Paranoid Pop -- TV, Movie, Pop Culture Obsessions, and Bringing Them to Life

News Loses an Icon, and Viewers Lose a Friend: Tim Russert (1950-2008)

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 14:18:00 +0000

Friday's tragic death of Tim Russert, renowned newsman and host of "Meet the Press," left me unhappy and quietly sad throughout the weekend.

Not just because I'd always liked Russert, and felt that he let us see the 'him' behind the news anchor mask. But because we as viewers lost a friend.

He always had a twinkle in his eye. Like Peter Jennings, another newsman gone too soon, Russert always gave you a sense of a real person sitting behind that desk. He spoke easily and personably about his love for his work, and with humor and warmth about his father, son, wife, and those close to him in his life. His big blue eyes were tempered by pointed dark brows so that he could seem wide-eyed and genial one moment, then sharp as a laser the next. And the pudgy softness finished the package and made him seem like, no matter how formidable and daunting his intellect might be, deep down there was always a teddy bear lurking in there as well. (This combination also meant that I had a little bit of a crush lurking -- humor, intelligence, confidence and approachability are a wonderful mix.)

For me as a TV viewer, losing Russert means I'm losing the guy who made politics accessible to me. So often, the world of Washington is not brought closer by the media, but pushed away from us, not raised on pedestals but placed behind unbreakable glass walls. So many newspeople seem to delight in portraying politics as something untouchable, unreachable, a rarified fishbowl-world in which people jibber-jabber in unintelligible twenty-syllable words about things we couldn't possibly understand, and budgets we can't possibly imagine, and stuff we're probably just better off not knowing.

Not Russert. He used his fierce intelligence to make the news interesting, and more than that, his sheer joy in the process of politics was patently visible in everything he did. At the beginning of the last political debate I saw him moderate, between Obama and Clinton, Russert looked positively gleeful.

So I appreciated Russert's humanizing presence on the political scene. I'm a political coward -- one of those people who wants to know, even if they dread the answers. Russert provided a human face to politics, and a reassuring conduit to those in power. As a political moderator, Russert asked questions in plain English, and the glint in his eye seemed to discourage the usual canned responses. He made people dig a little deeper.

But while I enjoyed Russert's longstanding work as a TV journalist, moderator and pundit, my all-time favorite appearance by him took place on the show "Homicide: Life on the Streets" (a damn near perfect show).

As sly inside joke, Russert was depicted as the cousin of Captain Megan Russert (played by Isabella Hofman), and best part of all, Russert actually showed up in Season 3 of the show, striding into the squadroom, and trading barbs good-naturedly with Russert about family and Christmas presents. At the end, fed up, he stomps off onto the elevator. In the scene, Russert is not only doing a pretty fine job of acting out one of those ridiculous and slightly embarrassing ongoing family squabbles that pop up, he also exudes his usual warmth and effortless humor. As the scene ends and the elevator doors close, there's still that little twinkle in his eye that shows, as always that Russert is having the time of his life.

It's not gonna seem like much of much of an election without him. You already know that in far too many moments to come, journalists and TV watchers alike will turn to one another and wonder, "What would Russert think?"

He'll be missed.

A Stake to the Heart (50 Favorite Moments in "Angel")

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 02:23:00 +0000

I got a friend of mine to start watching the TV show "Angel" back in the winter, and he just finished the fifth and final season on DVD.

He was so excited to talk about it that we ended up gabbing for three hours -- in that great way you do when a show hits you on an emotional level.

Which this one really did. It will always remain one of the all-time greats for me. Like a stake through the heart. Even more than "Buffy."

And make no mistake, Buffy was gorgeous, but "Angel" transcended the "high school is hell" themes of Buffy while ramping up the tension. On "Angel," work was hell. Love was hell. Life was hell.

The conversation reminded me of how much I love the show, and also of how much I still miss it. It was like a recitation of Angel's greatest hits -- "Didn't you love it when Angel did this? Or when Wes did that? Or that moment when Fred--?"

So much so that it inspired me to do a countdown, simply of some of my favorite moments ever in the show. Warning: THERE WILL BE SPOILERS. BIG SPOILERS. LOTS OF SPOILERS.

Go watch the show, then come back and read it. I'll still be here. Promise.

50 Things to Love About "Angel"

The gorgeous theme song by Darling Violetta. I never got tired of it, the rock-cello combination ending quietly with the melancholy descending piano.

And while we're on the subject of music, the gorgeous, dark and truly cinematic score by Rob Kral all the way through the show.

The opening credits. Especially the way the opening credits always always ended with poor Angel walking off into the shadows, his dark black coat billowing behind him like wings. That shot right there? That's the whole show.

Angel staking two vamps at once in the show's first episode. Because how cool was that?

The pilot episode, "City of..." -- and what a great pilot. Especially the fact that the girl freaking dies. Right away you knew two things: (1) it was gonna be dark, and (2), this wasn't storytelling by rote.

The Shanshu prophecy. The carrot on the stick for the vampire with a soul.

The "Touched" montage in "Lonely Hearts." All those beautiful, lonely people, taken in, touched, killed. I always thought this was one of the most powerful uses of pop music in the show, or any show.

Spike's hilarious rooftop commentary as Angel saves two girls far below in "In the Dark." Spike: "I'm just a big fluffy puppy with bad teeth." And "Quick! To the Angelmobile!"

Doyle's quiet, surefooted assistance as Angel eased into his new life of vampire-private-eye-superhero-dom. Glenn Quinn always brought a lovely easy grace to Doyle for me, with a natural Irish humor and soulfulness that I loved. I never stopped missing Doyle. Or Quinn (RIP).

Angel's delirious, sexy-funny-heartbreaking romp with Buffy for a single day in the sun.

Angel's mental 'party dance' (complete with cheesetastic lower-lip-biting -- Boreanaz never got enough credit as a comedian). Darla's return.

Cordelia's ghostly roommate, Phantom Dennis, consoling her with a floating box of tissues when she has a one-night stand with a guy from a bar, and ends up 9 months pregnant. (Phantom Dennis was one of my favorite characters in Angel, and I always loved the fact that we got to see him in the credits all the way through Season 5!)

Kate and Angel's hilarious touchy-feely conversation in "Sense and Sensitivity" ("Don't be a painbow!")

The worst version of "Mandy" ever sung (and how much do I love it) at Lorne's club Caritas.

Lindsey's Evil Hand.

When Angel shuts an evil, ravenous Darla and Drusilla in with the Wolfram and Hart senior partners, the Senior Partner (Holland Manners) begs for mercy, and in response Angel gives a shrug and says, "I just can't seem to care." And closes the door on them all as Darla begins to grin. Chilling.

Faith's breakdown and repentance in Angel's arms at the end of "Five by Five"

The quietly poignant conversation at the conclusion of "Are you now or have you ever been?" -- one of the best-written episodes in the show's history, and example of how "Angel" was always so much more than "a vampire show." Not that there's anything wrong with that. Heh.

The moment when Angel bites Kate in "The Shroud of Rahmon." One of the creepiest and most effective moments of the show for me, especially leading up to the last 5 minutes of the show, when we see, "Rashomon"-style, Kate's view of events

The final line of dialogue by Wolfram & Hart's Holland Manners to Angel in "Reprise": Promising to take the vampire to hell itself for a confrontation, Manners takes Angel on an endless elevator ride, with the doors opening on... present-day L.A.

Wesley's chilling transformation into stalker and killer -- and Lilah's utterly unexpected act of revenge -- in "Billy"

After her rescue from near-suicide by Angel, when Kate admits to a stunned Angel that a greater power may be on their side because, "I didn't invite you in."

The moment Darla shows up with a big pregnant belly. Vampires aren't supposed to do that!
Connor's birth -- in the rain, in the dark, as Darla's ultimate sacrifice. Gorgeous moment from Julie Benz.
Holz's arrival in L.A. I loved the fact that a vampire hunter who was essentially good and heroic had become the Season 3 villain -- it was brilliant. And I always had a little crush going on Holtz, who kind of purred all his lines in a fabulously creepy way.
Speaking of Season 3, that shocking moment when Wesley steals baby Connor to protect him from the prophecy, and Justine slits his throat (!) I died a thousand deaths until we found out if he had survived

The terrible final moments between Angel and Wesley in "Forgiving." Angel at Wesley's hospital bed, calm and collected, saying, "You know this is me, right?" Right before he tries to kill him (and I realize, because I'm slow, that Angel was asking this so that Wes knew it was Angel himself, not Angelus, his evil alter ego, doing the deed) This still kills me. The acting was just superb by both Boreanaz and Denisof.
Teenaged Connor's arrival in the Angelverse. I know many fans didn't adore Connor, but I loved him and thought he brought a downright Shakespearean slant to Angel Season 3. And Vincent Kartheiser was absolutely wonderful in the role, and he moved gorgeously, bringing a dancer's grace to his fight scenes.

Angel's heartbreaking fantasy of a happy family around a communal table even as he is trapped (undying) and slowly going insane at the bottom of the ocean (thanks to dear little Connor) in "Deep Down."
When Lorne's head is shockingly served to a queenly Cordelia in "Through the Looking Glass"

"Numfar, do the dance of shame!"
Electro-girl Gwen's gorgeous introductory episode. In fact, every episode with Gwen. I would have been thrilled with an entire show about Gwen. Can somebody make that happen?

Lilah's takeover of the top spot at Wolfram & Hart. The scene in which she neatly decapitates John Rubenstein in a conference room (not long after he deadpans for her to find her own "piece of sky" -- a very funny inside reference to Rubenstein's role in the original cast of "Pippin") is as funny as it is awful.
Angel's hilarious and affecting Indiana Jones-style fantasy in "Awakening" about a happy family at Angel investigations, leading to his new moment of 'pure happiness' for the emergence of Angelus (It's interesting and believable how much this concept of 'pure happiness' changed from an intimate moment with Buffy before, to now being something far more complex and involving Angel's whole life -- not just his love for one person)
When Cordy kills Lilah with a knife through the throat. I never saw THAT coming!
The moment we realize what Jasmine has been doing to all those worshippers who visit her alone in her room (seconded only by Connor's reaction when he finds out!)
The moment when Fred shoots Angel with the "magic bullet" so that he finally sees the truth about Jasmine

The chilling final moments of "Home," when Angel agrees to the terms set by Wolfram and Hart, and does a terrible thing in order to save Connor (as a long-ago prophecy actually comes true)
Angel's very funny jealousy of Spike (and assorted nightmares about being overlooked) in "Destiny." The image of Angel in short nerdy shirtsleeves pushing a mailcart as the office heralds the wonder of Spike has to be seen to be believed.

In "Time Bomb," when Illyria takes out the entire Angel team in fifteen incredible seconds. And smiles.
Adam Baldwin's arrival as Marcus Hamilton, the new liaison with the Senior Partners. Partly because I will always love My Bodyguard and also because Adam Baldwin just rocks. (See also: Firefly)

Spike's quiet conversation with Angel about their self-awareness of damnation, and how there is no such thing as making up for an act of murder
Spike 'haunting' Wolfram & Hart in the genuinely creepy "Hellbound"

Cordy's bittersweet and lovely return (with snark, thank God, fully intact) in "You're Welcome"
Every single delirious fabulous hysterical second of "Smile Time," when Angel is hilariously turned into an Angel puppet. But most especially the moment when the Angel Puppet actually vamps out during the big fight at the end. I will never get over the dorkalicious awesomeness of that moment. Never.

Lindsey's fabulous character arc into the light and then back into the dark -- only to ironically die in the light because the darkness was too much with him, and Angel knew it. (Poor Lorne). His outrage over his own death is all the more touching because he doesn't mind dying -- had obviously expected it at some point, in fact -- but he had always expected Angel to be the one to kill him. You could tell Lindsey's pride hurt worse than the mortal wound.

The final battles of the Angel crew with the Black Thorn, in a wonderful and demonic homage to those final scenes in "The Godfather"

In series finale "Not Fade Away," when Illyria (still in her "Fred" guise) punches through the head of the bad guy begging her to take her best shot, transforming back into Illyria even as she does so. It's not just one of the coolest shots ever, it's also the quintessential Joss Whedon moment for me, the "little girl" stronger than the evil that confronts her, stronger than they can imagine.

In that same episode, the last stand of a motley crew of vampires, demigods, and wounded humans as the wrath of Wolfram and Hart descends in an army of darkness

"If nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do."

Man, I miss this show.

What were your favorite moments?

Back from Beyond...

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 10:35:00 +0000

Hi guys,

Obviously I've been away from the blog for awhile, so apologies for that. It's been a busy six or seven months, but a richly rewarding one.

I relocated from Jacksonville, Florida to New York City, for one thing. It was Put-up-or-shut-up time, so I bit the bullet and put up! I'm here to see what I can do, what I can accomplish, and before it all became part of a wish list I never actually acted on. Whoo-hoo! I'm an idiot!

The relocation was horrible and fantastic at the same time. I spent an entire year's savings just on getting an apartment (and my firstborn child, still not materialized mind you, has been promised to my landlord at a full moon in a future date to be decided). I lost my couch -- my single favorite piece of furniture -- when it would not fit through the doorway of my spatially-challenged new apartment. But overall? It's fabulous. The sheer amount of culture, food, peoplewatching available is fantastic. Every person you meet has a dream, and even the skyline is art. So far, as tough as it is, I'm really enjoying the experience.

Meanwhile: What about television? No more Comcast for me (and I admit it, I do miss those Slowsky commercials) -- I'm on with RCN now. But the television continues to glow (thank goodness).

In other words, I'm back. So please forgive me for the absence, and bear with me as I post a lot of content -- some outdated, some relevant -- just for conversation's sake. I missed posting, frankly, and how weird is that?

Oh, and while I've been quiet, believe me, I watched and enjoyed a heck of a lot of TV. And a surprising amount of it was awesome.

Let's talk about it here! What were some of your favorites this season?

Hidden Depths (and Joys): Doctor Who Season 3

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 05:19:00 +0000

(NOTE: MILD SPOILERS -- DOCTOR WHO, SEASON 3)

This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but with the faint grind and thump of the TARDIS, and the Doctor's smile, and the knowledge that most people are actually pretty good.

As a child I spent a lot of time on a sailboat all around the Caribbean (it's a long story, but a wonderful one). I saw gorgeous things and scary things and terrible things but most of them were simply vivid and bright and out of time. I didn't think about yesterday or tomorrow, I just sat comfortably on the aft cabin, talked to the dolphins, and steered the wheel deftly with my feet.

The more I've gotten to know and love the new Who, the more I've remembered those days. More and more, I've found this show to be like sailing along, and idly watching the depth sounder on our sailboat as a child. You'd watch it, and it would flicker up the numbers registering from those pings along the bottom. 68 feet. 84 feet. 124 feet. And then every once in awhile it would go freaking DEEP. 154 feet. 182 feet. 248 feet. What the hell?

Well, that's "Doctor Who" for you. Watch it. Smile at those who tell you it's a kids' show. But don't take your eye off the depth sounder for a second. You'll smile and enjoy and nod and all will be just a happy few dozen feet, and then suddenly -- no warning -- the abyss will open up, and you are in very deep waters, indeed.

Hey, if you love labels then have at it. Doctor Who is a children's show, just like the Chronicles of Narnia or The Lord of the Rings or His Dark Materials are children's books.

Feel better? Okay. Onward.

I love this show. I love this show.

I love that I never know what's gonna happen. I can guess the ending to just about anything I watch on TV, not because I'm so frickin' smart or anything, but because the world has grown predictable. Stories go a certain way, and we learn the feel and swim of them.

Then you have a show like Who, and I am a jumble of numbers, of confusion, of bad guesses, of errors. I always loved the phrase "at sixes and sevens," well, that is where Doctor Who leaves me each season. At sixes and sevens and eights and nines. Because it always, freaking always, takes me to places I could not have imagined, tells me stories that are foreign and strange and lovely, and goes where I least expect it.

Every season of the new Who has offered a clear arc. Season 1, with Nine (hi Christopher Eccleston, call me!), showed us a Doctor whose big grin, flirtations, exclamations ("Fantastic!") hid a bruised and mournful heart, and a sorrow and guilt larger than the existing universe. Season 2 brought us the unexpected dazzle of Ten, recovered and in love and able to pretend for a little while that he could live and love like everyone else. The chemistry between Tennant and Piper was lovely and believable, and the conclusion of that season incredibly moving to me. I know many Who watchers actively dislike the idea of romance where Companions are concerned, but to me this was a direct result of the final events of Season 1. Rose knows what it's like to be divine, she knows the TARDIS, she was able to see -- for one brief moment -- as the Doctor sees. No wonder the moment ended in love and death, and a kiss that would send us directly into the quiet madness of Season 2.

Then came Season 3, which was all about disconnection, loss, loneliness, and the ache and fear of being human. The Doctor gets to lose (and find) himself in "The Family of Blood" (the episode at the real heart of the season and encapsulating it gorgeously), to introduce Shakespeare to the nutty wonderfulness of J.K. Rowling, to bring a city out of the dark in "Gridlock," to a final series of episodes actually exploring what it means to be a Time Lord. We even get glimpses of long-ago Gallifrey -- and the music in these final episodes, from "Utopia" (my personal favorite of the season, and starring the fabulous Derek Jacobi as the kindly Professor Yana), to The Sound Of Drums" and "The Last of the Time Lords" is some of the most beautiful yet heard on the show.

The Doctor himself, Ten in all his gorgeous ratty glory, is at the heart of all the awesomeness, as always. Two seasons in with this new face and I still adore him, fear him, and ultimately find him as unreadable as ever. He is kind when I expect him to be thoughtless, terrifying just when I think he'll be kind, and merciful just when I think his eyes hold all the coldness of the edge of the universe. And here in Season 3, we gain insights into the Doctor that we've never had before. The writing is breathtaking, and Tennant is wonderful in bringing it to life.

Segue: One of my friends was watching TV with me, and a commercial for Who came on. I let out a yelp, or a squeal, or something equally dorky, and she wrinkled her nose. "I just don't get it," she said. "He's kind of funny-looking."

"Oh God, you have to see the show," I told her. "It's the perfect example of how an actor's talent and sheer charisma make someone absolutely electric." (Note: I think Tennant's gorgeous, personally, so she's crazy anyway.)

Generalizations are generally wrong. But all the same, I can't really fathom this show on American TV. And look, I love American TV. IT's the TV that brought Buffy and Battlestar Galactica and Angel and Homicide:LOTS and Freaks and Geeks into the world. I worship it.

But this is a show about people whose choices are not informed by or about pop culture or (best of all) other TV shows. And that's incredibly refreshing. Martha gives the woman who betrays her (and humanity) flowers, and the woman smiles, beautifully, and in this universe will never have to face that side of herself. The Doctor himself weeps at a key moment over a villain who attempted to destroy the world and kill millions. I can't help but feel that here in America we might have gone a slightly crasser direction, lord love us.

When Three wound down, when this season ended, with its gorgeous sweeping music and its bruised hearts and its loneliness, I cried. I cried for Martha, feeling that he'd never really seen her (and in her bright shiny beauty Martha is and was oddly reflective. You saw her and your eye kind of slid past her to the Doctor -- ever notice that?).

And I adored the final scene, in which she faces the Doctor and opens her heart to him -- no subterfuge or coyness to our Martha. There's no doubt about the way she will meet her future, that she will move on with her heart intact.

The Doctor moves on, too, still dreaming I suspect of the girl with the wolf in her heart and the TARDIS in her eyes, that he only kissed once. It's not perfect. But it's enough.

A beautiful season, go watch it. Like, now.

TV Food Chef's Resume: Impossible?

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 02:52:00 +0000

Say it ain't so, Robert!

Introduced to the show by a Mom obsessed with all things Food Network, I've really come to enjoy the show "Dinner: Impossible" over the past few years.

I'm a sucker for its goofy 007-spy-movie opening, as well as for the show as a fast-paced, fun little diversion at just 30 minutes per episode.

Which is why I'm so sorry to hear about the latest controversies swirling around the show's host and main attraction, TV chef Robert Irvine.

Evidently, Robert has a habit of, er, embellishing his resume and accomplishments, and that habit caught up with him (with a vengeance) in a newspaper story (http://www.sptimes.com/2008/02/17/Southpinellas/TV_chef_spiced_up_his.shtml) this February by a St. Petersburg journalist on his activities in planning a restaurant in St. Petersburg, Florida.

On his show, Irvine seems like a pretty good guy. He's a big musclebound type, topped off with an unexpected twinkly overbite, glasses and dimples. The overall effect is a likeable and funny mixture of brains and brawn, kind of English Librarian Meets Incredible Hulk. He's wisecracking, energetic, and seems creative, decisive, driven, and talented. Despite a few frustrated moments here and there, he typically appears to treat his helpers and co-workers with courtesy and respect, all wrapped up in an approachable and a down-to-earth working-man's British accent.

The newspaper story by Ben Montgomery in the St. Petersburg Times, however, painted a decidedly different, and unflattering, portrait of the man. It described an ego on the rampage, a sea of unpaid debts, claims of knighthoods and personal castles, as well as a host of inflated professional achievements (headed by his longstanding assertions of major support on the side panels for Princess Diana's wedding cake).

Suddenly all Irvine's claims were listed together in one place, and not only were many instantly disprovable, but they swiftly took away his television gravitas and made him seem as foolish and fallible as a door-to-door huckster.

A steady flurry of additional stories and debunkings soon followed, culminating in sternly-worded Food Network announcements that Irvine's contract on "Dinner: Impossible" would not be renewed, in addition to serious edits to the beginning of Irvine's program "Dinner: Impossible" as well. Soon another announcement followed this Spring, confirming that Food Network was replacing Irvine on the show with new FN chef do jour Michael Symon (latest addition to the Iron Chef: America cast) and changing the show to a one-hour format, to boot.

I'm sorry to hear about all of this -- sorry Robert felt the need to lie and embellish his accomplishments, sorry FN didn't vet him properly, and sorry he lost the show as a result. I genuinely enjoy his work on the show and think it will be a vastly different show in his absence. Irvine has put his mark on Dinner: Impossible, and I think he earned that, no matter what he lied about in the past.

And I still think -- from what I've seen on TV -- that Irvine is a capable and unique chef, and (perhaps most important) a proven and entertaining TV chef. He's fun and relaxed onscreen, and that's hard to do. In addition, so much of the food he has created honestly looked really scrumptious to me, and all the more unusually so for being in bulk amounts. Robert also comes off as creative, as well as consistently, scrupulously clean in the kitchen, and after being grossed out by the cooking habits of so many many other TV chefs from Top Chef to The Next Food Network Star to Hell's Kitchen, I really like that.

I don't condone lying at all. But after 15 years in the media and PR industries, I've seen so many many people who simply felt they needed to polish up their credentials/coolness a bit, who didn't feel qualified or good enough on their own, who were so hungry to achieve that a little resume-padding seemed like a small sin if it got them to the next step. They just don't see that you don't sell your soul all at once, but little by little, day by day. It's very sad and also, to me, very human.

So I'm not really surprised that this guy (who seems to have training and skills at least), who seems to come from a working-class background, started embellishing here and there, saw how well it worked (especially since we yanks adore British accents), and just couldn't stop himself. I almost find it funny -- it's such a hoary old cliche that Americans tend to assume anyone with a British accent hobnobs with royalty and is one step away from knighthood, and sure enough, Irvine capitalized grandly on those assumptions (and again, they all seemed to start with these little grains of truth, and just kept growing and growing...).

In this case, everybody loses. Irvine lied to get a job, but he did turn out to do the job grandly -- he's a good TV chef. Dinner: Impossible is a bona fide hit, and is going into its fourth season.

So what now? I guess I honestly still wish Irvine the best, and hope he comes out of this with some kind of career to rebuild. While I like Symon and his giggle, I do get tired of FN pimping out their next Chosen One show by show by show (besides, I had a soft spot for Besh). I also am not sold on either Symon as host OR on the concept of Dinner: Impossible now packaged as a one-hour show. I liked it the way it was, Irvine, half-hour, and all. Why fix it?

Meanwhile, I hope this scenario has stopped RI from further lying but I don't wish him ill as a result. Public humiliation and the loss of his show seems to me to be punishment enough. So I'm frankly rooting for him to come back from this someday, and thought this editorial (http://www.allyourtv.com/0708season/indefenseofrobertirvine.html) put things pretty well.

Can Irvine come back from this? I hope so. I don't think it's necessarily... impossible.

What do you think?

Photo/Image credit: Food Network

Donkeys and Gnat's Piss and Bovril, Oh My (or How I Stopped Worrying, and Learned to Love Gordon Ramsay)

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Thu, 20 Sep 2007 20:40:00 +0000

Note: Updated to reflect the launch of the new U.S. "Kitchen Nightmares," airing Wednesdays at 10 p.m. on Fox.

Scrunched, red, and as wrinkled as a shar-pei's behind, Gordon Ramsay's is the face of someone whose every expression has left a mark. He has the laddered forehead of the born worrier, with every line etched and ready for springing back into action with the next frown. Even his somewhat rarer smiles have left their imprints.

He's a weird mix. At just past forty, the famous British chef easily looks ten years older than his actual age, yet he also conveys an oddly boyish pugnacity and athleticism, as well. In other words, as finalist contestant Bonnie Muirhead put it in this season of Hell's Kitchen, "I'll have nightmares about Chef Ramsay yelling at me for the rest of my life, but he's still kind of hot."

Ramsay, especially in tyrant mode on Hell's Kitchen, is certainly something of an acquired taste. The first time I watched the show, I actually flinched when Ramsay launched into one of his famous tirades, screaming a blue streak of bleeped obscenities at the hapless contestants.

"What is that guy doing?" I asked my friend nervously. "Does he always scream at them like this?"

I found myself both riveted and repulsed by Ramsay's over-the-top shouting, screaming, cursing, and shoving. He threw things at people. Threw. I couldn't believe it. This was what reality TV had come to. It was like I was watching the boss of my worst nightmares. Even Ramsay's hair seems perpetually enraged, standing up from his head in a mess of blond spikes.

And yet, I couldn't look away. I've kept watching. Something about the show, and Chef Ramsay, resonates with me. The guy is charismatic, for one thing, and he's obviously passionate about the business, as well as the art, of food. He cares how it is prepared, and dislikes having to suffer fools along the way (everyone can empathize with that one). Adding Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares to my Tivo list also helped to add dimension to the guy. He can be charming and effortlessly likeable on that show (while still showing the typical Ramsay blue streak), and often exhibits unexpected moments of kindness, as when he's encouraging a hapless restaurant owner, or complimenting a shy sous chef on a lovely dessert.

But I admit it, I've grown to love the yelling, the endless bleeps, the infinite variations on the F-word. The breadth and variety of his insults is superb, and when it comes to profanity, Ramsay is a king in his domain, an entertaining, colorful and endlessly inventive wordsmith. Watching Ramsay cuss out a contestant on one Hell's Kitchen episode last season, in which he used an iteration of the F-word more than 34 times, I was reminded of that line in Jean Shepherd's A Christmas Story, when Ralphie talked about his father working in obscenity the way most men worked with clay. That's Chef Ramsay for you.

His food may be divine — I don't doubt the three Michelin stars — but what Ramsay was really born to do? Rant. The man was born for it.

"It tastes like gnat's piss!" he cries. It's the unexpected humor in the delivery that kills me. "It's a f*cking carrot, you donut!" he shouts to another clueless, trembling contestant. On yet another occasion, he moans that a girl has "a palate like a cow's backside." He compares a contestant's fried quail eggs to "plastic silicone implants." It's all weirdly awesome. The worst dishes receive the most scathing comments of all: "It looks like f*cking Bovril and baby vomit!" he screams, quivering in outrage at a contestant's attempt to please him with a favorite recipe. "It looks like regurgitated dog sh*t!"

For me, the end-all, be-all Ramsay moment arrived when he screamed at season two runner-up Virginia Dalbeck last season that her scallops wouldn't stick to her pan because it was non-stick. "That's why they call it non-stiiIIIIIiiick!" he shrieked. And with his voice ascending to the heights and then actually cracking in all-out desperation in the end, oh, it's one of those sublime moments that defies description, hilarious and touching all at the same time. You almost feel bad for the guy, endlessly saddled with these clueless incompetents. (Ramsay almost achieved this same level of perfection this season when he yelled, "I can't stop the ChuuUUuurch!" over the bumbling preparations for a wedding banquet — but the voice crackage just wasn't quite as good.)

In a perfect world, and on those rare perfect occasions when only an insult will do, I too could thumb my nose at the world with this kind of snark and impudence. As it is, I'm simply awestruck. And parked in front of the TV every Ramsay night (Mondays, when Hell's Kitchen's airing, Wednesdays for the U.S. Kitchen Nightmares, and Thursdays, for the BBC version) in semi-religious fervor.

With Ramsay, all the emotions are high-powered — even the low ones, and sad Ramsay is just as funny as angry Ramsay. "Deeeeearrr. Oh, dear," he'll moan in tragic tones, delicately poking his fork at a burned or sodden mess of salad, chicken or crab. The genuine sadness and disappointment in his voice doesn't make it any less funny to watch. It just makes you feel a little evil for laughing.

But Ramsay doesn't just verbally abuse his hapless subjects on Hell's Kitchen or Kitchen Nightmares. He mixes in praise, support, forgiveness, and exasperation with neverending bouts of inventive affectionate (and not-so-affectionate) name-calling. Contestants aren't just poor performers, they're Donuts, Bimbos, Gremlins, and Monkeys. And, of course, his most common designation (and my personal favorite): Donkey.

So anything Ramsay is now must-see TV for me. I'm not sure when it happened — maybe the tenth time he called someone "donkey," or the fiftieth time he said "f*ck," but somewhere along the lines, it hit me. I loved this guy. Adored him. I knew I'd still be petrified to be in the same room with him, mind you, but his insanity actually had started to make total sense to me. And it didn't stop there. I'd been TiVoing Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares as well, just to see what all the fuss was about on the other side of the pond. And before you knew it, I was a diehard fan of all shows Ramsay. (This fall's U.S. version of Kitchen Nightmares? So far, so good -- it's got all the gross food, incompetence, and Ramsay profanity you've been waiting for -- and more.)

And what's not to love? The guy simply will not accept mediocrity. He sneers at the ordinary. He expects something special from every single person around him. I love that. Our world, so often, expects so little from people. So many of us work at computers or small desks, shoved in cubicles, often in work that is mind-numbingly mundane. I have to like a guy who cares so deeply and so passionately about something that he will not accept anything less than the best, from himself as well as those around him. Sure, he can be a raging jerkwad. But there's a depth and resonance to his behavior, and (I'm quite sure) a deliberate drama as well. Ramsay's problem (if it is one) is simply that he cares too much — about everything. You can't imagine this guy being blase on a single subject. Quality matters.

He cares most of all about the customers, but he also won't play games with those who throw tantrums just because they can. Last season on HK, he famously told a woman who was rather obviously playing to the camera to "get her breasts off his counter." This season, he reacted to a snooty customer by telling his faithful Maitre'd Jean-Philippe to "take the giraffe back to the table, please."

But these are exceptions — most of the time, his interactions with customers seem surprisingly gracious and low-key, especially on the BBC's Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares, where he often seems almost messianic, doing his best to save the entire British Empire from bad food, one restaurant at a time. In the kitchen, in the swelter and bustle of his particular domain, perfection is possible. The food has to be simply yet elegantly prepared, and it's got to taste delicious. As he hovers over a contestant's sauce or tastes a restaurateur's latest hideous concoctions, the fear in Ramsay's prematurely lined face is palpable. Everything has to be right. In each episode, the irritation, dread and exasperation actually seems to come off him in little squiggly lines as he wonders what the donkeys will put the poor customers through this week.

So for me it's not about the yelling, although it's often so stagey that I either find it hilarious or I can't take it too seriously. Because he's not indiscriminate. He doesn't yell at someone who doesn't know how to make something, for instance, he yells at those who screw up when they should have known better -- at the experienced and formally trained chef who nevertheless burns the scallops, overlooks the rancid crab, or overcooks the risotto.

For Ramsay, the worst offenders are always those who should have known better. I'm still amazed that we didn't see a small mushroom cloud over Hell's Kitchen on the day when contestant Jen Yemola tried to serve pasta she'd thrown in the trash and then reboiled. Only the quiet remonstration of Julia Williams (famous as this season's capable, quietly wonderful "Waffle House" contestant) saved the hapless customer from that tasty little confection. The worrisome part for me was the way Jen rattled off the temperature of the water as a sure-fire way to make things okay ("Two-twelve kills the bacteria," she said matter-of-factly), something that still makes me wonder if she's done it before. But even before Jen's ouster from the show, I knew she had to be doomed. Nobody was going to give a restaurant to this girl, no matter how capable a chef. Not to someone who thought it was okay to serve food straight out of the trash, ON TELEVISION. Not ever.

On Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares, which just had its new U.S. spinoff debut last night, what's surprising is not that Ramsay can cook, but that he's a sharp and perceptive businessman with a special brilliance when it comes to PR. He may love food, but he never loses sight of a restaurant as a business that depends on cleanliness, cuisine, and customers to make a go of it. When it comes to turning a restaurant around, Ramsay is perfectly willing to scrub floors and deep-fryers, train (or re-train) staff, revise a menu, or even come up with a winning PR campaign (like his smashing "Campaign for Real Gravy" idea to help revitalize the Fenwick Arms pub). Even in the more pugnacious U.S. version (the ads are of course, like Hell's Kitchen, all about the yelling), Ramsay is surprisingly complex. He can use the f-word twelve times a sentence, sure, but it's usually while scrubbing out a dirty stove or tossing bad food. And he can still demonstrate professionalism, humor, and quiet confidence, in this case ironically serving as a hotheaded Italian-American family's peacemaker in the opening episode.

But unlikely as it is, he does have a perceptive side -- even on Hell's Kitchen as well. In between rants, he's perfectly capable of seeing right through those on the show, for instance, who appear to be there more for the "I'm on TV!" or PR opportunities than for the actual cooking. "You're standing there like some jumped-up little cavewoman!" he yelled at this season's Melissa Firpo, who with her long matted hair actually did unfortunately rather resemble a cavewoman at that particular instance. When someone like Melissa, who obviously had some cooking skills, seemed more interested in plumping her breasts for the camera, or arranging her waist-length auburn hair in new and exciting ways, Ramsay lost it, and justifiably so. (Ironically, the more Melissa did to her hair to call attention to it, the worse she looked. Like most people she honestly looked best when she simply stopped trying so hard.) And while Melissa's hair would have been an attractive feature for her if she'd been a beauty contestant, on HK all I could think every time I saw all that hair was, Please God, keep it away from the fooooood.

Ultimately, Ramsay's a little like Lou Gossett's character in An Officer and a Gentleman from ages back. He may be sparse with his praise, but when it comes (whether on Kitchen Nightmares or Hell's Kitchen), it's richly earned, and the recipient glows with it. It's a hallmark in the receiving person's life. When Ramsay finally bid farewell to Waffle House Julia on HK, not only hugging her and complimenting her for her performance, skills, and dedication, but actually offering to pay her way through culinary school, it was one of the best TV moments of my year. I may even have gotten a little misty-eyed. (But come on, it was Julia. She rocked. Even if she was a bit sour when returning for the finale.)

Gordon Ramsay's old school. In a world where mediocrity is celebrated, where so many people just don't seem to care anymore, Ramsay won't accept less than your best. And in his kitchen, the worst thing you can do is stop caring. This season, when he threw Josh Wahler out of the kitchen after a particularly terrible night of dinner service, he appeared to do so most of all because Josh was so paranoid, stressed, and nervous (frantically attempting to pre-cook multiple entrees to stay ahead, in a gambit that backfired badly) that he had stopped caring about the food.

In the world of Gordon Ramsay, you can't stop caring. You have a choice. You can be superb at what you do, and do it with pride, or you're nothing more than a donkey. It's not such a bad philosophy for life.

The colorful language, of course, is optional.

Food, Glorious TV Food

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Wed, 01 Aug 2007 12:03:00 +0000

From "Kitchen Nightmares" to Bravo's "Top Chef" to the Food Network, TV today has never been more mouthwatering

While it's ironic to admit, since I come from a long line of folks who look like we could hoe potatoes, pop out kids, and toss back a pint or twelve simply all in an afternoon's work... I've never really been a foodie. Genetics and inactivity contribute to my pudgery far more than an adoration of all things tasty, frankly. I don't think I have especially discerning taste buds, except where wine is concerned, either -- I'm not a supertaster. And on more than one occasion, after navigating the minefield of what's healthy to eat, and in what portion, and when to do it, I find myself fervently wishing for the complex issues of foods, calories, portions, fats, and other issues to simply be solved with a food pill. I'd be ecstatic.

But that wouldn't be much fun, and especially not when television over the past year or two has slowly given me an interest in food for the first time, and not only that, has made me appreciate cooking as a truly artistic endeavor.

It was all my Mom's fault, really. She's a Food Network junkie, and kept telling me to check out Alton Brown (she knows my love for all things funny and geeky and Alton is both), as well as shows like Iron Chef America and Top Chef. I did, and fell instantly in love with the care, finesse and artistry so often required to make a perfect dish, whether it's an amuse bouche, a dessert, a tasting menu, or a simply fabulous plate of mac and cheese. I not only fell for the fabulous Alton and Iron Chef, but also for the foul-mouthed poetry of Gordon Ramsey on "Hell's Kitchen" and "Kitchen Nightmares," as well as the snide polish of Bravo's "Top Chef." And I couldn't stop there. Pretty soon I was also equally hooked on "The Next Food Network Star," "Throwdown with Bobby Flay," "Everyday Italian" with Giada, and more.

Now it seems like food is everywhere on TV, and it's never looked better. And I'm right there watching it, discussing the merits of "Top Chef" finalists (where I always seem to root for the underdog, having adored both Tiffani and Marcel), passionately discussing "plating" and "presentation" on "Iron Chef America," arguing about whether Alton Brown looks better with or without a beard (I vote without) and yelping with delight each time Ted Allen shows up as a judge on either "Iron Chef America" or "Top Chef" (for some mysterious reason I have to scream "Ted!" at each sighting, a habit that annoys everyone around me to no end). And, of course, grinning happily everytime Gordon Ramsey calls someone a "donkey" on Hell's Kitchen. He's not evil, after all. He just wants it done right.

I think perhaps all this fabulous foodiness may have something to do with the times we're living in at the moment. Right after 9/11, there was a huge increase in people's interest in home decor and organization. To me it seemed as if all of us were trying to make our own little sanctuaries just a little bit prettier, a little safer, and even more removed from the pressures and fears of the outside world.

Now in a similar way, we've got all this glorious food on TV -- reassuring us that each of us is a potential gourmet (and gourmand), that each of us can make a restaurant-quality tasting menu right in our own homes. Of course, the devil on our shoulders is also there, as society's reminding us as never before of how bad food can be for us, how dangerous it is, of how self-indulgent we Americans can be, and how we need to be careful to guard against obesity, heart disease, diabetes, and more. Incessant commercials remind us to guard against high cholesterol, exhorting us to serve Cheerios at weddings.

And yet there it is, all this lovely food on TV, and all these people who have shown me the real artistry that can be a part of cooking. And it's all good, frankly -- it reminds me of how fantastic lean meat can be when prepared right, and of how beautiful and tasty crisp green vegetables can be, or delectable slices of fruit, impeccably sliced and presented. There's sometimes a cliched perception, I think, that a love for food is what leads us to gluttony, yet honestly I have become more convinced than ever that a love for food has led me to treasure each small bite, at its best, as a little bit of perfection in just the right size -- a small taste of heaven.

Next up? A look at my favorite reality-TV food contestants, from "Top Chef," to "Hell's Kitchen," to "The Next Food Network Star."

The 2007 Tonys: TV Meets Theatre (and I'm in Hog Heaven)

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Thu, 05 Jul 2007 20:28:00 +0000

I love TV, and worship theatre, so it's probably not a huge surprise that I await the Tony Awards each year with the enthusiasm and fervor that only the diehard music theatre geek can muster.

I was a trained singer through college, and actually got a minor in Theatre, so of course I'm hopeless for life. I may be writing plays nowadays, most of the time, but I can still sing any Sondheim song, anywhere, anytime (whether or not you want me to). I respond to a question about a song with the theatrical resumes of people like Idina Menzel, Boyd Gaines, Kristin Chenoweth, Victor Garber, Patti LuPone, Mandy Patinkin, and others. I even love the mega-musicals, unabashedly, and passionately. Les Miz? Phantom? Producers? Bring 'em on! I respond to discussions of TV's "CSI" with a list of most of Liev Schrieber's onstage Shakespearean roles and still mourn not getting to see the reimagined "Sweeney Todd" of last year.

Annoying stuff like that.

So there I am each season, handicapping favorites, listening to all those show tunes (and wishing I were there in NYC to see them performed), and hoping Hugh Jackman will host again so I can watch and lust at the same time.

Although this year's Tony's did not, alas, feature the freakishly talented Mr. Jackman, it was a satisfying broadcast, featuring so many of the New York stage's great performers. I was thrilled to see Christine Ebersole win for "Grey Gardens" -- I've been a fan of hers ever since seeing her play Guinevere opposite Richard Burton in snippets from the revival of "Camelot" as a kid. She wasn't just gorgeous, she also brought a sense of vibrancy and sass to Guinevere that I always remembered. I loved seeing her on TV and film occasionally but it always seemed like most of the time, people didn't know what to do with her. So to see her continue a successful Broadway career, and to be so acclaimed in this show this season, is really wonderful.

I was also thrilled about so many wins for "Spring Awakening," with an ingenious score, smart book, and truly unusual choreography and staging. It not only got rapturous reviews, but which also seems to be bringing something genuinely new to the table. I also love seeing someone like pop singer Duncan Sheik discover the magic of musical theatre, and if his enthusiastic acceptance speeches were any indication, I think he's there to stay.

I also loved seeing Julie White's unexected win for "The Little Dog Laughed," and her acceptance speech was one of those bubbly, spontaneous moments that stand out each season. I was also happy to see Frank Langella's win for Frost/Nixon, and adored his quiet and eloquent acceptance speech, which was all about work, love, dedication, and how that fit (or didn't fit) into a competition.

And although I hated the score for "Curtains" (it just feels tired to me, despite the prodigious talents of Holmes, Kander, and Ebb, as if someone told them to write a pastiche of show tunes in a single weekend), I was thrilled with David Hyde Pierce's win, as well as his moving and gentle acceptance speech. And give the boy a hand for those voice lessons, because he's gone from patter-songs in "Spamalot" to a nice, trained sound in "Curtains" that totally surprised me.

The Tony broadcast always has a show-stopper. I still remember Brian Stokes Mitchell bringing down the house with his gorgeous rendition of "The Impossible Dream" four or five years back, in a haunting performance that I'll never forget. This year's show-stopper, for me, was easily Raul Esparza's lovely and understated performance of "Being Alive," (one of my all-time favorite show tunes), from this year's restaging of "Company." "Company" as a show has always struck me as somewhat cold and soulless though, so his performance made me do a complete turnaround. A single heartfelt performance of a lovely song, however, and suddenly I wanted to see that show more than anything. A gorgeous moment.

I'm in the process of moving to New York, so I haven't seen any of these. I've just listened to the scores, watched for snippets, read reviews, etc. It's all incredibly unsatisfying compared to the real thing.

But within a few months, I'll be able to see whatever hasn't closed. The wonderful transience of theatre is part of its appeal, that built-in fragility that reminds you that the production you're seeing today won't be around forever. So I won't get to see "Journey's End," or "The Little Dog Laughed," which had already closed at Tony time, nor "Grey Gardens," which is ending its run even as we speak. But I hope there's still some wonderfulness left for me to see when I get there -- there always is.

"Scrubs" Cleaned Up as Season 6 Ended

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Thu, 05 Jul 2007 19:36:00 +0000

I have a confession to make. I am a "Scrubs"-aholic. I love the show. Love it unabashedly. It's stupid and infantile and sweet and smart and almost always makes me laugh. Right after my stepdad passed away from cancer last year, sometimes the only laughs I could find were on those "Scrubs" DVDs. I could always trust "Scrubs" for a grin, from the sublimely cranky Dr. Cox, to the fabulousness of "the Todd," the zany unpredictability of the Janitor, to the giddy sweetness of J.D.'s unshakeable friendship with Turk. Even the theme song makes me happy.

So it's not easy for me to admit that, despite its marvelous musical episode this season (still brilliant, and still echoing in my head with refrains of "everything comes down to poo" and "it's guy love, guy love"), Scrubs had worried me this season.

The show just felt tired. For every zinger, every pitch-perfect pratfall, there was also a moment that thudded painfully into unfunny silence. And not in the "tackling serious issues" good way. In the "did they really think this was funny?" way. The actors were all doing their best, but there was also enough dead air for me to wonder which of them were simply going through the motions at this point, collecting paychecks while politely not mentioning to the writers how much the latest scripts, er, blew.

So I was really ambivalent about "Scrubs" this season, was sad about its decline, and for several weeks in a row, simply almost flipped away, not wanting to watch a show I loved go circling down the drain. Then I'd watch anyway, but in a way that was anxious instead of delighted, worried at every step. I'd be bummed when an episode really tanked, or pleased and surprised when it was better than I expected. Not the place from which I'm used to watching "Scrubs," by any means!

But I kept watching. And while, yes, there have been some episodes that sucked eggs, SUCKED, frankly, just awful segments where the timing was off, where J.D. seemed to exist on a wholly different planet, where he seemed not cutely unique but actually immature and unlikeable, and Elliot's trademark run-on monologues were not only not funny, but painful. Even Cox's rapid-fire responses weren't as funny, as if we'd heard them all before.

But I kept coming back, and was ultimately glad I had, by season's end. When it's good, I believe in J.D., the world's gayest straight guy, or in Carla, the best nurse on the planet, or in the gentleness of Cox, the alpha male whose wife wears the pants, suspenders, and everything else. And the arc of this season about responsibility and maturity, and the surprising episodes dealing with the injury and loss of Laverne, won me over. The quiet understated matter-of-factness of it, reassured me: Scrubs can still deliver.

Which makes me happy, because honestly, for anyone who's actually got a doctor (or a patient) in the family, "Scrubs" is consistently the most realistic medical show I can think of. Screw the blood and guts and melodrama of NBC's "ER". I worked in an ER for two years, and this show's excesses simply make me laugh. I hung in there through the crazed knife-wielding maniacs, the gunmen, the plagues, even the scary helicopters. But the tank? And the really shabby end to the story of Romano? I was outta there. Besides, any show that casts Maura Tierney and never lets her smile, or my lovely little "Dracula Doc" Goran Visnijc and won't let him let loose, hey, I leave because I love.

"Scrubs" isn't about gods, but about the doctors and nurses realistically at the bedside. I adore "House," but it's about entirely different things, using its 'patients of the week' to explore the things that make House himself, and those around him, tick.

But "Scrubs" is about real-world medicine, about harried hospital corridors, rows of patients, sniffly kids, recovering soldiers, arrogant administrators, HMOs that don't work, the terminally ill, and everything else. The "Scrubs" universe also acknowledges that the hospital is actually staffed by nurses, aides, and other support staff (and not all of those are white, beautiful, or thin). It's a welcome respite from the usual (and while I'm on the subject, somebody please give the beautiful Jennifer Morrison of "House" a sandwich).

And even though it annoyed me this season more than any other, I kind of like the fact that J.D. can be an annoying, selfish, preening little jerk. I disliked his usual "but what if I love Elliot?" revelation near the end, but this was probably pretty true to what J.D. would do. Elliot's always his reserve dream girl when things go bad, so it made sense in a way for him to look on wistfully as she planned her marriage. But I was thrilled at the return of the still-pregnant Kim, at the way she just seems to fit with J.D. -- she doesn't stifle his inner kid, but she does make damned sure he acts like an adult. Sure, her lie to him about her pregnancy was a massive mistake, but my hope is that he will forgive her, and not act on that little moment with Elliot that we saw at the end (please no). Because if he doesn't? Next season we might actually see J.D. grow up. How weird would that be?

So hats off to "Scrubs" for a solid end to the season, especially the episodes on Sacred Heart's sudden loss, which were a quietly lovely meditation on life, death and faith, as the staff said goodbye to the devout Laverne. "I hope Jesus exists," said a tearful Elliot, "Because otherwise you're gonna be really pissed." No doubt, he's there, and waiting for Laverne. This show's too gentle to believe otherwise.

Alone Again, Naturally

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Mon, 02 Jul 2007 22:59:00 +0000

After over a month of lost posts (gotta love the information age), I'm yet again (hee) slowly rebuilding my arsenal, so bear with me as I repost some of those ramblings from season finales since May.

Which brings me to "House." It was an interesting ending to Season 3, as the final episode found the doctor everybody loves to hate (and hates to love) sans underlings, and strumming his guitar alone, not appearing at all unhappy at the situation.

I thought Season 3 was flawed on a number of levels -- I didn't like the way it opened, with House so magically healed by his coma that his thigh muscle had evidently grown back -- and I felt that some of the show's 'showiest' episodes of the season were also some of its worst, with House wildly inconsistent in character, even revealing himself as a a childhood victim of abuse. I dislike easy answers in writing, so I was unhappy with this, simply because I think House doesn't need a reason to be House -- he's a creature of nature, he just is. I don't need Freudian explorations or easy explanations of why House is the way he is. I love the character simply as someone who doesn't quite fit, who sees things a specific way and calls them on it to the world, not caring whether he's loved or hated for it.

I also thought the Tritter arc was a huge disappointment from a writing standpoint. I was so excited to see someone as wonderful as David Morse in the mix, and he brought a nice quiet menace and humor to his role, but the writing just wasn't there for him.

And yet, there was much to love in the season, with many patients who were strong and interesting characters in their own rights. I thought "Son of Coma Guy" was absolutely stunning, as were several other episodes throughout the season, and while the rape victim character didn't affect me (and in fact annoyed me, as written and acted), the little boy with autism moved me deeply, as did the expression on House's face when the boy gave him his beloved video game.

I enjoyed Chase's progression while continuing to find Cameron wildly inconsistent, yet I loved Cam in the episode with Pruitt Taylor Vince as well as in the episode with Joel Grey. I could also watch the hilarious episode in which House dosed Wilson with speed a million times and never get tired of it (and the often underappreciated Robert Sean Leonard has never been looser or funnier on the show).

As this season ended, with Foreman quitting, poor Chase fired, and Cam resigning, House seemed more than a little adrift, yet happy to be so. House has always shown a cruel streak where Chase was concerned, as if he's determined NOT to be the father Chase is always searching for, yet this was definitely his most extreme action to date. Yet I suspect that Chase will be back (hopefully with apology in tow), Cam will admit that she's still crushing on the gruff older guy (because she totally is), and Foreman will come back and admit that he isn't House -- he's his own particular brand of jerk.

The thing I always love about House, beyond the witticisms, beyond the patients of the week, is the way it celebrates someone who cannot and will not ever fit in. House glories in his individuality, and takes pride in everything that makes him different. He doesn't just march to the beat of a different drummer, he bashes the drummer over the head and pulls out his iPod. And thanks to the humanity and resonance brought to the part by the marvelous Hugh Laurie, House is never a caricature. There's always the glimmer of something more behind the eyes.

And so the ending to this season left me ambivalent, but part of me loved it. House is lonely, true. But it's the prison he chooses. As the curtain comes down, House is alone again, and loving it. Naturally.

The Doctor, That's Who

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Mon, 02 Jul 2007 22:32:00 +0000

So I've been DYING to catch up on Doctor Who (I lost the Tivo battles on Friday nights so missed season 2 til now) and only just finally got to see and savor Season 2.

And what a treat, with Tennant bouncing around the universe, bringing this brand-new hilarity and energy to the Doctor ("Ten"). I love Ten even though I miss Nine's odd purity and devotion. There was something lovely and steadfast to Christopher Eccleston that is the precise opposite of Tennant. I never doubted that Eccleston's Doctor felt romantically about Rose, for instance, yet doubted it constantly with Tennant. I do love Ten -- I think he's cool, weird, sexy, crazy, and dazzlingly funny, but there is something about him that's more detached to me.

And it's funny how different his arc is. Last season was about rage and grief, I think. This one was ultimately about loneliness and how close you allow people to get (or not to get).

And I've been enjoying every minute of the season. Loved the body-switching. And werewolf meets Queen Victoria. Loved Anthony Stewart Head (Giles!) as the wicked (and wickedly tempting) schoolmaster. Loved Mickey and his adventures in an alternate dimension. Absolutely adored the two-part encounter with the Devil, in what was easily one of the show's best-written encounters.

And the finale, Doomsday... oh wow. I adored it, and thought it was heartbreaking, challenging, gruesome, gorgeous and smart, and even better than the finale for Season 1 (which I also loved). It even made me love the Cybermen (which I just felt was a bit clunky earlier in the season).

And what an ending to the relationship between Ten and Rose. I've never been sure that Ten loved Rose, really. Or to be precise, whether it was romantic versus just a genial "love ya kid" kind of thing.

Ultimately, I think the Doctor's thing for Rose (which I understand is very new in a Companion relationship, with Nine and Ten only) is that he's in love with humanity and Rose embodies the best of all of it. She's the best of the ordinary human being. She is pretty and scrappy, smart and capable, but she's no more so than millions on earth. She is everywoman -- and yet, she is blazingly unique. She is ordinary; she is extraordinary. Often it's the distance between the two I love (Rose sees only the ordinariness in herself, the Doctor sees the specialness she cannot see). And to me that's what the Doctor loves in her, best of all. But is it romantic? I kept waffling on the issue throughout the season before deciding that yes, it was.

And in "Doomsday," at the end of the season, when Rose was being ripped away from him, screaming, and the Doctor screamed in return, their screams actually mingling as if they were one person -- only then did I feel for sure that, "Wow, he does love her." It was one of those rare glimpses into the abyss in Ten's soul, that one moment, where you could see in his face that he was dying inside -- not just because she was about to die horribly and eternally in the Void, but because she was leaving him alone.

And Billie Piper, the girl can freaking act. That final scene, when she could not get the words out, was heartbreaking. Just gorgeous work from her in the entire finale, and from Tennant too. I loved this season. The moment it was over all I wanted to do was to watch it again. And the music was just stunning this season, really beautiful stuff.

Oh, and speaking of sheer romance... When Jackie and Pete stared at one another in that hallway, across the impossible gulf of two different universes and lifetimes, recognizing all the ways they could never really work... and then Pete ran into her arms anyway? Um. I, er, sobbed. I had to press pause on the DVD player to cry it out. (I used to be much tougher before my stepdad's cancer, but now? Total wimp.) But it was beautiful and so brave. For sheer romance, no matter how gorgeous those last moments were between Rose and Ten, for me nothing in the episode afterward could touch that moment when Pete ran to his Jacks. Sniffle. I love Pete, and loved that he was the one to rescue Rose. He found the father within himself after all.

So it's over. Bah. On the down side, I am still in a total funk because I adored the last episodes but am decidedly blue at finishing the season, and sad to see the parting of Rose and her Doctor. It was so cruel that they couldn't touch to say goodbye -- whether or not it was romantic in the kiss-me-now sense, the first thing the two of them have always seemed to do is to instinctively link hands. But no, not even the solace of a touch to say goodbye.

On a side note, Doctor Who seems to be one of those things that people simply won't try, sure that it's too British, too hokey, too Sci-Fi. Their loss.

I've been raving about this season and especially the final episode to all these people, and the other day was trying to explain the poetry and loveliness of Peter and Jackie in that hallway, from two different universes that should never have touched, and somehow the wonderfulness of it just wouldn't translate.

But what a lovely show, and a lovely ending to Season 2.

A Warning on the Watchtower, in a Spellbinding Season 3 Finale for Battlestar Galactica ("Crossroads, Part 2")

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Tue, 10 Apr 2007 15:20:00 +0000

"There must be some kind of way out of here," mumbles Tigh, his ear pressed tightly to the metal walls of his cabin, straining to hear the melody that's driving him mad. Chief, always oddly spiritual, doesn't fight it. He's just sleepwalking, wondering, listening to something only he can hear, falling into a trance as he leans his cheek against cold metal. Tory and Anders lose themselves in grief and sex, trying to ignore the "something else" nagging at them from all around the edges. Until they're all standing in a circle, staring at one another, and at the truth of a single revelation: They are the enemy.

What an episode. What an ending to Season 3.

Baltar heard music of his own this week -- the welcome sound of a "not guilty" verdict. While it enraged poor Roslin, and pitted her against Adama with a venom that will probably continue to echo into next season, it was the right outcome.

And Lee's unexpected and beautiful speech on the stand -- delivered pitch-perfectly by Jamie Bamber, was what set Baltar free. Bamber is one of those quiet, serviceable actors who can always be depended on, yet I suspect he tends to be overlooked because he does tend to play things a bit under the radar (or DRADIS). So major props to Bamber for his performances over the past two episodes, which have just been sensational, absolutely on par with the best acting this series has ever seen. Bamber's heartbreak in questioning Roslin last week (and her whispered "don't do this" was as devastating as it was manipulative) was palpable -- his voice broke noticeably when he asked her why she was taking the healing hallucinogen chamalla. You could see and feel the affection, the pain, and the betrayal on both sides. Roslin, whose "Captain Adama" had helped to save Colonial One so long ago... and Lee, seeing secrets everywhere, fearing Roslin's blindness as he fears his father's.

And then this week, when called upon to ask why Baltar should be found not guilty, there was Lee, once again trusted to say the hard truth, and to say it with withering force, in a gorgeous speech that features some of the best writing of the season:

"What would you have done? If [Baltar] had refused to surrender, the
Cylons would've probably nuked the planet right then and there. So did he appear to cooperate with the Cylons? Sure. So did hundreds of others. What's the difference between him and them? The president issued a blanket pardon. They were all forgiven. No questions asked.
"Colonel Tigh? Colonel Tigh used suicide bombers, killed dozens of people. Forgiven. Lieutenant Agathon and Chief Tyrol? They murdered an officer on the Pegasus. Forgiven. The Admiral...The Admiral instituted a military coup d'etat against the President. Forgiven.

"And me? Well, where do I begin? I shot down a civilian passenger ship. The Olympic Carrier. Over a thousand people on board. Forgiven. I raised my weapon to a superior officer, committed an act of mutiny. Forgiven. And then on the very day when Baltar surrendered to those Cylons, I, as Commander of Pegasus, jumped away. I left everybody on that planet alone, undefended, for months! I even tried to persuade the Admiral never to return. To abandon you all there for good. If I'd had my way, nobody would've made it off that planet. I'm the coward. I'm the traitor. I'm forgiven."

These were words that desperately needed saying. This entire season, Baltar's been so easy to demonize, so easy to torture and hate, while so many other profoundly troubling behaviors and actions went by the wayside (forgiven). Baltar's no saint -- he is certainly one of this show's villains -- but he's a hauntingly human one, a screwup, a weak, vain little man whose biggest evil is probably the fact that he doesn't mean to do anything truly horrible... he just can't say no. The tantalizing humanity of the man, those glimmers of real insight and goodness, the very real possibility of Baltar's redemption -- those are the things that keep me riveted and invested in the character. I still think Baltar may find his way to the light.

And how ironic, and how tragic, was it that Baltar was betrayed by Gaeta, who committed perjury on the stand over the one truly heroic moment Baltar has ever had? How ironic that Baltar took a stand against the Cylons over the death lists and refused to sign. Refused when the gun was leveled in his face. Refused over and over again when Doral threatened pain and death. Refused even when Doral shot his beloved Caprica Six right in front of his face. Only when Doral put the burning hot muzzle of the gun to his temple, screaming, did Baltar relent, sobbing. It was a horrible moment, one I've never forgotten, not least because Baltar tried so hard, and hung in there for so much longer than I suspect many would have (and it's worth noting that his death would have afforded no one any protection -- the Cylons would have kept shooting until the next puppet signed, that's all).

For some, the act of capitulation here signifies cowardice. For me, however, it capped one of Baltar's few genuinely heroic moments. He tried, he actually tried, to be brave, to hang in there, to be the man he pretended to be. So when Gaeta took that away from him, Baltar's heartbreak, the sadness in his "Oh, Felix, what have you done?" was palpable. Gaeta has every reason to hate Baltar. But Baltar himself encouraged Gaeta to shoot him in the evacuation of New Caprica, and Gaeta relented, letting Baltar go so that he could prevent the nuke being set by D'Anna (Three) -- a mission that succeeded when Three found Hera.

Even with the music of a Not Guilty verdict, I don't think Baltar will ever quite recover from the events of this season. He has always seemed squirrelly, a man on the edge of a breakdown. But as Season 3 wound down, this Baltar seemed broken. Taunted and ostracized by the Fleet, huddled over his small box of belongings as he darted through the hallways, Baltar is more of an outsider than ever. As he is carried off by his few supporters (and cray-zee religious supporters at that), Baltar's situation doesn't look much better than it ever does.

And even as Baltar was rushed away, music, hauntingly vague and just out of reach, curled its way like smoke through the metal bones of the Galactica this week, and when four unlikely suspects followed its siren song, they found themselves confronting something they'd never suspected.

"We're Cylons," said Chief, staring.

Tyrol, Anders, Tory, and Tigh? Really?

The news hits them all differently. Tyrol is dreamlike, quiet, accepting; this news is the voice of his dreams; it's why he recognized the home of the Eye of Jupiter; it's why he loved Boomer. Or so he will tell himself. Anders is the quickest to understand... and the first to freak out, as well, as the revelations come fast and furious. Not after Caprica. Not after New Caprica, the rebellion, the Circle, Starbuck. And Tory just looks small and numb, terrified at the distance between what she loves -- Roslin, service -- and what she is, what she may betray.

But no. Tigh cannot be a facsimile, a copy, a replica of anything or anyone. He's too strong, too unique, and he's lost too much. Tigh, the man so human and fragile and flawed and magnificent, he's practically Shakespearean.

And yet here, he rises to the occasion with all Tigh's trademark grit and poetry. He glares at each of them through the venom of his one eye, his face a mask of pain, rage, and loyalty. And he says: "My name is Saul Tigh. I am an officer in the Colonial Fleet. Whatever else I am... whatever else it means, that's the man I want to be. And if I die today, that's the man I'll be."

And yeah, there's only one response to that. I did both -- cheered, and wept.

Marc Bernardin over at EW (http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,20015293,00.html) said it wonderfully last week:

"Michael Hogan, gods damn it, may actually be the best actor on a show full of great actors. Because he never shows off. You never see him doing it. He just shows up and...hurts. Right there in plain sight."

And what does the nebula have to do with this? Did it activate the four Cylons in some way? Or simply bring to light some subversive programming planted in them perhaps while they were imprisoned on New Caprica?

I loved that Kara's back, and that it's as much of a mindfrack as ever. Is she alive? Lee did see her on DRADIS even if as an "Unknown" entity. And why the shiny new Viper? And where did she get it? And can anyone else see her? Until we know for sure, my money's on Starbuck being a ChipStarbuck similar to the oddly divine apparitions seen by Six, Baltar, and Kara over the past three seasons.

Ultimately, the season 3 finale of Battlestar Galactica was a mindblower, the ultimate mindfrack. There are a lot of differing opinions out there about Season 3 -- was it a success? Does it measure up to Seasons 1 and 2? For me, it's no contest: It was a gorgeous season, sure occasionally uneven ("The Woman King" was definitely one of the stinkers of the season), but it hit sublime highs that were among the show's all-time best. The occupation of New Caprica by the Cylons, with its creepy echoes of World War II, the firing squads, Kara's disturbing imprisonment, the gorgeous, shattering joy as Adama came back to rescue his people, oh, I loved it all. I also loved so much rich character evolution -- the mystery of what drove Kara Thrace, Three's increasing preoccupation with the human questions of what lay beyond death (and her willingness to explore this even if it meant dying a thousand deaths to find out), Baltar's continued disintegration into madness, ChipSix's increasingly mysterious abilities to tap into the divine, Sharon's acceptance by the Fleet... all these things made me care more, watch more closely, each week.

Most of all, I loved the glimpse behind the wizard's curtain, the ways in which we got to know the Cylons for who they are (and who they are striving to become) -- the mysterious Basestars, the concept of projection, the differences between the Cylon models, the introduction of the mystery of the Hybrid, the elusive visions of those Final Five.

As Season Three ends, with Earth so tantalizingly close, I'm with those who think this season will hold up even better on DVD, and that its breakneck speed gave us an anomaly on TV -- a plot that progressed, week to week, a story that only grew richer with each passing chapter.

And now there are all these questions... the music, the Four, Starbuck's return... and that crazy appearance of "All along the Watchtower." I know the song's use here was a deal-breaker for some (many, even, who feel its use heralds that appearance by Fonzie along with some waterskis and a toothy water predator). I'm sure there are BSG fans out there right now in emergency rooms being treated for massive eyeroll in response to the revelation of what that song actually was.

But me, I loved it. It was brassy and ballsy and creative and ridiculous, a real leap of faith, and I loved it. The moment Tori, Tigh, Anders and Chief began speaking the lines aloud, I laughed aloud, joyfully, at the perfection of it.

"Watchtower" worked for me here in the same way references to Yeats's sublime "The Second Coming" always work whenever there's a threat to the end of the world in some movie or book (King is obviously in love with it as well, for instance, quoting it frequently in The Stand). Like "The Second Coming," "Watchtower" is a poem, a warning, and a threat. It's a song with strong archetypes and stronger apocalyptic overtones, about kings, thieves and fools. It's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. It's the horseshoe nail that lost the kingdom. It's a song about something on the horizon, a shadow and a fear. Who or what is the source of the song? Who's listening -- and who's broadcasting?

"Watchtower" is the sound of the divine, the roar of distant thunder. Something's coming, perhaps it's even "some rough beast, its hour come round at last." What is it? What's waiting to be born?

It's just too bad we'll have to wait for 2008 to figure out what.

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner ("Don't Ask, Don't Tell")

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Sat, 07 Apr 2007 12:50:00 +0000

Just when I'm prepared to love/hate/love Ugly Betty's Marc in secret perpetuity (damn you!) I jump back across to unabashed full adoration after this latest hilarious, twisted, and genuinely touching episode.

The latest, "Don't Ask, Don't Tell," which started out as a hilarious play on Marc's semi-secret life (pretend-dating the fabulous Amanda every year or so while Mom's in town) turned out to be a devastating take on what makes family, family. While also providing a reminder that we also make our own families -- all of us have those certain friends who are family, through and through, where it counts -- who listen after even the worst days, who remind us how to laugh -- who love us, in short, for who we are.

And kudos to everyone involved for a heartfelt episode that balanced heart with pathos, that wasn't afraid to balance the laughs with the heartache (Marc and Betty's ridiculous names for each other, for instance, included "treasure" and "enchilada," etc. when things got tough).

Sure, the episode was a howler, from Marc's impromptu kiss of Betty (which will go down in TV history, filed under awwwwkward) to his hysteria under the fluorescent lighting in Wili's new office, but it was ultimately (as all of the best UB episodes are) a heartbreaker, as Marc came out bravely to his Mom, Claire stood up to her biggest temptations, and Betty stood by a friend (in spite of that incident where he'd tricked her into eating glue).

Patti LuPone was genius casting, too -- hard as nails but believably so, and she beautifully played the one small moment when you really thought she might come through (nope).

Betty's speech on her front steps about family was perfectly timed, especially watching Alexis joyfully beat poor well-intentioned Daniel in a last-minute footrace to the publisher (when Daniel, ironically, was simply trying to publish a public and sincere welcome back to his sister). Hard as she tries, though, Alexis just isn't cut out for evil. She's competitive, but sunnily so, and Rebecca Romijn is lovely at showing us her character's hidden vulnerabilities. As Daniel drowned his sorrows in supermodels, Alexis wasn't glorying in her own inner Cruella, but was instead back at the hospital, doing the right thing as she fed poor Claire, who was herself still recovering as she'd managed to withstand Wili's sweetly evil offer of alcohol in exchange for Mode. Daniel can't see it, but his family's actually just fine. (Although Wili better start checking her brake lines if she follows through with seducing Meade Senior. Although Vanessa Williams looked gorgeous showing up at Meade's doorway in nothing but a fur coat, all I could think was, aghghghhghg, Wili, no...)

Betty, too, got a nice reminder of how lucky she really was in her own screwball family, from the bravery of nephew Justin, who lives out and proud, "I am what I am," every day, to her bossy sister and loving father. It's not a perfect family, to be sure, but their generosity on Betty's behalf (and even Marc's) was a welcome change from the constant duplicities surrounding the Meades. In the end, we knew Marc meant it, when he agreed with Betty that he was "freakin' fabulous," then quietly reminded her "you'll always be my little chimichanga." "Doesn't mean I like you!" he hastily added, horrified, but Betty's smile showed it was too late: Marc's capitulated. He may not always like Betty, but he loves her, and it was great to see that little moment between them.

And major kudos to Michael Urie, who plays Marc, for straddling a character who's at his best when deliciously bitchy, and yet who never fails to show us the heart in Marc that beats beneath Wili's Flying Monkey... a really memorable episode for this lovely series, and one that shows why its heart will always beat loud and clear.

But for the other side of the coin, let's hear it for Claire Meade, who barely blinked at Alexis's sex change, just happy to have her child back. Marc's mother's awfulness was the perfect counterpoint to the dry martini of perfection that is Claire Meade (and Judith Light rocks every single moment she has onscreen).

Family, Pt. 2: "Icing on the Cake"

Just look at last week's "Icing on the Cake," with Mama Meade's perfectly delivered, deadpan, "You can't bottle this kind of chemistry" when faced with the sight of Betty dating Gabe, her sweet (and adorkable) orthodontist. Who was charmingly played, incidentally, by Jesse Tyler Ferguson of "The Class" and the fabulous Broadway production of The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee.

This was another favorite episode of mine, combining all of Betty's trademark physical humor and yearning. Amanda in the latex dress was just the height of physical comedy, tripping over her own feet, carrying memos in her mouth (her dress was too tight for her to lift her arms), or most especially, trapped standing on a toilet, screaming, "I haven't peed all day!" While Henry and Betty remained painful and adorable at the same time.

While I am nowhere near losing my love for Henry, I'm frustrated at him, and with Betty, who are staring all lovelorn at one another across the echoes of the Mode offices. Life's too short, guys. Make the hard choices, be adults, say what needs to be said. Just do it already.

Or if Henry won't wise up, then Betty, call Gabe. Even Mama Meade would approve.

O Blog, Blog, Wherefore Art Thou, Blog

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Sat, 07 Apr 2007 12:47:00 +0000

So I wrote several blog entries over a week or two ago. They were
pithy. They were funny. They were spellbindingly accurate. Pulitzers were surely inevitable.

OK, OK, so not so much. But hey, they were there.

Then poof. No more blog entries. No more fabulous comparisons
between Roz Russell and Tina Fey. No more musings on the
outlandishly named Romo Lampkin (evidently the bastard fairytale
cousin of Rumplestiltskin in addition to being a damned fine
attorney) on BSG.

No more discussions of new diversions like
"Raines," or of the especially fine work currently seen on this latest
season of CSI.

Nope. Poof. Gone. Kaput. I'm still not sure what happened, but any
of you who have ever spent hours carefully crafting your words and
magically watching them fall into place.... all while stupidly not
backing up your work... I'm sure you feel my pain.

As it is, when I realized the posts were gone, I yelled, tried
unsuccessfully to revive, remember, or recover them ... and then
cried.

Hey, I never claimed to be tough.

So -- more to follow, shortly, as I attempt to bring back some of
those pieces I lost, while also moving right along and posting some
of those latest thoughts on season finales (like BSG's fabulous
latest episode) as well.

Twenty Signs You Watch too Much Television

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Tue, 20 Mar 2007 04:05:00 +0000

You find yourself wondering if your best friend is a Cylon

You watch your doctor carefully for signs of Vicodin pill-popping, a sign of true genius. If you go to the hospital, meanwhile, you loudly demand a consult from Dr. House.

If seeking a lawyer, you find yourself scanning the law section of your yellow pages for Wolfram & Hart

You've tried to pick someone up by giving them a seductive grin and a smooth "how YOU doin'?"

You watch the news about the latest terror threat, and can't help but think that Jack Bauer would have things cleaned up in less than a day...

You encounter a tough puzzle or question and wonder what Ken Jennings's answer would be

You've watched so much Iron Chef America and Top Chef that you start critiquing your favorite restaurant's 'plating' and 'presentation'

Thanks to your addiction to "Ugly Betty" and "Project Runway," you've started using terms like "swag," "fashionista," and "matchy-matchy" in everyday conversation

When shopping at the grocery store, you ask yourself what Alton would buy

You suspect you live on a Hellmouth -- and have started talking seriously about the conspiracy with friends and family members

You're cleaning house and wish Vern, Candace, or Debbie would come transform your living room -- in 7 days or less

You say frack instead of the usual f-bomb. And (here's the sad part) you don't even realize you aren't actually saying the f-bomb.

You go to vote for Sheriff, and find yourself looking for Keith Mars's name on the ballot

You think Jimmy James's classic "Super Karate Monkey Death Car" speech is one of the classic moments in 21st century corporate America

You sing the Jeopardy theme song while waiting for someone to answer an important question

You know 50 different ways to slay a vampire (and have a witty quip ready to use for each one)

You've had serious debates with friends, family and coworkers about whether Ross and Rachel were actually "on a break."

When facing a computer malfunction, you wonder what Chloe, Mac or Willow would do

You encounter a roadblock when driving, and are able to recite Amazing Race host Phil Keoghan's definition of a Roadblock ("a choice between two tasks, each with its own pros and cons")

You know all the words to Bill McNeil's Rocket Fuel Malt Liquor ad... ("DAYAM... IT's CRAZZAPPY!") and you can even sing along to Bill's "Real Deal" theme song, to boot

Mourning Becomes Electric (From Tony Almeida to Kara Thrace, TV Losses Can be Surprisingly Tough)

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Thu, 15 Mar 2007 21:49:00 +0000

I'm not OK.

It's been over two weeks, and I'm still... not OK. I mean, Jesus, they killed Starbuck!

Starbuck, who defined in an instant how different this new reimagined Battlestar Galactica would be, Starbuck, who as played by the fantastic Katee Sackhoff is certainly one of the stars of the ensemble, Starbuck, who dared to inhabit a gender-equal future with guts, gumption, and gorgeousness. And who just plain rocks.

Let's face it, I'm obviously one of those overly sensitive types anyway, when it comes to the lives of my best-loved TV characters. I was devastated watching Buffy kill Angel in the Season 2 finale, or seeing her swandive into her own death to save the world at the end of Season 5... I still grieve over so many of the Angel gang -- Doyle, Lilah, Cordelia, Fred, Wesley... not to mention the ragtag remnants of the crew, facing an unbeatable army as the curtain went down. I went into a full-on weeklong funk over poor Wash and Book from Firefly (meeting sudden and cruel ends in the wonderful film continuation Serenity). Shoot, even the 24 deathcount last season was especially cruel -- Michelle, Edgar, President Palmer (!), or my poor beautiful Tony Almeida. I was in such denial over that one that I still don't accept it. (Jack, CTU, etc., -- they faked it. Seriously. Don't tell me Tony's dead.) And then this season, poof went poor Curtis at Jack's own hand.

If a fictional character is as well drawn as these are, the loss can be embarrassingly keen. Shoot, I'm still not over Gary in Thirtysomething, or the cute redheaded medic in China Beach, both from back in my impressionable TV-watching college days.

I was even upset over adorable idiotic Lamb over at Veronica Mars a few weeks back, for goodness's sake, so to lose a character I love this much in a surprise ending to Battlestar Galactica's "Maelstrom" episode... well, there were tears. I was moved, devastated, and absolutely shocked. (And thrilled to be unspoiled -- I can't imagine what a bummer it would be to know this stuff in advance.)

I was in a funk the entire next day too. When my family would ask me what was up, my response, "Starbuck died!" unfortunately came across as somehow humorous. They didn't understand the magnitude of my loss.

When I first began watching the new BSG, I liked Kara Thrace (a/k/a Starbuck) in the miniseries even though I also suspected she'd get on my nerves in real life. I even liked her after she thwarted an attempt at conciliation by her commanding officer Tigh, snidely throwing his kindness back in his face. Throughout Season One, she continued along the same path, seeming to strive for carefree impudence and succeeding half the time or better, but occasionally landing on plain tired rudeness instead. She was exasperating and exhausting, her passions operatic and her abilities as wildly changeable as her moods. But she was never less than real and never less than watchable. I was mesmerized, but also thought Starbuck's disdain for assholes was ironic, since she herself was the queen of that castle most of the time. Much as I liked her, it seemed like lazy characterization to me.

But by the end of Season 1, I began to be a real convert to the cult of Starbuck. The show began to show us a character who could put her money where her mouth was, who could back up her bragging with dazzling combat skills and boundless courage. And every once in awhile, we'd see the cool intelligence behind the bravado, or the uncertainty and inner darkness she faced (again, Katee Sackhoff is an amazing actress), and the character would seem as alive and complex as any person living could be.

I began to see that the writing was actually incredibly consistent, and the more we saw of Starbuck's inner paradoxes, the more sense they made. Starbuck hated Tigh as a drunk because he was so much like she was -- an alcoholic, a loudmouth, a tough -- and a possible future. And of course, she was honor-bound to hate anyone who reminded her of herself -- so Starbuck gave the hardest times to the scrappy screwups who were so much like her -- people like Kat and Tigh. Like any other male pilot, she was free and easy with sex, although of course, being Starbuck, typically used it to push people away even at moments that were at their most intimate (which was why Lee never stood a chance).

Her answer to every question that came her way was the same: "Fight 'em til we can't." If Starbuck had had a coat of arms, it would have been emblazoned on the shield. Thanks to a horrifically abusive childhood and a monster of a mother, all Starbuck knew was how to fight, how to avoid being hit, and how to hit back. It was her strength as well as her ultimate Achilles heel.

So the oddest thing about "Maelstrom," to me, was the way it showed us a spiraling Kara with nothing but herself to fight. The curiously sympathetic Leoben who acted as her spiritual guide here got her to drop her fists, look at her life, accept her choices, and even to make peace with her monstrous mother, all evidently in order to remind her of her 'special destiny.' (And as always, we're left with more questions as Leoben is once again devil and angel, protector and captor, abuser and savior. Really disturbing stuff. Especially against that teaser that was just scorchingly hot, even if it was all kinds of wrong.) I still feel more than ever that there will be oddly consistent reasons for Leoben's actions (at least from a robot-brain standpoint), but we'll see what happens. Meanwhile, this appearance of Leoben was more along the lines of ChipSix and ChipBaltar. ChipSix always says she's "an angel of God" -- what if she isn't kidding?

And Starbuck even got to make all of her farewells, to Adama and Roslin (her kinder, quieter Galactica 'mother'), to Lee, to her friend Helo, to all of those who had loved her. And then she went out in a blaze of white fire -- she'd always been a comet -- and all we needed was the quiet devastation on Tigh's face in the CIC -- or Adama's in his cabin, later -- to know it was all real.

The Inuit believe that the Aurora is the river of torches "that light their way to heaven," so perhaps there is a dawn or rebirth ahead for Kara, and perhaps there's more meaning in that little golden figurehead she gave Adama than meets the eye.

I don't know if this is the end of Kara, although I suspect that it's definitely the end of Starbuck. I'm dying to know what's ahead, even while I've DVR'd the latest episodes -- but I've been too sad to watch quite yet. I know it's just TV, but it goes to the writing of this show -- its depth and ferocity -- that I feel like I've lost a friend. And, as with the losses of David Palmer, or Wash, or Jack Bristow, I wallowed enjoyably in the tragedy of it all for a day or two.

Battlestar Galactica is a curiously spiritual show, set in a universe both polytheistic and monotheistic, crowded with gods and goddesses, mystic visions, and heroic destinies. There will be a place at that table, with a golden goblet, for Starbuck.

The Silence of the Lamb

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Tue, 27 Feb 2007 22:08:00 +0000

Oh, my God, they didn't!

Sob. They killed Lamb!

I love me some Veronica Mars, but I'm not happy. Not happy at all. Not when the TV world's dumbest, funniest, most ridiculous and vaguely pathetic sheriff gets offed in some C-plot in the last few minutes of the latest episode. (Oh, and yeah, he was cute. OK. So sue me.)

But while Lamb was never going to be recruited by NASA, he was a great character, and I loved what he brought to the show. Not only was he a terrific counterpoint to Keith -- as the guy willing to compromise, willing to play politics, the incompetent who still wins out -- he was a wonderful and humorous foil for Veronica herself. Lamb had no compunction about questioning or arresting Veronica, and I always got the sense that it was on some level, in his eyes, truly for her own good. Veronica's gotten herself into some very dangerous scrapes, and while Lamb's brain was usually in hamster-wheel mode next to Veronica's lightspeed deductions, he was nevertheless one of the people legitimately telling her, "Be more careful or you're gonna get yourself killed."

I always thought Lamb was a necessary component to Veronica Mars's noir gallery of guys, dames and nitwits -- not least because, like everyone around him, he wasn't just a buffoon Bad-Cop cardboard cutout. The writing on this show's so good that even Lamb himself had layers. He memorably released Veronica and Logan, for instance, when he realized she had uncovered a case of child abuse -- very possibly bringing up memories of something he himself had suffered. Through just a few flickering expressions, we were allowed to see something behind Lamb's constant doltishness, that perhaps his love of order, even his preening facade, hid something wounded.

But this isn't just due to VM's smart writing, but also to the nuances brought to the character so wonderfully by actor Michael Muhney, who is one of the best actors working in television, in my book. Muhney's one of those who understands the way a camera works, and knows that even his smallest reaction will register on film.

So it was a joy to watch Lamb spar (well, sort of) verbally with Keith, or to wrestle with one of Keith's insults. Each time, if you look, you can see Lamb's eyes flicker as he registers the insult, reviews it mentally, takes it apart, completely misses its real meaning, and then shrugs, "Lame." And each time it's a little different. Sometimes he's a little slower. Other times, we think he may have actually gotten the gist. You never know. But thanks to Muhney, it was always funny, and always worth watching.

No pun intended, but Lamb was always a little lost, a little out of focus, using action to cover for indecision. I loved the fact that he was always so purposeful, as if this was a vital asset to any sheriff. Even if he didn't know what was going on, or had no evidence, or simply wanted a damn cup of coffee, he made sure to do it purposefully. If I'm going to be wrong, you could almost see him thinking, at least I'll be wrong with conviction. It was one of the hilarious paradoxes of Lamb being Lamb.

But as out of focus as Lamb could sometimes be, this made his few moments of clarity incredibly sharp. In this latest episode, for instance, he's bored, lazy, barely listening to Keith about his latest evidence in the Dean's murder. But the logic of Keith's evidence is unmistakable, and you almost see that moment in Muhney's eyes when Lamb snaps to attention. One minute, you can almost see the guy reviewing swimsuit calendars and Hungry Man Frozen Dinners in his head -- the next, his eyes snap to Keith's and he's as sharp as a laser, completely present. In that moment, he and Keith are both the same thing -- cops.

While I loved that the episode gave us a few moments of Lamb and Keith in sync, I hated the way Lamb went out, shooting at his own reflection and then getting brained with a baseball bat by a psycho Richard Grieco. I mean, really. Didn't Lamb deserve better than that? Although his last moments, muttering, "I smell bread," were all the more touching for being so random, so ordinary.

Me, I wish Lamb had gone out in a blaze of glory, chasing down the wrong suspect (a-GAIN), calling a bluff, or even bedding the wrong woman (or guy -- like many, I know I totally thought Lamb protested rather too much when it came to his heterosexuality). Anything but a thud to that poor empty noggin of his.

I'll miss Lamb, the Sugg to Veronica's Wimsey, the buffoon who never got it right. But here's wishing bigger and better things to the insanely talented Muhney, who made me care about Lamb now matter how frustrating he could be.

A Night at the Theatre

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Tue, 27 Feb 2007 21:05:00 +0000

A friend of mine asked me the other day about what I felt was my greatest theatre experience thus far. I thought about it, and said, "The Weir." She said, "Huh?"

I saw it on my London trip, back in 1999, when I'd spent pretty much everything I'd gotten on a small merger to go to Europe for 3 or 4 weeks. Which also meant I got to immerse myself in London theatre, and it was awesome. I only wish I could have seen more.

One of the coolest things about visiting New York, for any theatre lover, is getting that sense that you're right in the middle of things -- right where it all happens. Well, in London that feeling is, if possible, even stronger. You're walking the streets of Shakespeare, of hundreds of years of some of the greatest plays and players ever to bring music to the English language.

When I went to London in 1999, I was on a budget that had to last me through several weeks and countries. But I had to grab some London theatre, and I started off with "Three Days of Rain," where I got to sit three feet from Colin Firth, David Morrissey, and Elizabeth McGovern at the Donmar Warehouse. The show is most famous recently for its NY performances starring Julia Roberts (and frankly it's totally a role I would cast her in).

But it all started badly. I was late to the show because my cab driver couldn't find it (I kept saying, "But it's the Donmar Warehouse! Sam Mendes!" etc. to no avail), so I had to go upstairs and watch the first act from the upstairs railing. I didn't mind -- the theatre is a three-quarter round, so the actors moved freely, and played expertly to the whole house (there wasn't a bad seat in it). We saw as good a show from upstairs as those in the front row -- something I can attest to personally, since I got to go back down to see things from my front-row bench seat for the second act.

As most people probably are when seeing movie stars acting onstage before them, I was struck by the difference in seeing an actor perform a role live, and in a different medium. People look so much younger onstage, and the physicality of theatre often adds a new grace, an unexpected beauty, that the movie camera captures in a different way. So I was struck by the fact that yes, Colin Firth is that tall. I mean, tall. Almost gaunt. But gorgeous, of course. He's more imposing, though, than he is onscreen, with sharper edges -- movies capture his face more softly, somehow. David Morrissey (whom I loved as the rather soft and easygoing hubby in the movie Hilary & Jackie as Hilary's husband) gave an absolutely electric performance -- smart and sharp as a razor playing the larger-than-life, impulsive rival, he managed to capture his scenes without a sense of showboating or scene-stealing. And then, of course, delicately, Firth would just quietly steal them back.

The most interesting thing about seeing "Rain" in London, though, for me, was how young and beautiful Elizabeth McGovern looked. It was a sharp reminder of the cruelties of film, and how film can magnify what the human eye cannot discern on its own. I had just seen McGovern in the film The Wings of the Dove, and while she was lovely as always, you could see the slight lines in her face, the crinkles at the corners of her eyes. She looked beautiful, but you could see the approach of that fortieth birthday around the edges. However, when I saw her live in "Three Days of Rain," just feet in front of me, she barely looked twenty-five (IMDb says that McGovern would have been about 36 in Wings of the Dove, and 38 when I saw her in "Rain"). She looked slender and girlish, and really stunning. It was interesting to realize how unrealistic and brutal film can be, and how it heightens or enhances things we regular folks wouldn't see at all.

My favorite theatre experience in London, though, was attending a show I'd never heard of. I'd bought a few tickets in advance -- to "Rain," and the London "Les Miz," just because I am a total sucker for that show (and it was really interesting -- I was expecting something a bit more staid than the American stagings but instead the London Les Miz was bawdier, sexier, funnier, and more outrageous. I missed seeing "Art" because I was gallivanting around Glastonbury Tor with a small sightseeing group, and our bus was late (I had a great time, so couldn't complain), meanwhile. For my last show in London, I basically just asked people, "What's everyone going to see right now?"

And the answer -- from the manager of my little hotel to the friendly cabbie driving me to Harrod's, was, "The Weir." So I did some checking, and sure enough, it was quietly seeling out almost every night. But I managed to get a great seat at the last minute (one of the advantages of geekily traveling alone), knowing nothing about the play -- and off I went.

And it was extraordinary -- a lesson for the playwright in me as well as the stagehand/director/whatever. A quiet, eerie, tense little play by Conor McPherson, "The Weir" takes place in a small-town Irish pub on a single evening. The men in the pub are in something of a tizzy over the arrival in town of a young woman, a divorcee, who will be visiting the pub that night. Old and young, each preens a bit, and plans to take her heart.

But when the young woman arrives, wrapped in some private despair, something very different happens. The men begin to trade stories -- ghost stories -- first, to entertain the woman, but also as if they cannot help it. The wild wind outside, the quietness of the pub -- it's an irresistible atmosphere, and soon the men are sharing stories they've never told anyone else. And each story is creepier than the last... until it turns out that the woman, too, has a ghost story to tell.

It was a great example of less being more. Here was the most popular play in London, and what was it? A few ghost stories told on a single set, by four or five characters, with the quiet howl of the wind outside. But it was fantastically written, in a mounting tension that stayed with me for days, and the acting and staging were all superb. The audience around me sat tense and still. I remember walking out of that theatre with a strange sense of vertigo -- that wonderful strange feeling that you have forgotten the world outside. That's what I call a great night at the theatre.

There's Something About "Buffy"...

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Tue, 13 Feb 2007 21:24:00 +0000

Sigh. People still give me The Look -- that look -- when I mention Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It's a slight freezing of the smile, a painful nod, like OhcrapIhavetoescapethispersonnow. It's a look that I'm sure also accompanies announcements that you've converted to Scientology or have decided to run away to Antarctica to live in a biosphere. The look that says, "Oh, wow, you're completely bonkers. And only moments before, I thought you might have a glimmer or two of intelligence."

Yeah. That one. And like the reactions weren't bad enough when the show was on. I took all of it -- the eyerolls of relatives, the amused shrugs, secure in my knowledge that I was one of the few, the proud, who could appreciate one of the best shows on TV. Where else could I watch a show that could make me laugh, cry, shiver, and think -- all in a single hour of TV? (Well, aside from Angel, I mean, because as good as Buffy was, Angel was Buffy + Noir - High School = Total Fabulousness. But people didn't make 'the faces' when I referenced Angel. They just looked puzzled.)

The reactions were sort of understandable, if you didn't watch the show. "But... isn't it set in high school?" people would ask. I'd explain that it wasn't really a high school show, that (as with Veronica Mars today) Buffy's setting didn't define the show's demographic (if anything, it was ironic -- a look back through a glass darkly, at High School as Hell). And then they'd kind of look at me and go, "And... it's... it's got vampires, right?" And I'd try to explain the genuine cool scariness of the vampires, as well as the rich metaphorical meanings of the various vamps and monsters in the Buffyverse... and I'd kind of trail off. The look was back.

At least then, when the show was on, I had the critics to fall back on. I could reference the many Top 10 Lists praising the show, the raves and raptures over its combination of wit, smarts, and real poignance and pathos... now the critics are writing about other shows -- and deservedly so -- shows like Veronica Mars and Battlestar Galactica, for instance.

However, I always mourned the fact that Buffy never quite got the respect it deserved -- despite the critical praise, so many episodes that should have garnered Emmy nominations didn't do so -- from the stunning episode "The Body," in which Buffy's mother dies -- not from a vampire's bite, but from an aneurysm (and in which there's no music at all to be found, heightening the grim reality of the story), to the other side of the coin, and the sweetness and lyrical loveliness of the musical episode "Once More, with Feeling" (I'm still waiting for Joss Whedon to write a Broadway musical, dammit). Despite the kudos and Top 10 lists, when it came to awards, Buffy didn't get much love.

And as the memories of TV watchers and critics fade, now every once in awhile, when smiling at Veronica's wit, or Booth's repartee with Brennan on Bones (and yeah, David Boreanaz will always be Angel to me) -- I'll reference Buffy -- and yep, there's that look. It's a look we Buffy fans knew all too well. But maybe that's fitting -- that this lovely little show that never did get much respect, still carries with it the faintest air of unrespectability. It's a tough neighborhood, sure, but Buffy's a tough girl -- she can handle it fine.

Logan Vs. Piz

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Mon, 12 Feb 2007 09:58:00 +0000

I can't help but get the feeling that Veronica's manipulating my emotions.

Mars, that is.

Not that this isn't what great TV's all about. But with the past few episodes, in which Logan admitted to bedding the evil Madison (and thank you, Rob Thomas, for not asking "whether they were on a break," because, hellooo, they were), it seems like the writers are pushing Veronica away from the flawed sweet rich boy -- and straight into Piz's perfect waiting arms.

I don't mind so much. I adore Veronica, the show's as tight and smart as ever, and I love Piz.

But I can't help but be bothered by the fact that Logan is so much more interesting, both visually and as a character. While Piz is just being fashioned as a sweet, scruffy White Knight on Campus.

Anyone else notice how much Piz resembles Rob Lowe (or Chad, for that matter)? I mean, it isn't really a battle of the flawed rich guy versus the poor yet noble poor kid from Portland. Piz is freaking gorgeous. There's just nothing wrong with him. Maybe his bangs are a little long. That's it. He's beautiful, he's supportive, he's adorable, and he's just waiting for Veronica to notice.

Which (and I'm unspoiled guys) I have to assume she will. Just look at that recent scene in which Piz gave that monologue about "waiting for the good thing" to come along, instead of going for the easy one. I admit it, I melted. I'm not made of stone, people. But at the same time, Logan's trip-up that very next episode made me roll my eyes. Of course he's gonna choose the big bad worst girl in the world on break. He has to, so that they can break up , and Veronica can choose Piz.

Or so I assume.

Maybe I'm being too cynical. I adore the show. love Logan, love Veronica, and even love Piz. And speaking of which, wherefore art thou, Wallace, Wallace? I'm thrilled at the latest handful of episodes, in which Veronica's mysteries have touched her heart even as Keith found new resolve, and I love the way even the supporting characters on this show give us a glimpse of their heart and humor (witness Lamb's nonplussed look as Keith drove up last week in full police regalia -- fabulous stuff). And I am happiest of all that little vegan Mac has fallen for that sweet PETA kid, even if he was creepy last year on the fabulous Invasion (moment of silence. No really. OK. Keep reading).

To be honest, I don't know who I wish Veronica would choose. I do like the fact that it won't be an easy choice, and that (honestly?) no matter who it is, Logan or Piz, I'll have a private moment of happiness... and grieve a little, too.

But hey, that's the price of great TV.

House -- and Betty -- Learn, "You Can't Always Get What You Want"

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Mon, 12 Feb 2007 09:38:00 +0000

House already subscribes to the Philosphy of Jagger, but it's definitely timeless and bears repeating: "You can't always get what you want."

So Betty discovered this week on Ugly Betty, after tying up all her social loose ends in a neat little bow, hoping to say Sayonara to poor annoying Walter and hello to adorable Henry from Accounting.

But of course the course of twue wuv never runs smooth, especially on television, so Betty is faced with tragic consequences: Because she would not speak up, because she would not tell Henry her real feelings (no matter how well-intentioned she was toward Walter), that ship sailed right away.

My heart broke when Betty blithely informed Henry that she could now go to "Wicked" as "more" than Just Friends, as if Henry's life was waiting for hers to begin. She'd lost her chance. She'd had it, she lost it. It's not just a fact of network TV, but truly a fact of life. I know (at least I hope) that Betty will recover and eventually get the adorkable Henry (even if she has to beat his girlfirend over the head with her fake designer bag), but the latest episode certainly provided a look at why we can't always choose safely, hoping life will ait while we make the right decisions.

Meanwhile, House discovered similar things, well, no, not really... since he got the parking space he wanted, and all he had to do was make Cuddy feel guilty in the process.

There's still the sense of a downward spiral though, in House -- at least this week, with its battle of wills over a handicapped parking space, was a welcome respite from the overly talky "OD/OR" of the previous week in which House was basically locked in a room (in a contrivance thanks to a supremely unlikeable victim in "Eve") with a rape victim to talk about his feelings, past, etc., until he gave her a hug, a bear, warm fuzzies, and his secret signed copy of Dr. Phil's latest book. (I mean, come on.)

So this week, while a welcome improvement, nevertheless wasn't as fabulous as I was hoping. While the main plot of the Romany kid struggling with tradition (and a toothpick to the gut) was fascinating, except not so much, the real story lay in House's battle for dominance with Cuddy (oh, do it already, you two) while Foreman continued to show his softer side in his kind and perceptive dealings with the patient of the week.

I know so many people talk about how they hate the "story arcs" on House -- whether they're about Vogler, Stacy, or Tritter respectively -- but I love them, because they seem to require at least some semblance of continuity from the writers. The "Stand-alone" episodes, meanwhile, seem to feature shoddy or inconsistent writing, and worst of all, tons and tons of people lecturing House on what's wrong with him, or why he should be a better person. In last week's case, we had a rape victim holding House psychologically hostage, even attempting suicide so he would, I don't know, not talk about her rape, the weather, or anything else, but would still sit in the room with her. I am completely sympathetic to any victim of violent crime, but this episode's "victim," a young and impossible beautiful blonde victim, just felt like overkill (and for the record, how many times do we need to see House stalked by some teenaged Lolita type this season? We already know Hugh Laurie is hot, we don't need hitting over the head with it. It's a little creepy, folks).

And keep in mind, I agree that House should be a better person. But sometimes I think that's not why we watch. Isn't the truth somewhat more complex, that House is the id inside so many of us, saying what we would never say, and doing what we would never do? As long as House is unleashed, talking trash about Cancer Kids, Orphans, and Heroes, we aren't such bad people for occasionally thinking the wrong thing, right? At least, he says 'em out loud.

Hugh Laurie is still brilliant in every way, and I'm liking Season 3. I just think that perhaps the story arcs bring something to House that these standalones don't deliver -- a commitment even in the most cursory sense to a story that's true to the characters, and ongoing. I don't always get that from House otherwise.

But I did love Robert Sean Leonard's look of outrage to House last week, as House told Wilson the rape victim's tale of woe. "I'm not supposed to be you in this scenario, am I? I don't want to be you!" Worth watching twice. Seriously. Awesome.

My Top 10 Favorite Moments on Battlestar Galactica

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Mon, 12 Feb 2007 07:59:00 +0000

I started thinking about all my "Top 10" moments on various shows, and thought it would be fun to unleash a few. So here goes, in very particular order -- my Top 10 moments from Battlestar Galactica (and WARNING -- SPOILERS BELOW!):

10. Caprica Six Meets ChipBaltar! (Season 2, "Downloaded") In the superb episode "Downloaded," one of my favorites, Caprica Six is a hero to her people for helping to annihilate mankind. Only problem is, in the very course of her mission she has begun to doubt the rightness of her objective. Complicating matters? She awakens in the Cylon goo tank of Rebirth with a little something extra: Just as Baltar has a ChipSix whispering in his ear, so it seems, in perfect symmetry, does Caprica Six have her own ChipBaltar whispering in hers. The moment we see Baltar, leaning forward with an unusually calm and loving expression on his face, is the moment this episode goes from good, to awesome. I screamed. Yeah, I'm a dork. But still, it's awesome.

9. Kara "Starbuck" Thrace Kills Leoben (Season 3, "Occupation"). It starts so innocently. A beautiful girl sits down to a meal across from an apparently affectionate husband. Then he comes over to her in the middle of their sumptuous meal... and she stabs him through the neck. As he falls, she stabs him violently again and again in the chest. He dies, smiling: "I'll see you soon." She gets up and calmly goes back to eating her steak, properly and smilingly, like a lady. One of the creepiest, most effective scenes in the show's history, not least because what we see is so completely not what is real: Leoben is not a husband, but a robot with an obsession, and Kara is a captive fighter pilot. Upending gender roles as well as, er, robot roles, Battlestar Galactica never goes for the easy story when the complex one will do. A great, if chilling, moment.

8. Gina Shoots Cain. (Season 2, "Take Me Out") There's no wrath like that of a Cylon scorned, especially one who's been as horribly abused as the Number Six model on the Battlestar Pegasus, known as Gina. Repeatedly abused, tortured, and gang-raped by a crew that doesn't regard her as human, Gina finally gets her revenge on the Admiral who masterminded her inhuman treatment -- Commander Cain, played by the fabulous Michelle Forbes. Not only is their final confrontation tragic, it's far more quiet than we expect, with Forbes showing all the humanity and acceptance of which the flawed yet proud Cain is capable. Two strong women confront each other, both acknowledging their mistakes, and one dies. It's a tribute to this series that we care so much about both -- even though one's not actually human and the other's hubris and insecurity have eaten away her soul.

7. Apollo Lets Go. (Season 2, "Resurrection Ship, Part II"). For me, one of the most beautiful and haunting scenes in the history of this show occurs when Lee "Apollo" Adama, running out of oxygen through a hole in his flight suit, eerily observes the space battle between humans and Cylons before him -- and all he can do is watch. At the end of this scene, he hauntingly lets go, and removes his hand from the hole in his flight suit, willing to let it all go and drift away. He is rescued, but at what cost? One of the most beautiful scenes in the history of the series.

6. The Torture of Leoben, (Season 1, "Flesh and Bone"). One of my favorite things about this show is the way it surprises you yet never shows you a side of a character that is unreasonable, where you think, "so and so would never do that." Not in this show, with its fragile characters constantly pushed to the limits. In this episode, Roslin experiences a strangely vivid, erotic dream about a strange man (the awesome Keith Callum Rennie, who evidently works nonstop up there in Vancouver) who approaches her in a forest, who seems to want to communicate with her until a sudden strange force or wind pulls him violently away from her. In this episode, all our expectations are reversed as Starbuck interrogates and tortures a Cylon who's the spitting image of the man in Roslin's dream -- and yet it is Starbuck who is moved, Starbuck who begins to see the futility of torture, and Roslin, who makes the final decree, and sends the man to his death -- by airlock, fulfilling the terrible finale of her dream. It's all the more moving that the man will not allow himself to "turn off his pain" even though he can, because (in a painful, wryly humorous admission) it's something that would diminish his humanity. It's also poignant and ironic that it is the warrior Starbuck, not Roslin, who is the only person to pray for his soul at the end of the story.

5. Adama Kisses Laura (Season 2, "Take Me Out"). Oh, stop looking at me like that. Yes, I'm a girl. But really, what a lovely, gentle scene this is: From Season 2 -- Laura is dying, faster and faster day by day. And for the first time in the series, we have seen a growing friendship and rapport -- even as she grows more frail by the minute -- between Laura and Commander Adama. In this scene, Laura's cancer is burning her alive from the inside, and it's a credit to Mary McDonnell's acting abilities that we believe a wisp of wind would knock her down or blow her away. She rises from a simple meeting with Adama, struggling simply to remain upright, to walk away in a dignified manner -- and Adama quietly and wordlessly helps her to her feet in that lovely way people do without calling attention to it. And as she turns to leave, looking sick and sad and tired, he leans forward and sweetly kisses her on the lips -- and she smiles.

It's a wonderful moment between these two former rivals -- and the loveliness of it is due in no small part that it's all things to all people. For me, yes it's romantic, but it honestly transcends romance. Far more important in this scene than whether Adama wants to screw Roslin is the fact that these two people -- for so long, so far apart and so combative -- are now friends, shipmates, confidantes. It's been such a long journey and in this quiet human frail moment we see what we have known all along -- Adama loves Roslin. And she smiles radiantly, and we know also that she loves him back. Frankly, after this scene I don't know who I'd want to vote for more as President -- Edward James Olmos or Mary McFreakin'Donnell -- because both are magnificent here.

4. The Destruction of Caprica (Miniseries). As anyone who watched the miniseries knows, this is one of the most haunting moments of the show, and is deservedly preserved in the beautiful, mournful opening credits. The Cylons attack, the bombs begin to fall, peppering the surface of the atmosphere of this earthlike planet with an unescapable death and destruction. And we see it both ways -- from the godlike heavens as the atmosphere glows with nuclear fire, as well as from the surface, where an uncomprehending Baltar is listening to the confession of the beautiful woman before him, the Cylon Number Six. And part of the beauty and power of the scene is the incongruity and realism of it -- Baltar reacts with fear and horror (at his own betrayal, at what is now to befall all mankind) even as Six reacts with love and sympathy. And every time I see those windows blow up around Number Six at Baltar's beautiful house, as she protectively shoves Baltar away from the nuclear blast, my heart stops. (Side note: It has to be said, the opening credits to this show are gorgeous in their own right -- apocalyptic and beautiful and lyrical, a visual poem).

3. End of Line (Season 3, "Rapture"). Someone smarter than me over on Television Without Pity said it gorgeously -- that "Three," aka D'Anna Biers, was the only Cylon you could never forget was a machine. While Boomer and Six always brought elements of humanity to their characters, Three, as marvelously played by Lucy Lawless (in a very different role from her Xena character of years past), always seemed a little alien, a little brittle, a little otherworldly. You never forget what she was. It was all the more fascinating, then, that we saw her begin to spiral downward in Season 3 as she began to question her destiny, to question the very nature of Cylon spirituality. I found myself wanting her to find the answers, wanting her to fulfill the tantalizing "what if" that even drove her to self-destruction, to find out what was on the other side. Then she is brave enough to step into the light, to face the madness that lies in seeing the face of the gods, even as she can communicate her discoveries to no one... not even Brother Cavil, who genially yet strangely sympathetically shows up to tell her she and her fellow Threes are boxed... permanently. Here's hoping D'Anna comes back from the edge, and back from the purgatory of permanent "Boxing," to tell us what she saw in that final vision...

Speaking of Television Without Pity, even if you never miss an episode, I highly recommend that you jump over to read the fabulous episode recaps by Jacob. They aren't just synopses, but are instead insightful and truly illuminating examinations of each episode's high points, of the characters' motives, of the very archetypes and themes offered by each episode. I can't tell you how much these recaps have added to my enjoyment of the show -- their richness and lyricism do the show justice. Some of the best writing about Battlestar Galactica -- or on it -- may very well take place right here. I usually want to scream, "I'm not worthy!" after reading each one. That's how good they are.

I'm not kidding. So go read them. Stop reading me, I suck in comparison. OK. you can come back. I 'll wait. ;-)

2. Boomer Shoots Adama (Season 1, "Kobol's Last Gleaming, Part 2"). Poor Boomer. She didn't get the grace of self-knowledge -- or choice -- given to Sharon Agathon -- nor, tragically her ultimate acceptance. Instead she spent her human life as a lie, struggling with the programming deep within as she began to realize she was not one of us, that she was, in fact, a Cylon. So many of us cheered when Boomer struggled against the alien within to complete her mission against the Cylons. And when Adama stepped forward to congratulate her, it was a wonderful and heartfelt moment in this dark universe -- until Boomer pulled out her gun even as Adama's hand stretched out -- and shot him two times in the chest. I know I'm not the only one who stared in surprise and horror at this moment, all the while thinking, "I am so this show's bitch."

1. The Battlestar Galactica Warps INTO the Atmosphere (Season 3, "Exodus, Part II") Led by Adama and a sacrificial Battlestar Pegasus (with a superbly heroic Lee Adama at the helm), the fleet returns for its own, falling on the ruling Cylons on New Caprica like the hammer of the gods. When the Battlestar Galactica actually dared to warp INTO the atmosphere (yes, I have to capitalize that, why do you ask?), plummeting in a glory of red-hot metal and steel toward the surface of the planet like some otherwordly hammer of the gods, well, I defy you not to cry. Seriously. I did. And then I rewound it. And watched it several more times. The story of this episode, in so many ways a de fact ending to Season 2 -- is tight, harrowing, tragic, moving, and finally uplifting. Anyone who wonders why we watch this show -- why so many freaking magazines swear it's so good -- here's why. Watch it. I'll bring the popcorn. A transcendent moment among many.

So there you go. So say, well, me all. Ha. And I didn't even get into such haunting moments as the Flight of the Phoenix, or of Kara's struggles in "The Farm," or Baltar's oddly noble survival of Three's torture in "A Measure of Salvation," of Chief and Helo loosing the ashes of "Hera" slowly into space (she's really alive), or when Laura defies Adama, or when Starbuck goes after the arrow of Apollo... etc. Um. You get the picture. So many good times. If you aren't watching this show, you're crazy. Patsy-Cline-singing-it-level-Crazy. Seriously.

Blog Carnival -- Season 3 of BSG ("Old Caprica, New Caprica")

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Mon, 12 Feb 2007 04:03:00 +0000

I thought it'd be fun to host a Blog Carnival on Season 3 of BSG, so here we go!

My Topic is, "Old Caprica, New Caprica -- Examining Season 3 of BSG".

This Blog Carnival will welcome any thoughtful submissions on this season -- whether pro or con, and on a variety of topics relating to Season 3.

Just a few BSG Blog Carnival guidelines:

1) Please keep to the topic, which is BSG, Season 3. Feel free to refer to past seasons, but the primary focus should be Season 3.
2) NO SPOILERS! This will be strictly enforced. Write about what we know, or what you speculate -- nothing you're spoiled on (or know in advance, in other words). Speculation is fine in moderation, but the focus should be Season 3.
3) Use whatever language you feel you have to use to make your point, but be judicious about profanity -- if you use it, use it for a reason. And be respectful.
4) Dork alert! I'm new at this -- it's my first Carnival, so bear with me, and pardon our dust!
5) Deadline: February 26, 2007.
6) Linkbacks would be most appreciated!
7) All Blogs are welcome to participate regardless of political, ethnic, racial, or religious affiliation.
8) No sales, SPAM, etc.
9) Please assist us and promote the Carnival on Your Blog.
10) Carnival entries will be posted on an as-received and reviewed basis, through February 26, 2007.

Please submit your posts and articles using the Blog Carnival form listed above.

Posts that do not adhere to these guidelines will not be replied to, nor will they be included in the Carnival.

Note: We cannot guarantee reply to all submissions, but we'll do our best.

Feel free to contribute links, posts, articles and thoughts on Season 3 of BSG -- both positive and negative!

I'll look forward to hearing from you!

Quick Update: Back in Black (Shirts, that is...)

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Mon, 05 Feb 2007 07:26:00 +0000

I'll stop babbling about TV long enough this week to let you know that we've added a bunch of great new Black T-shirts to our site, here.

Learning to do this right was really important to me, and it was fascinating to bring working with transparent images into our CafePress store in a whole new way.

Recently added shirts now on display in our Dark Shirts & Tees section include black (and rich assorted dark colors) versions of the following designs:

* Jaded Viper Pilot Seeks Cute CAG

* LoVe Shipper

* Cynicism, Stubble, & Vicodin (I'm so there)

* Tip me well or else

* Line?

* My other car's a hippogriff

* It's Just my Nature

* Burnt Toast Diner

* Betty Henry Shipper

* How do you stop an exploding man?

And more. The shirts look great, and it's nice to add this new dimension of design to our assortment of products. Check 'em out!

Top Dou.... Oh, Never mind.

noreply@blogger.com (Paramitch) — Mon, 05 Feb 2007 05:33:00 +0000

I was really disappointed in the results of Bravo's Season 2 Top Chef competition, which awarded the title to Ilan Hall despite acknowledgements from almost all of the judges that Vigneron may be the better and more creative chef now (and that he almost certainly will be so in 5 years). Ilan, meanwhile, is a classy guy who not only appeared to crib most of his menus and most successful dishes (Fideos and Clams, Battered Bay Leaf, etc.) directly from Casa Mono (his previous employer), but who spent much of the run of the season hectoring, verbally abusing, slamming, and then actually filming (and egging on) the abuse of his fellow competitor, Marcel Vigneron. His most notable quotes for this season include such gems as "I can't wait to make you cry," and "I would love to have peed on Marcel," etc.

The fabulous Amuse-Biatch summed it up best, with:

So in the end, when Ilan won, it was--how can we put this in terms everyone will understand?--as if Jeffrey had won using Uli's designs.

They also offer an impossibly funny interview with Ilan that's too good not to read IMMEDIATELY. (So go read it! I'll wait...)

OK, hi, welcome back! Back to my less-sparkling observations: I was also disappointed that, in the end, it came down to a popularity contest. The moment the other chefs came out for the final meal creation, Marcel simply had no chance. Although I did wish he'd picked Mia over Michael -- simply because of her willingness to do the work (yet, to be fair, Marcel himself said that Michael was "a workhorse" for the final, and did a great job, so shows what I know). Sam, meanwhile, just didn't seem motivated to be of much support, passive-aggressively whining in his interviews, smirking at the camera while Marcel and Michael worked, or falling into "That Guy" mode with the Judges' Table. As talented as he obviously is (and I do think he is probably the season's real Top Chef), Sam's penchant for figurative as well as literal pot-stirring says to me that he still has some maturing to do. I did love watching the Judges smack down Elia's rather spiteful words about what was lacking in Marcel's food (which she hadn't even tasted) -- nice to see they all rather obviously found it labored and absurd by this point.

Ultimately, I felt like this season of Top Chef was a bust, irredeemably colored with a thoroughly nasty immature, bullying, taunting, Mean Girls mentality that reflected badly on all associated with it. By the time Padma mumbled the name of Ilan as the winner, the show just seemed to kind of limp off into the sunset, vaguely ashamed of itself. (At least Marcel wasn't told to "Pack [his] Knives and Go" this season, as Tiffani had been last season.)

Meanwhile, I have no doubt that Marcel will be a top chef somewhere, one of these days -- if he isn't, I'll eat my xanthan gum hat.