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Bones Recap: “The Beginning in the End”
May 21st
I friggin’ love Bones. I love it in spite of the fact that, on paper, it’s one of those conventional and formulaic series tailor made for retirees. That might even make me love it more, because during the worst, most procedural episodes, it remains committed to telling the long-running story of some of the most believable and compelling characters on television. And that’s what TV is supposed to be about, yes? So it’s apropos that I mark the occasion of this sorry blog’s soft relaunch with a few thoughts on the fifth season finale.
The last few episodes saw the relationship between Brennan and Booth take a sad, shitty turn. Booth’s sudsy 100th episode admission of love was received with about as harsh of a rejection as fans could have feared. And what made it so bad was that Brennan knows that she wants the same thing he does. But his influence on her has slowly chipped away the clinical, standoffish character she’d been most of her life. So before fully giving in and arriving at the inevitable—god, please make it inevitable—conclusion that the feeling is mutual, she has to go off on a journey of self-evaluation and, in a term Booth knew she would understand best, evolution.
For the TV landscape of the last decade, the end of fifth seasons above all others are marked by the game changer. Character departures, flash forwards and devastating interpersonal schisms are commonplace. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that one of the two leads would head off in some story-shifting plot development last night. But it wasn’t just Booth or Brennan. With the exception of Doctors Saroyan and Sweets, the entire Jeffersonian team disbanded… for a year.
They gathered one last time in the very unrealistic venue of an airport terminal. (Past the security checkpoint? I couldn’t tell.) Brennan headed off with Daisy on some anthropological goldmine of an expedition, Angela and Hodgins were going to drive Billy Gibbons’ magical car across the Atlantic and, in a moment I’ll freely admit made me weep, a surprisingly old-looking Booth, heartbroken and out of place in his army fatigues, headed back to Afghanistan. [Sidenote: this series' biggest misstep thus far has been its treatment of post-war trauma, so lets hope it remembers Booth is as thick-skinned as they come and won't return in season six with any social disorders or homicidal inclinations.]
It’s not a total bummer though. Five years in and our duo have still managed to successfully stave off a hookup by many different but believable turns. Fans can gripe, but a fully realized romance between Booth and Brennan will be the death knell for Bones. So as long as the show runners can keep thinking of realistic ways to postpone their fated union, I’m glad to watch.
Upfronts 2008: So… You Think You Can Stop Dancing?
May 15th
My silence may be eerie, but I’m sneakily still very much liking TV. In fact, I just got in from the Fox upfront party. It’s been an exhausting and kind of uneventful week, but what better excuse to touch base than the TV equivalent of prom?
So this year marked my first in-person upfront experience, and I have to say, they’re kind of gross. A bunch of sloppy ad folks boozing to the point of public embarrassment and blatant starfucking does not a good time make. It was an education though. My deep love of So You Think You Can Dance (returning in one week!) was slightly challenged by the throng of contestants from seasons two and three that could literally not stop dancing at any point during the night. Brazilian BBQ buffet? Dance! Line at the porta-potty? Dance! Creepy ‘80s cover band? Um… dance!
They have their charms though. And about a month from now I’ll be so thoroughly into their successors, this transgression will be long forgotten. What won’t be forgotten is the fact those two beautiful creatures pictured above and Eliza Dushku all bolted before I got there. Perhaps it’s best that they stay on their respective pedestals, but I sure would have love to see TV actors not on Gossip Girl every once in a while.
Enough of that. Let’s get down to business. This time last year I was an unhappy camper. Veronica Mars was done, I was mostly unimpressed with the pick-ups, and Eliza Dushku’s pilot was passed over by FOX. Things could not be more different in 2008. Friday Night Lights and How I Met Your Mother, the two bubble shows that I desperately needed to see renewed, will both be back with a vengeance. I’m genuinely excited by some of the new offerings. And this year’s Dushku pilot, a little show called Dollhouse by some writer/auteur/genius named Joss Whedon, is a sure bet for midseason. If you can catch the trailer (they keep pulling them), you will see how very drool inducing it is. Full fall schedules for all the networks, if you haven’t already seen them, can be found right here: ABC, CBS, FOX, the CW. (NBC’s is oooooold news.)
There weren’t any surprises this week. News of renewals and pickups, save a few exceptions, all came weeks ago. The only real shock was that after all the hullabaloo over the upfronts being “soooo different” this year, they were more or less the same. No complaints on my part, as I can think of far worse things than tradition. Attention-starved dance competition veterans for one.
Why I Watch American Idol: An Overly Serious/Sentimental Look at TV in 2008
Feb 21st
As we’ve been hearing for months, this season of American Idol brings with it the most solid top 24 in years – if not ever. Their performances this week do not reflect that. If they were outstanding, it was only in their ability to not completely suck. Mediocrity is nothing to strive for, but with all but five of the contestants, that’s what we’re getting. Results shows at this point are boring in their predictability. There are no surprises as to who will go home before the top 12, and even if there were, it’s impossible to already be invested enough to care. But every hour of live Idol is required viewing for me. Not for entertainment, not for suspense but for the sheer fact that American Idol is the only show that makes me feel like I’m not the only one watching.
Earlier this week, NBC announced that it was officially killing the regular TV season. They will be running a 52-week schedule starting this fall. It isn’t far off from what we’ve gotten used to in the past decade, with the upswing of original and admirable content during the summer season, but this official nail in the coffin doesn’t come without stirring up a bit of wistfulness in my TV-loving heart. You see, the tube, as it was when I was growing up, is gone. The writing has been on the wall for years… and most recently in The New York Times. Their Fall 2007 TV preview included a piece about the way people are defined by the shows they love. It’s the medium’s golden age, and people are taking advantage of this on their own terms. This is not a bad thing. As a TV fan, obsessive and aspiring scholar, nothing is more intriguing to me than the notion of seeing yourself reflected in your set. But with this new lack of structure and focus on independence, the once communal culture of TV barely extends beyond small factions of rabid fans. Nielson can talk ratings all he wants, but as I see it, the collective TV experience is on its way out.
So this is why I watch American Idol. For me, it offers something that none of my scripted favorites can. It is event television in a time when event television (save award shows, sporting events and national disasters) is gone. Sure, Lost, Entourage and Weeds are all good for the water cooler, but do your parents know what’s happening on them? Are their moments dissected or mocked on every talk show and local news broadcast? When something even remotely unexpected takes place, can you not get away with watching them a few days late and remain spoiler free? The answer to all of these questions is “no.” American Idol owns this type of attention (in my opinion, Dancing With The Stars still isn’t there), and offers me my only means to bond with TV-watching America. It’s the only thing we do together.
Just a couple weeks ago I was lamenting with a friend over the state of music videos – how they hold no interest to me any longer and how I’m not even sure if any of my favorite bands actually produce them. We talked about how their premieres used to be events. Everyone wanted to see who would make cameos in Michael Jackson’s clips and how he’d stretch 3:48 of song into a ten-minute feature. They’d air them on network TV – an idea that seems so foreign now it’s hard to reconcile that it was ever real. I was reminded of this tonight during the filler-heavy Idol results show when they premiered Paula Abdul’s attempt to reignite her music career. It’s beyond bizarre that their screening of “Dance Like There’s No Tomorrow” was the first music video I’ve seen outside of YouTube in well over a year. If someone as immersed in television as myself can claim this, I can’t imagine how many other (less fervent) viewers shared my experience. However many there were, no show but American Idol could have sparked the question.
When someone asks me what television shows I like, which someone inevitably does on an almost daily basis, I skew my answer for the person asking. In most instances, I pick the most popular or recognizable series in my roster – like Idol. If I were to tell one of my parents’ friends, for example, that I love Battlestar Galactica, they would be confused and possibly uncomfortable. I, in turn, would be angry that my declaration was met with glassy eyes and an ignorance to the fact that it is one of the smartest and most relevant programs of the last decade. But by holding my favorites close to my heart, and only discussing them in my writing and among like-minded friends, I realize I am a part of the diaspora.
In the end, my nostalgia for family time in front of a tube free of DVR, DVDs and divisive or elitist programming is a moot point. I wouldn’t trade my TV lifestyle or my favorite dramas for the widest flat screen you could dream of. If connecting with my countrymen means only watching shows as agreeable American Idol, I’d prefer to be on my own. But I’ll enjoy the happy medium I have right now while I still can. The TV experience isn’t what it used to be, and what’s left of it is fading fast.
Idol Worship: And So It Begins…
Jan 16th
American Idol has come to be one of the most necessary evils in my life. I loath it because it wastes countless hours of my time with the same manufactured content, and regardless of how much I swoon for one or two contestants each season, none of them ever go on to produce any music I’d actually go out of my way to listen to (save scanning the shower radio every morning for the station kind enough to be playing “Before He Cheats”). No, it does nothing but transfix me for almost half the year before leaving me scratching my head every May as the confetti falls on some genuinely talented but ultimately uninteresting sap singing the newest stinker in the growing pantheon of shockingly bad made-for-Idol singles. I vow never to put myself through it all again.
But summer passes, the leaves change, snow (or at least the threat of it) blankets the better part of our fair country and I find myself curious as to what different brand of crazy will be showcased during another round of auditions. It’s already too late. I’ve already latched on to a few pretty faces and once again sought comfort in Simon’s predictably snide remarks. It’s like trying to smoke socially after a few months on the wagon. I know it’s a bad idea, but it feels so good and familiar.
I’m hardly saying that I was suckered into watching last night’s premiere. I’ve known for over a month that I’d be walking into this trap willingly. As my ensuing coverage will likely prove, I’ll be nothing short of obsessed with American Idol for the duration of its seventh season. And I’m beginning to think it may always be that way. As long as the show more or less stays the same and the original players are on board, you will probably find me tuning in with eyes fixed in horror and wonder and my phone ready to go to bat for someone I’ll have discarded by the premiere of So You Think You Can Dance.
Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Jan 15th
I hate it when things I’m absolutely convinced are going to suck… don’t. I pride myself on my overwhelmingly justified pessimism. Examples of its failures are not welcome. So basically falling in love with Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles is bittersweet for me. But the shame for swooning over yet another film-turned-TV-show is eclipsed by the joy of finding a new show that is a fresher, faster and more entertaining action/science fiction offering than the failed (in my humble opinion) remake of Bionic Woman or Heroes‘ second season.
As you all are well aware, the series is a continuation of the film franchise. The story of robots sent from the future to kill or protect a boy, John Connor, who will grow up to save mankind from an evil robotic uprising. Robots do a lot of the fighting and skin-melting-offing, but the real hero is John’s mother Sarah – a woman whose only task in life is to see her son reach maturity. She’s the bad-ass literal interpretation of every mother’s struggle. In this installment, the two are visited by a kind, lady-robot, Cameron, who takes them to present day (2007) from where the story picked up (1999). It’s supposed to be safe in 2007, but clearly it is not.
John is played by Heroes-alum Thomas Dekker, who left/was written off the show after they made him gay, un-made him gay and then just ran out of story for him. He does a nice enough job playing an angsty teen fighting his fate, but he’s really just there for his middle-part to remind you they’re from the 90s. Summer Glau plays Cameron to the delight of lonely, basement-dwelling Firefly fans everywhere. Her formal ballerina training makes for some exceptional fight sequences, but it’s the fish out of water humor that makes her such an asset to the show. Portraying human-esque robots as wide-eyed, emotionless automatons only capable of literal interpretation will honestly never get old.
As the title would lend one to believe, the real star here is Sarah Connor, played with remarkable sincerity by 300‘s Lena Headey. Sarah seems like a character too complex for a venue like “robots killing humanity,” but we’re all well aware that this has worked in the past. She has the weight of the world on her shoulders, and you can see it in every glance, movement and bullet she takes. In addition to constantly fearing for her son’s safety (and the world’s because of it), Sarah also is faced with her own mortality: the realization that she is destined to die of breast cancer before the apocalypse and ensuing rebellion ever occur. The fact that the actress is not remotely old enough to have mothered this child doesn’t even matter past the first scene. You just want to give the girl a break. Her narration is also not the least bit jarring – a triumph indeed.
Terminator is not without its faults. In the umpteen conversations I’ve had about the show in the last 24-hours, I don’t believe I’ve said “The Sarah Connor Chronicles” once without referring to it as “The Sarah Chronicor…Chronicles.” It doesn’t exactly slide off the tongue. But this is a superficial gripe. My real beef is that familiarity with the franchise is something of a prerequisite. Call me inhuman for not really remembering the Terminator movies (I swear, I watched the first two… when I was two and nine respectively), but you can never ever expect a TV audience to be so keen. References to other characters, terms and companies are flying clear over my head, and I’m genuinely paying attention. A click of the Netflix and a rainy Sunday afternoon will quickly solve the problem, but it’s a silly thing to expect of less dedicated viewers. The intensity, subtle humor and Lena Headey’s heartfelt and sobering take on motherhood should more than make up for any confusion though. Had its predecessors felt this relevant, I probably would have remembered better.
Futurama on DVD: Bender’s Big Score
Dec 12th
The term “geek” used to refer to a discernible group of characters, and they clung to each other under that word like it was one giant Enterprise-shaped umbrella. But things changed, and time, the Internet and the growth of niche fandom drove them apart – the pop culture equivalent to Darwin’s finches. Now the geek’s tastes widely vary and often conflict with those of other geeks. Authenticity belongs to nobody and everybody. As a Buffy geek, my monthly trip to Midtown Comics is met with scoffs when I approach the register with nothing but the latest issue of the show’s comic continuation. I, in turn, scowl at the unattractive, middle-aged men pawing at sexually explicit copies of manga. It’s hard to believe we have any common ground, but the 21st century brought a cultural flypaper that seemed to appeal to those from all walks of geekdom: Futurama.
Though it was canceled a few years back, their reward for an estimated $100+ million in DVD sales and nailing key demographics on Cartoon Network is four films to be released on DVD and then broken up into 16 episodes that will air on Comedy Central. The initial fruits of their labor, Bender’s Big Score, came out two weeks ago, and though I’ve always been more of a passive fan, the idea of new Futurama was enough to make me shell out $24.99.
So here’s the thing that I didn’t actually know about Futurama: the people who write it are smart – crazy smart. They have PhDs in Chemistry and Math and MAs in Computer Science and Philosophy. What they’ve created in the past, and in this film in particular, is a comedic look at science and the future – but with correctly placed four dollar words and legitimate scientific principals. This was one of their biggest successes in developing a cult following, but for me, it is the biggest problem with this new offering. The time travel theme that the story hinges on gets so repetitive, convoluted and confusing it made me not want to pay attention. I probably missed a lot of funny in the process. Bender’s Big Score isn’t bad. As a stand-alone episode of the series, it might actually be great, but as a long-anticipated 88-minute film, it’s just kind of a disappointment. So if you’re considering picking up a copy or making it a last minute addition to your Christmas list, I have to advise against it. Futurama is best enjoyed on the medium it’s most familiar with.
Bones Gets Freaky As Hell
Nov 21st
If any of you were within a few miles of lower Manhattan at around 8:59 last night, you probably heard the unmistakable sound of a TV blogger screaming like a lady. Well, it was me. And if you caught the latest episode of Bones, you know exactly why.
I hate to be a sucker for the old forensics show x serial killer + conspiracy theory = third season routine, but Bones is playing out this “Gormagon” storyline with an almost Hitchcockian deftness at maintaining suspense. Last night’s episode, “The Knight on the Grid,” picked up the only uncaptured villain in the world of Bones for the first time since the season premiere. He’d been mentioned, and suspected in other murders, but last night we finally saw him. He’s incredibly spry on a motorcycle, and he makes dirty bombs packed with human teeth! He’ll pin a child to the bottom of a pool just to get you off his back! He’s a villainous dynamo the likes of which you’ve never seen before! And considering he’s also two or three different people working together, you’re going to see a lot more of him this season (you know, if there is more). The episode sidetracked a little with Brennan’s ongoing familial issues of crime and parole. It doesn’t make for the most compelling viewing, but it furthers a greater plot and makes our awkward heroine that much more human. I like that Bones is really playing with the formula this season. I’ve always thought they did a good job distinguishing themselves from other procedurals, but they apparently aren’t content with just that.
The episode finished off with a thoroughly annoying montage set to angsty lady rock. I was angry and hurt that this glorious car-bombing, cannibal-chasing, baby-drowning night of Bones would conclude with a slide show of soap opera caliber facial expressions, but then they threw in one last scene: a shot of a spiky-toothed serial killer jumping from a coat closet and onto a lobbyist he no doubt proceeded to eat! It was enough to make me feel emasculated to anyone within earshot and dub “The Knight on the Grid” the scariest hour of TV this season.
Whedon Welcomes Dushku to Dollhouse
Nov 1st
After the premature demise of Nurses, the show that wasn’t, FOX’s guilt and/or lusty adoration for Eliza Dushku prompted them to sign a fancy development deal with the actress to ensure that she would indeed come back to television in a show tailor-made for her. Naturally, she turned to her former Buffy-boss, and all around TV sensei, Joss Whedon for advice on the proper next steps. The mind of Whedon churns faster than you or I could ever comprehend, so in a matter of moments, he decided exactly what her show should be: a science-fiction drama about “human chalkboards” created and helmed by him.
TV Week has this to say about the show: “Dollhouse stars Dushku as Echo, one of a group of secret agents living in a futuristic dorm. Each has the ability to be imprinted with custom personalities and abilities for special assignments. When they return, their newly acquired memories are wiped. The show follows Echo as she takes on a variety of assignments—some romantic, some adventurous, some uplifting, some illegal—and gains awareness of her role and confinement.”
Has the battle between serial and non-serial drama ever been clearer on a single show? Dollhouse screams for rich, elaborate, drawn-out storytelling, but the main characters’ mental conditions almost forbid it. It’s brilliant and dirty exciting for any fans of Whedon, Dushku or good television in general. Even more exciting: the show could be debuting as soon as spring 2008 with FOX committing to at least seven episodes. That means that endless speculation and worrying about the show actually coming to fruition isn’t necessary. I always get confused when shows are given an episode commitment before the network ever sees a finished pilot or even a script, but as a friend pointed out to me, “It is Joss. He don’t do pilots.”
The Next Great American Band
Oct 19th
The American Idol machine isn’t necessarily evil. Regardless of the winners’ careers, Idol is still compelling TV six years in. And as I’ve said before, spin-off So You Think You Can Dance is the greatest competition show out there. I should have little reason to be skeptical about the producers’ latest offering, The Next Great American Band (FOX; 8PM)… but I totally am. Is it because of the painfully lame panel of judges? No. Is it because Fox dumped the show on Fridays? No. It’s because of promotional photos like the one above.
The majority of the bands we’ve seen in the commercials are ridiculous clichés or generic whiny-rock – I’d say they’re good for a laugh, but I’m pretty sure we’re expected to take a lot of them seriously. And seeing as how Goo Goo Dolls frontman John Rzeznik is apparently our barometer of taste, I can’t expect I’ll share the opinions of the judges (unless obligatory surly Brit keeps Rzeznik and Sheila E in check). If you’re into Daughtry, you’re in luck. American Band will likely give us a similarly douchey troop as a winner. It’s the last thing we need, but I can’t imagine getting anything else.
The Next Great American Band will probably have more than a few legitimately funny moments. God only knows how wonderfully awkward and horrible most of the auditions will be, but I can in no way endorse you watching it. Anything in direct competition with Friday Night Lights is the enemy… and the enemy must be stopped.
Editor’s note: Here endeth the week of hate. I promise to like things again starting Monday.
Bones: Death in the Saddle
Oct 10th
Leave it to forensic dramas to expose the more absurd fetishes in the world. When a body that’s been ritualistically killed like a racehorse turns up on Bones, their track record would make you think that some cult or criminal mastermind was behind the crime. The answer was much simpler: a jilted lover from a weekend retreat of “pony play” enthusiasts. For those of you not in the know, those are people who get off on dressing like horses and/or horse-masters and prancing around stables. It was almost like an episode of HBO’s Real Sex circa 1997 but with attractive people. A little googling will show that the real fans of pony play are not primetime TV friendly. I’ll spare you a link.
Between forced science-speak and annoying FOX programming plugs (even you can’t make me watch Jeff Foxworthy, Boreanaz!), last night’s episode maintained the third season’s surprising increase in awesomeness and offered more than the usual allotment of laughs with gratuitous scenes of horse/jockey role-playing and the thinking man’s Deschanel at her comedic peak (in a hesitant monotone: “Stop! Or I’ll kick you in the testicles!”). Also my assessment/profession of guilt a couple weeks back is looking less unfounded by the episode. Season three of Bones is chock full o’ serial storylines! The search for Angela’s mystery husband continues, we still don’t what the hell happened to Zack in Iraq and Bones and Booth’s broken chemistry has made us completely forget about wanting them to throw down. We just want them to be buddies again!
As you might imagine, this week’s taboo case brought to light yet another subject matter that Booth and Bones do not see eye to eye on. Old-fashioned, romantic Booth thinks fetishes are a dirty way to avoid true intimacy. Rational, woman-of-science Bones thinks some people are wired for kink and doesn’t see a problem with a little role-playing. Did they agree to disagree like every other week? Nope! When faced with Booth’s sweet confessions about relationships and cliché statements about “making love,” even Bones is helpless. Another round to you, Seeley.