepard song or cavorting with her imaginary baby.
The difference between those characters and the women of "Grey's" is that they never seem to get off the mat. A show that started out as a dramedy about young doctors is now about women who exist in a persistent state of distress over their annoyingly nicknamed boyfriend du jour. There's a fine line between relatable and pathetic.
Even sadder is that several of the remaining good female characters in TV land are disappearing from the airwaves. Those fast-talking Gilmore Girls will not be returning to Stars Hollow next season, and Veronica Mars' tough-as-nails teenage detective is fighting for her life. Apparently, a modern-day Nancy Drew who lives by her wits can't compete with a reality show that equates female empowerment with the ability to bend your leg behind your head.
Maybe those wannabe Dolls can find a new career path in Seattle as wannabe surgeons?
Sunday, January 28, 2007
TiVo Is Life, The Rest Is Just Details
All the buzz last week may have been about the Oscar nominations, but I was so excited about the mid-season return of my two favorite shows (Veronica Mars and Battlestar Galactica) that I thought this was a good time to take stock of my television viewing to date. Part of the last few weeks has been devoted to catching up on Heroes. I refused to allow another pop-culture juggernaut (like Lost) pass by while I watched forlornly from the sidelines. It’s too much like a Jr. High School dance. I won’t have it.
So I started in on Heroes during the hiatus and have pretty much caught up on the characters and the backstory. It’s a really clever concept with great twists and cliffhangers. But with the possible exceptions of Hiro and the indestructible cheerleader, I don’t really feel invested in most of the characters and their inner lives. So I think it’s good—good enough to rank a season pass slot on my TiVo—but not great.
Moving On…
Biggest Disappointment: Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip
Way back in the fall I was insanely excited for Studio 60. West Wing creator Aaron Sorkin, Josh Lyman and Chandler Bing joining forces? How could it miss? By being painfully self-important, that’s how. Self-important works when you’re writing about the White House, but not an SNL knockoff. I cannot handle one more pompous speech about how the culture war is played out every week on a late-night comedy sketch show. It’s not. The last funny thing I saw on SNL was Justin Timberlake singing about his dick in a box. How’s that for high-brow?
On the flip side, I’ve been strangely charmed by 30 Rock the couple of times I’ve caught it. This could be because I have a bit of a girl crush on Tina Fey (the thinking man’s hot chick), or because Alec Baldwin is a comedic God.
Best New Discovery: Weeds
Take heed, ladies of Wisteria Lane. If you want to skewer the suburbs, this is how it’s done. I always knew I loved Mary Louise Parker, and now I know why. She leads a great supporting cast in this dark, caustic comedy about single parenthood, suburbia and the mind-altering drugs you need to survive it.
Most Over: Grey’s Anatomy
Forget about all the backstage scandal. I know we tune in for the McDrama, but can’t the characters at least PRETEND to be doing some actual doctoring once in a while? Also, American Idol. Every year I say I’m not getting sucked in, this time I mean it. I’m holding strong.
Most Excited For: Finding out who killed the Dean, and who the Final Five are. If you don’t know what that means, I can’t help you.
That’s all I’ve got for now. In the future I plan to dedicate an entire post to the demise of The OC, and tackle why the American version of The Office is NOT as good as the British in its own special way. Until then, happy viewing!
So I started in on Heroes during the hiatus and have pretty much caught up on the characters and the backstory. It’s a really clever concept with great twists and cliffhangers. But with the possible exceptions of Hiro and the indestructible cheerleader, I don’t really feel invested in most of the characters and their inner lives. So I think it’s good—good enough to rank a season pass slot on my TiVo—but not great.
Moving On…
Biggest Disappointment: Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip
Way back in the fall I was insanely excited for Studio 60. West Wing creator Aaron Sorkin, Josh Lyman and Chandler Bing joining forces? How could it miss? By being painfully self-important, that’s how. Self-important works when you’re writing about the White House, but not an SNL knockoff. I cannot handle one more pompous speech about how the culture war is played out every week on a late-night comedy sketch show. It’s not. The last funny thing I saw on SNL was Justin Timberlake singing about his dick in a box. How’s that for high-brow?
On the flip side, I’ve been strangely charmed by 30 Rock the couple of times I’ve caught it. This could be because I have a bit of a girl crush on Tina Fey (the thinking man’s hot chick), or because Alec Baldwin is a comedic God.
Best New Discovery: Weeds
Take heed, ladies of Wisteria Lane. If you want to skewer the suburbs, this is how it’s done. I always knew I loved Mary Louise Parker, and now I know why. She leads a great supporting cast in this dark, caustic comedy about single parenthood, suburbia and the mind-altering drugs you need to survive it.
Most Over: Grey’s Anatomy
Forget about all the backstage scandal. I know we tune in for the McDrama, but can’t the characters at least PRETEND to be doing some actual doctoring once in a while? Also, American Idol. Every year I say I’m not getting sucked in, this time I mean it. I’m holding strong.
Most Excited For: Finding out who killed the Dean, and who the Final Five are. If you don’t know what that means, I can’t help you.
That’s all I’ve got for now. In the future I plan to dedicate an entire post to the demise of The OC, and tackle why the American version of The Office is NOT as good as the British in its own special way. Until then, happy viewing!
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