Archive for the 'TV' Category



27
Aug
07

God Shed His Grace on Thee

I love the way Miss Teen South Carolina cleverly satirizes the dire state of American education by acting like an airhead on TV. She demonstrates her answer to the question in the very way she is answering it. Brilliant.

Please watch:

I saw comments on YouTube that defended her, saying she must be under a lot of pressure, and that it is a contest of beauty and not brains. Sorry, kids, but it doesn’t take a whole lot of brains to answer a simple question in Standard English — unless you are part of the problem the question is referring to. I think she should have stopped at “some people don’t have maps.” At least that made sense and was true.

08
Jul
07

“If you wanna save the planet, let me see you jumping…”

My friends and I waited most of the afternoon yesterday to catch the Madonna concert on TV. Clever of her to conceal it in a worldwide series of concerts designed to raise awareness about — and presumably money to help combat — global warming.

We streamed it online live from London and displayed it on my friend’s wide screen TV. After some downloading and installing and rudimentary hacking, he got it set up just in time for the announcer to say, “Ladies and gentlemen… Madonna!”

She started with her new song, “Hey You,” which I’m not entirely sure I like a whole lot. But she was stunning and angelic in that simple black dress, her platinum-colored hair flowing in waves, her voice fine, soft and strong. With that children’s choir backing her up and the the arms of thousands swaying, it was a very Michael-Jackson-Heal-the-World moment. But better, because it was Madonna. Or maybe, to be more precise, because it was not Michael Jackson.

Then she sent the kids off and got down the business. She strapped on a guitar, took a wide stance, and called out to the cheering masses:
If you wanna save the planet, let me see you jumping up and down! Come on, motherfuckers!

Maybe not the message Al Gore had in mind, but it was easy advice for the obliging audience to follow. But who cares about messages? Madonna probably has one of the largest carbon footprints of the performers on the bill.

What was essentially the Confessions Tour version of “Ray of Light” was followed by the strangest version of “La Isla Bonita” I have ever witnessed in my life. The Romani Gypsies she called out to tear up the joint were totally weird and wild and crazy … and an absolutely perfect accompaniment to the song. My friends and I shot quizzical glances at each other at first, but then it suddenly seemed OK. Madonna wills it, and it is so.

She wrapped it up with “Hung Up,” just like her last tour. Countless performers and celebrities had taken that London stage throughout the day. They had all occupied the space and put in their time, and said kind and sometimes inspirational words and made pretty music. But when Madonna took that stage, she owned it. Duran Duran, Genesis, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Snow Patrol, Keane, Back Eyed Peas, Foo Fighters — all an elaborate opening act for one person.

Madonna brought the party that closed that show. I don’t know if it did much to stop global warming, but it sent the spectators out of Wembley feeling pretty darn good. Maybe it’s just what they needed after a day full of bad news.

19
Jun
07

Little Miss Jocelyn

26
Apr
07

Madonna Gets It Right

Madonna is not much use to us as an actress in feature-length films, with some exceptions, but in short films, like this H&M commercial, she really shines as a comic performer. I don’t watch enough TV to see commercials, so I completely missed this one.

08
Mar
07

Glass of Water for Mr Grainger!

Rest in peace, John Inman. Now you’re free.

17
Jan
07

From Sí to Shining Sí

 
Ugly? Not really. Fun? You bet your ass.
[abc.go.com]

I can’t put it any more simply: I love Ugly Betty. Congratulations to América Ferrera for winning the best actress Golden Globe for a TV show comedy!

Forget all the feel-good nonsense about ugly vs. pretty and our culture’s insistent, insidious focus on glamour over substance. I mean, sure, give Jason Mraz a gold star for his earnest, cutsie ditty about “beauty in ugly.” He really gets it, right? Right. Of course, all that stuff is true. And obvious. Get her some lighter eyewear, lose the braces and cut that hair back, and she’s not really ugly. It’s marketing. It collapses on itself. And the conceit is so manufactured, I take it for granted. So leave it for the American Studies majors to digest in their pop culture theses.

What’s the really important impact of this show? It’s fun. And it’s about bloody time someone besides Marc Cherry is doing something to save TV from itself.

There’s a mystery woman in a veil obscured in darkness, marital infidelity, flashbacks to a fiery death, shadiness at the top of a publishing corporation, interoffice romance and intrigue, a plot to undermine a reluctant hero … and all kinds of standouts making the cliché not only bearable — but brilliant.

Vanessa Williams is at the best I’ve seen her. I loathed her “Save the Best for Last” days. But now, her high-camp evil set to medium-low burn is almost enough to make Glenn Close curse her own career as cheap and worthless. (Almost. No one can touch Glenn Close.) Eric Mabius: just plain yummy as a player with a heart of gold. A little rough around the edges, I think — but I hope I look half as good with crow’s feet (which, the way things are going, can’t be more than a couple more years off). We love cutie Michael Urie, whose Marc St. James is so gay it hurts. And welcome to America, Ashley Jensen! (She plays the so-Scottish-I-can-barely-understand-her-despite-years-of-watching-Eastenders seamstress and Betty confidante, and you should see her as the hapless Maggie in the HBO/BBC series Extras.)

And THANK GOD for the return of Judith Light! What a triumph! Good-bye, “Who’s the Boss” — hello, “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf”! Her resurrection of the lanky, wise-cracking, self-absorbed, argumentative, alcoholic blonde archetype warms my superficial gay heart. She is Patsy Stone with Long Island Lockjaw.

Plus, Betty lives in a sound-stage replica of my neighborhood. Always a good sign.

15
Jan
07

La Linea

 
Metta il resto della linea qui!
[TV5.org]

Who remembers this guy?

If anyone is looking for a highly effective and entertaining way to waste some time (apart from reading this), I recommend checking out a series of cartoon shorts called La Linea. I guess there were about 100 of them made by an Italian cartoonist named Osvaldo Cavandoli in the early ’70s. In each episode, he draws a single white line, of which the ill-tempered main character is a part, and he presents him with various sadistic obstacles and the objects he uses to overcome them. And it’s all in jibberish, so there’s no need for translation.

When I was little, I’d see one of these little clips every day on an embarrassingly memorable kids’ morning show called The Great Space Coaster. These things still crack me up. I could watch them all over and over. I love the très européan hand gestures and the simple expressions of emotion, especially when he turns to cuss out the cartoonist.

One can find them on the French TV5 Web site or, naturally, on YouTube, where there’s even a naughty sex-themed episode available. (I didn’t see this one as a kid!)

Here’s a good one:

25
Dec
06

Christmas Toys

Someone in my building got a new TV for Christmas. And by the sound of it, it’s a nice one. I can tell because horrifying sounds of death, horror and destruction sound like they are coming at me simultaneously from below and above and behind me. I bet the DVD is new, too. It’s very generous for my neighbors to share their gift with all of us in this way. Johnny Mathis and Andy Williams and Barbra Streisand are having a devil of a time competing.

06
Nov
06

Nothing Like Rudolph

 
A Cylon centurion, c. 1978, from the original Battlestar Galactica series

When I was a kid, I had recurring dreams that the Cylons from Battlestar Galactica were after me. We’d see them approaching down the street, and my mom would wrap me in an afghan and hide me behind the couch. She’d politely let them in when they knocked at the door (yes, they knocked), and I’d hear them clunking through the house, searching for me. I was sure they’d capture me and kill me or make me into a human slave. No matter what their plans might have been, the worst part was he thought of them taking me away from my house.

After a few minutes of coming dangerously close (but not close enough!), they’d always give up and leave, promising that they would come back again some other time. I’d pop up from behind the couch, pull the blanket off myself, breathe a heavy sigh, wipe my sweaty forehead, and give my mom a big hug.

Last night, in a bizarre throwback to my childhood, I had a dream that a reindeer was trying to get me. I was my present age. It was winter. I was at my grandma’s house in suburban Detroit, where reindeer usually glow with electric persistence, are made of plastic and stand in people’s front yards from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day.

Looking out the kitchen window, I saw a reindeer trudging across the lawn to the front door. I couldn’t tell if he was friendly or not, but he was sort of mangey and dirty, and it looked like his antlers had been sawed off.

 
A far friendlier-looking reindeer than the one in my dream.

As he approached the door, I opened it to meet him. He looked menacingly at me and demanded, “Let me in.”

“No,” I said, startled not so much by the reindeer’s ability to speak as by his foul mood. “What do you want?”

“Let me in!”

I slammed the door and snapped it locked. He scratched half-heartedly at the storm door and loped away.

It occurred to me that he might try the side door and come in through the kitchen. My heart was racing. What could he want? What would he do if he got inside? I ran to the garage and got to the door just as the reindeer was charging toward me. I locked the door and leaned against it for reinforcement. He stoped short of ramming the door and put his eye up to the window. He was clearly very angry. I wondered if he had some sort of disease. And what did he want with me anyway?

“Open the door!” he demanded. “Let me in!” His breath fogged over the glass.

“No!” I shouted and ran back into the house, hoping he’d get bored and just leave me alone.

20
Oct
06

Why Project Runway Works

1. Tim Gunn has unimpeachable integrity.
I love Tim Gunn.

I want him to be my older brother. His earnestness, his meticulous dress, his deep throaty voice and his intense pride in the designers bring me such comfort each week. There are rules, and by golly, Tim Gunn will follow them. And he had a lot to contend with this season: Keith gets kicked off the show; Jeffrey makes Angela’s mom cry; Jeffrey nearly gets kicked off, himself. He even had to deal gracefully with Keith coming back for the reunion episode and presenting his assinine conspiracy theories. Plus, there were the usual, weird twists and turns the producers dreamt up. But he treats all situations as true opportunities for his designers to learn, to shine and to win. It is clear that he is an educator and a mentor to each of the competitors. He seems to hate to burst anyone’s bubble, but he is always totally honest, and his advice always benefits the designers. The losers may resent the judges, but I think they all walk away respecting Tim Gunn.

2. It’s educational.
I don’t know anything about fashion. Who does? The judges. They know what they’re talking about. I love to hear their critiques. Desn’t mean anythign to me most of the time, but they force me to believe it.

3. The drama is real, not contrived.
A bunch of artists are brought together to show their stuff and compete against each other. They have egos. They have ideas. They have their eyes on the prize. And they’re on camera. What choice do they have but to have slashes and conflicts? Doesn’t take a casting genius to work that one out. Real personalities come out under real circumstances.

4. The competition is real.
These poor people are put through the ringer. They are given some curve balls from week to week. And I am amazed that they don’t just crack sometimes.

Each episode, with it’s miniature runway show, is a microcosm of the whole thing, the culmination, the finale at Fashion Week. It’s like reliving the drama every week. And it all builds naturally to a logical and highly entertaining conclusion.

5. These designers are true colleagues and competitors.
It’s like summer camp. They work together. They learn from each other. They advise each other. They inspire each other. And they know that any week could brig the fluke that gets the knocked off the show. None of them is safe, so they pull for each other. They want to win, but sometimes I think they don’t want anyone to lose. Even after Laura’s accusations of fraud nearly got Jeffrey kicked off the show, I believe they understood each other better. I believe that Jeffrey doesn’t hate her. And I believe that the playing field was absolutely level. This goes back to the notion of integrity.
After someone gets kicked off, people are so sad. And when someone wins, they are genuinely happy. The hugs look and feel so good.

If they hated each other, this show would be boring and stupid.

6. The judges have real compassion.
They sound like bitches at times, but they want to see beauty, and they usually do. And I just love to hear the judges say nice things about people. Even if they miss the mark, the designers clearly have passion and their work has artistic merit; and I love that the judges get that, and say so.

7. The competitors are actually talented.
These people are pulling out all the stops to do their best work. It matters to them. And even if I’m surprised or disappointed to see certain designers cut during the season, I have no doubt by the last episode that these final competitors are the ones who belong there. We viewers have something to believe in and someone to cheer for.

8. The result is something beautiful, not something ugly and sad.
We’re not voting people off the island. We’re not forming alliances to take anyone down. We’re not watching hook-ups in the hot tub. We’re not watching families melt down. We’re not watching husbands trading their psychopathic wives. We’re not watching spoiled socialites soving their hands into the wombs of livestock, pretending to care about how “simple” people live. These are artists. These are craftspeople. What is captured on this series is the product of years of real work for each of them. And week after week, nearly without fail, they produce something beautiful.

9. Even the losers can succeed.
These people have a future after this show. They are talented. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t be on the show. Just by virtue of being on the show, they have enough publicity to make some hay. And each of the four finalists, whether they won the fashion Week competition or not, has gained enough notoriety and has shown enough consistent good work that they could easily ride this thing through to a successful career. Not everyone will be in Elle, maybe, but not everyone can be, and not everyone needs to be.




the untallied hours