The Incomparable

Fun with HD

2009-10-24T01:09:36Z

A few months ago I got my first HDTV, a nice big 50-inch Samsung plasma. It's only 720p but it was on sale (since plasmas are being discontinued).

Until recently I didn't have any true HD sources. I have my PC hooked up to it and it does some silly resolution like 1600x1200 or something, but it's run through the analog VGA port and so not really true HD. It looks lovely, but it's not as good as it can get. Also, I don't have a remote control for the damned thing.

Last week I finally went ahead and sprung for a TiVo HD and Verizon FiOS. Now I have true HD through the HDMI port. Even at only 720p, it's still excellent.

Some notes now that I've been watching true HD:

Plus: I can actually watch sports. Football and baseball are really interesting now that I can see what's going on. We've watched the NLCS and ALCS games over the past week and they've been great. On the instant replay you can even see how the pitcher is holding and releasing the ball. You can clearly see when a player gets spiked. Very cool. (Also: Watching the Yankees play L.A. I couldn't help but wonder, do white people play baseball any more?)
Minus: I can now get a really good look at things no one should have to see. I watched "Ghost Rider" the other day. Lots of guys think Eva Mendes is hot. In HD, she looks like a transvestite. She practically has an adam's apple.
Neither: If you watch The Price Is Right in HD, when they reveal some awesomely shiny appliance, you can see the camera and crew reflected in the enamel.

Dolls in the Attic?

2009-10-05T12:53:50Z

I've been watching the ratings for the new TV season, and it looks like the numbers for everything are down, down, down. (Except Big Bang Theory, for some reason, and hey, good for it. I can only hope that America has learned to laugh with nerds, and not at them.) Unfortunately, while Joss Whedon's Dollhouse hasn't fallen as far as some more popular series, it didn't have as much -- or any -- room to fall in the first place.

The season's second episode scored a miserable 0.8 rating, down from the premiere's already baseline 1.0 -- and this for a show that was one of the lowest-rated series ever renewed. Sure, you can blame Fox, and not without justification, for slapping the show in its traditional Friday Night Death Slot, and giving it the inexplicable lead-in of a terrible sitcom ('Til Death) and an even worse sitcom (Brothers, and seriously, Mitchell Hurwitz, what happened to you?). Oh, if only Fox had another reasonably popular science fiction show it didn't exile to Friday nights, one that might make a natural combination with Dollhouse and bring up its numbers! Say, something in a J.J. Abrams? But that's just crazy talk.

Still, to be honest, Dollhouse's somewhat listless and half-hearted season premiere is probably as much to blame for the ratings drop as the vile denizens of the Fox Marketing Department. (Motto: "At least we're not the NBC Marketing Department.")

On any of his other shows, a Whedon-penned and -directed episode would be event watching. But the episodes Whedon's made for Dollhouse have felt distracted and unfocused. Last year's "Man on the Street" was helped hugely by an amazing turn from guest star Patton Oswalt, as this season's premiere was by a terrifically written and acted showdown between Fran Kranz's mind-manipulating programmer and Amy Acker as one of his creations. But on the whole, Whedon just seemed to be going through the motions in "Vows," with yet another Echo-glitching-on-an-assignment case. And while the jury's still out on whether Eliza Dushku can consistently act as well as her costars, giving her an endless progression of identical tough-sexy-chick characters to play doesn't really help settle the question.

If you, like my brother and apparently a whole bunch of other people, tuned out after Whedon's "Vows," however, you might want to give the show a second (or third, or fourth) look. Last Friday's "Instinct" was, if not riveting, a huge improvement on the premiere. Michele Fazekas and Tara Butters, creators of Reaper, crafted a very cleverly written thriller that made excellent use of the gap between what the characters knew and what the audience knew. Their episode begins like a horror film, and ends like a horror film, but the victim and the menace switch roles over the course of the episode -- a neat trick, pulled off well. All in all, it was a much better example of what the show's capable of. Next week's contribution from Tim Minear, who wrote last season's terrific capper "Omega," is also looking good.

I'm not sure why Whedon seems to have lost a good chunk of his mojo. Perhaps he's just coming from a more despairing place than he was during his previous shows. On second viewing, the whole first season of Dollhouse is rife with images of women in cages, literal or metaphorical. Buffy and Angel regularly prevented the apocalypse, and the crew of Serenity at least avenged and absolved it. But the events of last season's "Epitath One" reveal that in Dollhouse, the end of the world is an unavoidable certainty -- and we're following the people who will make it happen. Though it has brief flashes of the humor that used to permeate Whedon's work, Dollhouse is thus far not as funny or joyful, and it has a lot less faith in humanity. If anything, it's angry.

But Dollhouse is a smart, carefully crafted, well-acted show, the kind people always say they want more of on television, but rarely bother to watch. The show's asked its viewers for a lot of faith, and it's still asking. I just can't shake the gut feeling that it'll eventually reward that faith. Then again, if the ratings stay this subterranean, that question may be purely academic.

"Community": A Solid B+

2009-09-17T16:13:10Z

Before you judge Dan Harmon, know this: The man has done terrible things in the name of comedy.

In his five-minute Web shorts for the ahead-of-its-time site Channel 101, Harmon has played sidekick to an underwear-clad Jack Black, farted lasers as the world's least likely superhero, and pretended to be Hannah Montana, complete with a blonde wig and a bright yellow mumu. (You probably don't want to watch that last link at work, or while eating, or, you know, ever.) But no matter how absurd the situations he's put himself and others in, Harmon's consistently demonstrated a rock-solid understanding of the fundamentals of good writing.

I'm glad to see that moving up to the network big leagues hasn't changed that. Community, Harmon's new series for NBC, may be less outrageous than his Channel 101 skits, but it's no less funny or well-scripted. The pilot never actually made me laugh out loud, but its clever characters, fun performances, and witty dialogue had me grinning throughout.
Joel McHale is Jeff, a hotshot lawyer whose knack for lying unfortunately extends to his college degree. When his bogus diploma comes to light, he's exiled to community college to earn a real one, or stay disbarred forever. That he promptly attempts to start scamming his way through this new ordeal somehow doesn't make his character less endearing. McHale's a fairly charming guy with good comic timing, and since Jeff's selfishness ultimately harms no one but himself, it's easy to root for him -- and simultaneously enjoy watching his plans go horribly awry.

Jeff immediately sets his sights on scoring with Britta (Gillian Jacobs), a foxy coed who's shrewder than he knows. He invites her to a bogus "study group" for Spanish class -- never mind that he knows nothing about Spanish, and is equally unclear about the mechanics of this whole "studying" thing. But she turns his gambit against him by inviting a motley cadre of fellow students along. Suddenly, his attempt to get into her pants has become an amusingly escalating battle of wits, pitting his ability to b.s. against her ability to see right through it.

For a show about a truly rotten guy, Community is surprisingly generous and big-hearted. It's got real sympathy for the oddballs and losers who crowd into Jeff's study group. On the surface, they may be slightly delusional, but underneath, they're all trying to make amends for screwing up their own lives.

While some new ensemble shows neglect the more interesting corners of their casts in favor of lavishing love on the pretty people -- ahem, Glee -- everyone on Community gets at least a brief moment to shine, and an interesting, well-rounded character to play. And it's funny and delightful to see a genuinely diverse bunch of characters bounce off each other in unexpected ways. I particularly liked the unlikely camaraderie that develops between Chevy Chase's sleazy, aging tycoon and Donald Glover's ex-football hero.

There are a lot of reasons why Community works. The scene-stealing prowess of Danny Pudi, as the deeply Aspergers-afflicted Abed, doesn't hurt; nor does the always funny John Oliver's recurring role as Jeff's friend on the faculty. But ultimately, I liked the pilot best for where it takes Jeff by the end of the episode. Seeing him realize that he wants to be a better person, even if he isn't sure exactly how to do so, is surprisingly moving.

Dan Harmon may have done terrible things in the name of comedy, but Community isn't one of them. Sweet, clever, and truly funny, it's a worthy addition to the likes of The Office and 30 Rock, and I hope it enjoys their same level of success.

Absolutely no one wears an ill-fitting mumu -- we hope -- Thursday nights at 9:30 ET on NBC.

Fox, Despite Best Efforts, Fails to Cancel Worthy Show. (Yet.)

2009-09-14T13:36:07Z

Sit Down Shut Up, the doomed-from-the-get-go animated sitcom from Arrested Development creator Mitchell Hurwitz, lasted all of four episodes last spring before Fox yanked it from the schedule. (Its replacement, King of the Hill reruns, was admittedly not as much of an insult as, say, American Dad reruns.)

But Fox, apparently deciding it hadn't dug the tip of his boot quite deep enough into Hurwitz's kidneys, has now inexplicably but happily brought the show back to burn off its remaining 8 or so episodes.

On Saturday nights. At midnight. With next to nothing resembling promotion or publicity. Thanks, Fox!

My local Fox affiliate doesn't even carry the new episodes. Thankfully, Hulu does, starting with an episode that riffs hilariously (and in a deeply wrong fashion) on costar Will Arnett's all-too-brief gig as the voice of KITT 2.0 in the horrible revival of Knight Rider. The show's still crammed with lighting-paced gags of every stripe, still gleefully inventive in its wordplay and its willingness to shatter the fourth wall, and still filled with loathsome characters in whose misery one can easily delight.

Do yourself a favor -- watch it now, so that when Sit Down Shut Up is a beloved cult classic on Adult Swim a few years from now, and everyone's talking about how it just never found the audience it deserved, you'll have the necessary cred to nod knowingly and say, "I've been saying that for years."

Sex Decoy: TV Stinks

2009-08-31T22:47:20Z

I saw my second part-episode of Sex Decoy: Love Stings last night. If you cringe at the pun in the title then you've pretty much felt what it's like to watch the show, only shorter. It's one of the most painfully dreadful things I've seen in a long time. I've said before that reality TV is all about making viewers feel better about themselves because at least they're not THOSE PEOPLE. But this time I think it may be about making viewers feel worse because THOSE PEOPLE are really of the same species.

The show follows Sandra and her three daughters who are named Kashmir, Jasmine and Xanadu. If you name your daughters that way you've got to know they're going to grow up to be strippers, and sure enough two of the three are! The third is still underage.

So Sandra is trying to get the girls more involved in her business, which is being paid by insecure women to set traps catching their cheating men on video. Apparently there's a whole industry devoted to sending ridiculously hot, slutty women to seduce unfortunate schlubs while their jealous beady-eyed soulmates watch on hidden camera. And it's much more respectable than taking your clothes off onstage. Maybe.

During the first show we watched, this woman sent the team after her boyfriend/husband person, the lead singer in a bar band. Good lord, where did these people grow up? If your man is the lead singer in a bar band, he is fucking other women. That's why men join bar bands. So she hired Sandra's company which hired some hilariously hot chick to pose as a rock journalist and come on to the singer as hard as humanly possible.

As this was unfolding on our TV, I told my long-suffering wife that she could save her money if she ever considered hiring this company: If a woman that far above my pay grade ever came on to me like that, I'd totally fall for it. Any man would, let alone a guy in a band. No contest. It's totally unfair.

In the second one, they sent one of the daughters -- her first undercover assignment as a ravenous slut, although I guess as a stripper she had some experience -- after this guy working in his music studio. She showed up at the door saying she was lost and needed to use the bathroom, then she settled in and began tempting him into meeting her at a party later for a threesome -- including anal.

Clearly the guy has never left his house because anyone who's seen movies like "Species" or "Lifeforce" or any of a hundred other titles would know when a ridiculously gorgeous woman -- or even a skanky stripper -- comes on to you out of nowhere, your choices explaining what's going on are a) you've inexplicably, suddenly, and surprisingly become vastly more attractive to the opposite sex or b) she's an alien/vampire/killer robot who's going to eat you before you come.

In this case she was bait in a trap where your wife will run in, slap you upside your cheating head, and berate your tiny penis in front of the whole world, or anyway in front of the infinitesmal fraction of the world that watches this trashy, trashy show.

I can't say what made me watch this aside from the fact that every other channel I turned to at the time was running commericals. Honestly, I tried uplifting, educational programs before settling on this one. Still, I watched it. You'd think maybe it's worth it for the prurient shots of the stripper daughters and the wildly over-made-up surgically enhanced mother, but in fact any time the camera gets closer to any of them you start wishing they'd pull back a bit, like when you get a glimpse of that hot chick down the block so you go out of your way to walk over for a closer look and realize she's not so much a hot chick as a fifty-year-old meth addict chain-smoking outside because her mother's inside on oxygen.

I suppose the other attraction of the show is watching the evil scumbag cheating men get their public comeuppance -- Sandra comes across as having some serious issues with the male of the species, always raving about their "coming clean" and so on -- except I don't see these guys as being especially evil scumbags, just regular guys I probably wouldn't like very much but who are only trying to live their crappy little lives. I feel bad for them, surrounded as they are by jealous, nasty harpies who lead them on with promises of anal sex and then morph into slimy space creatures and eat them.

Although, honestly, I feel much worse for myself, since I watched the show.

Past the Point of Humor

2009-08-22T16:02:28Z

I'm driving north on the New Jersey Turnpike and I'm thinking.

I should back up a bit to give you an idea of the kind of day I'd been having.

The night before my wife arrived home after grocery shopping on her way home from a hard day at work to find me sitting and playing Battle Tetris. She had no way of knowing, of course, that I hadn't been doing that all day; in fact I'd spent the day laboriously scrubbing the last layer of lead-based oil paint from the 80-year-old chestnut window trim in our daughter's bedroom while juggling increasingly energetic calls from a recruiter desperately trying to set me up with an interview in less than 24 hours. She couldn't see that. This was like throwing an M80 into the litter box of her usual bitchiness. My wife began to slam things and scream, calling me a fat lazy asshole, and so forth, and my daughter began crying, "Do you see what you did?" until I finally fled to the local multiplex where I sat through Used Cars, I mean, The Goods: Live Hard, Sell Hard, which was not exactly an uplifting experience.

The next day, in the time before I had to get ready for my sudden interview, I scrubbed another incremental area of the lead-based oil paint, then went looking for my suit. My suit was missing. Just gone. No idea where it could've ended up. Simply not in the closet. So I pulled out my back-up pair of dress pants only to be cruelly reminded when I tried to button them that I'd put on forty pounds since I bought the back-up dress pants.

At this inopportune moment the bathroom called to me most urgently. In the midst of that operation, my middle finger punched right through the paper and up into an area where no middle finger should be.

After another thorough washing I commenced to search for my suit, which I finally found rolled in a ball in the corner of the entry hallway to the house, waiting vainly to be taken to the dry cleaners since the last time I wore it six months earlier. A quick steam iron to get rid of the wrinkles and I was ready to go and wait for my wife to return with the car fifteen minutes late.

The interview was a complete disaster, terrible, a horrible, colossal waste of time. It made me absolutely certain that I am completely, utterly unemployable in my now-former career as a computer programmer specializing in Perl.

After all of that, I am driving north on the New Jersey Turnpike and thinking. I'm singing along with Wayne Coyne as he croons, "Is to love just a waste? And why does it matter?" and I'm thinking, yes, it is just a waste, it doesn't matter, nothing matters.

Just at that moment I look up and see a billboard for The Toxic Avenger Musical and I realize: This planet, as it exists right at this moment, is beyond satire.

In Which I Am Filled With Confidence Regarding ABC's "Comedy Wednesdays"

2009-08-13T19:54:25Z

So the other night, while watching the season's final episodes of the still-awesome-and-actually-sorta-getting-even-better Better Off Ted, I saw this:

Bad enough that the impending denizens of ABC's "Comedy Wednesday" shuffle shamefacedly into their new fake house with all the confidence of cattle headed for a date with a compressed-air gun and a meat saw. (In the brief glimpse we get of Kelsey Grammar, you can practically see the man wishing he'd invested his "Frasier" earnings more prudently.) But when every single one of your supposedly hilarious stars gets absolutely blown off the screen, comedywise, by the creepy guy from "Lost"? In less than 30 seconds?

That, my friends, is the sound of absolutely no one laughing on Wednesday nights. At least, not on ABC.

Fangs a Lot, BBC America

2009-07-27T17:20:05Z

Just a quick post to inform anyone who hadn't been within a mile of BBC America for, oh, the past three months that Being Human finally premiered last Saturday. The story of a vampire, a werewolf, and a ghost all sharing a flat in ~~Edinburgh~~ Bristol happily remains just as big-hearted, funny, and spine-tinglingly creepy in series form as it did in its pilot.

New cast members Aidan Turner (as Mitchell the vampire) and the delightfully bubbly Leonora Critchlow (Annie the ghost) manage to improve on the already-good actors they've replaced from the pilot. Russell Tovey (George the dorky werewolf) remains the show's highlight, able to switch deftly from nervous comedy to hair-raising screams of anguish as he wolfs out.

The subplot about Mitchell's darkly ambitious vampire pals now feels a lot fresher and more interesting, in part thanks to Jason Watkins filling Adrian Lester's shoes as head bloodsucker Herrick. He's now a police sergeant, which gives the character an air of ominous authoritarian menace, and as written by creator Toby Whithouse and portrayed by Watkins, Herrick walks a fine and unnerving line between charming and terrifying.

In short, it's a winner of a show for sci-fi and horror fans -- the rare jaunt into scary territory that's also truly, wonderfully funny, and has real sympathy for its well-drawn characters. Unless you're out on the prowl for fresh blood, locked in the basement for your "time of the month," or too immaterial to pick up the remote, give it a try.

Things go bump in the night Saturdays at 9 p.m. on BBC America.

Blink BOOM

2009-07-23T16:52:31Z

I saw Harry Potter and the Endless Franchise the other day. (Can you remember a time when we weren't watching Harry Potter movies? Can you imagine a time when we won't be?) I don't want to review the movie, really, except to note that it's one of those middle-of-a-series movies where plot threads are mainly carried forward and nothing is really resolved; if you haven't been paying attention to the whole series none of it will make the slightest sense; and even though I'd read and enjoyed the book I spent most of the movie slightly bewildered and confused anyway.

I may have been more addled than usual, though, thanks to the movie trailers preceding the main film. The previews were for some remarkably adult, violent movies, including 2012, the upcoming end-of-the-world flick starring John Cusack (was Nicolas Cage too busy doing Knowing?) from the overwrought forge of Roland Emmerich; and also a version of Sherlock Holmes starring Robert Downey Jr. as the great detective and Jude Law as Watson, which casting makes it sound awesome, except judging by the trailer someone decided, for reasons entirely unclear to me, to make Sherlock (not to mention Downey) into a martial arts action hero.

All of which is bad enough, honestly. But what really got to me is this new style of trailer I've been seeing far too much of lately. I'm guessing that, in a world where the In a World Guy is dead, and anyway where he spent the last decade or so satirizing himself (and being satirized), in that world we need some new movie trailer cliche we can have beat into our foreheads, and this is it: The Blink BOOM Trailer.

That's where we get a quick shot, usually of something supposedly unspeakable happening, and then a rapid fade to black while the soundtrack goes BOOM! This is followed by another quick shot, rapid fade, BOOM! Over and over. It's like being hit in the head with a bat repeatedly.

I'd rather the movie studios just hire a really big scary guy to come into the theater and say, "If you don't go see Roland Emmerich's latest masterpiece I'M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS!" Because, whether I did or didn't go see it, the experience would be less painful than the Blink BOOM Trailer.

So Bad, They're Great

2009-07-14T03:14:38Z

Hear that low, rhythmic rumbling sound in the distance, drawing ever nearer as Wednesday, July 15 approaches? That, my friends, is what John Rogers -- co-creator of TNT's terrific heist-caper series Leverage -- refers to as The Fun Train. And it's going full steam ahead.

Look, if you don't enjoy heist capers in at least some way, shape, or form, you're most likely a Communist. Or dead. Or a dead Communist. A brilliant mastermind assembling a team of eccentric experts to pull off an elegant, morally justifiable bit of larceny? What's not to love? Leverage, with its breezy writing and first-rate cast, delivers all of this in spades. But beware -- this show's running a con of its own, and you, the viewer, are the mark. Because The Fun Train makes sudden and unexpected stops, and the stations at which it does are dark, lonely, compelling places indeed.

Timothy Hutton is Nate Ford, a former insurance investigator whose ex-employer denied his son a life-saving medical treatment just to pad its bottom line. Now, to get revenge on them and all the other pinstriped bastards screwing over ordinary people in the name of the Almighty Dollar, he's assembled an expert team of the very same criminals he used to hunt down -- and he's out to rob the fat cats blind.

You'd expect a former Oscar winner on the basic cable to slum it, even a little bit, especially in a show that wears its pulp influences on its sleeve. Hutton, to his considerable credit, does not. His performance here is every bit as lived-in, complex, and engaging as his work on NBC's late, great Kidnapped a few years back.

It certainly doesn't hurt that his co-stars all bring their respective A-games, too. Gina Bellman, who's previously walked off with great whopping chunks of Coupling and Jekyll, is Sophie the grifter -- a hilariously wretched actress on the legitimate stage, but a master manipulator on the job. With all due respect to Leverage's writers, none of them are Steven Moffat-class brilliant, so Bellman doesn't come across quite as uproarious or electrifying here. But she plays her meaty and intriguing relationship with Nate expertly, and when the show does give her a chance to be funny (dear show: do more of this), she absolutely kills.

Christian Kane, light-years from his days as that evil lawyer dude on Angel, plays Eliot the muscle as a delightful mix of country-boy charm and unexpected urbanity. For someone who's so very, very good at hurting people, Eliot's a surprisingly likeable guy -- perhaps because he takes only so much pleasure on doling out the violence. Also? He's a hell of a cook.

Aldis Hodge, previously seen on Friday Night Lights, could almost be an aggravating stereotype as Hardison the hacker, an apparent graduate from the Eddie Murphy When He Was Still Funny School of Smooth-Talking Comic Deceit. But Hodge brings real sweetness and charm to the role, especially during the scam in which he manages to insinuate himself into an office full of burnt-out paper pushers, throw himself a birthday party, give a major presentation, and get dramatically fired all in a single afternoon.

And last but not least, there's what comic book nerds like me would refer to as the Sensational Character Find of 2008: Beth "Mrs. Jason Lee" Riesgraf as Parker the thief. A sweetly amoral cat burglar extraordinaire, Parker has the manners and mannerisms of a vaguely homicidal eight-year-old. She's one of the most gloriously, vividly weird characters in TV drama today, and her penchant for getting basic-cable naked at the drop of a hat doesn't exactly make her less endearing. (Thanks to reader Julie for restoring my faith in a higher power, by assuring me that Ms. Riesgraf is not, and has never been, married to the star of two, count 'em, two live-action Alvin and the Chipmunks movies. Somewhere, the j-school professors who drilled me on fact-checking are shaking their heads sadly.)

The characters alone would make Leverage worth watching, but the show's writers also do a top-notch job of cooking up great, twisty, disaster-packed capers for them to pull off. From carrying out a sting in the midst of a bank robbery, to thwarting an airline bombing while in midair on the plane in question, to successfully planning, catering, and officiating a wedding for a Mafia don, the show's plots take considerable glee in going places you'd never expect.

(I only wish the show's heavies were equally unpredictable. The writers supposedly conduct extensive research on real corporate crime in cooking up their plots, but the bad guys too often come off as one-dimensional stock scumbags. If a villain were to, say, hustle orphans onto a dynamite-packed bus headed off the edge of the Grand Canyon, he or she would not come across as the most implausible antagonist in the series' history. Ah, well. It's still fun to watch these creeps get their comeuppance.)

And just when you think Leverage is all light, frothy fun, you suddenly begin to realize that Nate Ford always, always has a drink in his hand. And when you've successfully rationalized that he's got his drinking managed, all of a sudden he's locked in rehab as part of a con, and he's gone 24 hours without a drink, and he's sweating and hallucinating and screaming at his teammates. And even when that ordeal's over, he still can't admit he's got a problem; he's right back to being blithe and charming and lying to himself, even when he admits that his grandfather and father before him were alcoholics, that he can handle it. And suddenly, someone's pulled the emergency brake on the Fun Train.

Booze has Nate by the throat, and the subtlety with which Leverage handles this elevates it from a merely fun show to a truly good one. Hutton and the writers take pains to avoid making Nate some staggering, disheveled caricature. His disease is quieter, more insidious, and as a result, genuinely disturbing. Kudos to Rogers and co-creator Chris Downey for spiking such a truly fun and joyful show with this jolt of real darkness.

After mere months off the air, Leverage returns Wednesday, July 15 for its second season. If you like being mightily entertained, and maybe just a little unsettled, steal some time to check it out.

Re-watching Lost, Season 1, Episode 2: "Walkabout"

2009-07-08T18:15:15Z

This episode of “Lost” reveals the truth about John Locke and plants several other seeds that suggest the island we’re on isn’t peculiar only because it’s the home of a loud yet strangely invisible monster. A full report on “Walkabout” coming right up — but not before I check the cancellation policy for my Australian Walkabout tour…

“This is destiny. This is my destiny. I’m supposed to do this, dammit. Don’t tell me what I can’t do!”

If there is a single, series-definining episode of “Lost,” it’s almost certainly “Walkabout.” The final scenes, with their “Twilight Zone”-caliber revelation about the true story of John Locke that casts everything we’ve seen before in a completely new light, set the standard for many future revelations that precede the final LOST title card and clunking sound effect by only a few seconds.

So, full credit to the writer of this remarkable episode — not Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse, who have come to represent the “Lost” writing brain trust, but “Buffy” and “Angel” veteran David Fury. Fury’s writing stint on “Lost” lasted only one season, and appears to have ended in at least some degree of acrimony. (He ended up leaving the show to work on “24,” and forgive me for saying this, but what a colossal waste of talent that was. Perhaps there was simply no way for Fury to co-exist with Lindelof and Cuse on “Lost,” but “24?” I once admired that show, but when it comes to writing? Talk about your proverbial sausage factory.)

No matter the outcome, in many ways it’s Fury’s episode that not only forms the prototype of the very best “Lost” episodes to come, but in some ways it might be the episode that saved the show from cancellation. Think back to the series’ premiere in the fall of 2004. ABC first made the questionable decision of splitting the two-hour pilot into two separate episodes a week apart, but at least those two episodes deliver the goods. The third episode to be aired, “Tabula Rasa,” is a relatively mild look at Kate’s sojourn in an Australian farm. I’d be shocked if audiences weren’t getting a little antsy at this show with a strong action-adventure pilot that took its third episode to cool off and give us a little bit of a character study.

I’m not saying that I dislike the character-study episodes. On the contrary. I’m just saying, if you came out and told the ABC prime-time audience that your show about a plane crash on a deserted island was actually a series of character studies about a half-dozen characters and how their previous lives informed the decisions they made on the island, I think that audience would have abandoned the series in droves.

So with this pivotal fourth hour, we get “Walkabout,” and by its end we have a pretty good idea of every single scrap of clothing that’s been stuffed into the suitcase. This is a show about characters on an island, and about their pasts, yes. But those flashbacks are gonna blow your mind, man, and there is something seriously freaky about that island.

In case you haven’t gone back and consulted this episode, yes, this is the episode where we discover that Locke, who in the present is a wild-eyed guy with a suitcase full of knives who leads a boar hunt and ends up both confronting the island’s mystery monster and dragging a big ham dinner back to the beach, was a milquetoast in a wheelchair just days before.

The construction of the episode is beautiful, with a pair of bookended scenes of John on the beach wiggling his toes and putting on his shoes, flawlessly intercut with beach scenes from the pilot episode. In between, we learn about Locke, but almost everything we learn is almost immediately called into question.

Take the first flashback. It’s immediately preceded by a scene in which Locke hurls a sharpened knife and declares that the crash survivors will find sustenance by hunting the wild boars that attacked them the night before. As he’s about to spend more than a hundred episodes doing, Hurley asks the question we’re all thinking: “Who is this guy?”

Obviously he’s a military guy, given the phone conversation he’s having in the flashback, in which a co-worker calls him “Colonel Locke.” Except that’s immediately put to the test when his jerk of a supervisor, Randy, demands to see some TPS reports. (We’ll see Randy again — but earlier on in his timeline — as a co-worker of Hurley’s at Mr. Cluck’s Chicken. I believe the way the timeline works is, Randy loses his job when Mr. Cluck’s is destroyed by a rogue meteor, and in sympathy Hurley — who has won the lottery and owns the box company Locke works for — gives him a job at the box company. There’s your Obscure Lost Trivia for today.)

Randy (played by Billy Ray Gallion) is a really, really insulting boss. Why, if I were Locke, I wouldn’t take this sort of treatment sitting down. Hmm.

Locke leads the wild boar hunt (Wild Boar Hunt! In Color!), but his leadership skills are a little questionable. Michael gets gored, and rather than help Kate get him back to the beach, he just goes off in search of that white whale — er, pig. But not before a scene in which, knocked off his feet by the boar, Locke carefully moves his legs. There’s one shot in particular, of Locke’s foot in the extreme foreground as he checks to see if he’s okay, that really pays off when you watch the episode again. Yes, John, you can still walk. The miracle is still intact.

In Locke’s second flashback exchange with Randy, as well as the final scene with Locke in the office of the Australian Walkabout tours, there’s some pretty heavy dialogue that gives us an idea from the very beginning that Locke’s part of this story is going to be about fulfilling a destiny. In Tustin at the box company, he references a double amputee who climbed Mount Everest.

“That what you think you got, old man?” Randy says. “Destiny?

“Just… don’t tell me what I can’t do,” John replies, in the line that defines his personality. Later, after the Walkabout tour manager refuses to put Locke on this bus, Locke declares, “This is destiny. This is my destiny. I’m supposed to do this, dammit.”

The episode does give us what many of these episodes will — the hint that there’s more backstory to these characters without a lot of detail, allowing future episodes to fill in the blanks. In the case of Locke, we see — while he’s laying on his bed casually… hmm… — him talking to “Helen,” who turns out to be a phone-sex operator. Locke sadly proposes that she come with him to Australia. There’s much more story to tell here — later.

Similarly, he tells Mr. Walkabout Tours that it’s been four years since he lost the ability to walk. So this is apparently a recent occurrence. That’s interesting. I wonder what happened to make him suddenly lose the ability to walk? The show will, of course, answer that question. But not until we’ve sat through a series of teases and misdirections.

Speaking of teases and misdirections, it will be a long time before we catch a glimpse of the monster, let alone a long, full-frontal view of it. And we still don’t know exactly what it is, though there are some pretty good clues out there. But in this episode, someone does see the monster: John Locke. The monster comes at him through the woods, makes its creepy New York City taxi meter clicking noise, and apparently John passes the test in a way that, say, Mr. Eko won’t.

That scene — Locke sees the monster, turning his head from side to side in the suggestion that what he’s seeing is big — is one that stuck with me for a long time. It suggests that Locke either knows what the monster looks like or at least knows something about it. More importantly, the fact that he didn’t end up chomped like the pilot suggests again that there’s something special about Locke. But what? I think we have a much better answer now, but even given the outcome of the show’s fifth-season finale, I’m still not sure we’ve heard the whole story of John Locke. I sure hope we haven’t, anyway.

No matter Locke’s ultimate disposition, though, this episode’s ending is really a thing of beauty. Sure, the shocking revelation of Locke’s wheelchair in the tour office in Austrlia is what people remember. But that’s not how the episode ends. It ends with John back on the beach, Michael Giacchino’s score swelling in an uplifting manner that doesn’t match at all with the madness and horror of the plane-crash scene. John wiggles his feet, puts on his shoes, stands up, and rushes to help Jack (as seen in the pilot episode) — all mundane events were it not for the extraordinary events happening around him and the fact that for the past four years he hasn’t been able to stand upright.

In the show’s final scene, we’re back on the beach, as the survivors burn the fuselage. Through the flames, John spies his old wheelchair, and smiles. Wow.

Here’s the thing about this episode: It makes it clear that, from the very beginning, Locke is aware that the island is special. Not only does he know it because he’s been healed, but then he sees the monster. Locke is way ahead of everyone else. He’s not playing the same game as the rest of them, and it’ll be a long time before they catch up with him.

Now, there are plenty of other stories going on in this episode, despite all the Lockey goodness. It’ll be another season before the producers really put the island plot in stall mode. Right now, all the balls are in the air.

The fuselage full of dead B-O-D-Y-S is dispatched, given a Viking funeral after a touching memorial service. Interesting points: Jack refuses to lead the memorial service, so it falls to Claire. Her makeshift memorial messages are a very touching reminder that a whole bunch of people died before the story of “Lost” even began. There’s Steve and Kristin, who don’t even have last names, but were in love and were going to get married. Some people are remembered based on the barest of details — video-store receipts, the corrective-lens and organ-donor indications on a driver’s license, and the lack of stamps on a passport. Perhaps the saddest of all: “Vonstead, Harold. That’s all we have, a name and a boarding pass.”
Rose is a major guest-star in this episode. Jack is tasked with giving her a pep talk — wow, talk about the wrong choice. But it goes pretty well, considering. And we get that nice moment where Jack suggests she say something about her husband, and Rose looks at Jack like he’s certifiable. “Doctor, my husband is not dead,” she says — another one of my all-time favorite “Lost” lines. Jack responds by telling her that everyone in the tail section is gone. Rose’s response? “They’re probably thinking the same thing about us.”
Another interesting thing about Rose: As we’ll find out later, her story parallels Locke’s. She, too, has benefited from the miraculous healing powers of the island. How fitting that she should be featured in this, of all episodes. But Rose, unlike Locke, is not interested in making a journey of discovery and destiny. She’s satisfied with finding her husband and living out her natural life with him on the island. Sounds good to me, Rose.
Sayid’s quest, in his role as Iraqi MacGyver, is to fix the radio. We see him working on it in this episode, and it’ll lead to him meeting Danielle Rousseau in a few episodes. It also leads to him giving Kate an antenna to place in a tree, which she completely botches.
Boone and Shannon bicker some more. They really are this season’s Nikki and Paolo. Also, Shannon proves herself to be a gold-plated bitch by conning Charlie into getting Hurley to catch a fish. This will set up a story arc in which we learn that Shannon is a misunderstood soul just waiting to be redeemed by the love of a former Iraqi torturer. Boy, can’t wait for that.
Claire finds Sayid’s photo of Nadia in the personal effects.
Sawyer gives some stuff to Claire, suggesting he’s growing a conscience. Which is sort of a misdirection, and sort of not.
Boone shows concern for Locke — “That bald guy didn’t come back!” — that you could call foreshadowing of his relationship with Locke if you really wanted to.
The episode’s other big “Twilight Zone” element — which sort of gets paid off in the following episode — is Jack twice seeing a man wearing a business suit and white tennis shoes, looking at him from far off down the beach. Both times he disappears mysteriously, as apparitions do. This ends up being pretty darned relevant to the series’ story arc as a whole.

Which brings me to one of the major questions about “Lost,” namely what the writers knew and when they knew it. David Fury himself claimed that the writers didn’t have a clue and were making it up as they went along. I believe that statement was mildly disputed by Cuse, Lindelof, and J.J Abrams.

Do I really believe that the writers knew where they were going at this point in the series? No, of course not. I think they had some general ideas, but also wanted to plant some seeds that could be used later as payoffs, even without knowing exactly how. A lot of fans would call this retcon, or retroactive continuity. But I don’t think that’s fair. Locke’s healing and talk of destiny, his ability to stare the monster in the face without perishing, shows that the writers knew what direction they were heading, but not necessarily in more than the vaguest terms. Likewise, the reference to the tail section — another thread intentionally left loose. This early in a series’ run, the last thing you want to do is close yourself off from possibilities. So the writers created a lot of compelling-but-vague mythology and figured out how best to fit it in later.

My best bet is that Cuse and Lindelof really figured out where they were going after the first season, when the show’s ratings suggested they’d have a chance to run for years. But as I watch these episodes again, it’ll be interesting to note which threads they’ve picked up — and which ones they’ve ignored.

Another interesting topic brought up by this episode: In many ways, the revelation of Locke’s magical healing powers is the final admission from the show that it’s going to have a serious fantasy element. (Yes, the monster and polar bears were big hints, but they could have been explained away by more mundane answers.) It’s always a delicate thing, asking a mainstream TV audience to accept that you’re telling a story that’s got rules a bit beyond accepted reality.

Now, why this should be the case is something that causes me some consternation. Most blockbuster movies are fantasy or sci-fi. Many bestselling novels, including those by “Lost” patron saint Stephen King, also deal with fantastic premises. But sci-fi on mainstream network TV doesn’t have a great track record.

“Lost” gets away with it, I think, because of its modern setting and its emphasis on character. At the end of the episode, the impact we feel when we see Locke in that wheelchair is far greater because of who he is and what we’ve seen about his life on and off the island. In that moment, yeah, we’re wondering how he was magically healed. But we’re also realizing that when John Locke truly got a chance to fulfill his destiny and have his adventure in a wild, far-off land, he ended up dragging a boar back to camp and feeding all of his compatriots. That’s the brilliance of “Lost.”

Skippable? Are you kidding? If you could watch only one first-season episode of “Lost,” this might be it.

Superfluous: Kate shows that she’s a wicked good tree climber. This will never be important.

Up next: “White Rabbit,” in which Jack goes down the rabbit hole and we meet Christian Shephard and a remarkable facsimile.

Got a comment? Feel free to join in.

"Royal Pains": Good for What Ails You

2009-06-30T15:21:46Z

My damned DVR is eating my life.

It seems like every free moment I have is now haunted by the notion that somewhere in the digital ether, episodes of good shows I haven't seen yet are waiting patiently for me to watch them. So very patiently. Staring at me with the TV-show equivalent of big, mournful, puppy-dog eyes. I never thought I'd miss boredom.

The situation's gotten so bad that I'm actually upset when good new shows hit the airwaves, and relieved to think that even terrific shows like NBC's Kings -- back on the air for a summer burnoff, and more eerie and eloquent with each passing week -- will soon be gone for good. If only so I don't have a Hulu queue and DVR hard drive groaning under the weight of Ian MacShane awesomely delivering quasi-Shakespearean dialogue and stabbin' folks Swearingen-style.

All the same, I just can't quit watching USA's Royal Pains. That's a testament less to its Burn-Notice-but-with-a-doctor premise, and more to its set of engaging characters brought to life by a really great cast. It's the kind of cheerful, breezy summer series USA seems to do better than any other network.

How closely does Pains ape its spy-show predecessor? Both shows feature a deeply principled, ultracompetent professional hero with a knack for cobbling together improvised solutions to life-threatening dilemmas. Unjustly cast out of the profession he loves, he finds himself stranded in a sunny, bikini-intensive locale, taking odd jobs that fall through the cracks of a broken and ineffective system, aided primarily by a sultry colleague/antagonist/love interest and a genial, loyal mooch of a best pal. Note to USA: In future, kindly avoid using the office photocopier as a source for new series ideas.

To its credit, though, Pains offers plenty of fun variants of its own. Unlike Jeffrey Donovan's measured, flinty performance as Michael Weston, Pains' Hank Lawson is an all-around nice guy with ironclad ethics and a great big heart. Notable Hey-It's-That-Guy Mark Feuerstein somehow keeps Hank grounded and likeable, even when he ought to be an insufferably perfect goody two-shoes. And he shares a definite zing! with Jill Flint's prickly but admiring hospital administrator, which makes their awfully sudden entrance into a relationship a bit more believable.

Paulo Costanzo never quite gets annoying as Evan, Hank's ambitious, skirt-chasing little brother and financial advisor. For all his superficiality, he's obviously devoted to his brother, and he's capable of the occasional thoughtful act or savvy business move to counter his grating dweebishness. (A scene in the second episode, in which Evan dances an impromptu ballet while whipping up a home-cooked meal for a ballerina he wants to impress, is also one of the most wonderfully, sweetly goofy things I've seen this side of Pushing Daisies.)

And Pains has a few aces up its sleeve that Burn Notice can't match. Reshma Shetty's Divya, Hank's unflappable PA, is a really cool character, with her icy wit and fully loaded super-SUV of medical wondergadgetry. I can't wait to see more of her currently offscreen family, from whom she's hiding her covert medical career, and I'm enjoying her amusing hate-hate relationship with Evan.

I'm also quite fond of several of the show's recurring characters. Tucker, the hemophiliac son of an often-absent playboy, is a really sweet and interesting kid, played with low-key charm by Ezra Miller. He makes a great comic duo with Meredith Hagner's Libby, Tucker's high-strung girlfriend, whose extreme hypochondria seems to actually be a touching response to Tucker's own fragile existence. And Campbell Scott owns every scene he glides into as the enigmatic Boris, a Bavarian zillionaire who's set himself up as Hank's benefactor for mysterious and possibly sinister reasons. The growing hints that Boris may in fact be some sort of James Bond villain add a weird and welcome kick to the show, like a shot of Tabasco on scrambled eggs.

This great collection of fun characters -- and really likeable actors -- do a lot to bandage up Royal Pains' more feeble elements. The medical mysteries can be interesting, with some nifty attention to technical detail, but the show's still working on making them feel particularly urgent or suspenseful. Or novel, for that matter. Thus far, every medical plotline seems to run something like this:

PATIENT: I think something may be wrong with me.
HANK: Yeah, you're sick.
PATIENT: But not that sick!
HANK: No, you really are. I'm going to give you a bunch of reasonable, practical advice that you can then proceed to ignore for the purposes of drama.
PATIENT: I can't get help within our broken health-care system!
HANK: Yeah, our system really sucks, although I'll content myself with just saying that in broad terms, rather than addressing specific flaws or offering any solution beyond the sort of magical feel-good stuff you only see on TV.
PATIENT: [suffers life-threatening emergency]
HANK: [does something awesomely MacGyvery]
PATIENT: Yay! I'm all better! Thank you, Dr. Awesome!
HANK: Aw, shucks. I'm just a regular old brilliant trauma surgeon trying to help. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my palatial guest house so that I can get ready for my date with my superhot doctor girlfriend. [Also, if patient is rich:] Will you be paying me in a check so large, I won't mention the actual amount, or just an entire bar of gold?

The pilot in particular, for all its charms, indulged in some pretty hilariously lazy writing. I especially rolled my eyes at the scene in which Hank, while canoodling in bed with his previous superhot girlfriend, talks about how everything is so wonderful in his life, and nothing will ever, ever happen to disrupt it. And then the phone rings...

Still, Royal Pains is undeniably fun, with a bunch of great characters I've come to look forward to spending an hour with every Thursday night. Which doesn't mean I'm not looking forward to the end of its season, if only so that my DVR will quit sulking there in the middle of my entertainment center. Waiting. Watching. Judging.

Pleasant Valley

2009-06-26T21:15:40Z

A couple of times in the past few weeks I've heard the Monkees' rendition of the immortal Goffin and King's "Pleasant Valley Sunday". It's got a brilliantly shimmering pop melody, but aside from that it's also a sharp criticism of life in suburbia, an indictment of shallow materialism, a warning about succumbing to a numbing life in Status Symbol Land where you're surrounded by the smell of burning charcoal from all the backyard cookouts.

I'm nearly forty now. I don't consider that I've acquired wisdom for the ages but I have picked up the wisdom of a forty-year-old, for what that's worth. And I was thinking about this today. I once again found myself somehow, after seeing television commercials for miracle cleaning products since 1971, on all fours on my bathroom floor scrubbing with a brush.

When I was younger I agreed with the Monkees wholeheartedly. This was no simple adolescent revolt against one's elders, either. In fact my parents weren't all that interested in Pleasant Valley. They never collected status symbols: No fancy new cars, big beautiful house, expensive TVs. At one point my father drove a tow truck, not professionally, but as his regular commuting vehicle. No, my parents didn't care about appearances. They always looked -- they still do -- to just getting by. Making their way, day by day, climbing over whatever obstacles arose, occasionally grabbing what happiness they could: That was, and is, their way.

So I wasn't rejecting my parents when I turned away from Pleasant Valley. I'd made a definite decision to avoid what I saw as so much worthless and mirthless junk. For me, true value lay in the things I'd pursue all my life: Science and philosophy and art. I spent my time reading Kant, Hume, and Buckminster Fuller. Learning to play chess and studying engineering. Painting.

Well, I managed to avoid Pleasant Valley, yes I did. I don't have a status symbol to my name. I live in the suburbs, sure, but the one I live in is nothing like Gerry Goffin's lyrics, even if he wrote them about a place less than 20 miles from my house.

What I realize now is that a Sunday in Pleasant Valley looks pretty good. All those things I've invested in my whole life thus far -- all the thinking and the understanding -- haven't gotten me anything. I don't need philosophy. I need something to clean my goddamn bathroom floor.

Re-watching Lost, Season 1, Episode 1: "Tabula Rasa"

2009-06-18T07:04:13Z

In this, the first “real” episode of “Lost,” we learn how Kate came to be in the company of the U.S. Marshal, how to construct a dog whistle when you’re stranded on a haunted island, and how not to put someone out of his misery. A full report on “Tabula Rasa,” written by series co-creator Damon Lindelof, right after I search the fuselage for B-O-D-Y-S…

“I got trust issues.” - Kate

Months after Lost’s remarkable pilot episode was shot, the series was picked up for series and it was time for the show’s writers and producers to figure out where the story was going and what the series’ format would actually be.

Although “Tabula Rasa” is the first true episode of the first season, the show is still a work in progress. In many ways, “Tabula Rasa” is the missing final third of the pilot, dealing with the immediate aftermath of where that double-length episode left us off. Some quirks in this episode show us that the producers still hadn’t quite figured out the rhythm of the show and all the conventions of the format. And of course, it wouldn’t be until the show’s next episode, “Walkabout,” that Lost would truly become the show you talked about around the water cooler at work the next day.

Obviously in a Kate-centric episode, the most important aspect of paying off the pilot episode is dealing with the fact that Edward Mars, the U.S. Marshal who had been transporting Kate back to Los Angeles from Sydney in handcuffs, is awake and able to communicate the truth about Kate.

(Hence the name of the episode, literally “a blank slate,” suggesting Kate’s desire to not be burdened by her past. Of course, the title is more than just about Kate. It’s a nod to every character on the show and the entire premise of the show, which is that this is a group of people, most of whom have never met before, who are now stranded on a maybe-not-so-deserted island. They can lie about who they are. They are, like the new kid moving into your school from out of state, a blank slate. Of course, as Lost’s flashback storytelling format rapidly makes clear, every decision you make in the present is indelibly colored by the events of the past. If there’s one theme to the series as a whole, it’s that: The past is not dead. It’s not even past.)

Since this is her big time to shine, let’s talk about Kate. This episode is perfect in that it does what the show will do for several more Kate flashbacks to come — tease you with the idea that you’ll learn details of Kate’s crime, only to leave you unconscious by the side of the highway next to your flaming vintage farmer truck.

I do enjoy the flashback involving Ray Mullen, the recently-widowered one-armed Australian farmer, who knows that “Annie” is on the run from something but is compassionate enough (and maybe needy enough) not to care. Hey, if you were on the run from the law in a foreign land, wouldn’t you want some nice local to befriend you and give you a place to stay? I especially enjoy the scene where Ray discovers Kate removing her money from her hiding place in anticipation of making a break for it. You can play that scene back and watch it from his perspective as a surprised host, then from Kate’s perspective as a paranoid fugitive, and then a third time once you realize that Ray’s not just keeping her around for hospitality’s sake — he’s realized that she’s a fugitive and wants to collect his $23,000 (Australian). (Also, I love that Kate poses as a Canadian, given that Evangeline Lily actually is a Canadian.)

In the end, Kate tries elude Mars by crashing poor Ray’s truck. And what a good job she does of it, turning it into a real CHiPs-level event, complete with multiple rollovers and a nice burst of flame. Turns out Kate’s got a heart of gold, too, because she pulls Ray from the wreck to save his life, even though — as Mars taunts her about — she might have gotten away if she hadn’t stopped to save one-armed (and now truckless) Ray.

Later, after a gratuitous replay of plane-crash scenes from the pilot episode (a trick that the show simply doesn’t do anymore, replaying scenes without providing new information), we learn that all Kate was trying to say to Mars before the plane crash was a request for poor old Ray to get his $23,000 Australian dollars for turning her in. Can you blame her? She wrecked his ride. Talk about guilt.

In the end, of course, the Marshal doesn’t make it. He’s around long enough to provide Jack (and Hurley) with her mug shot, allowing Hurley to declare “She looks hard core!” (So much for Kate’s blank slate, eh?) But before the Marshal gets busy dying, he gets to be a part of some memorable and important scenes. His screams of torment enliven the very first real one-on-one scene between Sawyer and Kate.

Of course, Kate can’t put him out of his misery because she’s as far from an impartial person as possible — even though she might be the best qualified person to do the job. Instead it falls to Sawyer, who reveals that he might not be the tough guy we all might have assumed he was by botching the job, leaving Mars in even more agony and facing a long, slow death. Jack has no choice, then, but to clean up Sawyer’s mess and end it. Thus begins the Kate-Jack-Sawyer dynamic.

But before Jack does lord knows what to finish Mars off, he’s got one piece of advice for Jack. With the hindsight of 100-plus episodes, it’s amusing to hear what the Marshal tells Jack about his future would-be girlfriend: “No matter what she does, no matter how she makes you feel, don’t trust a word she says. She will do anything to get away.” The way I read Kate’s character, she’s actually the opposite of how the Marshal views her: she’s one of the most trustworthy characters on the show, as well as one of the least likely to flee a difficult situation.

Fortunately for Kate, Jack appears to immediately disregard everything the Marshal says as the rantings of a madman. I mean, can you blame him? She’s so purty. Especially in that orange shirt.

The rest of this episode is largely society-building stuff, necessary to the concept of the show — you’ve got to at least pay lip service to the idea that they’re setting up a society on this island now that they’ve heard the French transmission and realize they might be here for a long time. So we get Sayid exhorting people to collect fresh water, for example. Jack goes into the fuselage (populated by “B-O-D-Y-S,” as Hurley says, not realizing that the whole spelling-out trick doesn’t work on kids older than six) to find medicine and runs into Saywer, who is scavenging for later use. And then there’s Jin, who is once again shown to be a real dick, despite the fact that in all his flashbacks he doesn’t seem quite so boorish.

This episode provides Charlie’s first real act of chivalry for Claire, setting those characters on a path that will have plenty of ups and downs, leading to one of them drowning and the other, uh, disappearing into a ghost shack. By the way, if you’ve watched the episode, did you notice how Charlie helps Claire with her suitcase? He puts it on a conveniently located wheelchair. I wonder who that chair belonged to? We haven’t seen any paralyzed people on the show. Oh well. I’m sure it’s not important.

Speaking of John Locke, in preparing us for next week’s Locke-centric episode, we get a lot more of him in this episode than in the pilot. But he’s still treated as a bit of a weirdo. “Mr. Locke said, a miracle happened to him,” Walt tells Michael, revealing the “secret” Locke told him in the pilot episode. But Michael, ever the bad parent, figures that Locke is too creepy and tries to keep Walt away from him.

As it turns out, the mysterious Mr. Locke is an old softy who has been carving a dog whistle so that he can coax Vincent out of the jungle. And once he’s got Vincent, Locke brings the dog to Michael to present to his son. It’s a really sweet moment, showing that not only is Locke a decent person, he’s got a level of industry that might come in handy.

And yet with all those good feelings, how does the episode end? (I mean, other than the musical montage — as heard through the headphones of Hurley, in another sign that the show is still working out what it wants its overall vibe to be.) With Michael bringing Vincent back to Walt — under the staring eyes of John Locke. Cue creepy music!

Well, which is it, Lost? Is John Locke some creepy guy or is he misunderstood? Why do you go to great lengths to show us that he’s a thoughtful, friendly guy, only to give us as the episode’s parting shot a full pan around his dome and close in on his face as he looks at Walt and Michael while menacing music plays. Yeah, I know, Locke is a mysterious guy. But when you have characters behaving in one way, and then the show’s technical tools — camera moves and music cues — push you in a totally different way, it’s disconcerting. As if the music and camera angles are trying to negate the script.

The guy carved a freakin’ dog whistle and then gave the kid’s dad the chance to look good by returning his dog as if the dad had found it himself. And for that, he gets creepy music and a weird panning shot? Dirty pool.

Skippable? Not really, but this episode is not quite as essential as you might think. There’s a lot of extension of the pilot episode. Still, how can you not want to see how it was that Kate was captured? Though if you want to see the crime she committed, you’ll be waiting a while.

Superfluous: There’s a scene where Michael accidentally finds Sun topless. This is the beginning of a very strange plot thread in which Jin becomes jealous of Michael, putting them at odds during the building of (and torching of) the first escape raft. I kind of got the feeling that the writers were halfheartedly trying to create a love triangle between Sun, Jin, and Michael. In hindsight it seems kind of dumb. But it seemed dumb at the time, too.

Up next: Get your brochures and a comfortable pair of I’m-not-actually-walking shoes. It’s time for a “Walkabout” with John Locke. And if you see John Locke, just for kicks, tell him what he can’t do. He loves that.

Got a comment? Feel free to join in.

Mister, we could use a leading man like Walter Matthau again

2009-06-15T18:20:44Z

Did you see the Taking of Pelham One Two Three remake this weekend? Me, neither. And why should you? By most (but not all) accounts, it's a by-the-numbers Tony Scott picture that borrows the title and a few other conceits from the 1974 original, but lacks the humor (and the score) that made the first film a cult classic. (This was entirely predictable, of course.)

Christian Toto picks up a theme that Joel Mathis raised in our podcast a few weeks back: Could a guy like Walter Matthau, the hero of the original Pelham One Two Three, ever get cast as the lead in an action drama today? Toto explores some possibilities in his latest article for BoxOffice.com. Fact is, Toto writes, "Few of today's biggest stars look like the guy or gal one might find sitting next to them on a subway."

Are there exceptions? Sure. Toto mentions some. We discussed some in the podcast, and even named our candidate for the 21st century's Walter Matthau. Hint: He's never played an action hero, but he was the villain once.