Continuing my "Blogging Frenzy" this week, let's turn from sports to popular entertainment. (Warning: massive amount of text to follow).
Movies
Saw "Avatar" with the kids over the holidays, taking in the full 3-D IMAX experience and enjoyed it very much. Long at nearly 2 1/2 hours, but riveting enough that none of us were willing to take a bathroom break. James Cameron created a world of rich beauty and texture that you could almost smell on the screen, but that could have just been the patchouli wafting from the youngsters in front of me. Special effects is too small a concept to adequately describe the technical achievement, but I also enjoyed little nods and details like Sigourney Weaver as the scientist who smokes and curses but also mothers the Na'vi children and her fellow scientists, at one point forcing Jake Sully to eat something before he returns to his alternate reality. Also, the fighting equipment Weaver donned at the end of "Aliens" returns to a more nefarious purpose. And the almost drunken exhilaration Sully feels when he first inhabits his Na'vi body, freed from the bonds of paraplegia, brought chills and a smile.
I know there's been a lot of fuss about the politics of this movie, to which I would reply, "It's a movie." It's not a documentary, and I felt well entertained for the cost of the tickets. And if you find it so offensive, console yourself with the thought that Cameron might wait another 12 years to make a sequel.
DVDs
"Imagine That" for the kids and "The Hangover" for the grownups. Not sure how we ended up with the former except that my 10-year old insisted on it, mainly to spite his 12-year old brother, who, shockingly, was not intrigued by the tale of a man whose job and relationship with his seven-year old daughter are rescued when he agrees to spend time in her imaginary world of princesses and dragons. Maybe the presence of Eddie Murphy in the lead role made it acceptable, based on the big laughs they got out of "Daddy Day Care" when it popped up on cable recently.
Far from the worst kids movie I've ever seen, "Imagine That" gets a charming and not just cute performance from Yara Shahidi as Murphy's daughter, Olivia. Thomas Haden Church does whatever it is that he does so well that it always makes for a bemused chuckle, this time as a Native-American shaman/fund manager. Throw in a great bit where Church tries to fuel his preteen son's "vision quest" with Red Bull and flat, awkward cameos from Allen Iverson and Carmelo Anthony, and you've got a solid 90 minutes of family entertainment. Very earnest, lots of blue skies and rainbows, but when the temps haven't cracked 33 in two weeks and the snow patches still dot the lawn, this is tolerable.
About the only thing "The Hangover" shares with "Imagine That" is a cameo appearance from a sports superstar. This one is for immature audiences only, as long as they are at least 18 years old. We get about 15 minutes of setup as four guys go to Vegas for a bachelor party. They arrive, settle in and gather on the hotel rooftop to toast the groom and the night of bacchanalia that awaits. As our heroes raise their glasses, the camera pulls aways to the brilliant nighttime skyline of Las Vegas and the party music fades up. Cut to the next morning, where the missing items include the groom and a tooth and the found items include a baby and a full-grown Bengal tiger. None of the remaining three musketeers can remember anything from the night before and outrageous hilarity ensues as we piece it together with them. Having been to Vegas for a bachelor party where nothing like this happened, I can say that not one note is struck falsely. Las Vegas as a film locale has an appeal that's been captured brilliantly in "Swingers" and, of course, "Honeymoon in Vegas," and "The Hangover" pulls off the difficult task of making it work for an entire movie. For the darker side of this aspect, see "Casino," "The Godfather" (I and II), and when you're ready for a real downer, "Leaving Las Vegas." For mostly misdemeanor fun, property damage and injuries fixed with a quick trip to the ER or a good dentist, check out "The Hangover."
TV
Still catching up with "Modern Family" episodes that I missed in the fall season. The only downside is that this usually leads me into "Cougar Town," which would be almost watchable without Courtney Cox in the lead and Josh Hopkins as the hunky(?) neighbor she seems destined to sleep with I'm guessing halfway thru Season 2, if the show makes it that far. Cox's annoying mania would work much better if they gave her some truly counterbalancing depression, but I'm guessing that would interfere with the concept of the show as a comedy, and I don't think she's got the acting chops to pull it off. A quick scan of the Hopkins resume reveals the source of my distaste: Ally McBeal, North Shore, Brothers and Sisters, Swingtown, Private Practice; and he's really boring. Almost a shame, because the rest of the cast (who doesn't love some Busy Phillips?) bring the funny.
More recent entries I have caught up with are "Men of a Certain Age" on TNT and "Blue Mountain State" on Spike. The former has been well received critically, and since I am a man approaching that titular era of my life, I thought I'd look in. Plus, it has Andre Braugher, who I'd watch on infomercials if, God forbid, he ever made any. Also Ray Romano, who I didn't hate on his big hit, and Scott Bakula, who I've never been able to convince myself didn't play Starbuck on the original "Battlestar Galactica." So, I've seen bits and pieces, and most of last night's episode, "Go With the Flow." For starters, really bad title for the episode, which invokes the terrible commercials for flomax, etc. Maybe that's the joke. What we get is Romano telling the guys about his reentry into the dating world, which includes a black eye. Having been happily married for almost 15 years, I can't really identify with this one, not even vicariously, and the eventual explanation of the black eye doesn't live up to the buildup, sort of a summation of my feelings about the show.
Romano's character has kids a little older than my own, and there have been some nice moments of his interaction with them that resonate with me, but his marriage fell apart because of his gambling problem and he also has a business to run. Not much there for me because if the gambling addiction doesn't destroy him utterly and completely, I might not find it believable. Braugher's character is also a family man whose main main issues stem from his relationship with his father and his health, but I'll echo something I read (New Yorker, I think) that said it's hard to swallow him as a struggling car salesman. Just too much Jesuit bleeding through. As patchy as my empathy for those characters is, I am in another universe from Bakula's struggling almost once-was actor with little ambition beyond bedhopping.
Ultimately, this is a show about guys who hit the diner once a week or so to keep themselves anchored through a connection that predates everything else that is taking priority in their lives. For that, it's well done, but I don't see myself making it a regular stop on the basic cable circuit, and I think it will be retired long before these characters do.
So if I give "Men of a Certain Age" high marks for its effort at thoughtful, intelligent rumination, I have to give "Blue Mountain State" the same for the exact opposite. From Spike TV, the home of Manswers, 1000 Ways to Die, and a steady dose of mixed martial arts programming, comes the sweet, soothing tale of a college football program where young men are mentored and nurtured physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually as they journey into adulthood and become responsible members of society. Start with the opening credits, a fetishistic fanfare of muscleboys donning football equipment juxtaposed with comely co-eds removing various undergarments, both found in their natural environments of athletic fields, locker rooms and strip clubs. And beer. Also Ed Marinaro, the only Heisman runner-up currently working in television today. Although the noise from my treadmill obscured most of the dialogue, I think this is a show best watched with the sound off, or, better yet, dubbed in a foreign language. Think "American Pie" meets "Varsity Blues" without the funny parts or sympathetic characters. Sprinkle in all the euphemisms for sex, drugs, alcohol, and bodily functions basic cable will permit, and there's your show. "Seinfeld" dubbed itself a show about nothing, but I think that title truly belongs to "Blue Mountain State."
Showing posts with label TV. Show all posts
Showing posts with label TV. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Life ... less
The last two Wednesday nights, the remote has settled on NBC for nearly two full episodes of "Life." Very pretentious title, don't you think? But I like the cereal and the board game (although I never saw the Eddie Murphy/Martin Lawrence movie) so I thought I would take a look at this show.
At first I thought it was a cop show, featuring Damian Lewis as the classic "Tough Guy with Issues" and his partner, Sarah Shahi, as "Hot Babe in Leather Coat." And this formula has worked for me from NYPD Blue all the way to Law and Order: Criminal Intent. But from the outset, Life's premise was stretched way too thin by making Lewis a cop restored to the force after serving time in prison for a crime he didn't commit. Wouldn't it be more realistic for him to get a huge cash settlement and then a show on Court TV? I mean, isn't he just a little worried that his colleagues don't really trust him?
Apparently not, so he spends lots of time trying to solve the bank job he went down for, ending each episode by drawing lines on the big flow chart in his basement that documents his investigation. Which has come to include his partner, whose father was on the SWAT team during the robbery. She is also a recovering alcoholic and speaks fluent Farsi, which really came in handy on last night's show, where our heroic duo saved a Persian man who was laundering drug money through an offshore account held by his lover, a single mother whose son kidnapped him and killed two of his friends and one off his own accomplices before being taken out by a sniper. The kidnappers almost got away, but the cops cracked the case by having the man's sister play a video game on his computer because she was the only one young enough to have the thumb dexterity to get to the tenth level and open the encrypted account records.
And every now and then Adam Arkin wandered onscreen with a buxom redhead who took him to a solar enegy farm, where they ran out of gas (oh the irony). This subplot confused me so much I thought I had accidently changed the channel, which is of course exactly what I should have done.
Obviously, I joined this show late, and either I keep missing the two-minute "Previously on Life" summaries that are de rigeur on serial dramas, or Life is pushing the envelope to daring extremes by not having them, but I don't think any amount of backfill would catch me up enough to my satisfaction.
I am all for television that makes you think, and quirky characters, but this is plot as jigsaw puzzle, one of those ridiculous thousand-piece numbers that pictures two polar bears on an iceberg, so that once you've put the eyes and noses together, you've got 992 pieces of white cardboard that fall into place only by happenstance.
"Yes," I hear the fans saying. "It's complicated. Just like life. Get it?"
I do get it. But nobody's life is that complicated. Parts of this show are very compelling. It's well shot, and the two leads are pretty good, although both are too pretty to be real police officers. But I think Adam Arkin seals it for me. After two episodes, I have no idea who he is or what he is doing on the show.
Looks like it's NBA doubleheaders on TNT for Wednesdays in the foreseeable future.
At first I thought it was a cop show, featuring Damian Lewis as the classic "Tough Guy with Issues" and his partner, Sarah Shahi, as "Hot Babe in Leather Coat." And this formula has worked for me from NYPD Blue all the way to Law and Order: Criminal Intent. But from the outset, Life's premise was stretched way too thin by making Lewis a cop restored to the force after serving time in prison for a crime he didn't commit. Wouldn't it be more realistic for him to get a huge cash settlement and then a show on Court TV? I mean, isn't he just a little worried that his colleagues don't really trust him?
Apparently not, so he spends lots of time trying to solve the bank job he went down for, ending each episode by drawing lines on the big flow chart in his basement that documents his investigation. Which has come to include his partner, whose father was on the SWAT team during the robbery. She is also a recovering alcoholic and speaks fluent Farsi, which really came in handy on last night's show, where our heroic duo saved a Persian man who was laundering drug money through an offshore account held by his lover, a single mother whose son kidnapped him and killed two of his friends and one off his own accomplices before being taken out by a sniper. The kidnappers almost got away, but the cops cracked the case by having the man's sister play a video game on his computer because she was the only one young enough to have the thumb dexterity to get to the tenth level and open the encrypted account records.
And every now and then Adam Arkin wandered onscreen with a buxom redhead who took him to a solar enegy farm, where they ran out of gas (oh the irony). This subplot confused me so much I thought I had accidently changed the channel, which is of course exactly what I should have done.
Obviously, I joined this show late, and either I keep missing the two-minute "Previously on Life" summaries that are de rigeur on serial dramas, or Life is pushing the envelope to daring extremes by not having them, but I don't think any amount of backfill would catch me up enough to my satisfaction.
I am all for television that makes you think, and quirky characters, but this is plot as jigsaw puzzle, one of those ridiculous thousand-piece numbers that pictures two polar bears on an iceberg, so that once you've put the eyes and noses together, you've got 992 pieces of white cardboard that fall into place only by happenstance.
"Yes," I hear the fans saying. "It's complicated. Just like life. Get it?"
I do get it. But nobody's life is that complicated. Parts of this show are very compelling. It's well shot, and the two leads are pretty good, although both are too pretty to be real police officers. But I think Adam Arkin seals it for me. After two episodes, I have no idea who he is or what he is doing on the show.
Looks like it's NBA doubleheaders on TNT for Wednesdays in the foreseeable future.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
"Dirt" under my fingernails
F/X has carved out Tuesday nights at 10:00 as the debut destination for its dramatic series, sometimes with success - The Shield, Rescue Me, Nip/Tuck - sometimes not - Thief, Over There. I enjoy the former, except Nip/Tuck of late, enough that I am willing to give Dirt a few more chances. I skipped most of the pilot last week, but caught up on the replays and tuned in again last night to see where we were headed.
Very simple premise. Courteney Cox plays Lucy Spiller, the Type-A editor of two celebrity gossip ragmags - one lowbrow and the other lower brow. I can see why the pitch meeting for this one was an absolute home run (I think I scrambled a metaphor there, but stay with me). We are so fascinated by celebrity culture and gossip in this country that what could be more interesting than a show dramatizing that process? Sounds great, right?
The trick here is make fiction stranger than truth and more interesting, otherwise viewers will just flip over to Entertainment Tonight and the E! True Hollywood Story. And, for me anyway, it has to be funny, at least a few times an hour. This is why The Shield and Rescue Me work, because if there were no humor, you'd just get dragged into the amoral morass, and how much of that can you take every week?
So, is Dirt getting it done? Not yet. I'm not sure Cox can carry the show (ironically, last night we learned that Spiller's job is in jeopardy). She's got the right, ADHD, barracuda approach that we all suspect this character has to have, but she still hasn't quite shaken the cheery neuroticism of Monica Geller. Getting the magazine published still has a little too much "let's put on a show" vibe. And she always looks a little too good on camera. Her character has the requisite personal shortcomings, but the director needs to let her look ugly as well. The good news is that she seems to have a drinking problem, so we can only hope that there's a major bender in her future, with substantial plot-altering consequences.
I'm equally conflicted about Ian Hart as the "functioning schizophrenic" paparazzo, Don Konkey, the Mickey Rooney to Cox's Judy Garland. If the writers haven't given Cox's character enough flaws, they have overcompensated with Hart's. This guy has a shrine to a his dead cat, thinks that it's raining blood, and is haunted by the corpse of a dead actress. Oh, and even though he hears voices, he's also a Rainman-type savant when it comes to movie trivia and sports statistics. This should do wonders for the image of treatable mental illness.
Outside of these codependent business partners, we have an array of characters looking to grab a little camera time and audience interest. Josh Stewart plays Holt McLaren, a Sean Penn type whose talent hasn't always overcome his nonmatinee idol looks and is overshadowed by his beautiful but clueless starlet girlfriend. After some initial exposition, McLaren sets the plot in motion by making a Faustian deal with Spiller that may or may not have caused a friend, Konkey's corpse buddy, to kill herself. Jeffrey Nordling is quite convincing as a Spiller's scheming boss who leers at a young staffer named, get this, Willa. Rick Fox stretches his chops to play an NBA superstar set up for something by Spiller and Konkey. If those last two sentences sound gratuitous, well, exactly.
Are you getting all this? Of course you are, because this is what it takes to follow 21st century dramatic television. The plot twists and turns until you have to go to a message board to sort it out with fellow devotees. You find a character to like and then he/she does something morally offensive but defensible or at least understandable, and now you have to stay tuned to see which way the character goes. I'll do so grudgingly, but not if there is something better on, which seems like a pretty good possibility.
Very simple premise. Courteney Cox plays Lucy Spiller, the Type-A editor of two celebrity gossip ragmags - one lowbrow and the other lower brow. I can see why the pitch meeting for this one was an absolute home run (I think I scrambled a metaphor there, but stay with me). We are so fascinated by celebrity culture and gossip in this country that what could be more interesting than a show dramatizing that process? Sounds great, right?
The trick here is make fiction stranger than truth and more interesting, otherwise viewers will just flip over to Entertainment Tonight and the E! True Hollywood Story. And, for me anyway, it has to be funny, at least a few times an hour. This is why The Shield and Rescue Me work, because if there were no humor, you'd just get dragged into the amoral morass, and how much of that can you take every week?
So, is Dirt getting it done? Not yet. I'm not sure Cox can carry the show (ironically, last night we learned that Spiller's job is in jeopardy). She's got the right, ADHD, barracuda approach that we all suspect this character has to have, but she still hasn't quite shaken the cheery neuroticism of Monica Geller. Getting the magazine published still has a little too much "let's put on a show" vibe. And she always looks a little too good on camera. Her character has the requisite personal shortcomings, but the director needs to let her look ugly as well. The good news is that she seems to have a drinking problem, so we can only hope that there's a major bender in her future, with substantial plot-altering consequences.
I'm equally conflicted about Ian Hart as the "functioning schizophrenic" paparazzo, Don Konkey, the Mickey Rooney to Cox's Judy Garland. If the writers haven't given Cox's character enough flaws, they have overcompensated with Hart's. This guy has a shrine to a his dead cat, thinks that it's raining blood, and is haunted by the corpse of a dead actress. Oh, and even though he hears voices, he's also a Rainman-type savant when it comes to movie trivia and sports statistics. This should do wonders for the image of treatable mental illness.
Outside of these codependent business partners, we have an array of characters looking to grab a little camera time and audience interest. Josh Stewart plays Holt McLaren, a Sean Penn type whose talent hasn't always overcome his nonmatinee idol looks and is overshadowed by his beautiful but clueless starlet girlfriend. After some initial exposition, McLaren sets the plot in motion by making a Faustian deal with Spiller that may or may not have caused a friend, Konkey's corpse buddy, to kill herself. Jeffrey Nordling is quite convincing as a Spiller's scheming boss who leers at a young staffer named, get this, Willa. Rick Fox stretches his chops to play an NBA superstar set up for something by Spiller and Konkey. If those last two sentences sound gratuitous, well, exactly.
Are you getting all this? Of course you are, because this is what it takes to follow 21st century dramatic television. The plot twists and turns until you have to go to a message board to sort it out with fellow devotees. You find a character to like and then he/she does something morally offensive but defensible or at least understandable, and now you have to stay tuned to see which way the character goes. I'll do so grudgingly, but not if there is something better on, which seems like a pretty good possibility.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Frosted
We watched the Rudolph/Frosty doubleheader as planned on Friday night, and the quality of the classics showed through as always, but CBS made a major goof in selecting the awful "Frosty Returns" for the last half hour. Apparently this piece of dreck has been around since 1992, but somebody needs to put it out of its misery before we are subjected to a 20th Anniversary Celebration.
The original Frosty and its eponymous Christmas carol survive and thrive because of the simple story that appeals to children and adults. The small touches, like Frosty wishing himself a happy birthday when he comes to life, the miming talents of Hocus Pocus the rabbit, and of course the unforgettable dialogue of Professor Hinkle the evil magician ("Busy, busy, busy ...), and other touches of wry humor allow you to enjoy yourself while watching your kids fight a tear the first time they see Frosty melted into a puddle inside the greenhouse. The writers wisely choose to have Santa Claus - rather than the army or the President, as Hocus first suggests - save the day. In doing so, Santa explains to Karen, and all of us, that every year the magic of Christmas returns and can make miracles happen. Yes, it's simplistic, and no, it's not subtle, but only minutes after the show reached its satisfying conclusion, I learned how easy it is to mangle such a great premise.
"Frosty Returns" takes us to Beansboro, a small American burg where Frosty comes to life to help a little girl save her town from an evil industrialist who seeks to enrich himself by ridding the world of snow. So, right away, we have a lefty political agenda, featuring those Hollywood favorites, environmentalists against corporate overlords. Frosty, no longer just a happy jolly soul content to run and play before he melts away, is now some sort of superhero, "SnowMan," ready to defend the rights of skiers and snowboarders. The vocal talents of Jonathan Winters, John Goodman, Brian Doyle Murray and Andrea Martin cannot save this excruciatingly bad script compounded by animation from the "Charlie Brown" team that becomes utterly charmless without the writing and music that made those shows great. Worst of all, the "Let There Be Snow" anthem sung by Frosty is still reverbrating in my head. Ugh.
So, a note to the CBS programming department. Bury this garbage in whatever pit you dug it up from and maybe, just maybe, Santa will leave a quality CSI spinoff in your stocking instead of lumps of coal like the already-cancelled "3 lbs."
The original Frosty and its eponymous Christmas carol survive and thrive because of the simple story that appeals to children and adults. The small touches, like Frosty wishing himself a happy birthday when he comes to life, the miming talents of Hocus Pocus the rabbit, and of course the unforgettable dialogue of Professor Hinkle the evil magician ("Busy, busy, busy ...), and other touches of wry humor allow you to enjoy yourself while watching your kids fight a tear the first time they see Frosty melted into a puddle inside the greenhouse. The writers wisely choose to have Santa Claus - rather than the army or the President, as Hocus first suggests - save the day. In doing so, Santa explains to Karen, and all of us, that every year the magic of Christmas returns and can make miracles happen. Yes, it's simplistic, and no, it's not subtle, but only minutes after the show reached its satisfying conclusion, I learned how easy it is to mangle such a great premise.
"Frosty Returns" takes us to Beansboro, a small American burg where Frosty comes to life to help a little girl save her town from an evil industrialist who seeks to enrich himself by ridding the world of snow. So, right away, we have a lefty political agenda, featuring those Hollywood favorites, environmentalists against corporate overlords. Frosty, no longer just a happy jolly soul content to run and play before he melts away, is now some sort of superhero, "SnowMan," ready to defend the rights of skiers and snowboarders. The vocal talents of Jonathan Winters, John Goodman, Brian Doyle Murray and Andrea Martin cannot save this excruciatingly bad script compounded by animation from the "Charlie Brown" team that becomes utterly charmless without the writing and music that made those shows great. Worst of all, the "Let There Be Snow" anthem sung by Frosty is still reverbrating in my head. Ugh.
So, a note to the CBS programming department. Bury this garbage in whatever pit you dug it up from and maybe, just maybe, Santa will leave a quality CSI spinoff in your stocking instead of lumps of coal like the already-cancelled "3 lbs."
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