November 2006 Archives
More scheduling changes from NBC: Beginning in January, it's moving "Friday Night Lights" from Tuesdays to 8 p.m. Wednesday, which means while it once was trampled by "Dancing with the Stars," it'll soon be receiving weekly kidney punches from "American Idol's" results show. "Dateline NBC" will replace it on Tuesday beginning Dec. 26.
Following "Friday Night Lights" on Wednesdays will be the former Thursday edition of "Deal or No Deal." (That sentence can kind of make you a little dizzy.) And, of course, "Medium," though that could change if the show continues to manage a paltry 8m viewers as it did last night. ("Medium" did much better when it was on Mondays, and its paranormal theme seems a better fit with "Heroes.")
And once "Sunday Night Football" is gone, NBC will have to reschedule that night, which it will on Jan. 7 with a new reality competition, "Grease: You're the One that I Want," which purports to seek the leads for an upcoming Broadway revival of the musical, followed by "The Apprentice." "Crossing Jordan" will join the mix on Jan. 21.
While "Grease" could go the way of "Dancing with the Stars," it could just as easily follow "Rock Star: INXS's" path to oblivion. Because the stakes are genuine rather than theoretical - those involved really do want to get the best people for the roles, as opposed to viewer favorites, so lovable losers won't be spared from week to week, nor will difficult divas - there might not be as much drama involved. Also, since this is essentially an extended audition process, might people start to get a wee bit sick of hearing the same songs over week after week?
And if the show tanks, how many people will want to see a Broadway musical with unknown leads from a failed reality show? On the other hand, given NBC's coverage here, investors in this production of "Grease" may be the first since "Springtime for Hitler" to expect to recoup their money even if it closes opening weekend.
There's also conjecture that NBC will take Paul Haggis' Irish-mob drama "The Black Donnellys" - which it had intended to keep "ER's" seat warm while that show took a breather to cut down on its mid-season repeats - to Monday, meaning "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip" could soon be homeless. NBC also has another midseason show, "Raines," starring Jeff Goldblum as a homicide investigator who "speaks" to his victims (yeah, I know), that can plug a hole, any hole, somewhere.
For the benefit of any future generation that might want to strive to understand the fate of the “sitcom,� let today’s date – November 30, 2006 – stand as the day in which the sitcom, barring some unforeseen resuscitation, truly died.
Why? NBC, honestly, truly intent on trying to revive the form, sent out screeners of all four of its offerings tonight. And though none of the episodes involved were truly horrible, they were clearly well below the levels of previous Must-See Thursday shows such as “Seinfeld,� “Cheers,� “The Cosby Show,� "Family Ties" and “Friends.� If these episodes were intended to resurrect the genre, then it is clearly nearly moribund.
We’ll begin with “The Office,� which actually inspired a few laughs. Tonight’s episode was written by Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant, creators of the original British version of the show.
It gets off to a decidedly slow start, but builds nicely as the Scranton branch of Dunder Mifflin discovers it has an ex-con in its midst. After some misguided if ultimately un-incorrect race-baiting, it turns out the perp was incarcerated for insider-trading, and as he describes the conditions of the prison where he did time, “The Office’s� denizens come to realize prison sounds better than their jobs. As boss Michael Scott (Steve Carell) opines, “This office is the American Dream and they would rather be in the hole.�
The subplot is also amusing: Jim (John Krasinski) offers unctuous Andy (Ed Helms) disastrous tips on how to win Pam’s (Jenna Fischer) heart, which he too willingly takes to heart. Hence, Jim/Pam fans will be heartened by a renewed hope that Jim still cares.
But even this episode isn’t nearly as clever as what Gervais and Merchant wrote for their own series. And the other shows don’t come close to being even this funny.
The evening kicks off with “My Name is Earl,� which, despite the occasional inspired moment, seems to have lapsed into the sort of deadly self-satisfied posture that has felled shows far greater than it. Tonight offers subplots involving 274 bologna sandwiches, doofus Randy’s efforts to win over the beauteous Catalina, gambling mania and Joy’s anger-management efforts.
I was ready to bail on the episode after a mere 10 minutes, but, to my eventual dismay, held on to the bitter end. “Earl� now trucks in the sort of crazy-quilt plotting that’s more attuned to Adult Swim’s nutty-ass, random shows.
“Scrubs,� which has also been a little too self-satisfied for a while and has likewise indulged in Adult Swim’s brand of logic-free plotting, includes a self-explanatory scene of the whole hospital partying (wacky!).
Tonight, everyone’s dealing with the sundry outfall of getting pregnant, or, in Elliot’s (Sarah Chalke) singular case, of not being pregnant. “Scrubs� – perhaps due to the way it’s been yanked around by NBC – has reached the point that it doesn’t really feel it has to make much sense; its jokes come from relentlessly random angles, which means its plots feel no need to make much sense. Worse, its comic secret weapon, John C. McGinley’s Dr. Cox, has begun to become way overused these days.
Finally, “30 Rock� still manages to be fairly witty long past the point where it’s become apparent that no one cares how good it is; it’s about the TV industry and most of America can’t bring itself to give a $#!t, no matter how much its arms are twisted. Anyone who’s watched the show understands that, given the sketches we’ve been subjected to, NBC would’ve cancelled “30 Rock’s� in-show show “TGS� long ago (although, upon further review, given the fact that NBC picked up “Friday Night Lights� for the entire season, maybe not…).
Tonight, Tracy (Tracy Morgan, who has obviously dedicated himself to outdoing his beleaguered character in real life) gets a Mike Tyson-style tattoo, while Liz (Tina Fey) receives oddly sage relationship advice from NBC exec Jack (Alec Baldwin).
Clearly, NBC executives have been feeding show creator Fey notes insisting she make Baldwin’s fatuously arrogant NBC executive more likable (it’s reaching the point that one pretty much expects a romance between Jack and Liz). To Fey’s soul-draining dismay, she has been obeying. Or maybe that’s the only way she’s been able to keep the show on the air to this point.
Apparently, mainstream audiences have reached the point where shtick is not nearly enough to engage them. Or TV-drama writers have figured out how to include just as many laughs in a show as sitcom writers traditionally managed, while including a measure of emotional dramatic content, rendering sitcoms essentially irrelevant. Or realpolitik has created so much humor no viewer can bear to absorb any more witticisms. At any rate, laughs are apparently so readily available that sitcoms are on the brink of extinction.
- “My Name is Earl:� 8 tonight on NBC.
- “The Office:� 8:30 tonight on NBC.
- “Scrubs:� 9 tonight on NBC.
- “30 Rock:� 9:30 tonight on NBC.
Just in case the TV catchphrases list wasn’t idiotic enough for your tastes, let us introduce you to the “Top 100 Most Family Friendly Primetime Network Television Series,� according to the new “Myers Emotional Connections® Study of TV Viewers.�
Actually, it’s an incredibly long and involved list (three lists, actually, that’s how long and involved it is), so we’ll just give you some of the high points. Whoever was polled considered “Hannity & Colmes� (No. 11) and their taunting of intellectually inferior liberals more family-friendly than “SpongeBob SquarePants� (No. 14), “Monk� (No. 15) and NASCAR races (No. 16). These same geniuses found “The O’Reilly Factor� (No. 24) more wholesome than “The Andy Griffith Show� (No. 26), almost certainly the kindest, gentlest show on television ever, and, certainly, Andy never repeatedly bellowed at anyone to “Shut up.�
More: “Walker, Texas Ranger,� despite its high violence quotient, ranked No. 28. “The Daily Show with Jon Stewart,� decidedly not aimed at kids, was No. 45; “The Colbert Report� tied for No. 67. “CSI: Crime Scene Investigation,� noted for its tasteful evocations of human savagery and Vegas decadence, tied for No. 49. The World Series of Poker, a celebration of gambling, was No. 58, just ahead of the old (and apparently rather transgressive) Olsen-twins sitcom “Full House.�
Oh, and NBA games on ESPN (No. 17) ranked significantly higher than NBA games on TNT (No. 75).
The results broke significantly differently by gender: Men had “Walker Texas Ranger,� “Hannity & Colmes� and “The O’Reilly Factor� all in their top 10, while women named HGTV’s “Divine Design� No. 1, Food Network’s “Ham on the Street� No. 3 and HGTV’s “Designed to Sell� No. 9. (Gee, I guess we really are all clichés.) Honestly, if my parents had sat me down before the TV and had me watch any of those shows, I'd be certain I was being punished: Death by Boredom.
The No. 1 most family-friendly show overall? Speed Channel’s “Trackside at …�
Clearly, the methodology is haywire. This is what the press release had to say about that:
“Myers surveyed 6,100 adults ages 18 to 64 in May to determine their emotional ties to the TV programs they view, measuring nine attributes of emotional connection. The percentages below reflect the percent of viewers to each program who rate that program five, six or seven (top 3 box) on a seven-point scale for ‘I am comfortable viewing this program with my family.’�
Clearly, Myers then neglected to give weight to shows mentioned far more frequently than others. I mean, “Trackside at … “ no doubt is fine for kids, but I hadn’t even heard of it, so the eight or so people who may have mentioned it in their lists helped propel it right to the top.
Also: Wouldn’t most people consider most of what they watch to be appropriate viewing? Otherwise, wouldn’t watching family-hostile programming make them, um, bad people?
And what to make of the 14.7 percent of those polled who don't consider “The Andy Griffith Show� family-friendly?
Perhaps those surveyed also participated in this study.
Anyway, there's a great deal more to gripe about with this thing, including some glaring inconsistencies, but that's your job, once you check out the lists after the jump.
Perhaps it's time for Nancy Grace to slowly, slowly back away from the Trenton Duckett case. After all, she's already basically killed one person over it.
The New York Observer’s Rebecca Dana reports that Grace has secured the services of a “Crisis is our Brand�-style publicist to mop up Grace’s reputation after her ambush-interview on Duckett’s mother resulted in her suicide hours later. (The family is suing Grace, but then, if you’ve been following this blog the past week or so, you’ve probably come to the understanding that TV personalities exist mainly to get sued.)
You’d think being at least partially responsible for someone’s death might chasten, even somewhat, even someone with Grace’s armored exterior - she's been parodied on at least a half-dozen TV series, not counting her own. Alas, you would be wrong: Grace has gone out of her way to further exploit the tragedy, even doing her show live from the Florida town where it unraveled.
Orlando Sentinel news columnist Lauren Ritchie, who has been following the case a lot more closely than Grace has and has spent a lot of ink correcting Grace’s mistakes and in general excoriating her, last month eviscerated a press release from Nancy’s publicist:
“‘The police want to give Nancy special access to their helicopters’ to search for the child, her public-relations agent stated in an e-mail, and then she plans to scuba dive ‘Lake Ocala’ for his body.
“Leesburg police ‘asked Nancy to come down’ to find the missing boy, whose 21-year-old mother took her life after Grace badgered her unmercifully while taping a show.
“Nancy has brought ‘some of the most important evidence to light’ and is continuing to ‘uncover new evidence weekly,’ the young agent wrote in a breathless tone. …
“Just so the truth is known, Leesburg police did not invite Grace to come here, and when questioned about it, the public-relations firm backed away from that claim. Leesburg Maj. Steve Rockefeller said Grace never contributed the smallest sliver of information to the investigation. There is no Lake Ocala.
“As far as Grace's access to Leesburg's fleet of helicopters, that may pose a problem: There are none.�
Oh, well. That didn’t go so well, so back to the drawing board: Per the Observer, Grace’s publicist announced “Ms. Grace was headed to Biloxi on Oct. 28 to ‘help actually build homes lost in Katrina … to sheet rock, paint, etc.’ Ms. Grace, she noted, was ‘really an amazing woman.’�
The Biloxi Sun Herald bought that last one, at least, reporting of Nancy’s big-hearted efforts, “Grace did not seek out publicity on her trip.� So maybe Nancy should stick to carpentry and abandon legal punditry.
Every new series on Tuesday night is tanking. ABC's "Big Day" debuted last night with an anemic 7.5 million viewers, but compared to the rest of the lot, that's practically a hit. "Help Me Help You," which followed, managed a mere 5 million. Fox's "Standoff" lured 5.8 million viewers; NBC's "Friday Night Lights" 6.2m.
CBS's "3 LBS" had just a hair under 8 million viewers - that's not so bad, right? Well, consider that the previous timeslot inhabitant, "Smith," was yanked after three episodes when its final telecast garnered 8.38 million viewers. Oops. Apparently, scheduling network primetime lineups isn't brain surgery.
"NCIS," now that it doesn't have "Dancing with the Stars" to kick it around anymore, is back to its old hit form, with 18 million viewers last night. Enjoy it while it lasts - "American Idol's" just around the corner. And "House" had 17.16 million fans. And 13 million people watched "A Charlie Brown Christmas" for the umpteenth time.
And by the way: The stronger "Heroes" gets on Monday nights, the worse "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip" looks: The audience that discovered how Aaron Sorkin plans to deal with Amanda Peet's pregnancy was less than half the size of the group that saw Hiro's heart get broken.
Sacha Baron Cohen must be sick of himself by now.
His publicity campaign for “Borat: Etc. Etc. Etc.� was unrelenting, but the film stood up to that. Then came the avalanche of lawsuits by unsuspecting dupes looking anything from vaguely fatuous to full-bore stupid – regrettable, perhaps, but given a litigious society in which every imagined slight induces “pain and suffering� worthy of “damages,� not altogether unforeseen. Getting punched in the face in New York for playing Borat – even though there were no cameras nearby – that’s getting out of hand.
And now, Cohen’s coup de grace: Breaking up Pamela Anderson and Kid Rock’s nervously passionate marriage. Per the New York Post: After a private screening of “Borat� for some of Hollywood's privileged, Mr. Rock "started screaming at Pam, saying she had humiliated herself and telling her, 'You're nothing but a whore! You're a slut! How could you do that movie?' - in front of everyone. It was very embarrassing.�
This, from the guy who appeared in “Joe Dirt� and the video game “Buttman at Nudes a Poppin’ 9� and has lent his music to such esteemed projects as “Larry the Cable Guy: Health Inspector,� “Charlie’s Angels 2: Full Throttle,� “Coyote Ugly� and “WWF: Raw is War.� One might’ve felt a little more sympathy had that been his response to Anderson’s work in the Fox series “Stacked.�
So, let’s get this straight: Kid is just now realizing that his wife is a sex symbol and that obese men around the world might employ her image in ritualistic self-abuse if a Victoria’s Secret catalogue isn’t within reaching distance – and that’s not the reason he married her in the first place? Can this guy even tie his shoes, or does he just use Velcro straps?
Meanwhile, there is much hand-wringing over whether Cohen can manage this same prank again. The automatic assumption that Cohen – a proven master of misdirection – will make a film featuring Bruno, the gay fashionista who served as the third of “Da Ali G Show’s� holy trinity of idiots seems disingenuous at best and buffoonish at worst. The thinking seems to be, well, the guy has created three comic characters; he has to be tapped out by now. Has it occurred to no one that this master of disguise might just have a trick or two still up his sleeve?
After all, this is the guy who asked Newt Gingrich if Republicans endorsed anal sex as a means of preventing unwanted pregnancies. So, just a friendly word of caution to people everywhere: If a guy with a funny accent comes up to you and asks you to sign an impenetrable legal form, and if you’re stupid, and if said guy with a funny accent seems to start playing to your stupidity, don’t walk; run to the nearest exit.
Tonight on “Law & Order: Criminal Intent,� the writers riff on the nearly forgotten Lonelygirl15 phenomenon, only here, the viral video appears to show its characters kidnapped by masked gunmen. Is it real or is it a prank? Not even the cops are sure, but that’s because they’re cops. Anyone who’s actually watched viral videos and can imagine how TV people might try to replicate the thing can probably guess correctly.
The episode offers a combination of an intriguing portrait of blind, blithering-idiot ambition alongside a bit of a ‘Those damn kids’ attitude from writers who are apparently a bit miffed that such low-budget hijinks can elicit so much pop-culture attention when here they are, cranking out their polished productions and not getting nearly as much media attention.
So I’m here to help them out by offering a new game: Fantasy League Law & Order. All you need do is, every week, combine with fellow players to select which torn-from-the-headline story you think will turn up as a future episode of one of the “Law & Order� shows. You can get bonus points by predicting correctly which of the “Law & Order� series will co-opt the incident, and further bonus points by predicting how the show’s writers will oh-so-subtly tweak the real-life story.
For example, this past week we had the O.J. Simpson book deal, the Michael Richards meltdown at the Laugh Factory and the guy in New York shot on his wedding day. Let’s toss in a couple of evergreens: Say, a celebrity couple adapting foreign babies whose bodyguards rough up civilians and a high-powered politician who becomes the star of a hit documentary. And, of course, feel free to add others of your own choosing.
So, a sample fantasy Law & Order league selection could play out thusly: Predict that “Law & Order: Criminal Intent� will do the Michael Richards story ("L&O" the mothership can't do it because they just did Mel Gibson), only the Kramer doppelganger turns up dead just as the video appears online, his house firebombed. So, perhaps the red herring is that the washed-up comic faked his own death to elicit some sympathy, that the badly charred body in the place turns out not to be that of the comic (his explanation - he left to clear his head at his lakeside place and tuned out all media while his recently divorced brother watched his place), and let’s say the real story is that the offended fan is upset, because he’s on the lam from the law but appears clearly in the viral video, which could have clued cops into his whereabouts. So the irony is the killer is even more psychotic than the comic, a conclusion that Vincent D'Onofrio underscores when he delectably overplays the line: "You messed with the wrong guy," almost turning it into a question. Then wait a few weeks and see how your prediction turns out. It’s hours of cynical fun and games and all you need to win is a “Law & Order� writer as lazy and unimaginative as you and your pals! Get cracking!
Speaking of fun and games, this week on “The Unit,� Jonas is captured by rebel forces in the former Soviet Republic of Georgia. He’s badly beaten and waterboarded, while his colleagues back home try to reason with unsympathetic forces at home and abroad to affect his release. Obviously, tonight’s “Unit� borrows heavily on current events – including how the ongoing debate on torture elicited additional dialogue when correspondents for Current (Al Gore’s semi-interactive network) and Fox News subjected themselves to waterboarding. (Current’s guy lasted longer.)
Hence, the episode’s subtext is that if America turns a blind eye to torture, this is the sort of treatment we can expect of our soldiers should they fall in enemy hands. Plotlines on “The Unit� tend to be rather foursquare, and this episode doesn’t seem to have spent much time in co-creator David Mamet’s typewriter, but the intrigue here comes in watching Dennis Haysbert, as Jonas, do everything in his power to trick, cajole and manipulate his captors.
“Law & Order: Criminal Intent:� 9 p.m. Tuesday on NBC.
“The Unit:� 9 p.m. Tuesday on CBS.
If you're really, really curious as to what happened during that hostage crisis in the bank that's playing out on "The Nine," well, sorry. In an act of stealth programming, ABC during the long holiday weekend quietly trotted the show into a back alley, forced it to its knees and put a couple of bullets in the back of its head. ABC promises that the show is merely "on hiatus" and will return "later in the season," but we all know that network promises are coprophagous at best.
"The Nine" was a show that, despite a fine cast and critical admiration, apparently put off a lot of viewers because it just looked like hard work and, as it followed the show requiring the most heavy lifting in network primetime (that would be "Lost"), too many viewers for ABC's tastes opted to reserve some of their brain cells for other activities. And when "Day Break" - which is quickly pulling off a spectacular tank job - took over "Lost's" time slot, there soon became no audience for "The Nine" to lose.
Actually, "The Nine" never quite felt right as an ongoing series; it would've been much better as a limited or miniseries. Dragging out secrets - particularly those all the characters already know - can be vexing for viewers; knowing the whole story's going to be wrapped up in eight hours ameliorates having to wait. Besides, once all the major particulars of the hostage tragedy were revealed, what were they going to do next season? Reveal that one of them had smuggled some beef jerky into the bank but wouldn't share with the others? Have the nine decide to join forces as a crack crime-fighting unit?
So the freshly scrubbed and hopeful series of September are stacking up like cordwood quickly and earlier than ever. A lot of the cooling bodies belong to serialized shows, and the networks are at least trying at times to give those shows' shrinking number of fans some sense of closure. You can find out how NBC's "Kidnapped" and Fox's "Vanished" - similar shows with their networks' trademark styles (NBC: polished, big stars; Fox: hyperbolic, conspiracy-tinged) and suffered similar fates - would've played out online; CBS has posted "Smith's" intended story arc before its cancellation online.
Regrettably - oh, who am I kidding? - thankfully, NBC has not offered the same service for "20 Good Years," and The CW realizes no one cares enough about whatever was going to happen on "Runaway." Fox is too busy trying to figure out how to keep "Standoff" and "'Til Death" on life-support - Bill Frist said that based on video he's seen, those shows are alive and healthy, but everyone knows his record on that sort of thing - to worry with the fates of its cancelled shows "Justice" and "Happy Hour." ABC is pretending that "Six Degrees," also "on hiatus," will return, so that when the trigger is finally pulled, people will have forgotten about it and won't care what was going to happen.
And while NBC and ABC have been awfully sympathetic to its ailing shows - ABC's full-season pickup of "What About Brian" is the biggest head-scratcher so far, though NBC may come to regret ordering the back nine for "Friday Night Lights" and "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip" (which had its lowest numbers of the season on Monday, even though its lead-in "Heroes" had its highest) - the season's carnage is far from over.
Your Mayor took time off from the whole familial gratitude thing yesterday to bore himself silly by attending a screening of “Casino Royale.� The film apparently runs four and a half hours, with spectacular amounts of time lavished on scenes of James Bond playing poker with eight extravagantly ignored extras and some guy who you can tell is evil because he comes equipped with his own Catholic Church Miracle: He can weep blood.
Let’s just say this: Poker is only interesting if it’s actually being played and not scripted, and even then, it no doubt helps increase one’s level of interest in the game if one is participating, with one’s own money on the line.
While it’s refreshing that all involved opted for a more mature James Bond over the cartoonish idiocy of late, it might’ve been nice for them to remember that it’s still James Bond; it’s not like they’re making “Babel� or something. Daniel Craig’s Bond is, as reported, a more compelling character than has been seen in the series in a while, but the film’s lumbering, brooding pacing begins to weary after a surprisingly short time in the theater. And with that:
SPOILER ALERT: Possibly important/possibly dumb plot points revealed ahead
Worst theme song ever. Next time, try a melody on for size, guys. Stupid title sequence in general with the use of playing-card imagery – OK, so you’re striving to avoid the hackneyed babes-in-silhouette sequence, but this is scarcely an improvement. Look, if you’re trying to revolutionize Bond and you have a crappy title sequence and an even crappier song, why don’t you actually revolutionize Bond and scrap that dinosaur of a title sequence completely and save people four and a half minutes of their lives?
Probably a bad idea to include the film’s two genuinely exciting action set pieces in the first hour. But, one question: Given how much fuel was copiously spilled all over the place at the Miami airport, wouldn’t the guy blowing himself up have ended up destroying the superplane (not to mention Bond and everyone else in the area) anyway? A quick edit doesn’t really buy you out of that.
Again: Poker is not cinematic. Especially not at the elephantine pace used here, where Bond and his nemesis appear to be trying to gaze into one another’s very souls. A staring contest would’ve been just as dramatic.
Jeffrey Wright is a really good actor. Why he agreed to the nothing role of a CIA guy who’s also at the poker table (except for the travel and the no-doubt-sizable per diem) is anyone’s guess. And then he just disappears, when, really, the movie’s action has been placed in his hands. Maybe the worst waste of a talented performer in a movie all year.
So James Bond falls in love with a raccoon?
Like many sequences, the torture scene … goes … on … forever. And not in a not-for-the-squeamish way, in a goes-on-forever way. And by the time the recovery sequence pops up, I’m pretty certain the filmmakers thought they had started work on a completely different movie. Certainly, this one should’ve been over by then.
Venice: What can I say? I have no idea what happened there. Bond shoots at what appears to be a couple of canvas-covered tanks, and so the building he and the bad guys are in sinks into the canal. A) Bond already went with the shooting-pressurized-canisters-to-escape-danger route earlier in the movie, and it’s probably wise to limit such a dubious plot device to one per film and B) Huhhh? The whole building just collapses into the drink? If that was likely, might've the building's owners considered not having those tanks there in the first place? I’m just saying.
Even though Ricky Gervais, living in London, doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving (which has his colleagues Stephen Merchant and Karl Pilkington grousing about this extra work), that didn't prevent him from producing a special Thanksgiving podcast. In it, Professional Idiot Karl questions the value of having a calendar at all, reveals that the outside of his body is longer than its inside and offers even more bizarre anatomical and astronomical insights.
From the story:
“‘It is not enough to go on television and say ‘I’m sorry,’� Allred said. “We are issuing a challenge to Michael Richards.�
“That challenge would require Richards to meet face-to-face with Doss and McBride in front of a judge. So far, no lawsuit has been filed.
“‘We want the retired judge to make a recommendation on how much Michael Richards should pay to compensate our clients,� added Allred.
“And if Richards refuses?
“‘Then he will have to bear the consequences of whatever comes next,� she said.�
Honestly, I didn’t know you could sue someone simply for being an @$$hole. If she actually wins that argument in court and sets a new legal precedent, Allred herself could wind up the target of a few lawsuits.
As indefensible as Richards' behavior is, it seems that a court of law is the one place where it is defensible. He didn't actually lay a hand on the guys, and there is this thing called the First Amendment which protects even the most appallingly stupid speech.
But this begs the question: I saw Carrot Top perform once; can I sue him for my pain and suffering?
Besides, isn't helping utterly quash a career satisfaction enough?
Lists, like facts, are pernicious things. And the entertainment industry's endless fascination with itself has prompted the creation of scads of pointless lists in recent years, many of them the product of too-idle minds at the AFI and Entertainment Weekly.
TV Land got into the act today, issuing "The 100 Greatest TV Quotes and Catchphrases." One of the disappointing things about this list - aside, of course, from its very existence - is that it really scans like the people sitting around in a room cooking this thing up just wrote down everything from their brainstorming session and, once they hit 100, called it a day. There're some really lazy choices here, as well as some that came from the world of news and political speeches that just happened to be televised.
So if JFK's "Ask not what your country can do for you..." or Bush I's "Read my lips: No new taxes!" or "Senator, you're no Jack Kennedy," Lloyd Bentsen's evisceration of Dan Quayle, made the list, then just about everything on TV news should be up for grabs. "If it doesn't fit, you must acquit" comes to mind, for example, though it didn't occur to TV Land's brain trust. And "If it doesn't fit" actually did play out as a catchphrase, whereas those other comments just happened to get plucked out of larger contexts.
Also, it's extraordinarily odd to find "Ask not what your country can do for you..." in a list that also includes (and in fact is dominated by) predominantly subliterate grunts and meaningless phrases, such as "Aaay!" (Fonzie, Happy Days), "Bam!" (Emeril), "De plane! De plane!" (Fantasy Island), "Denny Crane" (Boston Legal), "Heh heh..." (Beavis & Butthead), "Holy crap!" (Everybody Loves Raymond), "How you doin'?" (Friends - and, well, just about every other TV show in existence), "Oh, my nose!" (Marcia Brady, The Brady Bunch - neither a catchphrase nor a memorable quote, just a line from an episode), "That's hot" (Paris Hilton), "Yabba dabba do!" (The Flintstones), "Yada, yada, yada" (Seinfeld) and "Whassup?" (yes, a beer commercial has been deemed to have contributed one of television's touchstone moments). And kudos to TV Land for the sheer audacity of putting "Hey, hey, hey!" on the list twice (Fat Albert and What's Happening!!).
Inserting JFK's line amidst that gibberish seems like the most elaborate version of that old "Sesame Street" game "One of these things just doesn't belong here" ever.
Just imagine all the TV writers who worked so tirelessly to construct solid, epigrammatic dialogue who will look at this list and see their efforts ignored in favor of "Tastes great! Less filling!"
The entire list comes after the jump. Your mission: Point out the absolutely most stupid entries (that'll keep you plenty busy), as well as to come up with some glaring omissions. I'll get you started on the latter: "I am not a number, I am a free man!" from "The Prisoner."
In a way, Robert Altman was a smidgen of a precursor to Borat. In "Nashville," still perhaps his greatest sweeping panorama of American dreams and their political nemeses, his fly-on-the-wall approach to filmmaking allowed city residents to interact with the actors playing the film's 24 main characters while the cameras rolled; afterwards, some professed to be displeased with the way Altman had depicted their city (Altman didn't become the victim of an avalanche of lawsuits, however). He pulled a similar stunt on Paris's fashion world in "Ready to Wear" far less successfully. And, of course, much of Hollywood was complicit in his evisceration of the film industry, "The Player."
The Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences doesn't get a whole lot right, but at least their timing for Altman's Lifetime Achievement Award - he received it, gratefully, this past March - was astute. For most of his career, he was a pugnacious guy, railing against the system; only in the past decade did he soften. Accepting his Oscar, Altman declared, "I'm very fortunate in my career. I've never had to direct a film I didn't choose or develop." (Really? He wanted to do "O.C. and Stiggs?")
But Altman was much more than his sprawling, satirical multi-character visions of America. He also was pretty swell at subverting genre movies, as well. It's difficult to understand just how surprising and revelatory, even shocking, "M*A*S*H," "McCabe & Mrs. Miller" and "The Long Goodbye" were when they came out, offering brand-new takes on the war film, the Western and the detective flick. His recent "Gosford Park" wasn't nearly as revolutionary, but it offered a neat twist on the typical murder mystery.
We could also go into the camera work, his love of actors and a host of other attributes that made him unique as a director; instead, we'll direct you to a couple of obits that spare us the trouble.
"Nashville" was the film that seized me and probably led me to what I do for a living. So I don't know whether to thank Mr. Altman, or curse him, but he was that influential nonetheless.
If Michael Richards’ intent, on appearing Monday night on “Late Show with David Letterman,� was to assure a nation that he was a normal guy who simply had a bad night when he went off this past weekend at the Laugh Factory, that didn’t quite work. If, in fact, he was trying to get viewers to believe that he was, in fact, nuts (and therefore his racist diatribe became somewhat understandable), then just maybe he succeeded.
Letterman’s guest was Jerry Seinfeld, who, quite beneficently, prodded Richards into issuing his mea culpa on Monday night. Richards, a jittery, twitchy guy under the best of circumstances, appeared via satellite from Los Angeles, initially conceding, with obvious nerves showing, “I’m not doing too good.�
“I lost my temper onstage. … I got heckled and I took it badly and went into a rage,� Richards conceded. Twice in the interview, Richards employed the term “Afro-Americans,� a phrase not heard in polite circles since the ’70s.
Richards’ eternally quixotic behavior inspired some laughter in the “Late Night� audience, prompting Seinfeld at one point to implore, “Stop laughing; it’s not funny.� Richards himself at one point said, “I’m hearing your audience laughing … I’m not sure this is where I should be addressing this.
“For this to happen, for me to be in a comedy club and to say this crap, I’m deeply, deeply sorry. I’ll get to this force field of this hostility. … The rage went all over the place – it went all over the room. I’m not a racist – that’s what’s so insane about this. … I tried to jujitsu this – it didn’t work out. You talk about a bad night,� Richards, clearly uncomfortable, declared.
Letterman asked: “Is there more you’d like to do?� Meaning, in terms of apologizing or searching his soul. Richards paused, then stammered, “I’d just like to do more personal work.� Letterman replied, “I hope you don’t have regrets about appearing on this show tonight,� and Richards just waved the cameras off, not wanting to bury himself any further.
After the West-Coast feed shut down, Seinfeld tried for a joke: “This’ll be a breeze to segue back into comedy.�
As for Richards’ blowing up at his crowd for chattering over – and, eventually, heckling – his set: Honestly, if every performer I’ve ever seen in a live show started spewing racist cant at their apparently unappreciative audience, his/her audience for chattering over their sets, every opening act in every live-music bar in the country would be starting race riots on a daily basis. And if a comic can hear people talking, that means not nearly enough audience members are laughing, and if that’s the case, it’s because the comic is not funny.
Perhaps Richards’ outburst was just misguided viral marketing for the DVD release of “Seinfeld’s� seventh season. (Certainly, Richards would be the perfect person to play his doppelganger in the inevitable “Law & Order� episode that’ll spring from this – like Chevy Chase channeling Mel Gibson, he’s just washed-up enough.)
Nonetheless, once again, the country, as it does from time to time, is cast into paroxysms of hand-wringing over the matter of race. Richards’ unfathomable tirade at the Laugh Factory followed the unwarranted tasering of a UCLA student from Iran; those incidents were bookended by the beginning and conclusion of the latest chapter in the sordid saga of O.J. Simpson, who inspired, excepting Hurricane Katrina, the last probing debate on racism in America.
It’s good to see that we’re actually learning something from all the debate. Like the weather, racism inspires a lot of talk, but no one seems to do anything about it.
Let’s accept two truisms:
* There will always be ignorant and under-educated people.
* Therefore, there will always be prejudice and resentment towards others perceived as different.
So, it's simple: Make people smarter.
"I and senior management agree with the American public that this was an ill-considered project," read a statement attributed to Rupert Murdoch, News Corp. chairman, six days after News Corp. proudly announced its grand, quease-inducing coup.
All well and good - chalk up a rare if somewhat belated win for ethical behavior - but now that means that O.J. both got whatever money he did and has been spared the public humiliation: Win/win for him, it'd seem. And viewers salivating to hear all the salacious details (but, really, when you think about it, how many could there have been? Apparently the murder took up but one chapter in the book, and you'd be a fool to think that a two-hour TV interview wouldn't be stuffed with tedious padding) will have to wipe off their chins and wait until snippets get leaked to YouTube.
Oh, well, at least we still have Judith Regan's grandiosely self-serving statement - "I made the decision to publish this book, and to sit face to face with the killer, because I wanted him, and the men who broke my heart and your hearts, to tell the truth, to confess their sins, to do penance and to amend their lives. Amen." - to kick around.
Maybe the religious fundamentalists are right: Perhaps we are living in the End Times:
* Not even O.J. Simpson’s attorney thinks his client’s upcoming book and lurid, what-if-through-the-looking-glass-oh-who-are-we-kidding-we-all-know-the-deal-here interview with Judith Regan is a good idea. Yale Galanter told Newsweek, “I definitely would not have approved this,� and calls O.J.’s cut – well, at least O.J.’s cut – “blood money.�
The article also says: “But a Simpson family friend, who like many close to O.J. did not want to be named for fear of alienating him—says that money wasn't his only motivation. ‘He's long past caring at this point,’ the friend says. ‘I think he's saying, “You think I did it anyway, so let me make some money off of what you think.� This is just one big f--- you from him.’� What’s remarkable about this is that someone actually doesn’t want to alienate O.J.
Some affiliates are opting out on the ritual blood-letting, as well. Borders bookstore chain has announced it will donate all profits received from the book to victims of domestic violence.
And Judith Regan, no doubt, is trying to see if she can one-up – or is it one-down? – herself and land a book deal with Osama bin Laden.
* Meanwhile, a week before the Laugh Factory opens its doors to the homeless and indigent for a Thanksgiving meal and a day of altruistic goodwill, Michael Richards – who until this weekend would forever and always be known “Kramer� – launched a fusillade of racist invective at hecklers while performing onstage at the West-Hollywood comedy club.
Jerry Seinfeld didn’t exactly stick up for his co-star: “I am sick over this. I'm sure Michael is also sick over this horrible, horrible mistake. It is so extremely offensive. I feel terrible for all the people who have been hurt.� Here’s guessing Richards won’t be among the comics performing gratis on Thursday.
But think of the ratings gold if Fox had had Richards interview O.J. instead of Regan.
* Whew. After all that debasement, this entry seems kind of classy: Mark Burnett and CBS are looking for bloodthirsty scoundrels with eyepatches, hooks on their hands and parrots on their shoulders to appear in Burnett’s latest reality extravaganza, “Pirates,� or, “Survivor on a Boat:�
“‘Pirates’ will enlist 16 contestants to set sail on the high seas and embark on expeditions that will take them through dense jungles, down precipitous voids, and across troubled rivers in search for hidden treasure. The series will span 14 episodes and conclude with the discovery of the final treasure from a prize pool worth one million dollars. Filming is set to begin in March 2007 and will continue for up to 40 days.�
If no cannibalism is involved, it’ll just be further proof that “reality� TV really isn’t real. Meanwhile, these are the sort of pirates that should be getting a TV show.
* Press Release of the Day comes from Versus, a testosterone-themed cable channel Your Mayor had not even heard of until now. Anyhow, it’s touting former football great Larry Csonka hosting “a monthlong celebration� entitled “Hunting for the Holidays:� “From Stalking Stuffers to Camo in the Kitchen.�
“Do duck and deer calls ignite more of the holiday spirit than carolers at your door?� the release asks. (Honestly, does it have to be either-or?) Because after all, nothing pays greater homage to the Prince of Peace than shooting animals.
(Fun fact: Your Mayor, benificent soul that he is, was helping out at one of the Laugh Factory's holiday meals a few years ago. Jennifer Aniston came in, took the position adjacent to mine (cranberries or mashed potatoes? no idea; as I said, this was quite a few years back), ladled out foodstuffs for as long as the TV cameras were there - say, six, seven minutes tops - and then disappeared.)
Finally: No cheerleaders were saved – or, for that matter, harmed – in the creation of this blog entry.
“Heroes� has become, somewhat surprisingly, not only NBC’s savior this abysmal season for the network, but the year’s biggest new hit and the show that justified the networks’ reliance upon heavily serialized programs. If you miss an episode or two (as I have), you feel as if you’ve missed all sorts of character (and plot) nuance, and therefore, you’re chagrined, and vow to behave better in the future.
Tonight, “Heroes� resolves – for the time being, at least – its “Save the Cheerleader, Save the World� storyline. So it seems like a good opportunity to examine the season’s biggest phenomenon.
As previously discussed, when I first saw the pilot, I was admittedly underwhelmed. The narration was risibly pretentious. (Tonight’s begins with the stentorian abrogations, “We are, if anything, creatures of habit drawn to the comfort and safety of the familiar. But what happens when the familiar becomes unsafe?� – which seems to have little if anything to do with what has been going on or which ensues; it’s just blather to fill in some visual scenes that seem to advance the story quite efficiently without such bloviating.)
Moreover, it seemed that the female heroes were insulting stereotypes: a cheerleader and stripper? Really? Weren’t any librarians or university presidents available?
At this point, the narration is still dopey and still kind of feels unnecessary and out of sync with the rest of the show, but there’s not so much of it anymore. So perhaps your Mayor - and other critics - have effected some social good.
The show’s true heroes, who have truly rescued it from geeky, fan-boy initial impulses and have propelled it into the mainstream, have been its unpredictable storylines and its occasioinally uncanny characterizations and star turns. Masi Oka, playing Hiro, the Japanese office drone who just happens to be able to break the time-space continuum, is clearly the show’s breakout character – it no doubt helps that his character is the one who genuinely delights in his powers, so the show’s pretty fun any time he’s onscreen. But other actors have stepped up: Adrian Pasdar, who was great in an old, underappreciated show called “Profit,� has begun to channel that character’s droll jerkiness to nice effect. Jack Coleman, as the cheerleader’s father and the bagman for the evil conspiracy whatever it may be, also has a wry menace and I’m not sure any actor has made such good use of bad eyeglasses.
Meanwhile, the writers are still adding heroes, still adding storylines. They might be approaching the tipping point between weaving a textured, elaborate storyline and one threatening to collapse in confusion, but I’m not betting against them at this point.
Unlike “Lost,� whose writers apparently spend more time thinking up how not to have anything happen when cooking up future narratives, “Heroes�’ braintrust has thusfar been able to keep its momentum going. Creator Tim Kring has been able to weave his storylines pretty inventively, and bring the characters scattered around the world together cleverly – it’s like ABC’s “Six Degrees,� only with actually cool things happening. And while “Lost� has succeeded in alienating more than 5 million fans so far this season, “Heroes� numbers continue to inch upwards.
Tonight on “Heroes,� Peter, the politician’s younger brother (who really should invest in a comb), heads down to Texas, having been directly involved in the edict, Save the Cheerleader, Save the World, as good a tagline as you’re likely to hear this year (an Oscar frontrunner, however, might be loathe to employ it). This, despite knowing that if the artist who paints the future is correct, saving the cheerleader could kill him. Meanwhile, said cheerleader is preparing for homecoming, while her father, realizing she’s in danger, does what he can to help her, to little avail, of course.
Other subplots proceed apace, as well, including Hiro’s efforts to save the life of a waitress at a Texas diner who falls afoul of the global conspiracy to remove brains from sundry skullcaps.
It’s a pretty exciting episode, though not without some glaring narrative glitches – wouldn’t the cheerleaders be on the field during the football game and not in the locker room where a psychotic killer might be lurking? And the high school’s architecture seems more avant-garde – or is it just confusing? - than your average small-town Texas building. (Honestly: if anyone can figure out this building's blueprint - even Kring and his writers - and are so kind to send it to me, I will share these seemingly Moebius-Strip explications with my constituency.) And, most pressingly: Don’t the cheerleaders at that high school have any other clothes besides their cheerleading outfits?
That’s sort of the problem with serialized shows in which you have to wait a week between episodes – you have a week in which to pick their particular logics apart. But that's the great thing about a "Heroes:" You want to.
-- "Heroes," 9 p.m. (8 p.m. Central time) on NBC (Channel 4 in L.A.)
The fact that the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show would be taped in Los Angeles for the first time was a big deal, because local TV-news directors generally have a hard time justifying featuring semi-nude women in their newscasts (they have a hard time justifying it; I’m not saying they don't find reasons for doing it anyway). But this event provided them a positive boon of angles, not the least of which was this press release:
VICTORIA’S SECRET MODELS WILL ARRIVE ON PRIVATE JET FROM NEW YORK AT BURBANK’S BOB HOPE AIRPORT
Featuring this tantalizing detail:
“The jet will be stocked with custom pillows and blankets as well as a luxurious travel kit from Victoria’s Secret Beauty that will include a Supermodel Spotlight Lip Gloss, Sexy Little Mints, and a Sexy Little Things Wake Me With a Kiss Sleep Mask.�
Your Mayor does not go to airports unless he’s actually traveling or his bomb-sniffing dog Horace is recruited by the Department of Homeland Security. So I missed the tarmac event, though I was entreated to participate in Thursday’s backstage “hair and makeup� session involving the models at Hollywood’s appropriately named Renaissance Hotel. Amongst the models’ names participating: Oluchi, Doutzen, Jeisa, Flavia, Selita, Ajuma, Agronomy and Calumny. From their names alone, one can tell that these women were clearly no American Apparel trollops; a visual inspection confirmed this: They had all clearly been recently washed.
Turns out it was a busy day for the Renaissance. On the left side of the hall of the hotel’s mezzanine, there was a ballroom in which a bunch of Victoria’s Secret models were having their hair and makeup done while prancing about in silk fuchsia robes. On the right side of the hall, conventioneers assembled from the National Association of Episcopal Schools.
So while Victoria’s Secret’s minions were selling their talking points – that their new products were touting “a ‘sexy baby doll’ vibe – sweet with a hint of naughty, characterized by pink and purple makeup shades and voluptuous, flowing hair,� clothing that was “very sexy yet wearable … for this season’s many holiday parties� and bore “sexy, provocative shade names (like Yes! Wet and Sultry)� the Episcopalians across the way could only sell their religious textbooks without use of the word "sexy," on the basis of a tagline both sturdy and poetic: “Wisdom’s Branches are Glorious and Graceful.�
On Thursday morning, I wandered, ill-advisedly, into a backstage makeup-and-hair event, essentially a cattle-call for lechery created mainly for photographers and TV lite-news cameras, and decidedly not for print journalists. TV reporters asked such probing questions as how the models prepared to walk up and down a catwalk while the women were being primped to within an inch of their lives; every millimeter of their faces were being spackled, every errant eyebrow hair was being tweezed, every tattooed ankle was being lovingly massaged. (One read a volume of Voltaire, but one suspects she did so only to elicit the attention of photographers.)
Since security was tight – everyone in sight had to bear a computer-coded ID card and just before the taping, bomb- or something-sniffing dogs rooted through the backpacks of camera crews; Hollywood and Highland was the second-most secure place in America on Thursday after the White House (if women couldn’t parade about semi-nude, then the terrorists had won). Soon, I was grateful merely that I wasn’t being treated like a UCLA student without his ID.
Posters in the ballroom touting the industry’s new product boasted the following words: “Pleasure me … Wet … Tease … Slow Burn .. Don’t Stop … G … Tempt … Minx … Between the Sheets … Frisky Urgency …� and so on.
Before the “Victoria’s Secret� show began at the Kodak Theatre, Pamela Anderson – whose breasts are the equivalent of all the Victoria’s Secret models put together – appeared at the Virgin Megastore next door touting “Baywatch� DVDs while store employees grimly bullied tourists with cell phone cameras. If she was trying to steal the fashion show’s fire, she failed.
At the Kodak, a 50-foot-tall light bank spells out the word “SEXY.� The word “SEXY� appears on event tickets no fewer than 70 times. Light bulbs also united to form, as if something in their DNA had made their behavior ancient and manifest, the words “VERY SEXY,� and the mirrors into which the models gazed included the legend “VERY SEXY MAKEUP.� At a certain point, one almost feels they’re protesting too much.
The Thursday-night taping (attended, inevitably, by Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie) opened with a performance by Justin Timberlake, whose tireless, selfless and unrelenting efforts in “bringing sexy back� has put him in the frontrunner status for next year’s Nobel Peace Prize. (Though “Access Hollywood� might argue, “‘Sexy’s never been gone,� their factual sourcing will be found to be direly wanting.)
So: The fashion show proceeds. Large, swooping wings with all manner of feathers and finery are a curious part of many of the outfits on display (one set looks like the model has a Christmas tree strapped to her back), but if the models find this as silly as I do, they don’t let on. The models have a most assertive way of striding on the catwalk, kicking their legs out and smacking their stilettos on the runway like they’re stomping on cockroaches.
One model is clad in a “Chrome-plated metal waste cincher with bolt detail� and “matching panty.� And she’s wearing something around her shoulders that looks like an inflatable kids’ swimming pool. And this outfit is not part of the collection decreed “Coquettish Fetish.�
Other wares featured: “Chrome-plated Very Sexy embroidered push-up without padding balconet with Swarovski Crystal embellishment� (basically, it looked like the model was wearing mirrors on her abs). “Angels Secret Embrace push-up with Chantal Thomass playing card cushion appliqué� (several pieces featured hearts/spades/diamonds/clubs, which, really, only a Gamblers Anonymous habitué would find “sexy�). “Angel Air flotation shrug� (honest – one woman had a yellow flotation device provided by jetliners in the event of a crash, only here transformed into a piece of wardrobe; as Laurie Anderson once said, “We are all going down�). “Grograin and tulle popcorn bustier with popcorn and Swarovski Crystal detail,� “Gingham taffeta Homecoming Queen ‘gown’� and “Graduation cap and gown� (these were from the collection simply and no doubt innocently named “Pink;� which mainly included outfits that would appeal only to those most likely to turn up on an episode of NBC’s “Dateline’s� “To Catch a Predator�).
As if in atonement, a choir performs for the presentation of the final collection, “Glacial Goddess,� which finds one model bedecked in an “Intimissimi mesh demi with rhinestone embellishment, Matching panty, Ostrich, marabou and mylar star cape� and “Manik Mercian body pieces.� As confetti snow descends upon the audience, the choir insists that one day “We’ll live in harmony� but then, per Mr. Timberlake, implores us to “Put your sexy on� before the models stomp offstage one last time and into the night.
Sundry desultory items, now that Richard Powers is off partying with the supermodels at the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show at the Kodak (when I gave him the afternoon off, it was merely intended as a nice gesture! I didn't expect him to actually take me up on it!):
* That whole O.J. TV interview/book thing seems to be working out well for Fox and Regan Books: Esta Soler, President, Family Violence Prevention Fund, issued a statement reading in part:
"Two families suffered an unimaginable loss 12 years ago, and two children lost their mother. Now those children will see their father discuss or recreate the crime for entertainment and profit. It is beneath contempt.
"We urge Fox to reconsider its decision to air this program. Affiliates should refuse to carry it, if the network proceeds with its plans. Advertisers should refuse to support it. Viewers should refuse to watch. And no responsible person should purchase the book on which it is based."
Seems to me Ms. Soler should've attempted to appeal to all irresponsible persons, as well. Under the circumstances, I'll wager she could've sealed the deal with a few of them.
At least one small bookstore has learned how to say “No.�
Here’s an idea: Just direct your energies to the only people whose viewing peccadilloes matter. Attention all Nielsen families: If you feel that you absolutely must watch the O.J. interview, go to a neighbor’s house, and leave your TV on tuned to another station.
* But O’Reilly probably just has other things on his mind: That sexual-harassment suit he made go away a few years back has re-emerged: as an opera. Since Mr. Powers is gone for the day, I invite you to add your own jokes here.
* Apparently, appearing on a TV series this season serves as some sort of fertility drug. We've already discussed Marcia Cross and Amanda Peet, and now, "My Name Is Earl's" Jaime Pressly announced she's having a son. It won't be too much of a stretch to imagine Pressly's Joy getting knocked up on the show.
* Emmitt Smith always helped ABC when he appeared with the Dallas Cowboys on "Monday Night Football," but he never delivered the sort of numbers he managed on last night's finale of "Dancing with the Stars:" 27.2 million watch Emmitt thump that little weasel.
Meanwhile, "Day Break," ABC's placeholder for "Lost" while that show tries to figure out how to boost sagging ratings by adding some sexy housewives or randy doctors, looks to be broken. It lost about half of its lead-in right off the bat, with a hair under 14 million watching at 9 p.m. By 10:30 p.m., another 5 and a half million had bailed. It did slightly better than "Medium's" return on NBC: 9.4 million viewers, but its lead-in was the exercise-and-angst reality show "The Biggest Loser."
And different numbers of other people watched other shows last night, as well. Richard! Come back! I'm no good at this!
Richard Powers, Your Mayor's favorite author and principal speechwriter, won the National Book Award for his latest novel, "The Echo Maker." Like just about all of Powers' books, it's a heady examination of both science and the heart, this time exploring the nature of memory - after a horrific truck accident near the Platte River, where thousands upon thousands of cranes have been conditioned to land semiannually in their migrations, a young man suffers brain damage and no longer believes his sister to be his sister - and, as always, filled with glorious prose.
I'm about half-way through the book, so we'll likely revisit it here after I'm done. In the meantime: Congratulations, Richard. Take the rest of the day off. I'll write my own blog entries today.
Once again, NBC valiantly attempts to resurrect its Must-See Thursday-night comedy bloc, with "supersized" episodes tonight of its best – hell, who are we kidding? its only – sitcoms (“20 Good Years� having been dispatched to the happy hunting grounds known as “hiatus;� “Scrubs� rejoins the network next week).
The big news, of course, is that Jim and Pam, those wacky, unrequited lovers, reunite tonight on “The Office.� When his new branch is shut down and he’s sent back to Scranton, Pam is elated; less so when she discovers he’s since met someone else, a co-worker also dispatched to Scranton. OK, kudos, “Office� workers: You’ve figured out yet another way to temporarily keep Jim and Pam apart and frustrate your fans.
You know, whoever figures out how to make an ongoing happy, functional romantic relationship genuinely funny – rather than the final act of a movie or TV series – probably deserves not just an Emmy but a Nobel Peace Prize.
The episode itself is given over to Michael’s trademark inept efforts to merge his charges with his new employees (“People hate people who are different from them – it’s only natural,� Michael philosophizes with his typical logic), and the efforts of Andy (“The Daily Show’s� Ed Helms), an unctuous new employee, to seize power. Rainn Wilson’s Dwight – who might just be an improvement on his British counterpart Gareth in Ricky Gervais’s otherwise unbeatable original version – doesn’t have terribly much to do here aside from feel threatened by Andy, but he does have a priceless, very-Gareth-like moment in which he compares firing newcomers to Japanese guards in World War II camps choosing which new prisoner to kill: “I would’ve been good at choosing the person,� he says, that smile-not-wanting-to-be-a-smile curling on his lips.
The evening kicks off, of course, with “My Name is Earl,� which occasionally (tonight included) has trouble differentiating between inspired absurdity and just plain silly, between gentle philosophical nudges and vague preachiness. Still: decent laughs.
Tonight, Earl decides to make amends with a former stoner (Christian Slater, the celebrity guest-star du jour), whom he robbed blind (in a funny sequence) while exploiting his blinkered state. When Earl tries to make amends, he discovers his foil has become part of an eco-friendly commune, which prods Earl to become a smoggy-minded environmental champion, an Al Gore with a Powerless-(equally)-Pointless presentation. Call it “An Inept Truth.�
Tonight’s gimmick is that Randy, after consuming a salve of “herbs and roots,� begins hallucinating that everyone around him are Claymation figures. It’s not a particularly funny conceit, until Randy comes into contact with Earl’s ex Joy, whereupon he fixates upon her undulating Claymation boobs. Which is probably the most fun Claymation animators have ever had.
Lastly, there’s “30 Rock,� which hasn’t had much success in a fairly benign timeslot – 8 p.m. Wednesdays – so who wants to take odds on it surviving opposite “Grey’s Anatomy� and “CSI?� Too bad: It’s a funny show, thanks to Alec Baldwin’s crankily comic turn as a boldly fatuous NBC executive. (NBC once aired a sitcom, “Good Morning Miami,� based vaguely on network overlord Jeff Zucker’s biography; Baldwin’s character appears even more Zuckerlike, though no one involved would ever admit it.)
Tonight’s episode offers a thoroughgoing goof on product placement. Baldwin’s Jack issues an initiative suggesting all NBC series incorporate GE (NBC’s corporate owner) products; “30 Rock,� instead, mockingly and extravagantly touts Snapple.
Liz (Tina Fey) writes a sketch for Jack to star in, despite his thespian ineptitude. (Ineptitude: the cornerstone of TV sitcom conceits; again – huge props to someone who can find a way to make competence riotously funny.) Still, Jack insists he’s up to the challenge, given the horrors he has survived in the past: “I’ve summitted Kilimanjaro,� he declares; “I’ve showered with Greta Van Susteren!� Jack’s a better (or worse - who can tell the difference these days?) man than I.
“My Name is Earl:� 8 tonight on NBC (Channel 4 locally).
-- “The Office:� 8:40 tonight on NBC.
-- “30 Rock:� 9:20 tonight on NBC.
An appropriately outraged take on same.
Question: $3.5 million? Really? O.J. can still pull that kind of dough? Judith Regan got hosed: I could've talked him down to $1.75 million, easy. And anyway, shouldn't that money go directly to the victims' families? After all, he hasn't coughed up much of the $33.5 million they were to receive from a civil suit.
Little-known fact: Your Mayor attempted to shop that very book, also entitled "If I Did It," but unfortunately there was no interest. Why? Because I didn't do it. Even the no-doubt-incredibly-ethical Ms. Regan and O.J. himself must concede that no one cares how someone who didn't commit a crime might have gone about it.
Question: When O.J. fills out his tax form next year, how will he describe his mode of employment? First Amendment Champion or Merchant of Death?
Question: When, in another decade or so, O.J. decides he needs a little more cash and a little more attention, will he simply re-release the book with all the hypotheticals removed?
Question that answers itself: Do you think Fox will send out screeners for review of the interview?
Another question that answers itself: So what does that say about what Fox thinks of its own actions?
Question: Who's going to run their commercials during the interview? Who'd patronize someone who ran their commercials during the interview?
Herewith, your assignment: Think of something more appalling, something that left more incredulous jaws on more floors, in the annals of Television. And no, "Date My Mom" doesn't cut it.
In this solemn hour it is a consolation to recall and to dwell upon our repeated efforts to remove reality and game shows from Television. Many have been ill-starred, but all have been faithful and sincere. This is of the highest moral value--and not only moral value, but practical value--at the present time, because the wholehearted concurrence of scores of millions of men and women, whose co-operation is indispensable and whose comradeship and brotherhood are indispensable, is the only foundation upon which turning on a television some evenings can be endured.
This moral conviction alone affords that ever-fresh resilience which renews the strength and energy of people in long, doubtful and dark days in which the 8 p.m. hour may be purged of scripted programming or, at most, include "According to Jim." Outside, the storms created by gustatory network executives may blow and the lands may be lashed with the fury of William Shatner's unbridled witlessness and appalling need to dance in public, but in our own hearts there is peace. Our hands may be active, but our consciences are at rest.
And so we must not be timid in declaring a victory, of sorts, last night. ABC mounted its most cruel and craven attack on the hearts and the minds of the people of Television, "Show Me the Money," featuring a boogying Shatner, lobotomized contestants and writhing harpies like the Sirens who tried to lure Odysseus or the Argonauts. And like Homer's sailors, America plugged wax in its ears and avoided the siren song of stupidity.
Right off the bat, "Show Me the Money" dropped 13 million viewers from its hefty "Dancing with the Stars" lead-in. Still, at 9:30 it boasted a not inconsiderable 15.7 million viewers. By 10 p.m., more than three million viewers had had enough; by 10:30, attrition had eroded to a number of more than 6 million defectors. In short, Shatner had bored, appalled and otherwise alienated a full third of an audience spoon-fed him by "Dancing with the Stars," a not-terribly-demanding audience to begin with.
Oh, and "3 LBS" underwhelmed in its premiere, registering what can only be described as "Smith" numbers. And the plug was pulled on "Smith," of course, after three episodes. And the promise that "Friday Night Lights" would shine all season didn't stir any further viewer interest: a piddling 5.5 million watched the homecoming episode.
Nonetheless, we are fighting to save the whole world from the pestilence of unscripted and poorly scripted programming and in defense of all that is most sacred to man. This is no battle of domination or imperial aggrandizement or material gain; no effort to shut any viewer out of his favorite shows and means of progress. It is a battle, viewed in its inherent quality, to establish, on impregnable rocks, the rights of the individual not to have his or her intelligence insulted simply because a television is nearby, and it is a clash of civilizations to establish and revive the stature of man, even given the existence of Howie Mandell and Flavor Flav.
It began with soldiers returning to Fort Hood, Texas from tours in Iraq, reuniting with their families in a camp gymnasium, and ended with more Fort Hood soldiers being dispatched for another tour. The first installment of “Dan Rather Reports,� the former veteran CBS News anchor’s new series for Mark Cuban’s HDNet, didn’t endeavor to re-invent the wheel: It’s a newsmagazine of the sort that longtime viewers of “60 Minutes� would recognize, focusing on Iraq war vets from a myriad of angles.
Longtime detractors of Rather’s oft-perceived liberal bias could point to a number of things, including the framing device – ending with more soldiers being shipped out could, at this juncture in the war, be interpreted as employing a negative slant. But given the hour’s overall narrative arc, it made a certain poetic sense.
Much of the hour was devoted to examining soldiers upon their returns rehabbing from their injuries, both physical and psychological, and debating whether the government had set aside the necessary resources to take care of those who put their lives on the line for their country. (There may be up to a $3 billion shortfall in funds for post-war care.)
We met Tammy Duckworth, a resilient woman who lost her legs in Iraq – “I joke that I’m lucky that my husband wasn’t a leg man,� she says – and ran for a seat in Congress in a race that, in Rather’s only Ratherism of the hour, “was tighter than Springsteen’s headband.� (Running on a platform of ensuring soldiers’ needs would be met, she lost in a predominantly Republican district.)
We met a soldier who lost her memory of her entire life – she didn’t remember her husband, nor giving birth, and had forgotten both how to drive and to read. Another soldier came back addled – he thought therapy helping him to walk again took a mere 30 minutes when it took weeks – which likewise cost him his marriage.
We met a man who created a virtual Iraq as therapy to re-acclimate soldiers in their return to America, as well as a soldier who applied for and was denied a Conscientious Objector status and was among the few deserters imprisoned after he placed on his website accounts of his commanding officer ordering soldiers to shoot children.
Much of it was grim – it was war reportage, after all – but not all. Rather came off as empathetic to the veterans he interviewed and genuinely concerned that that the government not cut and run when it came to giving these men and women the care they deserve.
-- "Dan Rather Reports:" 5 p.m. Tuesday; repeating 8 p.m. Tuesday and 4 p.m. Wednesday and Sunday.
NBC's "Heroes" scaled the 15-million viewer plateau for the first time last night. Of course, the higher "Heroes" soars, the steeper the dropoff "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip's" performance appears. "S60" seems to have halted its free-fall and settled in, however - it's lured about 7.8 million viewers the last three times it has been on.
Meanwhile, a repeat of "House" Monday night did better than originals of "Justice," "Deal or No Deal" grabbed nearly 18 million Mensa candidates and "What About Brian" underscored the desperation in ABC's retaining its services for the remainder of the season, garnering a wan 5.6 million viewers, its season low.
“Show Me the Money� is, alas and yet inevitably, another primetime game show for the IQ-impaired. Following “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire,� “Deal or No Deal� and “1 Vs. 100,� this one is even more aggressively aimed at those who prefer their primetime programming pre-chewed and eradicated of all thought, one that lobotomizes its audiences without bothering with an icepick.
It’s probably the first game show requiring a choreographer, proffering the spectacle of young women in revealing attire writhing under the guise of dancing. Oh, they’ll also offer contestants cash awards for getting (pretty dumb) questions correct – and, if said contestants don’t know the answers? Well, they can just ask for another question (which translates into some really strict, sturdy rules inviting a whole lot of intellectual rigor).
William Shatner – William Shatner! Captain Kirk himself – hosts, strutting about in a garish red vest, bringing an air of apocalyptic melodrama to his contestants’ fates and, between questions, boogying unashamedly with those aforementioned women. Shatner miraculously transformed himself from a cult punchline (thanks to his ’60s album “The Transformed Man�) to Official Good Sport (thanks to his recent recording “Has Been,� as well as his nu