The Annual Culling Of The Shows

When I say culling, I'm not referring to us cutting back on shows. Don't be ridiculous. We're so far behind on most shows that we're following that it is tempting, but it's not going to happen any time soon, because I hate to give up on anything. Of course, I'm actually referring to that awful time of year when the networks pass judgement on the underperforming programmes on their rosters, slicing out much-loved cult faves and giving the kiss-of-life to some real oddities that no one is really passionate about. Hollywood Reporter has a report on the status of many shows here (this information is arranged in a more pleasing list format by Herc in this AICN Coaxial post), and it contains good and bad news, as ever.


Most upsetting is the unequivocal cancellation of Reaper, which has improved by leaps and bounds this year. Having shaken off first season nerves, the showrunners and performers have allowed more oddness and format-shaking looseness in, with some episodes doing away with the ponderous soul-hunting stuff in the cold open in order to follow the protagonists as they bumble along in their super-amiable way, and others just running with gags that would never have occurred last year. In a recent, very entertaining episode, more time was expended upon Sock (seeking chemical castration to prevent his lust for his step-sister) and Sam (dealing with his zombie dad's attempts to bond with him) than was spent on what would once have been considered the A plot, which was just fine by us. Nevertheless, that burst of energy came too late to save it. Sam, Sock and Ben (and Ray Wise, of course) will be missed.

The woeful state of Jerry Bruckheimer's roster of shows surprises me. While the CSI franchise is not going anywhere (especially now that the original series is on such consistently great form, courtesy of Morpheus), Without A Trace and Cold Case look like they're in trouble, with one of them probably cancelled. I get that this is due to the financial pressures of running both shows, but they always seemed like they'd be around forever, like bigotry and flatulence. I say that despite the fact that I watch neither of them and have exactly zero interest in them.


I'm much less surprised that Eleventh Hour is facing doom. It's only just started airing in the UK, on Living (which means watching it exposes me to endless adverts for Grey's Anatomy; a seriously nauseating experience, especially with Kevin "Journeyman" McKidd popping up every couple of seconds to remind me of our favourite recently cancelled series). A less apt channel I cannot imagine, as Eleventh Hour has yet to display a pulse. Is this the most boring show on TV? Yes, despite the insistence of the ever-present Clicking Clock Of Teh Doom, it's much less silly than Fringe, but it's not like it gets the science right even in such unambitious circumstances, so it hasn't even got that going for it.

At least Fringe, while being full of risible science, is not ashamed to forget about realism and just go all out, showing us people turning into rampaging porcupine monsters, or macrophages that burst out of your mouth and crush your windpipe on the way out, or teleportation devices that are just fucking wicked cool and if you don't agree then I'll never love you. Eleventh Hour, on the other hand, is sober but utterly joyless. It also features a lot of googly-oogly eyes, as Rufus Sewell and Marley Shelton have intense ocular orbs that scare the piss out of me. Not for much longer, though. Farewell, Dr. Hood and Thingy Gunbabe. I hardly knew you or cared.


Two other shows I don't watch are Num3e7501019 or whatever the hell it's "called", and The Unit, pictured above (that's First African American President David Palmer carrying what looks like a life doll for people with a fetish for deli-shop owners). While Numbronics has a few fun character actors on it, I cannot understand how a procedural about numbercrunching has managed to last for five seasons, and is likely to come back for another. I saw the first three episodes, and tuned out because I couldn't see how the concept could sustain itself. And yet there it is, running even longer than the similarly restrictive Bones (though of course the charm of that show, apparently, is the chemistry between Boreanaz and Deschanel). What happened to the Numberation format to make it run this long? Was I wrong to drop it? (This is a rhetorical question; I'm not going back to it no matter what I hear.) Maybe a long-running character will turn out to be a serial killer, to the delight of its many fans. Or am I thinking of another show?


In contrast, the possible cancellation of The Unit saddens me despite my utter ignorance of it. Why? Because this year creator Shawn Ryan treated TV watchers to one of the classic seasons of one of the greatest shows ever created. The final season of The Shield was a nerve-destroying tour de force, and to think he's lost one show (on a high) and then maybe lost the other one without fair warning makes me unhappy on his behalf. For providing us with such a thrilling conclusion to The Shield, he should win awards, not get thrown off TV with such disregard. Fingers crossed that, if worst comes to worst, he can come up with another show as great as The Vic Mackey Glower Hour (twice as thrilling as The Jack Bauer Power Hour, even on a good day, tension fans!).

After a whole season of speculation about being dropped by Fox, it looks like Terminator: The Needlessly Long Title Involving The Important-Sounding Word "Chronicles" is finally being cancelled. That, and Dollhouse, have suffered the fate of Friday Night Lights; running to overtake the expectation of imminent extinction. While FNL has, happily, been renewed for two more seasons, T:TSCC is not going to be so lucky. Perhaps Fox only really needed it to dilute the impact of the upcoming film in order to damage its box office chances, if their behaviour over Watchmen is anything to go by. Ironically, even though I was enthusiastic about T:TSCC when I saw the pilot, I only watched one more episode. Of course Torchwood, which I was comparing it to, got worse than even I could imagine, and yet I watched it all the way through to the hysterical end. What's up with that?


Surprisingly, Dollhouse might make it to a second season, which would probably be surrounded with even more chatter about cancellation. The only thing people have linked to Dollhouse more than those early, awful episodes is the expectation that it will not last. While once that was irksome, it's a testament to the quantum leap in quality from the sixth episode on that cancellation would now be a tragedy (in terms of TV show potential, not actual real tragedy). The last two weeks have provided more brain food than any other show on TV that isn't set on a mysterious island. As long as Dollhouse 2.0 is allowed to continue to explore the distortion of the moral norm caused by Dollhouse tech and not just have the ever-unappealing Dushku wandering around in bondage gear prior to some poorly edited fighting, a second season would be welcomed with fireworks and Bacchanalian parties (and, sadly, a flurry of woeful fanfic). If the show is not going to play to its intellectual strengths (yeah, I said it), why bother giving it another chance?


As I said earlier, we're inundated with shows, even more so now that In Treatment is back for two and a half hours a week, so maybe I should be glad Cupid is being axed. I never watched the original starring Jeremy "Mercury from The Metal Men" Piven, so I have very little awareness of what the show is like, but we're talking about a remake of a failed show, replacing the undeniably watchable Piven and the equally appealing Paula Marshall with Bobby Cannavale and Sarah Paulsen. I'm having trouble mustering enthusiasm for this, and now that it's been cancelled, that enthusiasm dims even more. If I do watch it, it'll be out of loyalty to the man who brought us Veronica Mars (though that wasn't enough to make me watch 90210).

Still, I can't imagine that it could be worse than Castle or The Unusuals. Despite the charmkrieg that is Nathan Fillion selling almost every shitty joke and laboured flirt-op (and proving he is indeed better, better than Neil, at so many things it's hard to conceal), everything else about it is to entertainment as formica is to wood. A lot of unimaginative shows feel like they are made by machines, but the machine that made this is constructed out of string and cardboard and powered by irradiated rats. Still, at least it's not The Unusuals. ABC's website made this sound like a drama featuring a bunch of unorthodox cops whose rarified skillsets allowed them to solve crimes no one else could. Canyon thought it was meant to be a straight-up comedy. That it satisfied neither of us is a sign something went haywire as soon as calloused fingers typed Fade In.


It's telling that, in the pilot, you see a clip of Bruce Weitz on TV in some kind of sitcom, as the show also felt a lot like Hill Street Blues, but this time with a team comprising nothing but the weirdos like Renko, Belker, and Buntz, but lacking the stable characters like Furillo, Coffey and Esterhaus. The first hour, directed with typical ineptitude by Stephen "The Reaping" Hopkins, was interminable, cutesy, unimaginative, uninvolving, edited into incoherence, cloying, drab, desperately quirky, and, most annoyingly, filled with terrific, wasted actors, like Jeremy Renner, Harold Perrineau and Terry Kinney. Such talented guys. Oh, and Adam Goldberg is in it too. Erm... ::tumbleweeds blow by::


So, if we lose that, no biggie. Better Off Ted, however, is just about the most lovable show on TV that isn't Reaper, and even if it's not as funny as 30 Rock, or as clever as The Office, it's still worth rooting for, especially as series creator Victor Fresco also gave us Andy Richter Controls The Universe, and I'd feel bad for the guy if he was responsible for two great sitcoms cut down in their prime. It has cemented our love of Portia DeRossi, who is just wonderful as the android-like Veronica Palmer, and has managed to satirise soulless corporate culture in such a non-abrasive manner that we almost love our monolithic overlords by the end of it. It's mild stuff, but compared to the laugh-void that is Parks and Recreation, it's Arrested Development meets Seinfeld. I've got my fingers crossed for it.


Sadly, I doubt anything can save my favourite new show, NBC's bonkers soap opera/religious fable/alternate-reality-curio Kings, which would be unmissable even if it was just 45 minutes of Ian "Swearengen" McShane walking around his "palace" muttering to himself, but manages to excel by featuring Ian "Swearengen" McShane walking around the city of Shiloh, capital city of the Kingdom of Gilboa, scheming against his foes (including Brian Bloody Cox!), railing against a preacher (played by Eamonn Bloody Walker!), and trying to predict what God wants of him in order to protect his eroding power base even when that makes him act against the interest of others. As with Dollhouse, no one expects it to make it to a second season, which is heartbreaking. In a season as dreary as this one (where the only other new shows worth following are the frustratingly erratic Fringe and the fluffy Mentalist) it's been a revelation. No matter how the other shows fare, knowing that the Sword of Nielsen Damocles hangs over such a promising head is enough to make me wonder why the hell I bother watching TV when ambition is so often rewarded with dismissal.

Self-indulgent whinge #268 over.

Five Random Things That Make Me Very Very Happy (3)

1: Robert Smigel as Arnold Schwarzenegger on Conan O'Brien:

File this alongside Great Moments in Presidential Speeches. Cheap, stupid, and utterly inspired, every time it gets dragged out. (Special bonus cameos: Mike Tyson and Don King!)



Also notable, Conan's own impression of Arnie, complete with obligatory sausage chomp.

2. The many faces of Carolyn from Tell Me You Love Me

As one of many characters in the huge ensemble on Lost, Sonya Walger was hard pressed to make much of an impression, through no fault of her own. Playing Desmond's great love, Penny Widmore, daughter of shady pharma-millionaire Charles Widmore, she turned up mostly in flashbacks, usually to cause the poor Scot some grief. I had no strong feelings about her either way. However...


We've gone on about Cynthia Mort's Tell Me You Love Me a lot here, because it is an insidious show that seeps into the brain and won't let go. There is a lot that annoys us: the oppressive and mannered lack of music; the glacial pace that makes Lost look like 24; Michelle Borth's pronunciation of the word, "fuck" ("fuuuuuuuuhk"). As it has progressed, though, there is also more and more each week that we like. Some performances have grown on us, but I've resisted one until now. Yes, Sonya Walger as show Gupta Carolyn. Because she is crazy, and selfish, and mean, and oh boy, because she has the weirdest facial expressions.


Whenever she suffers a big shock to the system, her face goes stiff and slack, her head slowly oscillating back and forth. It is the acme of incredulity. Most performers don't get much chance to look shocked at things as regularly as she does, but Carolyn is so self-absorbed she doesn't realise that the things she assumes are hers by right actually aren't, so when anyone (especially cowardly sleazebag husband Palek, played by Adam Scott) denies her her God-given right to get impregnated, like, now, dammit, she goes all durrrrrr.


For a long time we thought it was funny, especially because co-star Tim DeKay was prone to the most peculiar, unactorly facial tics. Was the show trying so desperately to be "real" that actors were being given directions to be as uncomposed as possible? If so, it was an odd direction to give. It added nothing to the veracity of the show, serving only to distract us. However, as the weeks dragged on, and with the help of Tyra Banks, I began to realise that Walger was doing something notable. In America's Next Top Model, the contestants are repeatedly told they should get out of their comfort zone and pose in ways they think might look crazy in order to chance upon a great pose. The results are often funny, but it does work. Many of the show's best shots are created by goofy posing.


In Tell Me You Have Countless Facial Tics, Walger is playing a really unappealing human being, and that alone takes acting courage, before we get into the issue of her many explicit nude sex scenes. Her crazy face is another method of pushing that envelope. Vacant stares, slack jaws, shaky head; it's all in the service of the performance. As the show has progressed, it's become obvious that Carolyn is severely screwed-up, and needs more help than just the occasional trip to see the cosmically awful therapist Dr. May Foster. Walger may seem to be going over the top with her performance, but compared to the naturalistic quietness of many of the other actors, her gurning stands out, adding to the audience's unease at her actions. Over time I've started to think that while Tim DeKay and the amazing Ally Walker deserve the awards, Walger is actually the show's secret weapon. Hey, Sonya! I just complimented you. Can I get a smile?


Nice one.

3: Trailer for Cliffhanger:

I recently watched a trailer for Jumper at work, and while it looks like a lot of fun, a colleague standing on the other side of the room commented that even though he couldn't see the trailer, he could guess what was happening as it sounded like it replicated the beats and rhythms of pretty much every trailer made in the last few years. He had a good point.

It got me thinking about great trailers, and how the style of them has evolved over the years. I love watching old trailers, and will probably seek some out and post them here in the future, but a while back there was one trailer so amazing, so different, so goddamn exciting, that it will almost certainly remain my favourite trailer forever. It was 100 times more exciting than the movie, and it was only ever ripped off once (the trailer for Stephen Hopkin's Blown Away which was also better than the movie). It was the Handel's-Messiah-powered trailer for Renny Harlin's thoroughly average Cliffhanger, and I cannot watch it without getting goosebumps.



That, my friends, is how you edit a trailer.

4: The first four pages of The Brave and the Bold #7

I've said before that Mark Waid is one of my favourite writers, with his celebrated run on the Flash and invigorating spell writing Fantastic Four with the late, great Mike Weiringo on art duties, and I'm glad to say his star still shines brightly. The Brave and the Bold is a revamp of an old DC title which pairs up heroes who don't usually work together (certainly not as a duo). This format allows the writer to bring out the best qualities and characteristics of the heroes by placing opposites together, and Waid has worked wonders with this conceit. In the first six issues of the title he paired up Batman and Green Lantern (not friends), Supergirl and Lobo (really not friends), and Batman and Blue Beetle (some grudging respect from Bats), and though that was all magnificent, Waid and world's best artist George Perez may have outdone themselves with the opening of the latest issue. (Click on the images to enlarge.)








The rest of the comic spins off from there in the most alarming ways, with every page holding at least one surprise or character revelation. I've heard people say both Wonder Woman and Power Girl are dull characters, but in Waid's hands they become two of my favourites. If only he could write them forever. I heartily recommend the title (though this is meant as a standalone it does have some connection to the first six-issue arc), though surely a prologue as awesome as that should be enough to drive even non-comic fans mad with anticipation. Right? Er, hello?

5. The super-pretty HTC Tytn II.

I once had a phone. It was the little phone that could. It didn't have GPS laser targeting, or a taser like in Tomorrow Never Dies, or a special connection to the Pentagon, but I loved it. I had no need of gadgets, I just wanted to text. And text I did, like the veritable wind. My connection to it was so strong that I often texted without looking at it. It was a powerful bond between man and machine, not unlike the bond between Michael Knight and KITT, only with less backtalk.

And then I broke it.

Damn, man, that wrecked me for over a year. Not just because I was upset, or because I lost all my numbers and texts and photos, but because I lost that amazing text synching. The next three phones I owned have been a disaster, with dead and unresponsive keys, fiddly shortcuts that make everything take four times as long, and batteries that hold enough charge for up to ten minutes usage. I was Chuck Yeager, grounded before his time, forced to give up hope that I would ever recapture that joy.


So I did the next best thing; buy a phone with a proper keyboard and a proper browser, not to mention Word. The Tytn II is a bloody gorgeous piece of kit, with a flippy screen and a keyboard way better than the Blackberry and a 3 megapixel camera and a touchscreen and so many other wonderful features I should probably shut up now. When the worst thing I can say about it is that both Canyon and I are finding it hard to type on it because we keep thinking we have to use the old text method of multiple button pushes for each digit, that doesn't even count as criticism. It's so helpful and lovely that this section of this post is being written on the Metropolitan line! ZOMG! Exactly what I've always wanted. I'm sure this blows no one's mind but mine, but it makes me very very happy (see post title), so that's all that matters. Except for the bit where I accessed this blog and flagged it accidentally. Ah, it's not the phone's fault. I can't stay mad at you forever, you beautiful gadget!