I don’t ever recall wanting to like a show as much as John From Cincinnati. With my favorites dropping like flies and my other must see TV generally lacking depth, John seemed like he could be more than just a nice, scripted respite from my reality-soaked summer – he could be my new reason to evangelize the glories of the idiot box. I could be his champion!
But as it turns out, John From Cincinnati is just as weird as everyone has been saying. The show chronicles the Yost family, a resentful foursome who haven’t caught enough breaks. They live in a Southern California surfing community with a host of other equally bizarre characters and a newly arrived stranger, John. I realize that it’s a lot to ask of show to have a plot clearly laid out in the pilot, but having at least enough lucid characters to have a few understandable conversations is not. John From Cincinnati is a parade of undiagnosed schizophrenics, autistics and a charmingly taciturn Luke Perry. John himself is a cross between ET and Leonardo DiCaprio, circa What’s Eating Gilbert Grape? – his few words mostly the result of a bizarre, never-ending game of copycat. The sanest character, Mitch Yost, is oddly enough the one you’ve seen sporadically hovering above the ground in promos and posters.
The only clear message is that John is some sort of naive second coming of Christ or other messenger from above (Think Michael without the dancing and obesity), but so far the most supernatural acts have been the responsibility of either a teenage boy or Al Bundy’s parrot. So John might just be a red herring.
Coherent or not, the show is worth watching for the beautifully choreographed surfing alone. And while it may not have been the earth-changing experience that I was hoping it might be, I am not giving up on John. I’ll continue to watch, because I still want to love him. And if television has taught me anything, it’s that faith (and fandom) is easy to will with dedication like mine.
