Fall TV Smorgasbord, part 2

The Good Wife:  I came for the ripped-from-the-headlines infidelity scandal, I stayed for the razor-sharp characters, intricate plotting, and stellar performances.  The show is a meditation on power, closely examining the intrigue and shifting alliances of the power plays within Lockhart Gardner.  Diane Lockhart is my favorite power player; she’s confident, mature, and sexy (who knew Christine Baranski and Gary Cole would make such a hot couple?), and I love it when she smacks down her bickering, insecure colleagues – Eli and David, David and Julius, David and Will.

Fringe: I always feel like I’m less excited about Fringe than I should be, and I can’t quite figure out why. I mean, it’s Pacey! And the brilliant John Noble! But there’s also the bland Anna Torv, who make up for the lack of interest by unnecessarily flapping her hands about while delivering lines. And now this season we have another bland blond playing Pacey and Olivia’s daughter.  The show has some audacious ideas, but there’s something about the execution that keeps me at an emotional distance. I’m sticking around for the final season because of its set-up episode – last season’s “Letters of Transit.”  Anything that pays homage to both Casablanca and Star Wars is kinda brilliant.

New Girl:  I think Jess getting fired from her job as a teacher is a good set-up for a season’s worth of wackiness – already it’s given us Urkel and the Cass Shant!  I adored Max Greenfield on Veronica Mars, and his work on this show reminds me of Rob Lowe’s on Park & Rec: a fully-realized, totally committed performance that makes a character who is almost too bizarre to be relatable feel like someone you might actually know.

Modern Family: I’m kind of allergic to the idea of adding a baby to a show; it seems like a lazy way to find something new to say.  But generally this show isn’t lazy, so I’ll give it the benefit of the doubt. This season’s second episode displays the show’s trademark combination of broad comedy, sly wit, and unexpected heart, all topped with a delightful Philism:  “Success is 1% inspiration, 98% perspiration, and 2% attention to detail.”

Nashville: It’s Tami Taylor, y’all! My favorite moments of Friday Night Lights are when Tami walks into a hostile meeting, all sweetness and smiles, and walks out with what she wants, without appearing to play hardball at all.  There’s a similar scene in this show’s premiere, and although it doesn’t end with Rayna getting exactly what she wants, she does score a killer line:  “You can kiss my decision as it’s walking out the door.”  Britton has such a mobile, expressive face; nobody does the quivering-chin, talking through the almost-tears better than she does.  I do wish they’d cast someone with more range than Hayden Save the Cheerleader as the ingénue antagonist, and I’m bailing if the show gets too soapy.  For now, though, I’m sticking around for Tami and the lovely tunes.  Clear voices, full songs!

Revolution:  I’m on the fence about this one.  Intriguing premise, but the episodes lack urgency.  I don’t really care about the bland blond lead and her bland blond brother (I don’t understand this casting trend), so the storyline about her searching for him bores me.  Billy Burke is much more interesting as the former militia officer/current Han Solo-ish loner, and the show would be stronger if it focused on him and the excellent Giancarlo Esposito. Also, how busy is Tim Guinee right now? He was great on The Good Wife, just popped up on Homeland, and I wish he hadn’t been killed off so soon on this show.

Arrow: I was afraid this would be like NBC’s The Cape, what with the hood and all (speaking of which, David Lyons is now General Monroe on Revolution). But the pilot was actually pretty thrilling, nicely setting up the back-and-forth between the current life of Oliver Queen and his island-based origin story as the Arrow (or is it just Arrow?). It’s sort of Revenge meets Batman; the Arrow is interested in cleaning up his city and crossing names off a list of his dad’s enemies.  I don’t know the first thing about the DC Comics character, so if you do, tell me what you think of the show in the comments section.

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Fall TV Smorgasbord

Hi, folks!  I’ve been on the road for a while, visiting family and drinking lots of sweet tea in the South.  What with all the Fall TV premieres, I figured I’d write short blurbs on all the stuff I’ve watched over the last several weeks.

The Mindy Project:  You’d think that, as a nerdy Indian-American woman with a soft spot for romantic comedies, I’d love Mindy Kaling’s show about a nerdy Indian-American woman with, shall we way, an obsession with romantic comedies.  But I’m not really feeling it; while I appreciate being able to personally identify with the lead character’s viewpoint at times, the rest of the show feels generic.

Last Resort:  It’s difficult for me to watch anything set on a submarine and not think that it doesn’t measure up to The Hunt for Red October.  Having said that, I wish the show hadn’t moved so quickly off the sub onto the island. I was hoping for more of a contained-on-the-ship BSG vibe rather than a Lost vibe. And I have some problems with the captain’s desire to turn the island into the crew’s new home, when it’s obviously already home to a whole other group of people.

30 Rock:  I didn’t laugh out loud once during the entire first episode of the season. That’s actually how it was for most of last season, too; the show’s gone flat in its non-stop attempts to reach wacky heights.  I don’t think I’m going to stick around to say good-bye for the final season.

Up All Night: I initially resisted this show last year because I have a hard time accepting Will Arnett as a regular guy – he’s just too wired and kookily intense, better suited to characters like 30 Rock’s Devon Banks. But he was actually warm and believable as husband and stay-at-home dad Chris, and Christina Applegate and Maya Rudolph are delightful.  But I don’t like this season’s plot change of Maya’s talk show being cancelled; the addition of Christina’s brother doesn’t feel organic; and Will Arnett, suddenly too skinny and too tan, is back to seeming too wired and weird for the character.  Or maybe I’m just projecting my feelings about the actor’s divorce from Amy Poehler. Speaking of which . . .

Parks and Recreation:  As you know, Parks & Rec is one of my favorites.  But I feel like the current season, with Leslie in a different office and April and Ben in DC, is missing a certain zaniness that grew organically from all the characters bouncing off each other in a contained environment – their Parks & Rec office and, by extension, the town of Pawnee.  I love Leslie enough to keep watching, though.

Homeland:  I wasn’t sure how the new season would follow up on last season’s nerve-wracking finale, but the new episodes ratchet the tension right back up.  Damian Lewis is brilliant at telegraphing how Brody is being pulled apart at the seams by conflicting loyalties and commitments.  Claire Danes is so raw and vulnerable, like an exposed nerve, that she’s sometimes difficult to watch.  My favorite moment of this season’s first episode is Carrie’s small smile of triumph when she turns the tables on her pursuer in a crowded Beirut marketplace, as though she’s surprised by her own strength and also, damn that felt good!

Coming soon:  The Good Wife, Nashville, Fringe, New Girl, Modern Family, and whatever else I watch over the next few days.  Till then, leave a comment to let me know what you think about these shows and any others that have caught your attention.

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Bachelorette: Mean Girls at a Wedding

I’m not a big fan of the boys-and-girls-behaving-badly genre, but I checked out Bachelorette because Kirsten Dunst has impressed me lately (see Melancholia) and also because I enjoy Lizzy Caplan’s sardonic forthrightness.  Dunst’s Regan is consistently selfish and cruel throughout this mean-girls-at-a-wedding escapade, but Dunst manages to ground Regan’s behavior in insecurities we can identify with. The film never asks us to sympathize with Regan, but we recognize that we share some of her competitive and self-protective impulses.

We know early on in the film that Regan is supposed to be a terrible person because she uses her work with twelve-year-old cancer patients as fodder for self-promotional anecdotes. And yet, despite the lack of genuine caring, Dunst is able to locate a surprising vulnerability in Regan’s attitude.  In the midst of some superficial blather about how awful it must be to have cancer, especially when you’re twelve because being twelve in awful enough, Regan muses, “That’s when it starts, when you’re twelve.”  In the little pause before Regan completes the line, I said to myself, “It’s when you start to hate yourself.” Sure enough, that’s exactly how Regan finishes the sentence, and it’s a visceral jolt to hear this cool-cruel golden girl echo my own painful adolescent insecurities.  So while the rampant substance abuse and self-destructive behavior distance me emotionally from the main characters, there are moments when the incisive writing and Kirsten Dunst’s under-the-skin portrayal of Regan produce shocks of recognition.

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Doctor Who: But I don’t want David Tennant to go!

I watched the season 4 finale “The End of Time” last weekend, and I’m still mourning David Tennant’s departure.  It’s been difficult to enjoy the few Matt Smith episodes I’ve watched since then because there’s so much to process in the final Tennant arc.

Backing up a bit and borrowing from my exchange with my friend Jason in the comments section, I love the second half of season 3, starting with “Human Nature” (which is a lovely homage to the Robert Donat classic Goodbye, Mr. Chips).  The final arc of season 3 builds on the notion of the Doctor as Christ-figure – his temptation to live out an ordinary life with Joan in “Family of Blood,” his sacrifice at the hands of the Master in “The Sound of Drums,” and his resurrection, brought about by the collective power of faith.

The latter part of season 3 also boasts the amazing stand-alone episode “Blink,” which is one of the most scream-out-loud terrifying things I’ve ever watched. Carey Mulligan, joining Doctor Who’s roster of before-they-were-famous guest stars, anchors the episode beautifully.

Back to the collective power of faith, that theme is repeated in season 4’s “Journey’s End,” with the Doctor’s friends and allies calling his cell phone at the same time.  The combined strength of the phone signals reaches the Doctor like a beacon, enabling him to answer their collective prayer and validating their faith in him. The same notion is then inverted for a darker purpose in “The End of Time,” when all 6 billion versions of the Master reach out telepathically to find the Doctor in space.

David Tennant’s performance in “Journey’s End” and “The End of Time,” as the Doctor moves toward his inevitable regeneration, is, to borrow my friend Ashley’s word, heartbreaking. All the grief the Doctor has been carrying since “Journey’s End,” and actually for a couple years before that, closes in on him, so that, as much as I hate to see Tennant leave, it’s difficult to see how his Doctor can go on under the weight of all that grief and anger. What makes it even more heartbreaking is the revelation that regeneration is actually a death; this version of the Doctor dies and “a new man gets to walk away,” as Tennant’s Doctor says rather bitterly.  As much as he desires to continue living in this body, though, the Doctor chooses the final sacrifice to save a friend; his plaintive “I don’t want to go,” as his body disintegrates is almost too much to bear.

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The Bourne Legacy: A Treadstone Re-tread

It feels a bit unfair to judge The Bourne Legacy against the three earlier, superior Bourne movies, but if the filmmakers didn’t want us to do that, they shouldn’t have put Bourne in the title and opened the film with The Bourne Identity‘s opening shot of a body floating in the water. The Bourne Legacy is entertaining enough, but it feels like an unnecessary re-hash. It doesn’t tell us anything new about nefarious government agencies, covert black-ops, and the disconcerting ease with which those in charge are willing to eliminate their own people.

The moments that pop the most in Legacy are the ones which intersect with Jason Bourne’s storyline – glimpses of David Strathairn and Joan Allen; the culmination of the hit against a journalist at Waterloo Station, so audaciously staged in The Bourne Ultimatum. None of the agency bigwigs in Legacy feels as memorable as Pam Landy, and nothing in the film comes close to the fine-tuned cat-and-mouse thrills of the Waterloo Station hit.  One improvement on the original series is the hero’s requisite female companion. Played by Rachel Weisz, bio-chemist Marta serves a more specific purpose in this film than Franka Potente’s bohemian free spirit in The Bourne Identity.

One of the chief pleasures of The Bourne Identity is how well Matt Damon plays Jason Bourne’s surprise at his own lethal skills and abilities; he discovers them right along with us. There’s no sense of discovery in the new film, since we pretty much already know what Jeremy Renner’s Aaron Cross is capable of.  What we have instead is the threat of the loss of his abilities, an awareness of what Aaron might revert to if he’s deprived of the chemical enhancements that make him a super soldier. It’s a bit of backstory that distinguishes Aaron Cross from Jason Bourne and works well with Renner’s less subtle, brawnier persona.  Even after three films, Jason Bourne feels like a rather appealing enigma, whereas Legacy’s blunter approach tells me most of what I want to know about Aaron Cross, so that the inevitable sequels will likely feel even more unnecessary than this film.

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The Farmer’s Daughter: Loretta Young Goes to Washington

The Farmer’s Daughter, starring Loretta Young, is a Capra-esque film about a young farm girl who stumbles into politics. The film values the American democratic process and stresses the importance of being politically well-informed so that one can play an active role in that democratic process.   Katie, the daughter of Swedish immigrants, knows her local politicians and their policies, and has a pragmatic, on-the-ground understanding of how those policies play out in people’s lives.  Her argument in favor of the minimum wage feels quite current; she believes in personal responsibility, but “I also believe that everyone has a right to a living wage.”

The film is also progressive in its views on gender, class, and race. While many characters in the film, especially entrenched party bosses, dismiss Katie because she’s a woman and an immigrant farmer, it’s clear that her level of civic engagement, her forthrightness, and her genuine interest in improving people’s lives are the valid qualifications for public office. I also appreciated the fact that, even though it briefly looks like it might, marriage (to Joseph Cotten, no less!) doesn’t supplant Katie’s newfound political ambitions, as though heterosexual romantic resolution was the ultimate goal all along.

The film even takes on nativist and white supremacist ideologies that seek to disempower racial and religious minorities. Mrs. Morley, played by the stately Ethel Barrymore, is a party leader who has doubts about a congressional candidate whom her party has been supporting. To confirm her suspicions, she draws him out about the “national organization” he belongs to, an organization that wants to “educate” people about “100% Americanism for 100% Americans,” i.e., “white, no foreign-born, the right kind of religion.”  Once the man’s views become clear, Mrs. Morley’s butler (a wonderfully no-nonsense Charles Bickford) kicks him out of the house, throwing his hat after him and yelling, “Mr. Finley, you forgot your hood!”  What catches my attention in this scene is the explicit naming of white identity, which is typically so dominant and normative that doesn’t even have to be named; only deviations from it need to be identified as Other, as minority identities.  Granted, there are no people of color in The Farmer’s Daughter, but the apparent awareness of white privilege itself makes the film seem remarkably progressive to me.

 

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Doctor Who: season 3 status report

Even though my husband Chris and I are watching as many episodes a day as his schedule will allow, almost to the exclusion of all other shows and movies, I would say I’m hooked, entertained, impressed, but still short of obsessed. There are moments that unexpectedly touch an emotional chord, like when the characters in “Gridlock” sing two of my favorite hymns, “The Old Rugged Cross” and “Abide With Me.”  The characters’ hope and resilience moved me to tears. What’s remarkable is that the same episode also gave me a panic attack with its depiction of the worst traffic jam ever.  Doctor Who excels at tapping into the anxieties that underpin the most mundane experiences. “Gridlock” takes the frustrations of an ordinary traffic jam – are we there yet? Why does it take 2 hours to go 10 miles in New York? – and ramps them up exponentially, laying bare visceral fears of claustrophobia and being trapped forever.

What keeps me from being totally in love with the show, I think, is the Doctor’s emotional remove from the creatures, places, and times he visits. As the Doctor himself says, “Big picture, Donna!”  Sometimes the picture is too big for me to feel invested in the Doctor’s own emotional connection to anything.  I know the companions are meant to humanize him somewhat, to remind him of the individual scale and personal cost of the events they witness, and David Tennant does a lovely job of playing the moments of attachment, grief, and loss.  But the Doctor’s history and experiences are on such a cosmic scale that he can sometimes be a difficult character to identify with.  I suppose it’s a fair trade-off for a show that’s so staggeringly audacious in addressing cosmic questions, like the existence of evil, as it does in “The Impossible Planet” and “The Satan Pit.”

Speaking of shows that I enjoy but that I’m not in love with, Doctor Who reminds me of Fringe. I guess I should say Fringe reminds me of Doctor Who, since it seems to have borrowed so much from the earlier show’s depiction of parallel universes – zeppelins, a bridge between two universes, structural weakness caused by traveling between them.  Unlike Doctor Who, though, Fringe is just great-adjacent. Something keeps it from fully taking flight, even though it traffics in some bold ideas.

Anyway, back to Doctor Who and season 3: we finally got a woman of color up in the TARDIS!  “Hello! Not exactly white,” Martha points out, wondering how she’ll be received when she and the Doctor disembark in London, 1599.  While the show is explicit about Martha’s racial identity, I’m also curious about her class identity – seemingly wealthy family, professional career. She’s such a departure from Rose’s distinctly working-class background, that it makes me wonder about the companions in the original show. Were they usually working-class foils to the Doctor’s upper-crusty, white male persona? Any chance of the Doctor regenerating as a man or woman of color in the future?  I’m still a newcomer to the Whoverse, so Whovians, please share your thoughts and inside info in the comments section!

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Yes, Ashley, I’m finally watching Doctor Who!

Much to my friend Ashley’s delight, I finally started watching Doctor Who. I should say re-started:  I’d watched the first two Christopher Eccleston episodes when they first aired, but, since I wasn’t already a fan of the original show, I couldn’t get over the cheesiness. Ashley’s been trying to convince me to give it another chance for years.  I didn’t doubt that it had found its footing and developed into a great show; I just never felt compelled to give it another go. What finally convinced me was a comment from producer Russell T. Davies in last week’s Entertainment Weekly about drawing inspiration from Buffy in terms of focusing on characters’ relationships with each other (by the way, Buffy topped EW’s list of the 25 greatest cult TV series!).

I’m not madly in love with Doctor Who yet, although I can see myself getting there. I’ll probably always feel like a relative newbie because I never watched the original show, but there’s still plenty to enjoy.  I’m impressed by how, despite what I assume are often deliberately cheesy effects, the show generates some truly creepy moments, as it does in “The Empty Child” and “The Doctor Dances” (who would’ve thought a little kid in a gas mask could be so eerie?). Then there’s the pleasure of seeing Anthony Stewart Head in “School Reunion,” in a deliciously sinister departure from Giles (it must be weird for Tony not to be able to take off his glasses and wipe them thoughtfully).  And finally, there’s the unexpected poignancy of a stand-alone episode like “The Girl in the Fireplace,” bolstered by an intelligent, grounded performance by Sophie Myles.

Obviously I’m rather unqualified to say much about Doctor Who, since I’m still only in season 2.  I assume I’ll have more to say as the seasons progress; till then, if you’re a long-time fan (Whovian, is it?), feel free to drop some knowledge in the comments section!

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Parks and Recreation: Leslie Knope for President!

I just finished a Parks and Recreation marathon, and I adore this show!  I watched season 4 as it aired on TV and enjoyed it a lot, but now that I’ve watched all the earlier seasons, I think it’s kind of genius.  Parks and Recreation excels at developing its characters over time and creating the sense of an actual town outside its City Hall setting through recurring secondary characters,  extended story arcs, and ongoing jokes (Pawnee: First in Friendship, Fourth in Obesity!)

I initially didn’t watch Parks and Recreation because I thought it would be snarky and cynical like The Office, but it’s much warmer and more heartfelt than that show. Most of that has to do with Leslie Knope, played by the fully-invested, brilliantly engaging Amy Poehler.  She’s intelligent, dedicated to her friends, and unabashedly optimistic in her belief that government can make a positive difference in people’s lives. Leslie’s trajectory as a character is the opposite of Liz Lemon’s on 30 Rock: over the course of the show, Liz has become increasingly absurd and infantilized, difficult to recognize as a real person. Leslie started out as manically upbeat, almost self-deluded in her optimism, and kind of absurd (I’m thinking of season 1’s “The Banquet,” when Leslie shows up for an awards dinner in a suit and helmet hair). Since then, her character has lost the manic edge and become more relatable, but she’s still unapologetically intelligent and fiercely feminist, ambitious in her plans for herself and her hopes for her city. I never thought I’d tear up over a city council election, but thanks to Leslie’s sincerity and idealism, I did just that.

 

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The Dark Knight Rises into Reality

I had to watch The Dark Knight Rises twice to figure out what I wanted to say about it. Granted, the first time was in IMAX, which makes it difficult to focus on anything other than visuals. I enjoyed it more on a regular screen but still can’t shake the feeling that there’s not too much to say. Christopher Nolan’s film wears its big ideas – social inequality, populist revolutions, liberty versus security, the masks we wear – rather heavily. It’s all laid out in expository fashion but lacks emotional resonance or any real connection to the characters’ lives.

That’s not the say the film isn’t darkly thrilling fun. I like it more than The Dark Knight, which suffers in the second half from too many villains (I don’t think the Joker and Two-Face should’ve been crammed into the same film) and confusing editing (I can never keep track of the Joker’s men, actual hostages, and Batman on the different floors of that abandoned building). Nolan has the same editing problem at the end of Inception, too, when we’re toggling among several dream layers. In The Dark Knight Rises, Nolan streamlines the villains and editing, making the film more cohesive.

Speaking of villains, Tom Hardy’s Bane measures up quite well against Heath Ledger’s Joker, the new standard of Batman villains. I actually think Bane’s a more effective antagonist than the Joker because we know more about his history and motivation. Bane’s real motivation isn’t all the anarchist socio-political jargon he spouts, but something much simpler, more easily identified with – loyalty. Hardy makes Bane a compelling screen presence, using his outsize physicality to compensate for the fact that we essentially never see his face.

Anne Hathaway manages to be less annoying than I was afraid she would be, although Selina Kyle/Catwoman doesn’t really add much to the film. Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s Blake brings youthful heroism and optimistic faith, in nice contrast to Commissioner Gordon’s world-weary dedication. By the way, have I just watched 10 Things I Hate About You too many times, or is Jo Go-Lev starting to look like Heath Ledger?

Christian Bale usually cedes attention to other flashier performers in whatever movie he’s in (with the exception of The Fighter and, presumably, American Psycho, which I haven’t seen).  He’s reliably grim and tormented as Bruce Wayne/Batman, although my favorite scenes are the ones in which he adopts the persona of frivolous playboy billionaire – the public, rather than private, Bruce.  Bale gets to have fun in these scenes, hinting at the serious depths beneath the callow exterior. He only gets once chance at this in The Dark Knight Rises, at a charity shindig where he spars playfully with Selina Kyle. The best example is in The Dark Knight, when Bruce crashes Rachel and Harvey’s dinner date.  From behind the entitled rich kid mask, Bruce watches Harvey closely, impressed by his strength of character. Bale plays it as though Bruce is falling for Harvey, and that makes his grief over Harvey’s ultimate fate feel real and heartbreaking.

While Nolan’s Big Ideas may not resonate emotionally in The Dark Knight Rises, the physical reality of the film’s characters and environment is tactile and visceral. We feel the weight of Batman’s broken body; we feel that a whole city is truly at stake (unlike in The Avengers); we feel the impact of every punch in Batman’s bone-crunching hand-to-hand combat – no tricks, no gadgets – with Bane.  Perhaps that’s the trilogy’s greatest achievement – bringing a superhero out of the realm of the magical and miraculous into vulnerable, visceral reality.

 

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