I have a bit of a problem with Todd VanDerWerff. He brings to mind one or two people in my life that I love dearly, but want to strangle on occasion. I like to think that if he and I were to meet, we'd hit it off immediately, and almost as immediately dissolve into an argument on why or why not The Hulk is the most important character in the Marvel Universe (i.e. because his power is limited only by his rage and how well he can control it, which in theory makes his power unlimited--something Todd VanDerWerff can NEVER UNDERSTAND). Basically we agree on a lot of things, but disagree on a lot of nitpicky details. This actually makes it a little infuriating that he seems to review all of my favorite shows at The AV Club's TV Club. Which brings us to this episode of Mad Men I just watched...
"Dark Shadows" follows an incredible stretch of Mad Men episodes (something which Mr. VDW and I wholeheartedly agree on), episodes that weave a theme through their storylines almost effortlessly. But according to his article from The AV Club, something seems to have been lost in this episode, as if Matthew Weiner, In His Infinite wisdome and God Bless His Name and Talents, forgot what he was doing for a moment and decided to plop out a mediocre episode that failed to achieve the stratospheric highs of the preterite 8 episodes. Okay, a "B" grade isn't that bad, but I think some crucial thematic points may have been overlooked.
I won't disagree that this episode is in fact "the most scattered episode yet." But in a season so single minded (thus far, anyway), any deviance from the norm could be misinterpreted as a misstep. Each episode has had it's own theme, and chooses a variety of topics to explore that theme, like an anachronistic "This American Life." So far, it's been about the Us v. Them topic of Young v. Old, the oddball 60s shouldering their way into Don Draper's (and others') periphery, forcing our leads to adapt or die; and as I've mentioned, the season has been quite single minded about that theme. What I believe is overlooked in this review of this episode is that while things may not be so black and white as Young v. Old, things are still very much Us v. Them as they ever were, and that strikes out the notion that Matthew Weiner could ever be so simple-minded as to commit to a single thematic element and stick solely to it without expanding on it in the slightest. Praise His Name.
Obviously, I'm behind here. I'm watching however many weeks past the water-cooler's "View By" date, but I'm responding as I witness it, which (somehow) keeps my opinion fresh. Again, though, I will agree that "Dark Shadows" doesn't seem quite as cohesive as former episodes, if only because the storylines are so seemingly disparate. But the thematic cohesion is just as present as it has been all season. When Don picks his own copy over the recently-realized threat Ginsberg's, it's not a Young v. Old move, it's a Me v. You move. When Betty bitchily drops the "Oh your father had a wife before me, ask his NEW wife about it, see what she tells you" bomb, it's the same thing. I suppose where the episode fails is in the dregs of detail that sift to the bottom: Pete's little daydream, Roger and Jane's post-divorce break-up sex, and Sally's continuing "I'm a big girl now" storyline all take the Us v. Them theme and dumb it down to boilerplate filler. See the bargaining between Roger and Jane for a new apartment, Sally's lashing out at Megan for being able to fake-cry and, by extension, lie (or "act" as Megan might call it), and Pete's... well, Pete just needed something to do this week. So he got a sexy scene with some side-boob. Good for Pete. All the runner stories are simply superficial plot development, but the competition element is ever-present.
It may be the simple fact that the characters have finally, for a moment, fallen out of sync with each other. Roger and Pete both had major, game-changing events occur to them recently, and their respective lives have to catch up to that this week. Don, Megan, and Betty's individual conflicts have yet to boil over (or have boiled over many times ["Yeah, you clean that carpet in your underwear while I feed you orange sherbet. Yeah."] and are still simmering dangerously hotter), and so the thematic importance of their actions this week are heightened. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that where the episode seems scattered in theme is really where the episode is scattered in level of emotion. The episode serves its function, but the highs and lows are more disparate than the harmonious resonance of the previous few weeks.
The beauty of Mad Men is that any analysis could be considered "correct." These are complex people we're dealing with, even when they act with simple pettiness and petulance. But it has always been a show defined by the episodic structure, and achieves beautiful results by treating each episode, as VDW suggests, as a short story that contributes to a larger thematic whole. I just don't think this episode is as large a thematic misstep as might be perceived. Maybe I'm being similarly petty and petulant calling out Todd VanDerWerff for being "wrong." I know you're not wrong Todd. I just have a differing opinion. Wanna fight about it? Me v. You. Sundown. Be there.
6.24.2012
Watch Me Watch: The Sopranos 1.5 -- "College"
It seems fitting that the episode I return to after an unspeakably long hiatus is titled "College." Without turning this into a diary entry, I've been struggling with the fact that without college to force me to think critically about the entertainments that I love, I may be losing the ability to do so. Of course, due to that unspeakably long hiatus, I'm probably just out of practice.
So here I am. Living in Thailand and watching copious amounts of television to pass the time in a small town. It's almost... American. But for whatever reason, I chose to watch a number of series I'd already seen before delving into the one I've put off the longest. After Breaking Bad, Mad Men, Game of Thrones, and various others, I find myself here, at the series that (arguably) made each and every one of those possible. (See, to follow my assertions with quotes [as I was taught to do in high school, and perfected in... wait for it... college], these quotes from a primary source here and here.)
----
Any time a visual medium asks you to read something on-screen, it better be for a good reason. If it's something as relatively trivial as a plot point, then just have the character read it breathily to themselves, as we have all done when pretending we're in a movie and receiving important news via post. If it's thematically related, then you'd be wise to have the characters reading your carefully chosen text talk about it in a way obliquely referencing their personal demons or dilemma. But if you're The Sopranos, you take thematically related text (in this case, a quote from Nathaniel Hawthorne) and trust the audience to read it, get it, and apply it to characters as necessary, like a salve.
First, the plot points (to be read mentally, but breathily, if you're able): Tony and Meadow are scouting colleges, cause Tony is a good pater familias. While filling up the gas tank and puttering around Maine, Tony spots what he thinks might be a former associate-cum-narc, long ago swept away and sheltered by witness protection. Papa Soprano gives chase, all while trying to gently ease his rapidly maturing daughter into the unspoken knowledge that he is a mafioso. Simple, right?
The quote we're asked to read (along with Tony, sitting in a marble-tiled hall of an East Coast University waiting for Meadow) "No man... can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which one may be true." All we're given to chew on after reading is a dopey ADR-line--"Our most famous alumni!"--from some extra who can now say he had a line on The Sopranos despite the fact that he was only in the wide shot and we never see his face. We and Tony both are left with the (fairly obvious) implications of the line.
The central drama of this show has never really been much of a secret. But by emphasizing again and again and again--with ducks and dreams of detachable penises and therapy and lies and Hawthorne quotes--we are all but guaranteed to see a spectacular explosion. Or at least witness the giggle-inducing fun of a balloon plopping around the room as it rapidly deflates. Tony Soprano has some 'splaining to do. You can't be a family man and a Family man and keep the two mutually exclusive.
----
While these write-ups have thus far been written without any hint of foreknowledge of what comes next, the allure of serialized TV sometimes cannot be ignored, and thus I've sped ahead, all the way through into season 2 (so far). I'm not sure what voice to take as I proceed, or if I'll stick to individual episodes or more of a "this is the last chunk of story that I watched, and here's what I saw" approach. And while I wouldn't say that the last half of season 1 is boring, I will admit that the simple advent of letterboxed presentation makes me all the more excited to fast-forward to season 2 and the more polished storytelling it has thus-far provided. Of course, there's always the risk that I won't ever come back, and you'll be left here alone, abandoned, waiting to find out to which college Meadow is admitted. I'll try not to leave you out in the cold. But we might be time-traveling a bit when I get back.
So here I am. Living in Thailand and watching copious amounts of television to pass the time in a small town. It's almost... American. But for whatever reason, I chose to watch a number of series I'd already seen before delving into the one I've put off the longest. After Breaking Bad, Mad Men, Game of Thrones, and various others, I find myself here, at the series that (arguably) made each and every one of those possible. (See, to follow my assertions with quotes [as I was taught to do in high school, and perfected in... wait for it... college], these quotes from a primary source here and here.)
----
Any time a visual medium asks you to read something on-screen, it better be for a good reason. If it's something as relatively trivial as a plot point, then just have the character read it breathily to themselves, as we have all done when pretending we're in a movie and receiving important news via post. If it's thematically related, then you'd be wise to have the characters reading your carefully chosen text talk about it in a way obliquely referencing their personal demons or dilemma. But if you're The Sopranos, you take thematically related text (in this case, a quote from Nathaniel Hawthorne) and trust the audience to read it, get it, and apply it to characters as necessary, like a salve.
First, the plot points (to be read mentally, but breathily, if you're able): Tony and Meadow are scouting colleges, cause Tony is a good pater familias. While filling up the gas tank and puttering around Maine, Tony spots what he thinks might be a former associate-cum-narc, long ago swept away and sheltered by witness protection. Papa Soprano gives chase, all while trying to gently ease his rapidly maturing daughter into the unspoken knowledge that he is a mafioso. Simple, right?
The quote we're asked to read (along with Tony, sitting in a marble-tiled hall of an East Coast University waiting for Meadow) "No man... can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which one may be true." All we're given to chew on after reading is a dopey ADR-line--"Our most famous alumni!"--from some extra who can now say he had a line on The Sopranos despite the fact that he was only in the wide shot and we never see his face. We and Tony both are left with the (fairly obvious) implications of the line.
The central drama of this show has never really been much of a secret. But by emphasizing again and again and again--with ducks and dreams of detachable penises and therapy and lies and Hawthorne quotes--we are all but guaranteed to see a spectacular explosion. Or at least witness the giggle-inducing fun of a balloon plopping around the room as it rapidly deflates. Tony Soprano has some 'splaining to do. You can't be a family man and a Family man and keep the two mutually exclusive.
----
While these write-ups have thus far been written without any hint of foreknowledge of what comes next, the allure of serialized TV sometimes cannot be ignored, and thus I've sped ahead, all the way through into season 2 (so far). I'm not sure what voice to take as I proceed, or if I'll stick to individual episodes or more of a "this is the last chunk of story that I watched, and here's what I saw" approach. And while I wouldn't say that the last half of season 1 is boring, I will admit that the simple advent of letterboxed presentation makes me all the more excited to fast-forward to season 2 and the more polished storytelling it has thus-far provided. Of course, there's always the risk that I won't ever come back, and you'll be left here alone, abandoned, waiting to find out to which college Meadow is admitted. I'll try not to leave you out in the cold. But we might be time-traveling a bit when I get back.
2.22.2012
Life and Death and Television, For Real This Time
I've been known to watch Bravo from time to time, mostly against my will, but sometimes if there's really nothing else on. The Real Housewives of [BLANK] series is a year-long revolving door of various "urban" (but really usually suburbs of the urbs, except maybe in the case of NYC) settings, most with fruit-related imagery/graphics involved. While I was never a fan of the characters, plots, setups or scenarios, I could appreciate what the series as a whole tried to do most of the time--give a maybe-slightly enhanced/exaggerated (like the housewives themselves usually) peek into wealth; explore how power and prestige can ultimately corrupt, or at least make a little bit crazy/delusional; ask the audience to either judge, laugh, both, or GTFO. These shows are pretty unapologetic, and despite the content, that can be admirable.
This article over on the AV Club highlights an extremely dark, tragic situation that arose in front of television cameras for The Real Housewives of Orange County (see? Oranges). Shows like these can be all fluff and no substance, and sometimes that's what we're looking for, no more. But when you constantly point your cameras at something, you're going to catch more than the faked, contrived, preconceived storylines that you're expecting to catch. Completely by accident, you might see something real and human and utterly devastating. I don't necessarily recommend checking out the series, but the article is worth reading if only to defend the existence of reality television and remind us that for all of our snark, reality TV personalities are people too.
This article over on the AV Club highlights an extremely dark, tragic situation that arose in front of television cameras for The Real Housewives of Orange County (see? Oranges). Shows like these can be all fluff and no substance, and sometimes that's what we're looking for, no more. But when you constantly point your cameras at something, you're going to catch more than the faked, contrived, preconceived storylines that you're expecting to catch. Completely by accident, you might see something real and human and utterly devastating. I don't necessarily recommend checking out the series, but the article is worth reading if only to defend the existence of reality television and remind us that for all of our snark, reality TV personalities are people too.
2.08.2012
Life and Death and Television
Once again proving my eerie prescience in the world of television criticism, the term I coined just a week ago--"Post-LOST America"--makes an appearance (more or less; they say "post-LOST world." I guess journalism at large is just that much more global than I am) in an actual, genuine, real-internet-world article.
I haven't seen The River. I don't expect I will ever see The River, because I imagine it will get canceled before I even have a chance to see it. That's the state of the world we live in: Every new pilot comes with a death sentence. If not after a few episodes, then most likely after the first season. Not that this is new or anything, mind you. Series that survive beyond a year are, and always have been, rarities, but it's at least a credit to the powers that be that more and more of them are getting at least a year to try something outside of the box.
Good luck, The River, and godspeed.
I haven't seen The River. I don't expect I will ever see The River, because I imagine it will get canceled before I even have a chance to see it. That's the state of the world we live in: Every new pilot comes with a death sentence. If not after a few episodes, then most likely after the first season. Not that this is new or anything, mind you. Series that survive beyond a year are, and always have been, rarities, but it's at least a credit to the powers that be that more and more of them are getting at least a year to try something outside of the box.
Good luck, The River, and godspeed.
1.24.2012
Post-LOST America
New Year's resolutions are doomed to fail. But, like any bad decision, we make them anyway only to regret it later when our head is in the toilet/gutter/slammer. I regret letting this blog go to seed almost as much as I regret starting it. Put your name on something, "hype" it (to the extent that linking to it on a by-no-means-web-celeb-status facebook and twitter feed entails "hype") and all of sudden you have to follow up. People are depending on you. Or at least hoping to hear what you have to say about the latest episode of The Real World, or that maybe if you finally write a crappy blog post about the stupid fucking LOST finale you'll stop drunkenly ranting about/crying over/apologizing for the stupid fucking LOST finale out in the real, physical world. I got fewer comments on this blog than I have digits, but those few comments matter, dammit, and I still love TV even if writing about it on a consistent basis is actually impossible now that I live abroad where their idea of quality television is about equal to that of Mexican telenovela.
I think it's fair to say that I, like many Americans with regard to 9/11, never really "processed" the finale of LOST. I haven't read about it, revisited it, or thought about it too hard since it aired, partially out of fear that it wasn't as great as I had hoped and partially because eh, it was alright, why spend too much time thinking on it. But if I did go back to it, I can imagine that I would feel that familiar surge of potential intellectualism that used to burn within me. After that show went dark, so did my passion, for a time. I still consumed TV like a fiend, but it was somehow soulless--searching for a substitute to fill the smoke-monster shaped hole in my brain/heart/ever-lovin'-soul. I haven't found it. But that doesn't mean I'm not healing.
There were a few reasons my blog thrived for a short period of time. First, and most importantly was time. I had time to watch TV, and additionally had time to write about TV, which if you didn't know is surprisingly time consuming, what with all that mental effort spent on something rather silly if you think about it. But I soon succumbed to the darker side of the tube, the side that sucks you in, drains your life-force, and leaves you husked and searching for a fix. Consuming for the sake of consumption was the norm, and eventually you get to a point where you spend so much time watching TV you run out of time to think about what you're watching. And look at the name of this thing. You're here, conceivably, to hear me think about the crap we shove into our eyeballs and earholes. So not thinking is not an option. A second reason for said thriving is the aforementioned LOST/passion factor. Television was clipping along at a fever pitch, with (refer to my very first post here, over 2 years ago) countless masterpieces of the form airing all at the same time, live and uncut so to speak. It was enough to send me spiraling out of control, unable to tell which way was up in a tide of entertainment. For a time, the same tidal wave sustained me, but I've never been a great surfer.
So here I am, two years later, sober (metaphorically, anyway) and sorry--ready for another reboot. I'm all the way in Thailand, and there's a surprising amount of free time to be had over here. And in the spirit of the New Year, I've convinced myself of what a piece of shit I am, why don't you write more you lazy asshole, and do some push-ups while you're at it! I'm watching Carnivale again, slowly and with more careful steps than my past junkie-self, and with a little luck and determination and help from that 12-Step Higher Power I might be able to... think. But first, if you'll excuse me, I should go do some push-ups.
I think it's fair to say that I, like many Americans with regard to 9/11, never really "processed" the finale of LOST. I haven't read about it, revisited it, or thought about it too hard since it aired, partially out of fear that it wasn't as great as I had hoped and partially because eh, it was alright, why spend too much time thinking on it. But if I did go back to it, I can imagine that I would feel that familiar surge of potential intellectualism that used to burn within me. After that show went dark, so did my passion, for a time. I still consumed TV like a fiend, but it was somehow soulless--searching for a substitute to fill the smoke-monster shaped hole in my brain/heart/ever-lovin'-soul. I haven't found it. But that doesn't mean I'm not healing.
There were a few reasons my blog thrived for a short period of time. First, and most importantly was time. I had time to watch TV, and additionally had time to write about TV, which if you didn't know is surprisingly time consuming, what with all that mental effort spent on something rather silly if you think about it. But I soon succumbed to the darker side of the tube, the side that sucks you in, drains your life-force, and leaves you husked and searching for a fix. Consuming for the sake of consumption was the norm, and eventually you get to a point where you spend so much time watching TV you run out of time to think about what you're watching. And look at the name of this thing. You're here, conceivably, to hear me think about the crap we shove into our eyeballs and earholes. So not thinking is not an option. A second reason for said thriving is the aforementioned LOST/passion factor. Television was clipping along at a fever pitch, with (refer to my very first post here, over 2 years ago) countless masterpieces of the form airing all at the same time, live and uncut so to speak. It was enough to send me spiraling out of control, unable to tell which way was up in a tide of entertainment. For a time, the same tidal wave sustained me, but I've never been a great surfer.
So here I am, two years later, sober (metaphorically, anyway) and sorry--ready for another reboot. I'm all the way in Thailand, and there's a surprising amount of free time to be had over here. And in the spirit of the New Year, I've convinced myself of what a piece of shit I am, why don't you write more you lazy asshole, and do some push-ups while you're at it! I'm watching Carnivale again, slowly and with more careful steps than my past junkie-self, and with a little luck and determination and help from that 12-Step Higher Power I might be able to... think. But first, if you'll excuse me, I should go do some push-ups.
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