Saying Goodbye to the Year in Television

It's the holiday season, a time of cheer, good tidings, eggnog, and gift-giving and gift-getting. We should be finding solace and joy in our fellow men and women, but let me tell you, I'm dreading December 10th. This day represents, in some ways, the end of television in 2010. Of course, I don't mean this literally, but on December 10th, pretty much all of the good shows on TV will be on a winter break or will have ended their seasons. Only a few weeks ago, my TiVo was positively overloaded with shows to watch: Real Time with Bill Maher, Boardwalk Empire, Mad Men, Rubicon, The Walking Dead, Bored to Death, In Treatment, Sons of Anarchy, Terriers, Community, Fringe, The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, Chuck, Parenthood, and more. By next Friday, all of these shows will be gone from the air for a while, with the exception of Jon Stewart's satirical news show, and that's only because the show's on all year long.

As of right now, one of these shows is permanently finished. Rubicon was a good show, a slow-boil of a conspiracy drama that wasn't able to hook in audiences who wanted to watch something akin to a two-hour thriller every week, as opposed to watching a two-hour thriller expand into 13 hours. I'm not thrilled that it's gone, but I'm also not surprised or sad. The show's ratings weren't great, and as soon as The Walking Dead came onto the airwaves and got huge ratings, it was clear that AMC wants to be seen as more dominant with its newer, less established programs. What's more, the finale was mildly disappointing; I don't demand all of the serialized shows I watch to end with cliffhangers, but some of the most exciting and compelling characters were left off to the sidelines in the finale for no good reason. What's more, one of the two conspiracy threads throughout the season just petered out. While the demise of Miranda Richardson's character was creepy and evocative, it was also a wasted opportunity. All of the build-up over 13 episodes for that? No thanks.

AMC has had stronger stuff this fall from Mad Men and The Walking Dead, two very different shows that have managed to both feel right for the same network. As is the case these days, when Mad Men is on the air, there's nothing stopping it from the being the best TV has to offer. The season's driving force was exactly what it always is: pushing Don Draper forward even as he pushes back, hoping to regress to childhood. Jon Hamm, Elisabeth Moss, John Slattery, and the rest of the sterling ensemble cast continued to impress this year, especially Hamm and Moss in the episode titled "The Suitcase," wherein they spend nearly the entire episode hashing out the past three-plus seasons' worth of drama between Don Draper and Peggy Olson. What else can you say about a show that now joins such dramas as The Wire and Deadwood, where a bad episode of the show is still equal to one of the best episodes of any drama of the year?

There are a few shows that I'll be most sad about as they head off into a break or their finales. First on the list is NBC's comedy Community, which has become easily the funniest show of the new season, what with Parks and Recreation being held on the bench until January 20. Sidebar: Why did Parks and Recreation not just air after The Office to begin with? Why wasn't it on at the beginning of the season, at that? I'm glad that the show will eventually find its way there, but the road's been unnecessarily long. Back to Community. The first season of this show took about 10 episodes or so--a relatively natural amount of time for most freshman programs--to find its solid footing; if you watch the DVD of the first season, you'd be surprised at how the writers assumed that Chevy Chase's character, Pierce, would best be paired with Troy, played by Donald Glover. Within only a few episodes--with the "Biblioteca" rap--it became clear that Troy and Abed, portrayed by Danny Pudi, were a dynamite duo.

Nowadays, Community continues to be another show on NBC that manages to stay alive simply because NBC is so damned screwed. Take, for example, Chuck, a show that's ended each of its first three seasons with ardent fans mounting "Save Our Show" campaigns of various types. Such campaigns may be pointless this year. Is the show being canceled? No. Has it been renewed? No. Have its ratings gone up or down? No. The answer is simple: Chuck has stayed constantly mediocre in the ratings, but for NBC, mediocre is amazing. When NBC announced its massively overhauled winter schedule, only a handful of shows remained in the same timeslot and day; among those shows are The Office, Community (the best sign for the show as of now), and Chuck. Ratings aside, Community has grown in its second season into the sharpest, fastest, and wittiest show on television. I've already waxed on and on about how great the show is; if you need further reasons to watch, its Christmas episode comes up on December 9th (though it has a new episode this Thursday), done in stop-motion animation a la the Rankin-Bass specials of the 1960s. High hopes abound.

The other show I want to highlight here is FX's freshman detective show Terriers. Title and marketing aside (no, it's not about dogs), this is genuinely the most successful detective series since Veronica Mars (which ended too early, but at least got 3 years out of the deal) and it's dying in the ratings. I've always wondered why the show just didn't air directly after Sons of Anarchy, and for a number of reasons. Both shows are run by former writers of The Shield, both shows are probably well-targeted at men ages 18-34 (a demographic which, as a note to the many advertisers reading this, I am part of), and both shows have somewhat similar sensibilities. The former is the highest-rated show on FX, so it would seem logical to pair the two, yes? Whatever the case, the season finale--and I do hope it's just that--of Terriers airs tomorrow on FX at 10 p.m. Eastern. What do you need to know? This show is about Hank and Britt, a private-detective duo who usually work small cases but have recently been roped into cases way bigger than they are. In particular, they've stumbled upon a massive crime perpetrated to destroy the town of Ocean Beach so a new airport can be built. Shades of Chinatown, to be sure. Hank and Britt's personal lives have been slowly fraying at the edges, and both men have been pushed away and towards each other throughout. I can't get into the details without it sounding boring (which the show is not; it's often raw and painfully emotional, in the best ways possible), but you need to watch. Fingers crossed that FX keeps it around.

I'll have a best of the year list in the coming month, but it's going to be hard this year, especially since I'm not counting shows like Lost (yes, I liked the finale), and I've not gone on and on about some of my new favorite shows like Bored to Death yet. Point being: I love TV, and the creative minds behind the best shows on TV have justified my love for the medium this year. I can't wait for 2011 to come, so we can get even more greatness on the boob tube.

Young People Do Not Care About The Oscars

Running with the lead is the best idea, no? If not, I'll repeat it. Young people do not care about the Oscars, and they certainly do not care about who hosts the Oscars. Anyone who thinks otherwise is an idiot. The Oscars, in this respect, are like the Harry Potter film series. If you're going into the seventh film of the now eight-film saga and you've never seen a single movie or read a chapter in any of the books, you are a rare bird indeed. You're either in or you're out. By and large, the people who watch the Oscars are the people who always watch the Oscars, or awards shows in general.

All of this is to say that, yeah, announcing that James Franco and Anne Hathaway will be the next ceremony's hosts is nothing more or less than curious. We can all, I'm sure, give the Academy points for thinking outside of the box. My problem is that me congratulating them for this is also the biggest flaw, Congratulations, Academy, for choosing two people who no one would have considered to be Oscar hosts. Two people who no one thought should be or would be the hosts. Good job. Outside-the-box thinking, I guess. Now, sure, not every Oscar ceremony is presided over by someone who's either a real comedian or is trying to be one (as much as I like Alec Baldwin, he's a funny actor, not a comedian, no matter how many jokes he cracked last year). Last time that happened, though, Rob Lowe and Snow White sang "Proud Mary." And the last time a nominee hosted (as we all assume that Franco, at least, will get a Best Actor nod) was when Paul Hogan hosted. Because, as you know, Crocodile Dundee got nominated, for Best Original Screenplay.

I'm not saying that either Franco or Hathaway will be bad. I expect them to be...well, fine, at most. Hathaway, in particular, strikes me as the type of person who's going to be in complete control on stage. So, good for them. As it goes with many truly baffling choices these days in entertainment, I would do exactly what Franco and Hathaway have done. "Wait, you want me to host the Oscars? Really? You're sure? OK." Why not? More than likely, whatever happens on Oscar night this time around won't be as embarrassing as the Rob Lowe number. But the idea that's being posited by the Academy producers--that these two young actors will attract young viewers--is idiotic. James Franco, of course, has starred in three wildly popular films. Those films are the original Spider-Man trilogy, in which he's a supporting player. Anne Hathaway is a bigger star; it could be argued that she has legitimately opened movies, or come close to it. Neither are sure things. You want young viewers to watch? Hire Justin Bieber. Anyone else is nothing close to definite.

The Newest Member of the Family

"Daddy/Mommy, can we keep him?" I don't have kids yet, but I'm currently the person being asked that question, and since I'm a sucker for a cute face, I've said yes. For about three months, Elyse and I had three cats, once Hermione passed on at the end of August. On Tuesday, after work, I got a call from Elyse, informing me that we had a new cat. The short story is that a tabby kitten of--as we found out on Friday at the vet--just under five weeks was being hounded by a group of dumb-ass teenagers who thought that kicking the kitten would calm it down. To quote Steve Martin in All of Me, "Ah. Good plan!"

There was the short, nebulous period where we didn't know if the kitten was healthy enough to keep--we do not know how long the kitten was outdoors, considering that it's not feral, it knows to use the litter box, and seemed immediately appreciative of being indoors--but all seems well. We'll have more pictures in the days to come, but I wanted to share at least one of our little baby Britta (named after the character from Community), as you see at the top of the post. Enjoy.

Grab Bag

First of all, let's get the cheap pleasantries out of the way: happy Thanksgiving, safe times, family, friends, blah blah blah. I don't have a problem with hearing people give thanks, but I feel like it's disingenuous for a person to wax rhapsodic about the various things and people they are thankful this one day of the year. In the same way that some people use Valentine's Day as an excuse to be really, extra-special sweet to his or her significant other, this just seems like an excuse to congratulate yourself on being awful nice for this one day. Having said that, Thanksgiving equals turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie. For that, I am forever thankful.

Over the last few days, I read Bill Carter's latest entry in the seemingly endless late-night talk-show saga, The War For Late Night. As you may have guessed--if only by the fact that, yes, I am under the age of 50--I'm always going to be on Team Coco, but for the most part, I'd say Carter does a fair and evenhanded job of portraying all the main players, and even a few supporting members of the book's cast. Not much about Jay Leno, Conan O'Brien, David Letterman, and others will shock you; Leno is a joke machine, Conan has bouts of depression, Letterman is self-loathing, etc. What frustrated me--aside from Carter's decision to get into the more public information in the final 100 pages, as opposed to spreading it out--is Dick Ebersol. Based on what I've read about him in other books, Carter's either one of a cadre of journalists who have created this weird image of him, or he's just an arrogant jerk.

Ebersol credits himself, more than others, if memory serves, as one of the guiding lights of Saturday Night Live. Certainly, Ebersol was involved, but I think he decided, after also being the show's executive producers for 4 years while Lorne Michaels was off the show, that he was as much a comedy guru as Michaels is or was. Ebersol, in the book and in public, thinks ill of Conan O'Brien for his conduct during the whole debacle in 2009 and 2010. Why, where does he get off thinking that Conan has the 11:35 show? It's not like he was promised it in writing, and Jay Leno said he would quit. Yeah, there's logical justification (at least none provided by Ebersol) for this kind of narrowminded behavior, which is what rankles me. Ebersol knew nothing of comedy; while the decisions are strictly business, I'm still baffled by how surprised the NBC executives were when Conan wasn't just going to go along with their plan. Final point: Conan was kicked out of the 11:35 timeslot because his ratings were not great. Just about 9 months since Leno took over the position, his ratings are as bad or worse than Conan's. And yet he stays. Sigh.

We are apparently the owners of a new cat. A kitten, really. Elyse was alerted to the kitten's presence yesterday at her school, where it was being chased around by teenagers trying to kick it. Ah, to be young, stupid, and have no future at all, as the line goes. We're bringing the kitten to the vet on Black Friday, just to make sure it's healthy (it is frighteningly thin, not just light), but it looks as though, yeah, we're back to four cats. I kind of liked having just the three for a few months, but I'll take the four. The kitten--still not officially sure of the sex, surprisingly--is very cute and scared, so I'm going to come around. But I'm not there yet.

Have movie studios decided that opening movies on Wednesdays is like moving TV shows to Fridays? This month, five movies will have had their opening days on a Wednesday. Can you name them without looking anywhere else online? The movies are, in chronological order, Morning Glory, Tangled, Love and Other Drugs, Burlesque, and Faster. Only Tangled seems like a sure thing, and that's partly because it's a Disney movie, but none of these movies have hit the radar big time. Had Tron: Legacy opened on a Wednesday, maybe it'd be big. But this year, studios have just dumped movies on Wednesdays, and act shocked. I do not know why. No one is aware of these films existing.

Finally, even though it's the night before Thanksgiving, watch Terriers. It's on FX, it's at 10 p.m., it's a dark yet funny buddy-detective show, and it needs to be watched by everyone. Do it.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1

Like pretty much everybody else in the world (relatively speaking), I saw the latest chapter in the ever-expanding Harry Potter saga this evening. I've been a huge fan of the book series since about 1999, so have always taken in the movies when they come out. This time, though, things were a little different, as my wife and I decided to check out a new theater that opened in Scottsdale, the UltraStar Scottsdale 11. We live about 45 minutes away, so what drew us to this particular theater was its Star Class Cinemas. Five of the screens at the multiplex were for people age 21 or over. No kids. Bliss, right? And, hey, you can also food and beverages--including beer and wine--at your seat in the theater, and a waiter will bring it to you. For those of us who've been unlucky to not go to the Arclight in Hollywood or the Alamo Drafthouse in Austin, it's heaven, yes?

Well, it should be. I still want to go to the Arclight and the Alamo Drafthouse, because they're purportedly awesome. But I'm very wary about going to the Star Class again; while I understand that the opening weekend of any movie theater, especially one with such a unique selling point, is going to have its fair share of kinks, there's something fundamentally wrong about the layout of the theater as it stands. Whatever issues I had, mind you, had nothing to do with the quality of the food. Though we didn't order any of the paninis that were offered, my wife and I shared a plate of loaded nachos that were very good. But a lot of the aesthetic and physical design choices just don't make sense.

Apparently, a couple of the Star Class screens are called VIP lounges, as they only have about 40 seats. We were not in one of those screens. At first blush, the theater we saw Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1 in was no different than any stadium-seating theater in just about every cinema in the country: about six or seven rows closest to the screen that aren't stadium-seating, and about 12 rows of stadium-seating behind them. Each of the rows were marked by letter and the amount of seats; as an example, we sat in row F,though I didn't get our seat numbers. Our show was at 5, and we were ready to go into the theater at around 4:40. We figured that the movie was just finishing up, seeing as the movie is 150 minutes long and had started previously at 2. With what I figured were a load of previews, the credits were probably still rolling. However, a few minutes later, a couple went in with a supervisor to check and see if they could sit down. We found out that, well, no one had cleaned the theater after the previous show. By the time we sat down, it was getting close to 4:55, and the sole waitress was just beginning to take orders from the first few rows. What's more, when she addressed us, she addressed us in her big-girl voice, and never lowered it.

I wanted to make sure I ordered something, because that was the point, right? Sure, on the one hand, I can be glad that I'm seeing a movie without any kids in the audience, but if you're serving food during a movie--something that seems potentially very convenient--I want to know how disruptive you're going to be. While she could have been worse, I don't know how much worse the waitress could have been. She was, on the one hand, exceedingly friendly and polite. I would imagine that the theater is, at the present time, understaffed; as one of our friends who joined us pointed out, had the theater been full (there were only about 40 people in the audience), ordering and getting food without leaving would have been impossible. However, the waitress was out a flashlight, as it had died on her; she spilled, loudly, a plate of food; she would often mix orders up; and, as I said already, she was loud.

I've heard enough stories about the Alamo Drafthouse to know, or assume, that the people serving know exactly how to do it without being distracting. I hope that, with proper training, the staff at UltraStar are going to do the same. For now, I felt like a guinea pig. It's for that reason that, I'll be honest, I want to see this new Harry Potter film again and not just because I liked it a lot. I did like it a lot, and I'm tempted to call it the best in the series, at least since 2004's Prisoner of Azkaban. But the first 30 minutes of this movie were in and out for me. Every time I'd begin to get sucked in, or want to get sucked in, I'd have to take that plate of nachos, or give my order, or pay (though, being fair, the waitress was jumping around so much that I probably didn't pay for nearly an hour after the film began).

What was immediate in this first viewing is that David Yates, with a whole lot of help from superlative cinematography from Eduardo Serra, has provided the most strikingly beautiful film of the series. For reasons that are clear simply because of the books by J.K. Rowling, but for some directorial choices, this is the first Harry Potter film where...hey, it looks like it was shot in England! Much of the second half of this part takes place completely outside of the world of magic as we know it, and all it does is give Yates reasons to layer in shot after shot after shot of the rolling hills, valleys, and countrysides of England. As always, of course, the technical aspects of the film are beyond reproach (though an early car chase does look a bit too fake). A few critics have pointed out the true change between this film and the preceding six: not only is Hogwarts never seen--though that will change in the final part--but this is the first time the movie's about acting. Whether it's good or not, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1 depends very much on Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, and Rupert Grint.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione have to find the remaining pieces of Voldemort's soul--called Horcruxes--and destroy them so they can kill him for once and for all. Voldemort has grown more and more powerful after Dumbledore was killed at the end of the sixth book/film, and has taken over the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts, but still wants more to top off his insane quest for dominance. As you may have noted by the Part 1 in the title, Voldemort's doing just fine at the end of this movie, and the Horcrux destruction is not complete. But the characters grow a lot closer, and there are truly compelling setpieces and scenes here, from the book and otherwise. Of the three young performers, while none are slouches (and all have grown immensely from the first film, which is really embarrassing to watch these days), Grint is most impressive here.

In the first few films, Ron Weasley was around to pull stupid faces and look silly. In Deathly Hallows, he's jealous and for good reason; the movie does an even better job than the book of making him actively and sensibly get paranoid about how close Harry and Hermione are. Conversely, Radcliffe and Watson have an easy, believable chemistry as friends who could easily be much closer; Ron abandons the group as they're stranded in various forests throughout the country in hiding from Voldemort, and when he does, it gives Harry and Hermione time to bond. The book tells this part of the story slightly differently, but I think the movie makes enough right moves to draw the two together without hammering the point home. Some of the dialogue, again by Steve Kloves, is a bit ham-fisted or overly explanatory, but in general, I think that this film continues the streak of improving on the predecessor. But I want to see it again. I want to get sucked back into this world again.

The Snobbery Of Animation and Navel-Gazing

You may or may not have heard the story, but thanks to a nice old puff piece on Deadline.com by Pete Hammond, an obvious bit of awards-season news has been confirmed: Walt Disney Studios is dedicated to blanketing Los Angeles with For Your Consideration ads for Toy Story 3. The logic behind the idea makes sense--here we have what is likely going to be the highest-grossing film of 2010, one of the best-reviewed films of the year (and depending on what you read, it's the highest-reviewed film of the year), and the final chapter in what is arguably one of the best film trilogies ever. So far, so good, yes? Because of this story, some awards pundits have taken to analyzing whether or not this plan is actually going to bear fruit.

Before I go further, I'll make this clear: I love Toy Story 3. I love Pixar movies. I will be so thrilled if Toy Story 3 wins the Best Picture award (the first that would go to Walt Disney Pictures, actually). Since we're not actually talking on Oscar night, I can't say it definitively, but to say Toy Story 3 winning Best Picture is doubtful is something of an understatement. The most important reason isn't that there are equally strong contenders; there are, including The Social Network, The King's Speech, and Inception. No, the reason is bias. Even before they had a category to use as evidence, a vocal group of pundits and voters don't want to side with animation at the Academy Awards.

Remember, only one animated film got nominated for Best Picture prior to the inception of the Best Animated Feature category--Beauty and the Beast--and Disney animation hadn't been slouching beforehand. So what pisses me off about the bias? It's the idea that animation could be--GASP!--as good as, if not better than, live-action movies. See, to some folks, live-action movies are always going to be the best, no matter what. I was set off today by a post on Awards Daily that basically scoffs at the notion of Toy Story 3 being victorious for a number of ridiculous reasons, and a bare minimum of discussion about those reasons that spell doom for the film's chances. Instead of discussing the bias against animation, specifically among the actors' branch (short explanation: actors don't appear in animated movies, so they wouldn't be predisposed to vote for such films), the post itself is biased.

Among the arguments against Toy Story 3 winning are that it's not as good as Ratatouille or WALL-E. Whether or not this is true is superfluous, first because a film's quality is opinion, not fact. It's an idiotic reason because, as you may have noted, Toy Story 3 was released in 2010, while Rataouille came out in 2007 and WALL-E came out in 2008. Thus, these films are not competing. If anything, Toy Story 3 is potentially squaring off with How To Train Your Dragon, an equally lauded animated film from 2010. But no, what matters is that other Pixar movies were great, so Toy Story 3 flops. The article then states that if Toy Story 3 won, it would degrade the film (which is interesting, because usually a Best Picture Oscar does, you know, the opposite, what with it being the BEST PICTURE OSCAR), and that it would be an embarrassing Oscar decision.

The main issue I have here is that people who have no voice or vote seem to think that their opinions are right, because...well, look, it just is, OK? They've been around the block, they know these things, and you should just shut up. Clearly, these people know what they're talking about. What really frustrates me is that the discussion should be about the bias. Let's not discuss whether Toy Story 3 has a chance or not. Let's discuss why it may be doomed even though it may have enough quality to merit the top honor. The people who vote for the Oscars are allowed to be biased, even if those biases speak against them, such as when some notable older voters didn't vote for Brokeback Mountain because it was about gay people. But there's room for a discussion, as opposed to what amounts to a condescending tsking.

See, at times like these, I wonder what the point is of caring about something so trivial. Now, I love TV and movies, and discussions about them, and all of these things are inherently trivial. But the awards-season chatter has become navel-gazing, and it's annoying because I'm tired of looking at these people's navels, especially when it turns out that all of their concern trolling and whining amounts to nothing. If there has become such a thing as hot, dead air on the Internet, look no further than the awards circuit.

WTF

The scenario: I am at the grocery store picking up some food for dinner. As you do, my eyes drift over to the magazine rack next to the self-service cash register. On the cover of one of the mildly trashy tabloids (not that tabloids aren't trashy, mind you, but some are less so than others) is reality star Kim Kardashian, looking as vapid and bland as ever. The way she's posed, though, and the angle at which the camera faces her is meant to make me feel bad for her, or to make her look pitiful. The headline accompanying the photo reads "I Thought I'd Be Married By Now", mentioning that she is 30 years old. The question I have, genuinely, is this: who the hell is Kim Kardashian and why should I give a rat's ass whether or not she thought she'd be married?

Now, mind you, I don't care. But it was looking at this magazine cover for only a few seconds that I had to wonder: who is this woman? I know her now because she's in the spotlight, and I get a weekly dose of her whenever a clip of her is featured on The Soup. But why is she in the spotlight? This isn't meant to be a "if she's famous, why not me?" post; I seriously don't know who this woman is or why anyone cares about her. According to Wikipedia--I mean it, I kind of want to know who the hell this woman is--her show on E! started in 2007. And she had a sex tape. And her mom is the ex-wife...I think...of a former Olympian.

There are horrible atrocities being committed every day in this world. Aside from the obvious ones, I'm sure terrifying occurrences go by each passing hour without us realizing it. But I know, by sight, who Kim Kardashian is. Most of us do. Why are we so lazy--and believe me, I'm lumping myself in there--to care even a whit about the most vacuous, empty-headed people? Some of you might say, "Oh, well, it makes me feel better that there are idiots out there", or something to that effect. But, a) those idiots make money and b) why would it make you feel better? Each of us probably does something every day that's worth more attention than any Kardashian ever will do. Probably a more pointless post than usual, but I'm just blown away that anyone should care that Kim Kardashian thought she'd be married by now, or that a person could be so transparently selfish. To her, I say, simply, screw you.

The First Week For Conan

Media responses are continually fascinating for being so normally wrongheaded. When the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear was announced by Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert, various media sites went into a frenzy wondering what the rally was about, what Stewart's role was in getting out the vote for the people who showed up, what he would say and who he'd talk about, and so on and so forth. Most of the columns written prior to the rally were pointless because Stewart nor Colbert had said explicitly that the rally would be one thing or another. Once the rally happened, those same critics tsked at Stewart not doing his duty, and essentially missing the point of what Stewart and Colbert do on a nightly basis and what the rally was about.

But that's not what I'm talking about today. No, today, I bring up the media because of the reaction to Conan O'Brien's new show, titled Conan. The first new show premiered on Monday on TBS (not like anyone who uses the Internet wouldn't know that by now, thanks to the predictably incessant advertising), and a shocking amount of critics were baffled, surprised, and disappointed at the fact that Conan O'Brien, the erstwhile underdog of 2010, the folk hero of a generation, and many other exaggerated titles, could do whatever he wanted at TBS and he chose to do a hybrid of his two late-night shows at NBC. What was he thinking, they asked. He had carte blanche, presumably, and he wanted to do a typical talk show that airs during the nighttime hours? What a disappointment, or so it was said.

When I hear or read this criticism, I genuinely wish I could look these people in the eyes and ask, "What were you expecting exactly?" Anyone who'd read the innumerable articles and profiles and interviews of Conan before and after the January debacle at NBC should have been able to glean at least one thing: Conan O'Brien, whether we like it or not, loves the late-night talk-show format. There was some disagreement among a few in the comedy world (notably Louis C.K.) about whether the Tonight Show was really the Holy Grail of television in 2010. We could debate that, I'm sure, for quite a while--and though I know what Louis C.K. means, I still think Conan getting a raw deal supersedes that issue--but there's no question that the television landscape has changed. That doesn't mean Conan O'Brien has.

So when Conan's new show began like anything he'd done at NBC, but a little closer to his work at 12:35, I was not only not shocked but happy. I'd been on Conan's side during the fracas at NBC partly because he had gotten such a shitty deal, and partly because he's talented, funny, and charming. The first-week ratings show that he's probably going to be just fine at TBS--and this time, you'd hope the contract he signed was much more helpful to his cause. The reactions from various critics was baffling also in terms of calling him out for joking about his jump from NBC to TBS. "Stop making these jokes! People won't find it funny if you, a multimillionaire, bitch about switching jobs!" This is the paraphrase of what some critics said, and it's yet another time where I can kind of see why some people don't understand the purpose of a critic. Why read the work of someone who shouldn't be telling anyone how to be funny?

This is not to say that the argument isn't valid. It is. In a month. How can Conan NOT talk about what happened? It's the elephant in the room. He has to make jokes about it, because otherwise, there's no acknowledgment of the fact that, yeah, things have changed pretty drastically for the guy. Is he still making money? Sure. Can the jokes get stale or unfunny? Sure. But...are they funny now? For now, yes, and as some people, specifically the reviewer at the A.V. Club, noted, he stopped making as many jokes about NBC as the week went forward. Conan can reference TBS and the fact that the channel is not really the place people thought he'd land in. But for right now, as long as he's doing what he's supposed to do--BE FUNNY--then the media should just zip it.

And Conan, the man and the show, was funny. Depending on the guests, the interviews were either funny and fresh or boring. Tom Hanks and Jon Hamm were the best of the week, game for any kind of joke. The best and most obvious improvement was putting Andy Richter back where he belonged once the monologue ended, sitting right next to Conan. This is the smartest thing the show's staff could have come up with, because the chemistry Andy and Conan have is so obvious and infectious. I've got a Season Pass for the show right now, but even if I cancel it, all the shows are going to be Coco's website, and it's hard to see TBS not keeping the show on for as long as is humanly possible. Conan's finally in the right place, critics be damned.

Adventures in Netflix Browsing

In what may become a series of posts, partly because Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time is just that boring, I present a few titles of movies that are real, and are available on Netflix. Watch at your own risk.

Tommy and the Cool Mule

A Martian Christmas

I Downloaded a Ghost (starring Oscar nominee Ellen Page)

We All Scream for Ice Cream

Romeo and Juliet: Sealed with a Kiss (a family-friendly cartoon of the famous play, with seals instead of humans)

The Adventures of Food Boy

Gooby

All the Days Before Tomorrow (Just think about that one for a minute.)

How to Make Love to a Woman (No, this is not an instructional video. I think.)

The Joy of Community

Making a television show is work. The job of a TV writer or director or actor may seem pretty simple to anyone with a job outside of the entertainment industry; if not simple, it may seem like a hell of a lot of fun. I mean, you get to work on TV! Who wouldn't love to work in Hollywood, making a television show week after week? Even if it's not a show you're a big fan of, it has to be cool, right? I'm sure that, in many ways, it is, but a majority of the output of television and movies doesn't capture even a smidgen of fun on the part of those in front of the screen, or even that the people working on the show or movie are enjoying themselves. Obviously, not every TV show or movie is going to be a barrel of laughs; that some actors on the darkest and most dramatic shows, such as a majority of the ensemble of AMC's Mad Men, have proven to be such adept comic performers elsewhere is truly remarkable.

But it's rare that a show is just full of unbridled joy, from top to bottom. Most of the best shows on television are compelling, filled with complex, three-dimensional characters, and keep audiences tuned in with sometimes dense plots and mythologies. Mad Men, Lost, Breaking Bad are all great shows, and they have had moments of humor, and there are rare happy moments, but most TV shows don't have what the best comedy on television, Community, has: infectious enthusiasm. It's impossible to fake, but from pretty much the first moment of the pilot episode, this NBC single-camera comedy has been filled with confident, assured storytelling, strong and well-defined characters, and tons of high and low humor of all types.

As an example, I remember the moment where I completely, fully realized that I was going to stick with Arrested Development until its dying breath. Though I'd been watching it since the beginning, and I liked it a lot, it didn't become a classic sitcom for me until the moment Carl Weathers walked onscreen, playing a skinflint version of himself. Something of the concept and execution of this gag just made me laugh and laugh and laugh, so much so that I was probably missing half of the jokes that followed his appearance. Now, mind you, as I've rewatched the first season of the series, I realize that I was a moron for not appreciating fully how brilliant Arrested Development from its pilot (arguably the best comedy pilot of the past decade, if not longer).

For Community, the moment is just as memorable (and in rewatching the early episodes, I realize that I was wrong for not fully loving the show from the beginning). In the 12th episode of the show's first season, "Comparative Religion," the show's ostensible lead character, Jeff Winger, is goaded by a jerk who bullies Jeff's friend Abed around to get into a fight. Jeff, a charming yet vain disbarred lawyer, has never even gotten punched in the face, let alone gotten in a fight, so a a few of his friends from his Spanish study group (Abed, a pop-culture encyclopedia of a man; Troy, Abed's best friend and an ex-high-school football player; and Pierce, who was once the magnate of a moist-towelette company) teach him how to fight.

Of course, this being a comedy, the advice Jeff gets isn't going to be, you know, helpful. The moment that solidified my love for Community comes when Troy approaches Jeff and, after telling him to start out his fight by asking the rhetorical question " 'Sup?'" multiple times in a high-pitched yet threatening voice, tells him to bust out the "Forest Whitaker eyes". This consists of Troy scrunching his face up a bit and letting one of his eyes go a bit lazy, a la Forest Whitaker, and, like many great moments in comedy, it isn't going to be as funny when you read it as when you see it. Donald Glover, the comedian and former writer on 30 Rock who plays Troy, doesn't do the face as cheap mugging, but it's easily one of the funniest things I've seen in a long time. I don't reach for the TiVo remote often to pause something as I laugh, but it was more than helpful this time.

What separates Community--a comedy about the seven misfits who make up a study group at a community college--from a show like Arrested Development, however, is that it manages to ground each of its ridiculous stories and its more conventional stories in reality. What's so intriguing about the show is that it often acknowledges its place as a TV show, no more so than in last night's episode, "Cooperative Calligraphy," which falls under the category of the TV staple known as bottle episodes. Bottle episodes are a simple and common practice in TV land. For the uninitiated, it goes like this: a show is given a certain budget for each season of episodes. Sometimes, an episode will cost more than normal, which is fine, as long as another episode costs a lot less. When this happens, writers create bottle episodes, which are when the regular characters on a show, or just a few of those characters, are confined to one place for an episode. The difference with last night's Community is that the characters--starting with Abed--acknowledge and seemingly encourage the fact that they are in a bottle episode. The premise is self-consciously silly: Annie, the study group's most determined and driven member, has lost her pen. It's happened before many times, and this is the last straw. What's more, this time, there's no way that anyone outside of the group could have stolen it. As the situation escalates, the group locks themselves in the study room to find out who stole the pen, because if one of them did and refuses to own up to it, how can they trust each other as close friends?

What makes the episode work so well within this very rigid format is how it pays off so often on the relationships the characters have with each other, how the script builds growth for each of them, and how much fun they all are and have in the group. Community is--if it isn't obvious from the episode description--deliriously silly sometimes, but it can also have sentimentality, or genuine drama. The show is extremely well-cast, of course. Joel McHale is the snarky, Bill Murray-esque lead, Jeff. Jeff has become more human, and more of a misfit since the show began; he was originally an outsider to the group, having accidentally formed it just so he could hook up with Britta (Gillian Jacobs), the would-be ultra-hipster who easily saw through his fake Spanish skills. There's Shirley (Yvette Nicole Brown), the single mother who's a devout Christian without having been turned into a stereotype or one-note gag. Annie (Alison Brie) started as more of a Tracey Flick type, but has become more confident and human, less rigid as a person. Abed and Troy (Danny Pudi and Glover) were originally diametric opposites: the nerd and the jock. They've become best friends, uniting over their love of pop culture in all forms, whether it's cheesy action movies like Kickpuncher or puppy parades. Pierce (Chevy Chase) manages to be the most cartoonish of characters while also having an overdose of humanity: on the one hand, he can be off-puttingly racist and sexist, but he's a fallen entrepreneur who's desperate to fit in.

I won't go much further on telling you how Community can be funny. To me, the evidence is in the countless scenes and episodes set in the study room, where it's just the seven main characters (who have now all become pretty much equals in terms of screen time) bouncing off one another. There are many other noteworthy elements--the performances from Ken Jeong and Jim Rash as an ex-professor and the college dean, in particular--but what makes Community so solid, so consistent, and so enjoyable to watch is that we believe these people are friends. There are lots of shows that intend to create unity and friendship among the cast of characters; few achieve them as well as Community, which has now become the most must-see show each week. I sincerely hope it lasts for years and years to come; this is something to treasure, and you really need to watch if you aren't already.

Just Quickly...

It's become a monthly expense, of course, but I'm seriously so thrilled to have HBO on my cable TV package now. Yes, I appreciate that this kind of sentiment probably would have been prescient somewhere around, oh, 1999, but I added the channel and its relatives (HBO2, HBO Signature, etc.) onto the package in the hopes that Boardwalk Empire would be as amazing as I'd hoped it would be. In the seven weeks since I got the addition, as I mentioned earlier this week, I've become a fan of Boardwalk Empire, Eastbound & Down, In Treatment, and Bored to Death, among other things. With shows like Luck and Game of Thrones on the way, I'm really happy to no longer have to wait a full year to get in the loop on these kinds of TV shows.

Apparently, based on the poll done recently by, it seems, every we'd-like-to-be-in-the-news-for-a-minute organization that shows what liberals and conservatives watch, I'm a liberal. I knew that, of course, but I'm surprised at how, in these universally useless polls, I kind of match up. I watch Mad Men, The Office, Parks and Recreation, and 30 Rock, hence I am liberal. I avoid shows like Dancing with the Stars, and so I am not a conservative. I realize that the polls are ridiculous, but, by and large, liberals apparently watch shows that are...you know, good. (I kid, mostly, but Dancing with the Stars? NCIS? No thanks.) No HBO shows got too popular among the righties, I guess. Though I still think the old-fashioned HBO tagline--It's not TV, yada yada--is idiotic, I can kind of get behind the thought process. Whatever it is, I'm glad I have it.

An All-Time Low

Tonight marks the first televised interview George W. Bush has given since he left the White House in January. I'd like to--if it's even close to possible--leave politics aside for one moment, at least my own. Last week, an excerpt of the interview, with Matt Lauer, was released, and Bush revealed what he called his all-time lowest moment while in office: his being called, in all essence, a racist by Kanye West when the rapper said on live television that Bush didn't care about black people due to his weak and slow response to Hurricane Katrina.

Now, I appreciate that being called a racist isn't a high point for anyone, whether that person is or isn't actually a racist. But I'm never going to be able to grasp how that could logically be Bush's low point. How about the attacks of September 11th, the day that not only defined Bush's presidency but has defined the entire country? How about never being able to catch Osama Bin Laden, hoisting a proverbial head for all the townspeople to see? How about, you know, Hurricane Katrina itself? Maybe Bush could have offered some self-deprecation and taken, as his all-time low, the decisions or lack thereof that he made in the aftermath of the hurricane?

Kanye West's response was as baffling as Bush's; he used the occasion to respond to Bush's mention by saying that, you know, this was kind of like him being called out by fans and those in the media when he interrupted Taylor Swift at an awards show. Again, politics aside, let's just agree that Kanye West randomly cutting in front of Taylor Swift is nothing like Kanye West calling George W. Bush racist for his response to Hurricane Katrina. Whether you agree or not, one is a little more trivial than the other. But both statements point to West and Bush sharing at least one thing in common: everything has to be about them. Bush is asked for his lowest moment in office, and instead of choosing something that affected hundreds, thousands, millions of people, he chooses something that affected him and, pretty much, only him. West's response turns away from what Bush says into how people ragged on him for being a douchebag. I realize that all public figures, are not so egotistical, but apparently, it really helps.

Iron Man 2

A few months ago, I was listening to the great Canadian comedy podcast Stop Podcasting Yourself (which is, sincerely, very much worth your time, and free). One of the two hosts, Graham Clark, was talking about having seen Iron Man 2 in theaters and not being a fan. While he wasn't really able to pinpoint one thing or another that truly sucked, he did point out that Mickey Rourke saying, "I want my bird," was just about the stupidest thing he could have imagined; that he mentioned this while goofily impersonating Rourke with a mix of Russian and Brooklynese made the whole thing funnier, while also being true.

I didn't like Iron Man 2 as much as I'd wanted to, and it was not nearly as good as its predecessor, but the movie does have strengths. Whenever you stick Robert Downey, Jr., Don Cheadle, Gwyneth Paltrow, Rourke, Sam Rockwell, and Scarlett Johansson in a movie, it's not going to be terrible. That said, with that cast, Iron Man 2 really should be a lot better. Some of the action is memorable and completely appropriate; the early fight on a Monaco race track manages to be properly intense but end quickly because it makes sense within the story. I watched the film again this weekend, the first time since it came out in theaters, and kind of understood where the movie falls apart just a bit.

In terms of storytelling, the first 40-50 minutes make perfect sense and don't disappoint. Tony Stark is living it up in the public as Iron Man, but the technology he created to keep himself alive is killing him, and he doesn't want to tell anyone. Fine. As Iron Man becomes more popular, the son of the other man who came up with the arc reactor with Tony Stark's dad wants revenge on the title character. Also, fine. The government wants the Iron Man suit for military use, and if they can't get it, they'll take the work of his rival, Justin Hammer, a man who would be Tony Stark if he was just a bit smarter. Again, fine. I don't think Iron Man 2 suffers from the same problems Spider-Man 3 did, tossing too much into the pot. Though there are two villains in the film, Ivan Vanko is much more formidable for having creating the Whiplash technology. Rather, Ivan Vanko should be much more formidable, but he's not.

That's the problem with Iron Man 2; after the first third of the film, Vanko disappears or is sat behind a computer. He appears as a supervillain only twice, and the first time is on that race track, as an unknown quantity. Who's Tony going to face off with if not a supervillain? Having Tony deal with personal problems is not the issue, nor are his tussles with his friend Rhodey. The issue is that we end up focusing a bit too much on the side characters who aren't going to pose much of a threat to Tony. For example, I wasn't that annoyed with the Avengers aspect of the film, but I can see why some people were. We spend a good chunk of the final hour of Iron Man 2 as Tony discovers that some people surrounding him are working on a much bigger project that he ends up being a very small part of. What's the point, within Iron Man 2, of watching Tony Stark face off with Nick Fury and Natasha Romanoff if he's told in the end that he can be a consultant, maybe, but nothing more. Obviously, based on the Comic-Con news from this summer, one would assume Tony Stark will be in plenty of The Avengers (and based on the cast and Joss Whedon directing, I am excited), but that doesn't make Iron Man 2 feel as complete or successful. There are good action sequences, specifically the climactic battle, and Downey, Jr. (as well as Rockwell) gets some funny moments, but Iron Man 2 felt a bit more like a letdown on Blu-ray.

A Question

Maybe it's just me, but I've been noticing more and more places online that are essentially outlets for people to talk to each other in more direct ways. On Formspring, I can ask a question of anyone who wants to answer, and I've noticed a lot of film writers of various sites using this and some video question-and-answer sites. It's a great idea, but am I the only one who could give a flying fuck what the people from a kind of not-very-well-known site (Film Stage, for one) have to say? Just a question. Feel free to let me know.

Toy Story 3

For pure emotion, there has been no better movie to see in 2010 than Disney/Pixar's Toy Story 3. There are still two months left, so there's every possibility that this final chapter in arguably the best film trilogy to date will be bested. I doubt it, but welcome the opportunity to be even more overwhelmed by every kind of appropriate moviegoing emotion. That said, it's to the credit of everyone at Pixar, especially the great cast, director Lee Unkrich, and screenwriter Michael Arndt that a movie about toys that come to life when humans aren't around is more emotional than every other movie of the year. That the film is animated makes this a bigger achievement for some people. I'm not one of them.

As we get closer and closer to yearly film awards being announced, there will come more and more debate over whether or not a movie like Toy Story 3 should be considered in the same breath as movies like The Social Network, The King's Speech, 127 Hours, and Inception. Why should an animated movie get nominated in an overall category for best movie if they have a Best Animated Feature category at the Oscars, right? I guess I can understand the logic, but I still harbor a naive idea: the Best Picture category should include only the best films in a year. If animated films happen to be among the best of a certain year, then so be it. If anything, live-action filmmakers should see the appearance of a movie like Up, in last year's Oscars, among the Best Picture nominees as a reminder that they can do just as well as Pixar can.

At this point in 2010, the debate seems pretty moot. Even with more common Oscar bait like The King's Speech, Black Swan, 127 Hours, and True Grit opening in the next couple of months, Toy Story 3 has the distinction of being one of the most critically acclaimed films of all time and one of the most financially successful films ever (to wit: the film is only 5 million dollars away from being Disney's highest-grossing film EVER worldwide, with just over one billion bucks to its name), so it not appearing on the Best Picture list would be a massive surprise. Some folks have gone ape over How To Train Your Dragon--which is DreamWorks' best animated film but still nowhere near as resonant or moving as Toy Story 3--but that is perhaps the darkest of the dark horse contenders.

But enough of the film's awards prospects. The Blu-ray and DVD for Toy Story 3 came out this past Tuesday, and watching it all over again on my HDTV inspired me to write this. I've been debating for quite a while the order of the five films this year that have struck me as the best (again, up to this point). In order of release, those films are Shutter Island, Toy Story 3, Inception, Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World, and The Social Network. For a while, I've been switching between Inception and Toy Story 3 as the best of the year. Both are major achievements, because they go so far within the studio system. If anything, Christopher Nolan did more with Inception than Lee Unkrich did with Toy Story 3. Every time a new Pixar movie comes out, we'll see various reports about how amazing the studios in Emeryville are--and I'm sure that's true, from what I've seen. The folks at Pixar have creative control. Now that they're pretty much the definition of Disney quality, there's no studio interference. Christopher Nolan didn't have that luxury. Of course, had The Dark Knight not been a billion-dollar grosser, Nolan probably wouldn't have gotten Inception made the way it got made.

My point is that both films have their merits. Part of me still leans to having Inception as the best of the year so far, if only because the skill in making a coherent script and film out of the final 90 minutes, which could have easily gone over everyone's heads, is jaw-dropping. The final, multi-level kick is one of the truly brilliant moments in film this year. But Toy Story 3 is no slouch. For sheer daring, watch the landfill sequence. Here's when you know a movie is working: as Woody, Buzz, and the whole gang slide ever slowly into their doom, a belching pit of fire, I was shocked at how genuinely powerful this scene was. The rational part of me knew, and it still does, that the filmmakers are willing to do a lot, but they wouldn't kill one of the toys. And yet, as the toys try to run away from the incinerator and Rex slips and falls, I gasped in shock. "Holy shit, they're going to kill Rex? They can't do that!" This was my thought process. The rational part of me was drowned out by the immense sadness and terror of the scene. The climax is as funny, perfect, and cathartic as anything Pixar's ever done, and still manages to come completely out of the blue while making sense.

I don't mean to shortchange the entirety of Toy Story 3 by only focusing on the final 20 minutes (though it goes without saying that the very last scene of the movie is just as tearjerking for being so damn uplifting). From the rollicking opening to the prison break that kicks off the final act, Toy Story 3 closes out the trilogy as appropriately as possible. Woody, as voiced by Tom Hanks, remains one of the most fascinating three-dimensional characters to come out of animation. As noted by Unkrich and others in various interviews, Woody's slavish devotion to Andy, while eventually well-founded, is meant to sound pretty close to insane in the early going. While that might seem frustrating--especially since we all know Woody's going to be proven right--I like the complexity of the idea; Woody doesn't want to let go of the past, even if sticking with Andy is better than staying around in day care. Though Andy has moved on, and the other toys fully accept that if they want to get played with, it's going to have to be with someone new, Woody can't deal with that possibility. If anything, he's the closest to Lotso, the film's villain. Lotso isn't able to deal with the fact that mistakes can happen, with the simple choices humans make; Woody isn't nearly as mean-spirited about it, but when he declares that Buzz and the others are being selfish, it's a cutting and bitter statement. That it's being made in a film ostensibly for kids is even more notable.

Toy Story 3 continues Pixar's most recent streak of the finest in cinema; since 2007, Pixar has made four films that are among the best of the decade, including Ratatouille, WALL-E, Up, and now Toy Story 3. I do not have high hopes for Cars 2, just as I didn't have high hopes for the first film in that series. However, we already have proof that the people behind Pixar can make satisfying sequels, sequels that equal or surpass the originals. As they've done before, I dearly hope Pixar can prove me wrong. They did so this past June by showing that, yes, Virginia, the final film in a trilogy doesn't have to suck or just be OK. It can be a classic.

Fact and Opinion in Film Criticism

There is, and has been for a long enough time, a disturbing trend online and in the real world, wherein a person's opinion is assumed to be fact. Sometimes, those assuming this are those whose opinions are being heard; we can all think of people who say something that's technically an opinion but want you to believe it's really the truth ("Citizen Kane is the best film ever, really!"). More often than not, though, we've just come to assume that if we go to a blog or website, what we read there will be factual. I'd say I'm getting tired of it, but that would mean it hasn't been a serious and frustrating problem for a while.

A recent kerfuffle via Twitter and blogs about one critic's low opinion of the upcoming Danny Boyle film 127 Hours made me relive my frustration all over again. As context, one of the critics for In Contention, an awards-based film website, gave 127 Hours a D+ in a quickie review via Twitter. This caused, among a few others via Twitter and elsewhere, the online version of seizures. How dare someone not like a movie that everyone else did? What was this guy thinking? Didn't he realize that every other critic who had seen the film deemed it Oscar-worthy? Tensions rose, and one of the main folks who had an issue with the Twitter review, Sasha Stone, wrote up an editorial of sorts on her site, Awards Daily.

It's worth checking out both sites to see the disparate points of view, but baffling to get to the point of both issues; Guy Lodge, the In Contention critic, ended up being bewildered at how much was made of his quick review. The folks at Awards Daily chastised him for not appreciating how important his review could end up being to the film's chances. Maybe we've come to a point where a critic who--while extremely talented, mind you--very few people in the world have heard of can say something in 140 characters, and a film's awards future is affected. Or maybe we've come to a point where people need to take their heads out of their asses. Don't get me wrong, I'm extremely obsessed with movies, television, and popular culture. I am not here to tell off the people involved to remember how insignificant this all is in the grand scheme of things. It's not necessary to say and I'm the last person who should say it.

No, my problem is that the Awards Daily side of the argument is, to me (because, remember, I need to remind you, dear reader, that what I'm saying isn't a statement of fact), so wrongheaded and presumptive in the weirdest ways possible. Is there a scenario in this world where one film critic's opinion could sink a film and ruin its chances at Oscar glory? Sure. In the scenario, though, the critic has to be named Roger Ebert, or maybe Pauline Kael. Oh, and it needs to be 1975 or something. With the proliferation of the Internet, anyone can be a film critic. You don't need to go to film school, you don't need to have a journalism degree, and you don't need to have decades of experience. Some of you read that and think only negative thoughts. And I can't blame you. There are, without question, shitty film critics in the world; lucky for us, most of them aren't well-known and don't know a truly good film if it were to walk up and slap them in the face. Some of the bad critics are well-known; Ben Lyons is Public Enemy, No. 1 to me.

But there are so many voices online that wouldn't have been heard without the World Wide Web. In Contention and Awards Daily wouldn't have existed, and it's the same for most other film-geek havens. Is every critic worth reading? No. Is every critic influential? Absolutely not. In fact, with so many available, it's hard to say that even those working for the most established sources--the A.O. Scotts and Michael Phillips of the world, for example--are influential. I'd also sincerely hope few intend to be influential. A good critic wants to have his or her voice heard, and wants to be considered as a valued source, but not as an all-knowing arbiter of quality. My point in all of this is that critics are always going to be sources of opinions. 127 Hours, as an example, has been getting mostly high praise. Guy Lodge disagrees; not only does he have every right to do so, but he has every right to do so in written form, whether it's Twitter or a blog post. Is his opinion more valid than that of those who love the film, or less valid? Depends on the reader.

I think what frustrates me about this particular argument is that Stone argues that an opinion can be right or, in this case, wrong. She writes, in the post titled "Why Film Critics Matter, One More Time," "[Guy] is entitled to his opinion, absolutely. He is entitled to write it on a popular Oscars website and put it out there. But I'm here to say that, as much as [I] like Guy, he's just flat out wrong this time around." Now, let me qualify this by saying that, thanks to me not living in New York or Los Angeles, I have not seen 127 Hours. But I'm here to say that Guy Lodge isn't wrong, BECAUSE HE IS STATING AN OPINION. Opinions are not facts. We've gotten into a lot of trouble politically in the last decade because of people in power using opinions as facts, and in a much less important way, it's a common issue in the world of film writing.

When I see 127 Hours, I will form my own opinion. I have hopes for the film; not high ones, as I find Danny Boyle to be a fabulous visual stylist with a propensity for making films with terrible third acts. However, I like James Franco quite a lot, and the true story upon which the film is based--which made the national news rounds in 2003, yet I've little knowledge of what happened--is compelling. When I see the movie, I may like it, or I may dislike it. Either way, Guy Lodge isn't going to end up being wrong. I might disagree with him, but it's not going to make him wrong. This argument from Stone frustrates me most because it's even shaky to say a person is wrong about their opinion of a film if that film is The Godfather or 2001 or Citizen Kane. Those are three universally beloved American films, and you may have different responses to each of them. 2001 remains one of the "great" films of all time that I just cannot fully love. Visually impressive, fascinating and thought-provoking, and I'd still take out a good 20 minutes from the movie. What do I know from Stanley Kubrick, of course, but it's my opinion. Does it make me wrong?

You may read my condensed opinion of 2001 and think that, hey, mine is not an opinion you want to take as seriously as others. Maybe that's what Sasha Stone is getting at; that she may respect Guy Lodge and consider his opinion worthy, but by not being a fan of 127 Hours, for whatever reason, she won't consider his opinion first. Or maybe I'll never know what she truly meant, but whatever the case, her editorial fell short. I don't have a problem with wanting to give major film critics an equal, or stronger, voice in the online void, but not at the expense of genuinely thoughtful and well-written younger critics who make the mistake of not falling in line with everyone else.

Friday Night And I'm Blogging

Elyse and I had an amazing dinner tonight at a local French bistro. I bag on Phoenix pretty much as often as I can, but a local French bistro not sucking....yeah, I'm not complaining tonight.

I'm going to go into this in a post later this weekend, but for as much shit is on television--and as I watch The Soup while typing, let me tell you that there is plenty of shit on TV--there's just as much amazing storytelling going on. When Boardwalk Empire premiered on HBO, that was the push I needed to become a subscriber, and in the past six weeks, I've added five shows to my TiVo Season Pass Manager: Boardwalk Empire, Bored to Death, In Treatment, Real Time with Bill Maher, and Eastbound & Down. HBO's not the only one with great TV (though their pipeline, including shows from the Game of Thrones series, the creator of In The Loop, the writers of Tropic Thunder, and David Milch, is most impressive), though. AMC said good-bye to Mad Men and Rubicon, but said hello to The Walking Dead, which really was an incredibly impressive pilot. I still consider the Lost pilot to be the best drama pilot ever--it had about as much time as did The Walking Dead and had to fully introduce--in one-dimensional terms, but the point stands--14 characters, not just one.

That aside, The Walking Dead began really strongly, to the point where the next five episodes in the first season (which is short, but based on the pilot's ratings, the second season announcement will be coming very soon) could be the worst ever produced, and I'd still watch. FX is standing out as a solid network for TV all year-round: this past March, they had Justified; in June, they had Louie; now, they have Sons of Anarchy and Terriers; in the winter, they'll have Lights Out, which is apparently awesome, and then Justified returns in February. Of course, based on the ratings, FX would have to be miracle-makers to renew Terriers, which is a shame because it's a brilliant show, as assured and impressive as Boardwalk Empire has been. Donal Logue and Michael Raymond-James play low-rent but intelligent detectives in Ocean Beach, California, and...just watch. Wednesdays, 10, FX. Watch.

So, in short, it's a slow Friday night, but TV is amazing these days. We're living in a great time for televised entertainment, folks. Filmmakers should be ashamed of the products they offer when they barely--if ever--meet up to the standards of the small screen.

Hereafter

Apparently, I don't get Clint Eastwood. Eastwood is one of the prolific filmmakers in cinema; though you could barely compare their films in any other way, it's hard not to think of Eastwood in the same breath as Woody Allen. Both men are known for their work behind and in front of the camera, both are revered and getting on in years, and both somehow manage to make at least one movie per year (for Eastwood, this streak is more recent, but seemingly more impressive considering he's a few years older). Of course, unlike Eastwood, Allen writes his movies. Even if his work has fallen off in the past few years, it's still impressive that Woody Allen's able to write and direct his own films at such an elderly age. There's no ignoring the fact that these two men still working is a genuine pleasure unto itself. But that doesn't give them free passes.

I honestly do not want to think the worst of those critics who've come out in such favor of Hereafter. What I mean by this is that I don't want to sound like A.O. Scott did when he said of Martin Scorsese's Shutter Island, "There are, of course, those who will resist this conclusion [that the film is a strained and pointless contrivance], in part out of loyalty to Mr. Scorsese, a director to whom otherwise hard-headed critics are inclined to extend the benefit of the doubt." Now, because he's writing for the Grey Lady, and because he's A.O. Scott, my issue isn't with the writing style. I could just as easily say the same of those who love Hereafter, including people such as Kenneth Turan and...A.O. Scott. But I don't want to make such a sweeping generalization, as Scott did. Though it's well-written, what he writes boils down to the following: if you liked Shutter Island, then it's clearly only because you like Martin Scorsese too much to be honest. What he's saying if that if you liked the movie, you're wrong.

And, as much as too many film writers will say, facts and opinions are not the same thing. My opinion of Shutter Island is, to no one's shock (I'm sure), quite different from Mr. Scott's, and I know it has nothing to do with some fawning desire to not pan a Martin Scorsese film. Because of that, I'm going to hope that Scott's not doing what he accuses others of doing in regards to Hereafter. Part of the issue is as I stated initially: I do not get Clint Eastwood. Maybe it's better for me to say that I don't get what people like so much about his films. Eastwood, as director and actor, has made an unquestioned masterpiece: 1992's Unforgiven. I won't spend much time on the film but it's a brilliant examination and subversion of the figure Eastwood cut in various spaghetti Westerns in the 1960s. I'm also a fan, though marginally less so, of Mystic River and Million Dollar Baby, so I'm not coming to this party as a perennial Eastwood hater.

But the years have passed, and the more I hear about movies like Changeling and Gran Torino and Invictus, I wonder if I'm watching the same film as those who champion them. Hereafter, it's worth pointing out, has not had a universally positive critical response, but some of the more notable critics have praised the film from top to bottom. And I don't know why. Hereafter is a movie that's almost entirely about how little effort Clint Eastwood puts into the films he makes these days. I should congratulate him for being able to make a relatively coherent feature-length film at the age of 80, but I shouldn't make that the entirety of the praise.

To me, Eastwood's first flaw is something that a surprising number of people consider a strength of his: simplicity. Many people will give the man hosannas for his unsophisticated, unstylish approach to storytelling. And, yeah, that can be a good thing in movies, but after a while, it gets tiresome. A movie about three people touched in various ways by what comes after we die is an intriguing, if done-before, premise, but making the story as dry and uninvolving in the process is not a good idea. What Hereafter is, most of the time, is slow. While only being about two hours long, this is not a movie that feels the need to move fast. Again, some people will say that's something worth cheering for, but not every non-action movie needs to move slow, just to balance out all those movies that go quickly.

The film is written by Peter Morgan, and whatever sparkling prose he may have invented for such films as The Queen and Frost/Nixon is absent here. On the one hand, I can see why he'd want to craft a two-hour film from three divergent stories that end up meeting in the climax. While Morgan's scripts for the other two films were nominated for awards, he might have wanted to do something different, to be experimental in some way. But there's no throughline here. After about an hour of a very common pattern (the first scene is about a female French journalist who dies for a minute in the wake of a tsunami, the second features a little boy whose twin brother dies, and the third follows an ex-psychic trying to make a normal life for himself), the question becomes, solely, "How do these three get in a room together?"

What's more, there's a follow-up: "Why should I care?" Yeah, I didn't get an answer to that one. For Morgan and Eastwood (who reportedly used the first draft of the script, because...well, why not, apparently), the answer is as vague as the visions of the afterlife we're given via Matt Damon's character, George. What's interesting is that each of the stories, by themselves, could make for an engaging film. By cutting the stories up, all Eastwood does is make me want to go back to the character I was just with. Damon fares best here, because he's most comfortable in the role of a guy who just wants to be normal, and has forced his life into normality as awkwardly as you'd imagine. Cecile De France is not bad, but not particularly noteworthy, as Marie, the journalist who decides to discover what she can about the afterlife to shocking results--or so we're told.

This is the final nail in the coffin of Hereafter. In a key late scene, Marie is confronting a publisher who is turning down her proposal for a book about the hereafter, saying that she has had to deal with major prejudice from religious and political factions in writing her book. This is a seriously surprising turn of events, especially since we've seen absolutely no evidence of it. The only person who ends up really doubting her is the douche she was sleeping with. Eastwood, like the most elementary and unknowing creative writer, chooses to tell us, not show, even in his better films. I've been told I should like Clint Eastwood's most recent films by some critics, but as of late, I've seen no evidence that proves otherwise. Someone needs to show me what I've been missing, because I see nothing in Hereafter that changes my mind.

I'm Not In A Good Mood...

...and I'll tell you why.

First and foremost, politics infuriate me. I get so fucking angry (and yeah, this is going to be profane, so you're warned) when I see how many Democratic voters didn't show up at the polls yesterday. I don't argue that there are problems in this country. Of course there are. There were before Obama took office, and there will be when he leaves in either 2012 or 2016. The idea that registered Democratic voters are showing Obama how they feel by not voting is so ridiculously wrong-headed and offensive to the ideals of the country. I know this is what some people chose to do yesterday. In 2 years, tell me how much of an impact it's made on your life.

I'm also frustrated at the reaction of the media to the political news, and--as always--their shortsighted reaction to the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear. How dare Jon Stewart tell the media how to do their job, right? It's almost like he's got a point when he points out, via the use of clips and quotes, how shitty the mainstream media (or, sorry, the LIBERAL media, because that's what's involving Andrew Breitbart in ABC News' election coverage would have been had they not realized how fucking stupid that idea was) really is at their job. I certainly agree with one aspect of the argument: Jon Stewart really shouldn't be pointing out the media's flaws. He really shouldn't be, and he really shouldn't have to. And yet, the world will turn, the sun will rise, and the media will continue to blow.

I'm frustrated with the state of the country, and the state of the state. Essentially, it's hard to re-immerse myself in the world of entertainment when I know how badly the world is going. I could go on, but if I do, it's going to drive me crazy. Just a bit of venting. That's what blogs are for, right? Right.