June 24, 2007
BY DOUG ELFMAN Television Critic
Brian Williams tries to explain to me why the news industry has run the same redundant story for the past few months -- that actor Fred Thompson still hadn't announced his presidential campaign.
"Look at what makes our culture go: the moving image," Williams says during a recent Chicago visit. "So when someone from 'Law & Order' might run for president, I think it adds fascination."
"He's not very attractive, though," I say about Thompson.
"I think that's a value judgment you're making, and I think you should go to anger management," Williams says.
There's Brian Williams in a nutshell. Like Peter Jennings and Tom Brokaw before him, he'll respond playfully if someone tries to goad him into revealing feelings. But the "NBC Nightly News" anchor won't squander his objectivity.
With all his name and face recognition, Williams could also run for office. But he has no interest, he says fairly forcefully.
"After seeing what I've seen of politics? No, thank you. No! I can be much happier and effect much more change by covering them," he says.
"Apparently," I tempt him, "if you're a star on NBC, you can run for president."
"Only in the entertainment division," he says.
You wouldn't think Williams is fair and balanced if you read bloggers of all stripes. On the left, they've assailed him for -- among other things -- once lauding Rush Limbaugh.
"The Rush Limbaugh quote -- I was just saying, of course people should listen. I listen all the time," he says.
"A New York radio station took the audio of that answer ... and cut a promo so you hear my voice saying, 'I like Rush,' followed by the music of Rush the band. So really, you can't say a thing. That's the lesson today."
I ask him if he thinks Fox News is a news channel or an opinion station. Williams spins a reply a political writer would be proud of:
"It's in the eye of the beholder. The great thing about choice in America today, in news media, is there's plenty for everybody. We all get to run our news divisions as we see fit, and the audience votes with the most powerful tool in modern history: the remote control."
I ask if he'd answer the same way about CNN. He hems the high road.
"I watch them both," he says. "I'm a news consumer. I just think people are smart enough to know exactly what they're getting."
Interestingly, he speaks most flatteringly about Comedy Central's "The Daily Show With Jon Stewart." "It's as well-produced as anything on this newscast" at NBC, he says.
I ask Williams why network news can't borrow ideas from "The Daily Show," like when Stewart screens video showing inconsistencies spoken by politicians over long periods of time. He says NBC already does this.
"We do analysis pieces that show President Bush quotes over six years, and [they have] either incredible consistency or what some would call an inconsistency."
But he says there is a "separation of powers" between network news and "The Daily Show."
"I have to exist as Jon's raw material every day," Williams says. "In the post-9/11 world, it's been really serious business, so it's hard to be shecky. It's hard to be Jon Stewart in the same half-hour as 'Eight Americans Killed.' "
From the outside looking in, it also seems tough being Brian Williams. He doesn't characterize his hectic job as anything but a "dream." But, in addition to anchoring, he cuts pieces for the NBC Web site. And he writes a daily blog.
I ask him if he's actually writing his blog, unlike Katie Couric, who has had producers pen large parts of hers.
"I am writing my own blog, and I write every word, and no one has ever written a word for me," he says.
For all his toiling, NBC has stayed on top in the ratings, though lately it's been falling behind "World News With Charles Gibson." Last week, ABC's Gibson averaged 7.5 million viwers' to Williams' 7.1 million.
So after just two years of anchoring "NBC News," he is the de jure dean of network news.
"Can you believe that? A 48-year-old dean? Wouldn't be allowed at any college," Williams says.
His career interferes with what other people would call a "life." Williams says he loves to read fiction, but he didn't buy a novel for two decades. Some weeks ago, he finally picked up Falling Man: A Novel, a fictional account of 9/11.
"My first novel since 1988," he says, looking relieved, not proud, and he shows me the book as proof.
On weekends, he tries to "hunker down" with his wife and two kids, and maybe watch a DVD in between giving commencement addresses or tackling other duties.
"Every day, I hit 'dump' on my hard drive, and I can't tell you anything about last night's broadcast," he says.
He swears this is an enjoyable existence. "If that went away, I might atrophy and die," he says and then paraphrases a Woody Allen quote to define his true nature: "I'm like a shark. I gotta keep moving."
delfman@suntimes.com
Monday, June 25, 2007
Monday, June 18, 2007
Summer's best reruns -- really!
June 18, 2007
BY DOUG ELFMAN Television Critic
So you're locked up in your home this summer, and somehow all you care about is TV. Your problem is there's nothing on but reruns. What's a TV-aholic to do?
Well, for starters, you can watch reruns of good shows you never watched. I know most of you haven't seen many of these shows, because their ratings suck.
So since I'm a TV enabler, I've put together my Summer Viewing List of Retreads and Rejects.
Just remember: Bad ratings don't mean a show stinks. They just mean you aren't watching.
MONDAYS: "Everybody Hates Chris" (7 p.m., WGN-Channel 9): Even though Chris Rock tells four-letter-word jokes as a comedian, his "Chris" comedy is the best family show on TV. When "Chris" is a good episode, it's very funny. When it's a bad episode, it's not funny but it's still a fine tale of good-hearted family members doing the right things.
TUESDAYS: "The Gilmore Girls" (7 p.m., WGN-Channel 9): If you're an intellectual who bemoans the dearth of smart characters on TV, this is a show for you. Everyone talks really super fast. Everyone's pretty smart, but unlike "Frasier," this show doesn't make the Thinking Class look like wimpy losers. "Gilmore" has been canceled, so summer reruns are your last chance to catch it on primetime network.
"Veronica Mars" (8 p.m., WGN-Channel 9): This season wasn't "Veronica's" best outing, yet it was still excellent half the time. A Village Voice writer once pegged it correctly as "Chinatown" meets "Heathers." A collegiate detective takes on cases in a neo-noir thriller.
WEDNESDAYS: "South Park" (9 p.m., Comedy Central): You haven't given this show a thought since about 1999, but it's still on, and it remains one of the funniest, most creatively successfully satires around. The quality is high, and so is Towelie.
THURSDAYS: "My Name Is Earl," "30 Rock" and "The Office" (7-9 p.m., WMAQ-Channel 5): The comedies don't mesh well thematically, but this is NBC's funniest lineup in a long time. "30 Rock" is the best show on TV right now. "Earl" had a sporadically funny season. And "The Office" is the future of TV comedy.
"Supernatural" (8 p.m., WGN-Channel 9): This is a fairly well-done horror show about two brothers who go ghost-hunting and such. The storytelling is always decent.
FRIDAYS: "Law & Order: Criminal Intent" and "Law & Order" (8-10 p.m., WMAQ-Channel 5): Each of these shows has seen better seasons. Even so, if you're into straight-up capers like I am, they deliver the goods consistently. If you want to fill out your night, you can start with the 7 p.m. "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit" reruns on USA network. And TNT is owned by weeknight reruns of "Law & Order."
SUNDAYS: The whole Fox lineup: "The Simpsons" (7 p.m.) was dependable this season, if not fantastic. "The Loop" (6:30, 7:30 and 8:30 p.m.) is a new season of TV's most overlooked comedy, a brilliant take on Chicago nimrods making fun of each other. And "Family Guy" (8 p.m.) made me laugh more than any other show this year.
delfman@suntimes.com
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Network, cable shows prey on viewers' sympathies by placing teens in peril
June 17, 2007
BY DOUG ELFMAN
I don't know why everyone was having so much sex, and then babies, between 1992 and 1994. But apparently, TNT thinks there are a lot of viewers now raising 12- and 14-year-olds who wish to see teens like theirs in peril on TV shows.
In the season premiere of "The Closer" -- billed as "ad-supported cable's No. 1 show" -- Detective Brenda snoops the murder of an entire family, and the very bloody topper is that even the family's 12-year-old daughter gets stabbed a bunch.
Brenda groans to her boss, "You consider gettin' out of bed at 3 in the morning and examinin' a 12-year-old girl who's been stabbed through the heart. What about her needs, Will? What about that?"
Then comes the debut of TNT's "Heartland." It's a doctor show set in an organ-transplant hospital, and the first case is a 14-year-old girl in dire need of a new heart. (Or is it a liver? Who can keep up with the melodrama?)
This post-9/11, your-children-are-in-danger theme has been fearmongering rampantly for at least the past TV season, especially in premiere episodes.
During last fall's debuts, boys and girls were: blown up (in Fox's "Vanished"); held hostage (Fox's "Standoff"); murdered (CW's "Runaway"); dug up from mass graves (Showtime's "Dexter"); driven over (NBC's "The Black Donnellys"); and choked nearly to death (CBS's "Jericho").
Clearly what's happening here is pandering. Putting young hearts in harm's way is a narrative shortcut to draw viewers' attention and sympathy. Will the little girl get her heart? Will the little girl's murder be avenged?
Keep your fingers crossed for the little tykes. They're so cute/dead!
You have to hand it to last week's fantastic season debut of FX's "Rescue Me." No kids were in jeopardy. But the show's firefighters did try to save some cats. I'll consider feline endangerment a step in a new direction.
The critic's question is this: Do the perishing daughters help make "The Closer" and "Heartland" any good? Yes, in the case of "The Closer," and no, in the case of "Heartland."
"The Closer" serves a pretty good tale on occasion, and this newest slaying is an acceptably average whodunit solved with an acceptably average twist.
But half of the Kyra Sedgwick vehicle is well-done character development: Will she eat chocolate again? How will she meet her budget without laying off a detective? Will she stop being gun-shy with her man?
Those personal details, mixed with a few sleek caper scenes, give the show its watchability. It's a good distraction.
The dialogue can be cleverly efficient, too. Here's how Brenda explains why she wants to question a suspect before arresting him: "Arrest, lawyer, the end." That's nice.
On the other hand, "Heartland" should be titled "Heartstrings" for all the hankies it dabs at viewers' tear ducts.
There's the 14-year-old dying girl in the hospital bed, of course. But then there's central character Dr. Nathaniel Grant (Treat Williams) ,who is gruff (like "House"), and has the ability or hallucinations to see dead people.
When he eyes patients who have received organ transplants, he sees the ghosts of organ donors.
"I know how this sounds, but sometimes I can see the donors in my patients," the doctor says to some sad guy.
I know how it sounds to me. It sounds like "Heartland" is borrowing from that short-lived CBS show from this season, "3 lbs.," the one where the great Stanley Tucci saw his character's ghost daughter when he looked at patients.
"Heartland" borrows from/parallels "The Closer" in other ways.
For one thing, Dr. Grant is a smoker on the side, the way "The Closer's" Detective Brenda is a closet sugar-rusher.
And Dr. Grant puts off women who lust after him, just as Detective Brenda puts off her mate. In "Heartland," a hot nurse keeps asking Grant to go eat with her, but he says he has hearts to wait for. There will always be hearts to wait for.
In the "Closer" opener, Brenda's guy wants her to frolic on the weekend, but she has a homicide to investigate. "You always have a murder!" he gripes.
One thing "Heartland" doesn't borrow from is cinema. There have been at least two great organ donation movies. Naomi Watts and Benicio Del Toro were awesome in "21 Grams." And David Duchovny and Minnie Driver were lovely in "Return to Me."
Those films, though, focused on organ recipients. "Heartland" concentrates mostly on doctors, as dying children wait in the wings for their emotional cues. Is that wise?
I mean, just think of all those 6-year-old and 10-year-old actors in the world who are just dying to die for ratings.
delfman@suntimes.com
BY DOUG ELFMAN
I don't know why everyone was having so much sex, and then babies, between 1992 and 1994. But apparently, TNT thinks there are a lot of viewers now raising 12- and 14-year-olds who wish to see teens like theirs in peril on TV shows.
In the season premiere of "The Closer" -- billed as "ad-supported cable's No. 1 show" -- Detective Brenda snoops the murder of an entire family, and the very bloody topper is that even the family's 12-year-old daughter gets stabbed a bunch.
Brenda groans to her boss, "You consider gettin' out of bed at 3 in the morning and examinin' a 12-year-old girl who's been stabbed through the heart. What about her needs, Will? What about that?"
Then comes the debut of TNT's "Heartland." It's a doctor show set in an organ-transplant hospital, and the first case is a 14-year-old girl in dire need of a new heart. (Or is it a liver? Who can keep up with the melodrama?)
This post-9/11, your-children-are-in-danger theme has been fearmongering rampantly for at least the past TV season, especially in premiere episodes.
During last fall's debuts, boys and girls were: blown up (in Fox's "Vanished"); held hostage (Fox's "Standoff"); murdered (CW's "Runaway"); dug up from mass graves (Showtime's "Dexter"); driven over (NBC's "The Black Donnellys"); and choked nearly to death (CBS's "Jericho").
Clearly what's happening here is pandering. Putting young hearts in harm's way is a narrative shortcut to draw viewers' attention and sympathy. Will the little girl get her heart? Will the little girl's murder be avenged?
Keep your fingers crossed for the little tykes. They're so cute/dead!
You have to hand it to last week's fantastic season debut of FX's "Rescue Me." No kids were in jeopardy. But the show's firefighters did try to save some cats. I'll consider feline endangerment a step in a new direction.
The critic's question is this: Do the perishing daughters help make "The Closer" and "Heartland" any good? Yes, in the case of "The Closer," and no, in the case of "Heartland."
"The Closer" serves a pretty good tale on occasion, and this newest slaying is an acceptably average whodunit solved with an acceptably average twist.
But half of the Kyra Sedgwick vehicle is well-done character development: Will she eat chocolate again? How will she meet her budget without laying off a detective? Will she stop being gun-shy with her man?
Those personal details, mixed with a few sleek caper scenes, give the show its watchability. It's a good distraction.
The dialogue can be cleverly efficient, too. Here's how Brenda explains why she wants to question a suspect before arresting him: "Arrest, lawyer, the end." That's nice.
On the other hand, "Heartland" should be titled "Heartstrings" for all the hankies it dabs at viewers' tear ducts.
There's the 14-year-old dying girl in the hospital bed, of course. But then there's central character Dr. Nathaniel Grant (Treat Williams) ,who is gruff (like "House"), and has the ability or hallucinations to see dead people.
When he eyes patients who have received organ transplants, he sees the ghosts of organ donors.
"I know how this sounds, but sometimes I can see the donors in my patients," the doctor says to some sad guy.
I know how it sounds to me. It sounds like "Heartland" is borrowing from that short-lived CBS show from this season, "3 lbs.," the one where the great Stanley Tucci saw his character's ghost daughter when he looked at patients.
"Heartland" borrows from/parallels "The Closer" in other ways.
For one thing, Dr. Grant is a smoker on the side, the way "The Closer's" Detective Brenda is a closet sugar-rusher.
And Dr. Grant puts off women who lust after him, just as Detective Brenda puts off her mate. In "Heartland," a hot nurse keeps asking Grant to go eat with her, but he says he has hearts to wait for. There will always be hearts to wait for.
In the "Closer" opener, Brenda's guy wants her to frolic on the weekend, but she has a homicide to investigate. "You always have a murder!" he gripes.
One thing "Heartland" doesn't borrow from is cinema. There have been at least two great organ donation movies. Naomi Watts and Benicio Del Toro were awesome in "21 Grams." And David Duchovny and Minnie Driver were lovely in "Return to Me."
Those films, though, focused on organ recipients. "Heartland" concentrates mostly on doctors, as dying children wait in the wings for their emotional cues. Is that wise?
I mean, just think of all those 6-year-old and 10-year-old actors in the world who are just dying to die for ratings.
delfman@suntimes.com
REVIEW | 'Rescue Me' is an intense drama until laugh riots break out, making it the top show on TV's best channel
June 13, 2007
BY DOUG ELFMAN Television Critic
HBO is great, bla bla bla. That's what everybody still says, even though HBO shows aren't great anymore (except for "Curb Your Enthusiasm" and "Da Ali G Show"-- if they ever return). And now "The Sopranos" is gone.
No, the real HBO (or what it used to be) is FX.
Many of you readers don't even know what FX is. Well, I'm here to tell you it is on the cheap end of cable (channel 24 for me). And FX is the best network on all of TV. Better than NBC, ABC, Fox, CBS, HBO, Showtime and the rest.
FX screens only a handful of original series, none of them bad. There's "Nip/Tuck" (the sex-obsessed doctor show); "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" (a very funny, crass comedy); "Dirt" (a Courteney Cox tabloid drama).
And the best of the FX bunch is "Rescue Me," which starts a fourth season tonight. Based on the first three new episodes, I can continue to put "Rescue Me" on my list as one of the best 20 shows that have ever been on TV.
If you've never seen "Rescue Me" before, don't sweat it. The writing, directing and acting are so crisp and moment-by-moment specific, you can watch tonight's episode, get sucked in and never feel confused. I think.
The show -- about friendly, funny firefighters and their lovers -- begins with my favorite episode yet. Tommy (Denis Leary) is being investigated for arson because his angry girlfriend drugged him and set their beach house on fire.
He's also upset with his 18-year-old daughter because she has ditched her lesbian phase ("girls are crazy," she explains), and now she's sleeping with -- oh no! -- a guy.
"Let me tell you something," Tommy sputters while grasping for life to make sense, as always. "Girls might be crazy, but girls are crazy ALL THE TIME. They're DEPENDABLE."
Then the daughter throws up, and Tommy's younger daughter walks in, detects the odor of vomit, and -- since Tommy's a recovering alcoholic -- she says, "It smells like Christmas out here!"
I copied many other funny lines in my notes, but I don't want to keep spoiling the whole thing, except for a line in the third episode when a female firefighter explains how she carried a tall man out of a fire:
"You know, with the adrenaline pumping and everything, I could've carried out Jennifer Hudson. Holding her Oscar. And a sandwich."
"Rescue Me" is really tactless like that. But it's so good. For most of the first episode, I laugh and laugh. Then suddenly, a fire breaks out and the whole main cast becomes amazingly in danger of dying, and it is intense.
In typical "Rescue Me" style, co-creator Peter Tolan's direction switches from perfect comedy to perfect drama, capped by moments of pretty cinematography. (The shot of the blaze with the cat ears in silhouette? Gorgeous.)
Tolan and Leary co-write much of the show. I have no idea why they haven't won an Emmy or a Golden Globe by now. Oh, right, awards shows are stupid.
Tolan and Leary consistently test their characters with realistic storylines (dying parents, new babies, fires, adultery) but infuse them with offbeat situations (a firefighter tapping a nun, etc.). And the unvarnished characters engage in the most fascinating and comical conversations.
What I'm saying is you might just love this show if you try it. You might also conclude it is better than everything on HBO, ABC and CBS. It would take you one hour to find out.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Sopranos: The Review
June 11, 2007
BY DOUG ELFMAN Television Critic
And they lived miserably ever after.
HBO's signature show concluded Sunday night with a big, fat "happy" ending for mob boss Tony Soprano, his New Jersey thugs and his suicidal, druggie, violent and slothful family.
There was (spoilers ahead!) one last scene with Tony in his large white robe.
There was one last gruesome murder. Phil Leotardo: shot in the brain, then his head run over by his own SUV. With that New York rival out of the way, Tony's life seemed to be spared from Phil's war on him.
In the final scene, Tony sat down with long-suffering, complicit wife Carmela and weirdo son A.J. in a greasy diner. Tony played Journey's "Don't Stop Believin' " in a jukebox. Just as daughter Meadow opened the door, the last words heard were Steve Perry's lyrics, "Don't stop."
The screen went black. Credits rolled in silence.
Some viewers will surely be unsatisfied. Before Sunday, many had said they wanted killer Tony to end up dead or in jail. Others thought it would be realistic if he had become a rat fink in witness protection.
But it was open-ended. In the cafe, guys hung around looking like assassins or feds. And Tony got word of big odds he soon would be indicted.
There were crystal-ball moments. Consigliere Silvio was last seen on life support. Tony spoke to Uncle Junior, apparently out of his mind in the mental ward. And a cat Paulie feared superstitiously began staring at him -- an omen of his fate?
Fans will buzz all day about the finale. If you're not a fan, feel free to argue if they try to bully you into thinking it was the best show of all time. It was not. The best show of all time is ... whatever you think it is. Such is the beauty of thinking for yourself.
But it may have had a shot at being the best if creator David Chase had written and directed every episode. He handled Sunday's see-ya, an adios that didn't waste a single shot. And it is true the series reinvented American cinema's gangster tale.
"The Sopranos" took a harsher view of gangsters than have "Godfathers" and "Goodfellas" films, with their glorified murderers, sexy actors and coke-rock music montages. Over the years, "The Sopranos" was variously interesting, cool, dark, tedious and dull.
Almost everyone was fat or ate as if at troughs, tacky wives obsessed over status and new SUVs (A.J. the dolt accidentally blew up his Sunday) and foreboding music usually served only to punctuate final credits.
Characters were usually amoral. Although on Sunday, A.J. and Meadow opined about how America is a real mess. And she said she wouldn't have pursued a law career "if you hadn't been dragged away so many times by the FBI."
Sunday's suspenseful ender caps a filler season. Chase had planned to end "The Sopranos" some time ago, but HBO convinced him to elongate the current season, which mostly fell flat from lax storytelling.
Now, Chase will field calls for a feature film. My suggestion for a title: "The Sopranos Eat Macaroni and Kill More People."
delfman@suntimes.com
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Sopranos -- 'Ciao, Tony'? Readers weigh in
June 10, 2007
BY DOUG ELFMAN | TELEVISION CRITIC
A few months ago, I started asking readers how you'd like the long-running mob series "The Sopranos" to end forever, when it takes its final bow at 8 tonight on HBO.
That was, of course, after I'd suggested my own ending:
With the feds hounding him and his New Jersey families threatened by New York mobsters -- and with the constant fear that someone close to Tony will turn against him -- in the last 30 minutes, I would have Tony prevail over all hazards. But in the last 10 minutes, I'd send Tony to the strip club, where his crew continues to grouse and cause him low-level misery. Then, he'd go home and have to listen to the same old complaints from his family. A final song would take over the soundtrack. I'd use Peggy Lee's "Is That All There Is?" or hire someone like Leonard Cohen or David Bowie to sing a slow and depressing version of "My Way."
I was inundated with responses. Here are some of the best.
Tony's wife pushes him down the stairs during a violent fight over his cheating on her. Tony breaks his neck and ends up a quadriplegic paralyzed from the eyes down, also known as locked-in syndrome. He spends the rest of his life in a fancy nursing home. The guy is scum! If I could think of a worst fate for him I would!
Michael
Tony cooperates with the Feds with their ongoing terrorist investigation, thus putting him in the witness protection program. He is then spared from the ongoing mob wars with Phil Leotardo and his crew of thugs, who have been busy killing off all of the other series regulars. Tony is then relocated to the suburbs of San Diego, where he lives under the name Todd Wilkinson. This ultimately whacks two birds with one stone: a "My Blue Heaven" sequel, and the continued saga of Tony Soprano.
Jon
Old gangsters don't fade away or go into witness protection. They get killed. If they really want to end the show -- and the death of Christopher tells me we won't ever see another new show -- then Tony needs to die.
Steven
I'm so sick of hearing about the end of "The Sopranos!" I hope everybody -- and I mean everybody -- dies in the final episode. Hopefully this will prevent HBO from ever resurrecting its most profitable and least imaginative show.
Steve
I feel the ideal ending would be that a hit would be [attempted] on Tony, but they would miss and kill Carm and the kids by accident. Tony would see that, and the last scene would be the camera slowly focusing on Tony in a straitjacket in a mental ward staring into space with his doctor staring at him, wondering if there is anything that she could do. Killing his kids would push him further than he would be able to handle.
Harvey
The show has always shown main characters being murdered on screen, with the exception of Adriana. That is because in the last episode, they will show a flashback to her death scene, but instead of Silvio shooting her as she crawls away as we were led to believe, he shoots at the ground next to her, then explains to her there is no going back, as he has been the main government mole in the organization all along.
John
Tony Soprano is a rat. Yes, a rat. ... This ending would provide an unexpected twist to satisfy longtime fans, stay true to the core of Tony's character -- ultimately looking out for himself -- and leave the story open for a possible movie version. With Tony in the witness protection program, he would ultimately become the boring, nondescript person he imagined while in his recent coma. Also, Carmela would refuse to go with him into this life, leading to their divorce. His children would also desert him to lead their own lives. Therefore, Tony would find himself alone, without his family, knowing he betrayed his friends, and forced to live his life without the excitement, excess and power that once defined him. A sad, lonely ending for a sad, lonely man. The final shot should be Tony, alone, sleeping and snoring on a recliner in a suburban home, with a bowl of half-eaten ice cream sitting on his chest.
Jim
Tony lies in a hospital bed in a state of semi-consciousness, surrounded by his family. ... Tony looks around his bed for a few moments and begins to rant his story of their life as a mob family: rackets, hits, collections, etc. The family looks around at each other, smiling weakly and raising their eyebrows knowingly, sympathetically. As Tony continues his tales of power and wealth, Carmela cautiously interrupts him, and tells him he's been in a coma for several weeks as the result of a blow to the head from a fall from the back of a garbage truck. "What would I be doing on the BACK OF A GARBAGE TRUCK?" he asks. "That's where YOU WORK, Tony." ... Fast forward a few months. Tony's back at work, on the back of a waste management truck."
Al
What if there were to be a terrorist attack on the last episode? After all, the FBI has been warning Tony about it for a while, and it keeps being mentioned in subtle ways in each episode. A very different, and very real, direction [series creator David] Chase might take, no?
Margaret
I am one disgruntled viewer with a serious ax to grind with David Chase over such a crappy story line after seven years. So far, the last episodes fail to impress. ... After seven years, David Chase gives us a steady pumping of deus ex machina to bolster lame scripts. He's selling out to those of his viewers who want bad deeds to be punished. It's like the Legion of Decency dictated the story line. ... For seven years, bad has been good, and now bad will once again be bad. I won't buy it.
Jim
That whole show went down the tubes. ... All through the seasons, I could never accept that this so-called powerful man sees a psychiatrist. Ridiculous! Last season was so bad, when you got half through the episode and found out Tony was dreaming -- oh my God, people hated it! You know what? They're getting out just in time. How do I think it should end? Quick!
Joyce
Endless bummer REVIEW | Angry surfers get touched by a man-child angel-guy in 'John From Cincinnati'
June 10, 2007
BY DOUG ELFMAN | TELEVISION CRITIC
With "The Sopranos" ending forever tonight, HBO is rolling out new shows, the first being "John From Cincinnati." I imagine its scattered, semi-mysterious storytelling will confuse a fair amount of viewers, but it shouldn't.
It's simple, really. Some angel guy named John (or maybe he's a prophet, or an emissary from God, or even Jesus resurrected) starts hanging 10 with a family of very grumpy surfers.
Miracles begin once John shows up. The grandfather looks at his own feet and sees he's levitating.
Meanwhile, angelic John goes around saying, "The end is near," and parroting things people say. If a guy says to John, "I got my eye on you," John confidently yet naively responds, "I got my eye on you!" He's learning the language and he's a simple power, like in "Being There."
This I want to know: Why would God send an uncommunicative, man-child-angel to prophesize the End of Days?
But whatever. Most of the story actually revolves around the family's teen surfing phenom Shawn and one question the adults ponder for an endless summer: Should he be allowed to surf? It's so dangerous!
I've seen the first three episodes of "John From Cincinnati," and I've got a conundrum.
On the one hand, I don't want to watch it ever again to find out what John's big prophecy will be. Mostly because listening to the rambling dialogue gives me the same pleasure as sorting through the tangle of cords behind my stereo.
The show creator is David Milch; he made "Deadwood." Just like in "Deadwood," everyone in "John" is always spewing anger at someone else. The show sorta sounds as if I'm listening to a multisyllabic, multiple personality argue with himself, off his meds.
On the other hand, objectively speaking, "John From Cincinnati" is extremely disciplined character-wise. For instance, John acts consistently, plainly angelic.
And it's a rare TV intellect, a highfalutin meditation on what happens when an angel-type guy gets inserted into a family of angry surfers.
So. Should I give "John From Cincinnati" one star for failing to hold my interest? Or three and a half stars, for being a well-crafted, unemotional theater of ideas?
I'm going with one star. My time is valuable. And "John" doesn't do what such a metaphysical exercise should: It doesn't challenge my own notions of faith, humanity or art. (But if you give it a whirl and enjoy it, I can see what you like about it.)
Milch has said he didn't audition actors, suggesting he just picked them. He's got a good eye. Stellar are (in lead roles) Rebecca De Mornay, Austin Nichols and Brian Van Holt, and (in side roles) the great Luis Guzman, Willie Garson and Keala Kennelly.
If you're into current-day Bible stories where everyone curses up a storm, it may be your thing. There's the angel, of course. But other biblical archetypes check in -- believers, merchants, thieves and prostitutes (though the prostitutes are metaphorical, such as TV newscasters).
There's a part in the debut episode where a huge mural is seen on the side of a building. It's a mural of Jesus on the cross, on a beach, surrounded by surfers. Written on the sign is a Corinthians quote: "For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God."
How's that for getting hammered over the head by a faith-based show?
Corinthians or not, what "John" did was give me the itch to watch "Oh, God!" again, the 1977 classic movie where God (George Burns) said: "How can I permit the suffering? I don't permit the suffering. You do -- free will. All the choices are yours. You can love each other, cherish and nurture each other, or you can kill each other."
But "John From Cincinnati" permits the surfing. Dude.
According to me, the moral of the story is: Picking your religion is like picking your TV shows -- it's all choice. I will also acknowledge I have my ideas about religion, and Milch has his, and his angel is a lot more potentially damning than mine.
delfman@suntimes.com
BY DOUG ELFMAN | TELEVISION CRITIC
With "The Sopranos" ending forever tonight, HBO is rolling out new shows, the first being "John From Cincinnati." I imagine its scattered, semi-mysterious storytelling will confuse a fair amount of viewers, but it shouldn't.
It's simple, really. Some angel guy named John (or maybe he's a prophet, or an emissary from God, or even Jesus resurrected) starts hanging 10 with a family of very grumpy surfers.
Miracles begin once John shows up. The grandfather looks at his own feet and sees he's levitating.
Meanwhile, angelic John goes around saying, "The end is near," and parroting things people say. If a guy says to John, "I got my eye on you," John confidently yet naively responds, "I got my eye on you!" He's learning the language and he's a simple power, like in "Being There."
This I want to know: Why would God send an uncommunicative, man-child-angel to prophesize the End of Days?
But whatever. Most of the story actually revolves around the family's teen surfing phenom Shawn and one question the adults ponder for an endless summer: Should he be allowed to surf? It's so dangerous!
I've seen the first three episodes of "John From Cincinnati," and I've got a conundrum.
On the one hand, I don't want to watch it ever again to find out what John's big prophecy will be. Mostly because listening to the rambling dialogue gives me the same pleasure as sorting through the tangle of cords behind my stereo.
The show creator is David Milch; he made "Deadwood." Just like in "Deadwood," everyone in "John" is always spewing anger at someone else. The show sorta sounds as if I'm listening to a multisyllabic, multiple personality argue with himself, off his meds.
On the other hand, objectively speaking, "John From Cincinnati" is extremely disciplined character-wise. For instance, John acts consistently, plainly angelic.
And it's a rare TV intellect, a highfalutin meditation on what happens when an angel-type guy gets inserted into a family of angry surfers.
So. Should I give "John From Cincinnati" one star for failing to hold my interest? Or three and a half stars, for being a well-crafted, unemotional theater of ideas?
I'm going with one star. My time is valuable. And "John" doesn't do what such a metaphysical exercise should: It doesn't challenge my own notions of faith, humanity or art. (But if you give it a whirl and enjoy it, I can see what you like about it.)
Milch has said he didn't audition actors, suggesting he just picked them. He's got a good eye. Stellar are (in lead roles) Rebecca De Mornay, Austin Nichols and Brian Van Holt, and (in side roles) the great Luis Guzman, Willie Garson and Keala Kennelly.
If you're into current-day Bible stories where everyone curses up a storm, it may be your thing. There's the angel, of course. But other biblical archetypes check in -- believers, merchants, thieves and prostitutes (though the prostitutes are metaphorical, such as TV newscasters).
There's a part in the debut episode where a huge mural is seen on the side of a building. It's a mural of Jesus on the cross, on a beach, surrounded by surfers. Written on the sign is a Corinthians quote: "For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God."
How's that for getting hammered over the head by a faith-based show?
Corinthians or not, what "John" did was give me the itch to watch "Oh, God!" again, the 1977 classic movie where God (George Burns) said: "How can I permit the suffering? I don't permit the suffering. You do -- free will. All the choices are yours. You can love each other, cherish and nurture each other, or you can kill each other."
But "John From Cincinnati" permits the surfing. Dude.
According to me, the moral of the story is: Picking your religion is like picking your TV shows -- it's all choice. I will also acknowledge I have my ideas about religion, and Milch has his, and his angel is a lot more potentially damning than mine.
delfman@suntimes.com
Friday, June 08, 2007
'New York Times' turns gamers onto crosswords
By Doug Elfman
The Game Dork
When I'm playing "The New York Times Crosswords" on Nintendo DS, I get the impression I am stupid.
"Crosswords" is really cool/dorky. I use a stylus pen to fill in some words, but the puzzles have more stumpers than a razed forest.
If you're unaware, The New York Times prints mind-boggling crosswords. The clues are both vague and ambiguous, if that's possible. Likewise, the DS game makes my head feel like a brain-leaking sieve.
A clue for one of the 1,000 puzzles in the game is "old-fashioned"; the answer to that riddle is "horseandbuggy." Really? I'm supposed to guess that?
Another clue suggests, "it might be 18 oz. on a cereal box"; this is somehow answered, "netwt," as in "net weight."
My eyes begin to hurt from concentrating. But I can't stop playing "Crosswords." It's fun, if you like the masochism. And you can play easily with other gamers.
Over Memorial Day weekend, my close friend Stephanie came over, and we played for hours on end, day after day. She's from New York, and she's familiar with the Times' puzzler, so she was helpful/knew most of the answers.
But even clever Stephanie got frustrated as we limped along.
"Together, we're smart," she said. "But separately, we're idiots."
One thing that keeps me playing "Crosswords" is its potential to make my brain work better. A few studies have shown that tasking your brain with gaming complexities can sharpen your acuity, if only modestly.
Five years ago, researchers wrote in the Journal of the American Medical Association that older people can boost their cognitive functions if they engage their brains with intricate mental exercises.
I'm not an older person, but I found out months ago that my daily memory improved markedly by playing the math, logic and sudoku game, "Brain Age: Train Your Brain in Minutes a Day."
Similarly, I just finished playing "Crosswords" for the day, and long words keep flying into my brain while I write this review. I keep editing out those long words; I don't want to get too flashy with my big dumb brain.
Fortunately, "Crosswords" does give me a choice to play easier puzzles (which are still harder than average crosswords). "Monday" puzzles are the simplest. Each day after Monday gets progressively tougher.
Sunday puzzles are ridiculous. Here's a Sunday clue: "title village in a 1979 Francesco Rosi film." The answer: "Eboli." (I missed that.) There's also, "nut taken directly from the freezer. " That's a clue for "coldhardcashew." (Missed that, too.)
There is one saving grace for such brain twisters. Press a "hint" button on the DS, and the game fills in as many letters of an answer as you want. You could "hint" and cheat a whole puzzle or just the sticky spots to keep annoyance at bay.
And once you finish a puzzle, the game tells you which letters or words you got wrong, and you can try to fix them. Though, the more you "hint" and miss, the worse your grade. So far, I've earned a few A's but also D's -- D as in "daft."
("The New York Times Crossword" retails for $30 for DS -- Plays addictive. Looks fine. Challenging. Rated "T" for drug reference, mild language, mild suggestive themes. Three and one-half stars out of four.)
The Game Dork
When I'm playing "The New York Times Crosswords" on Nintendo DS, I get the impression I am stupid.
"Crosswords" is really cool/dorky. I use a stylus pen to fill in some words, but the puzzles have more stumpers than a razed forest.
If you're unaware, The New York Times prints mind-boggling crosswords. The clues are both vague and ambiguous, if that's possible. Likewise, the DS game makes my head feel like a brain-leaking sieve.
A clue for one of the 1,000 puzzles in the game is "old-fashioned"; the answer to that riddle is "horseandbuggy." Really? I'm supposed to guess that?
Another clue suggests, "it might be 18 oz. on a cereal box"; this is somehow answered, "netwt," as in "net weight."
My eyes begin to hurt from concentrating. But I can't stop playing "Crosswords." It's fun, if you like the masochism. And you can play easily with other gamers.
Over Memorial Day weekend, my close friend Stephanie came over, and we played for hours on end, day after day. She's from New York, and she's familiar with the Times' puzzler, so she was helpful/knew most of the answers.
But even clever Stephanie got frustrated as we limped along.
"Together, we're smart," she said. "But separately, we're idiots."
One thing that keeps me playing "Crosswords" is its potential to make my brain work better. A few studies have shown that tasking your brain with gaming complexities can sharpen your acuity, if only modestly.
Five years ago, researchers wrote in the Journal of the American Medical Association that older people can boost their cognitive functions if they engage their brains with intricate mental exercises.
I'm not an older person, but I found out months ago that my daily memory improved markedly by playing the math, logic and sudoku game, "Brain Age: Train Your Brain in Minutes a Day."
Similarly, I just finished playing "Crosswords" for the day, and long words keep flying into my brain while I write this review. I keep editing out those long words; I don't want to get too flashy with my big dumb brain.
Fortunately, "Crosswords" does give me a choice to play easier puzzles (which are still harder than average crosswords). "Monday" puzzles are the simplest. Each day after Monday gets progressively tougher.
Sunday puzzles are ridiculous. Here's a Sunday clue: "title village in a 1979 Francesco Rosi film." The answer: "Eboli." (I missed that.) There's also, "nut taken directly from the freezer. " That's a clue for "coldhardcashew." (Missed that, too.)
There is one saving grace for such brain twisters. Press a "hint" button on the DS, and the game fills in as many letters of an answer as you want. You could "hint" and cheat a whole puzzle or just the sticky spots to keep annoyance at bay.
And once you finish a puzzle, the game tells you which letters or words you got wrong, and you can try to fix them. Though, the more you "hint" and miss, the worse your grade. So far, I've earned a few A's but also D's -- D as in "daft."
("The New York Times Crossword" retails for $30 for DS -- Plays addictive. Looks fine. Challenging. Rated "T" for drug reference, mild language, mild suggestive themes. Three and one-half stars out of four.)
Beta version of 'Halo 3' plays like 'Halo 2 Continued'
By Doug Elfman
The Game Dork
You remember your first kiss and your first car. And if you're a hard-core, bleary-eyed video gamer with too many 5 a.m. killing sprees in your pocket, you remember the first time you played "Halo" until you could no longer feel your red, raw thumbs.
It was super happy awesome fun times, a "Doom"-style shooter set in outer space. You fired rocket launchers at rivals while you jumped 20 feet in the air to secure high ground. It was a real eye-opener to what glory was possible on the Xbox. Then came the improved "Halo 2."
Now the gaming world awaits the Sept. 25 release of "Halo 3." But if you're antsy, you can download and play a short preview version through Xbox Live, although you have to own or rent "Crackdown" for the Xbox 360 to do so. ("Crackdown" itself is a stellar, "GTA"-ripoff shooting game.)
There's not much "Halo 3" at your disposal through Xbox Live, but it's enough to discover the beta version, at least, plays and feels like "Halo 2 Continued" with upgrades of visuals and weapons.
Once again, you run across green or snowy battlefields in your spacesuit; you leap and gun down rivals; gamers nicknamed AntiiiiiiChrist and Bongman420 riddle you with bullets.
The thing about "Halo" is it was the game of the year in 2002, bringing to the world a new type of bloodless murder fest, by offering a grand-looking sci-fi shooting adventure.
But in the past five years, we've seen its awe surpassed by "Call of Duty," "Battlefield" and "Gears of War" games. "Halo 3" looks slicker and moves smoother than its daddies. That's great. And it promises to be a grand, long adventure. Although, the handful of battlefields in the beta don't suggest that it's reinventing online play.
That said, it offers all the right stuff. You will be able to engage in team skirmishes, capture the flag contests, team vs. team slaughters, free-for-all kill-everybodies, and bomb-setting missions. There also should be a long, splendid solo mission offline.
The guns are the same. You begin with terrible starter machine guns, better sniper rifles and hard-to-target-but-deadly bazookas. You drive around in Jeep-y "Warthogs" and can turn half-invisible if you just happen to find that sort of armor lying around behind a tree.
The game blessedly allows you to mute obnoxious gamers, those occasional dillweeds blabbing racist and sexist trash talking. (Some people didn't get enough attention growing up.)
The beta ends June 10. If I had to guess, I'd say "Halo" fans will be plenty pleased, though the rest of the gaming community might complain, "I just shot that guy how many times? And he's still alive and shooting back at me?" Seriously, the guns are weak.
It's not fair for me to prognosticate about the entire "Halo 3." This is just a sample beta.
But since you have to spend $60 on "Crackdown" to download this "Halo 3" preview, reviewing it alone seems totally fair game. And it is drawing in customers. I've seen weeknights when 40,000 people were playing online. That's a lot of Bongman420s gunning for you.
("Halo 3" online beta is free to play for owners of "Crackdown" on Xbox 360 -- Plays fairly addictive but the guns are weak. Looks great. Challenging. Not rated. Three and one-half stars out of four.)
The Game Dork
You remember your first kiss and your first car. And if you're a hard-core, bleary-eyed video gamer with too many 5 a.m. killing sprees in your pocket, you remember the first time you played "Halo" until you could no longer feel your red, raw thumbs.
It was super happy awesome fun times, a "Doom"-style shooter set in outer space. You fired rocket launchers at rivals while you jumped 20 feet in the air to secure high ground. It was a real eye-opener to what glory was possible on the Xbox. Then came the improved "Halo 2."
Now the gaming world awaits the Sept. 25 release of "Halo 3." But if you're antsy, you can download and play a short preview version through Xbox Live, although you have to own or rent "Crackdown" for the Xbox 360 to do so. ("Crackdown" itself is a stellar, "GTA"-ripoff shooting game.)
There's not much "Halo 3" at your disposal through Xbox Live, but it's enough to discover the beta version, at least, plays and feels like "Halo 2 Continued" with upgrades of visuals and weapons.
Once again, you run across green or snowy battlefields in your spacesuit; you leap and gun down rivals; gamers nicknamed AntiiiiiiChrist and Bongman420 riddle you with bullets.
The thing about "Halo" is it was the game of the year in 2002, bringing to the world a new type of bloodless murder fest, by offering a grand-looking sci-fi shooting adventure.
But in the past five years, we've seen its awe surpassed by "Call of Duty," "Battlefield" and "Gears of War" games. "Halo 3" looks slicker and moves smoother than its daddies. That's great. And it promises to be a grand, long adventure. Although, the handful of battlefields in the beta don't suggest that it's reinventing online play.
That said, it offers all the right stuff. You will be able to engage in team skirmishes, capture the flag contests, team vs. team slaughters, free-for-all kill-everybodies, and bomb-setting missions. There also should be a long, splendid solo mission offline.
The guns are the same. You begin with terrible starter machine guns, better sniper rifles and hard-to-target-but-deadly bazookas. You drive around in Jeep-y "Warthogs" and can turn half-invisible if you just happen to find that sort of armor lying around behind a tree.
The game blessedly allows you to mute obnoxious gamers, those occasional dillweeds blabbing racist and sexist trash talking. (Some people didn't get enough attention growing up.)
The beta ends June 10. If I had to guess, I'd say "Halo" fans will be plenty pleased, though the rest of the gaming community might complain, "I just shot that guy how many times? And he's still alive and shooting back at me?" Seriously, the guns are weak.
It's not fair for me to prognosticate about the entire "Halo 3." This is just a sample beta.
But since you have to spend $60 on "Crackdown" to download this "Halo 3" preview, reviewing it alone seems totally fair game. And it is drawing in customers. I've seen weeknights when 40,000 people were playing online. That's a lot of Bongman420s gunning for you.
("Halo 3" online beta is free to play for owners of "Crackdown" on Xbox 360 -- Plays fairly addictive but the guns are weak. Looks great. Challenging. Not rated. Three and one-half stars out of four.)
Fox axes 'Loop,' but its last gasps are darkly funny
June 8, 2007
BY DOUG ELFMAN TV Critic
The only show I'm really bummed about getting canceled this year is Fox's "The Loop." It is a stupid, stupid show, but for once that's a compliment. "Bringing Up Baby" is pretty dumb -- also hilarious. "The Jerk" -- idiotic as could be, and a classic.
"The Loop" isn't up to the level of "The Jerk" or "Bringing Up Baby" (few things are), but it's madcap and funny. It's about a Chicago airline exec in his 20s who succeeds in doinking a lot of women despite seeming like a goofy Chihuahua.
In its first season, people on this fast-paced, wordplay comedy called each other "Make a Wish" (an insensitive mental insult), "Knob Rocket," "Sex Ranger," "Ass Clown" and my favorite, "Assface Jackknocker."
Fox dumped "The Loop" for bad ratings, but it's now airing the final episodes. They're more traditionally plotted than the first season, but still funnier than most things on TV.
Sam (Bret Harrison) the young airline exec is back. He's got the hots for a secretary -- or as Sam's frienemy Derek calls her, "the new set of cans working the phones."
Derek (Ian Reed Kesler) announces his intention to compete for the secretary: "I thought I'd take your new secre-tail upstairs for a little pre-game. Maybe put my (bleep) in her (bleep)."
"The Loop" works most of the time because it was created by talented writers Pam Brady and Will Gluck. While other shows pander to be "x-treme," "hip" and all that "kids today" stuff, Brady and Gluck inhabit those things naturally, and it manifests in the characters.
The directing and acting fit their tone of actual crass irony, as opposed to the usual TV crime of attempted crass irony. So it's neither offensive nor unfunny, especially when Sam's boss orders an underling to check into a sub-Motel 6 hotel by grousing, "You're gonna be staying in a youth hostel. I hope you like rape."
Since "The Loop" is more spiritually genuine than most twentysomething shows, it's surprising it never took off in pop culture. Last season's best episodes made me laugh more than "The Office" ever has. Then again, "Bringing Up Baby" fizzled at the box office, and a lot of critics initially panned "The Jerk."
At least "The Loop" gets this swan song, with a pared-down, excellent cast of Harrison (who has moved on to this fall's CW drama "Reaper"), Kesler, Philip Baker Hall (as Sam's boss Russ), Mimi Rogers (as Sam's other, hornier boss, Meryl) and Eric Christian Olsen (as Sam's flaky brother Sully).
But it is for sure the end for one of the few places on TV (other than "Family Guy" et al.) where you can hear a line like Meryl's when she sees Sam dressed in garbage: "What happened? You look like Mary-Kate Olsen."
Sayonara, jackknockers.
delfman@suntimes.com
BY DOUG ELFMAN TV Critic
The only show I'm really bummed about getting canceled this year is Fox's "The Loop." It is a stupid, stupid show, but for once that's a compliment. "Bringing Up Baby" is pretty dumb -- also hilarious. "The Jerk" -- idiotic as could be, and a classic.
"The Loop" isn't up to the level of "The Jerk" or "Bringing Up Baby" (few things are), but it's madcap and funny. It's about a Chicago airline exec in his 20s who succeeds in doinking a lot of women despite seeming like a goofy Chihuahua.
In its first season, people on this fast-paced, wordplay comedy called each other "Make a Wish" (an insensitive mental insult), "Knob Rocket," "Sex Ranger," "Ass Clown" and my favorite, "Assface Jackknocker."
Fox dumped "The Loop" for bad ratings, but it's now airing the final episodes. They're more traditionally plotted than the first season, but still funnier than most things on TV.
Sam (Bret Harrison) the young airline exec is back. He's got the hots for a secretary -- or as Sam's frienemy Derek calls her, "the new set of cans working the phones."
Derek (Ian Reed Kesler) announces his intention to compete for the secretary: "I thought I'd take your new secre-tail upstairs for a little pre-game. Maybe put my (bleep) in her (bleep)."
"The Loop" works most of the time because it was created by talented writers Pam Brady and Will Gluck. While other shows pander to be "x-treme," "hip" and all that "kids today" stuff, Brady and Gluck inhabit those things naturally, and it manifests in the characters.
The directing and acting fit their tone of actual crass irony, as opposed to the usual TV crime of attempted crass irony. So it's neither offensive nor unfunny, especially when Sam's boss orders an underling to check into a sub-Motel 6 hotel by grousing, "You're gonna be staying in a youth hostel. I hope you like rape."
Since "The Loop" is more spiritually genuine than most twentysomething shows, it's surprising it never took off in pop culture. Last season's best episodes made me laugh more than "The Office" ever has. Then again, "Bringing Up Baby" fizzled at the box office, and a lot of critics initially panned "The Jerk."
At least "The Loop" gets this swan song, with a pared-down, excellent cast of Harrison (who has moved on to this fall's CW drama "Reaper"), Kesler, Philip Baker Hall (as Sam's boss Russ), Mimi Rogers (as Sam's other, hornier boss, Meryl) and Eric Christian Olsen (as Sam's flaky brother Sully).
But it is for sure the end for one of the few places on TV (other than "Family Guy" et al.) where you can hear a line like Meryl's when she sees Sam dressed in garbage: "What happened? You look like Mary-Kate Olsen."
Sayonara, jackknockers.
delfman@suntimes.com
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
TV REVIEW | Bindi Irwin, 8, picks up where her dad left off after that stingray
June 6, 2007
BY DOUG ELFMAN Television Critic
In "Bindi the Jungle Girl," a snake coils about Bindi's neck but it doesn't get tangled in her pigtails. Bindi is unfazed, radiant, charming, cute, charismatic and more well-spoken than 97 percent of Hollywood and Washington, D.C.
"She's totally harmless to me," Bindi says of one of her endangered pet snakes, and you can see and hear her late father's Aussie excitement spring forth. "But she can actually eat venomous snakes! She has a hundred small sharp teeth, but look at her cute little face with those GORGEOUS eyebrows."
Bindi is 8 years old.
Her father, Steve Irwin the crocodile hunter, helped make "Jungle Girl" happen for Bindi. Filming began before he died. He appears in the new series that starts Saturday on Discovery Kids. In the second episode, taped last year, he's right there next to her, goofing around. Later, a stingray would jam a barb through his warm heart.
Bindi and her mom, Terri, pay tribute to papa Irwin with an Animal Planet special at 8 p.m. Friday called "My Daddy the Croc Hunter." He was my favorite TV hero. To me, his death was the most mournful TV moment of the year. Here was a guy who loved every living creature. He rescued crocodiles and many other unloved, un-cute beings few people on Earth care about. He did it all with bare hands.
It's heartbreaking again to watch the magnificent father and his enchanting daughter so playful together on "Jungle Girl," especially when she speaks in the present tense.
"Just like me, my dad loves pandas!" Bindi says.
Then, he lets a tiger feed on milk, poured by the tips of his fingers.
"Dad's making sure our tigers have a treat, too," she says in narration. "There are only a few thousand left in the wild, and they could all be gone by the time I'm old enough to drive. How sad is that?"
How sad is that?
But by the second episode, mourning fades with the familiarity of this new series. And even in the first episode, it is clear "Jungle Girl" is a high-water mark in both children's programming and nature TV.
Bindi's tree house abounds with her snakes, her pet rat, her pet puppy and her genuine delight. She swings on a rope and lopes like a gorilla -- all the while delivering sharp narration on animal segments about pandas, iguanas, rhinos and the like, which pop powerfully from the screen.
"Jungle Girl" moves fast, as you'd expect of a kid's show, but it's smooth, sleek, stylish and mesmerizing. Like "The Crocodile Hunter," it's environmentally conscious education completely disguised as amazing, upbeat entertainment.
It's the most perfect tree house since "Pee-wee's Playhouse" and Bart Simpson's "Treehouse of Horror," complete with a fantastic theme song punctuated by Bindi calling out blissfully, "Biiiiin-di!"
Just to give you an idea how much the Irwins and their Australian Zoo care about everything with a heartbeat, a lizard goes under the knife, not for being a bad lizard, but to get a life-threatening lump surgically removed from its ill body.
In such moments -- in all moments -- "Jungle Girl" is the sweetest thing, a bittersweet goodbye to a great man and a joyful hello for the love he left behind.
REALITY TV | Chef Gordon Ramsay set to serve up another season of antagonism
June 3, 2007
BY DOUG ELFMAN Television Critic
Peer at the reality show "Hell's Kitchen" and you may conclude we as a nation are masochistic, food-obsessed, fame-seeking sloths of mediocre talent.
The third season begins Monday with British chef Gordon Ramsay tasting the awful cooking of 12 contestants. The winner will earn $250,000 as a restaurant chef in a Las Vegas hotel.
With the stakes so high, you'd think these contestants graduated at Le Cordon Bleu or the Culinary Institute of America. But no. One contender grilled at a Waffle House.
To enter the contest, cooks submitted videotapes demonstrating their TV faces, rather than mailing in plates of achiote-seared shrimp with quick habanero-pickled onions.
"People always judge me when I walk in a kitchen -- by my looks," one wannabe says. She cooks pepper-crusted steak and roasted asparagus.
Other contestants are fragile and cry a lot on camera after Ramsay screams at them.
"Stop f---ing crying," Ramsay bellows at a man in a cowboy hat who normally cooks for retirees somewhere.
Ramsay says later in the season debut: "Why are you crying? What in the f---?"
And: "I've had some tough nights in my life, but not over a f---ing egg!"
Also: "F---ing concentrate!"
Plus: "Sir, do you mind just wiping the snot off your f---ing face before we serve chicken and snot?"
This entertaining sadism is served to contestants who crave TV time by any means necessary. But viewers can relate to his bossiness, if it's anything like their own workplace hell. (Misery loves company.)
To draw that masochistic conclusion, you could turn on other shows -- "The Office," "Rescue Me" and any other workplace series like "Scrubs" and "Grey's Anatomy" -- where labor is overworked, underpaid and berated.
But "Hell's Kitchen" is transparently rawer than most.
"You are one chunky monkey, aren't you?" Ramsey growls at the heavy, cowboy-hatted, retiree-feeding cook.
Fighting among contestants also depicts our foodie republic's oral fixation.
"What are you doing with the risotto?" one woman snarls at another. "No! This is not how you do it. Risotto -- you don't even add that much liquid to begin with!"
At its base, "Hell's" is a search for a star who isn't the best in America but the best available, TV-worthy person who has "vision."
"Hell's" greatly wanted competitors with "vision," Ramsay says.
But vision is the most overrated and dangerous quality within us. To have vision in your sights is to wear blinders.
George W. Bush has a vision about war. Terrorists have a vision about religion. Paris Hilton has a vision about singing.
Shakespeare, Mozart and Picasso are not defined by vision. They were master craftsmen. They were servants to methods to produce high-quality work, and only by deduction, then, did they challenge tradition and trends in their fields.
In college, I waited tables in New Orleans under chef Emeril Lagasse. Emeril was a spectacular cook. He did not blabber about vision. He was a learned chef, working very hard, six or seven days a week, morning to night.
Similarly, Ramsay roasted and baked tirelessly for top-notch eateries around the world to attain skills, then fame. The peak of his mountain now is to host "Hell's Kitchen" and hand a reputation shortcut to a short-order cook.
At least "The Apprentice" judged very accomplished CV owners. And surprisingly, "The Search for the Next Pussycat Doll" featured extremely skilled vocalists, mostly better than on "Idol," though the winner must now sing dumbed-down Dolls songs, booty out.
Step back to get perspective and you'll see the mediocre talent in "Hell's" is a microcosm of other Americanisms, like our politics. If you ran a huge corporation a decade ago, would you have hired Arnold Schwarzenegger as your CEO? How about George W. Bush or John Kerry?
Of course you wouldn't have. You would have headhunted the most skilled, brilliant, learned and trained taskmaster you could find, someone with an impeccable track record. Someone who's not primarily a lying visionary.
That's how we should hire politicians, but we don't. In government and on TV, we focus on candidates we can laugh at, or root for as underdogs, sweethearts or the best of the worst.
We the viewers and voters are our own undoing. We feast on fast-food crumbs forked out by anti-intellectuals who underrate our taste buds.
Consider "American Idol." If it were serious, it would hold auditions at Berklee College of Music, in addition to Soldier Field. But we don't want a serious "Idol," apparently.
And if "Hell's Kitchen" sought a world-class chef, a few producers would sniff out culinary classes around the world.
But what "Hell's Kitchen" desires is good ratings as fluffy amusement. And -- other than an aggravating, cymbal-riddled music score -- it is undeniably entertaining, because Ramsay is the R. Lee Ermey ("Full Metal Jacket") of cooking.
"It tastes like gnat's piss!" he shrieks at a cook's dish.
That contestant may soon be serving roast cannon of new-season lamb with confit shoulder, white bean puree and baby leeks at Las Vegas' Green Valley Ranch. If so, don't expect to see "gnat's piss" on billboards, just on plates.
delfman@suntimes.com
BY DOUG ELFMAN Television Critic
Peer at the reality show "Hell's Kitchen" and you may conclude we as a nation are masochistic, food-obsessed, fame-seeking sloths of mediocre talent.
The third season begins Monday with British chef Gordon Ramsay tasting the awful cooking of 12 contestants. The winner will earn $250,000 as a restaurant chef in a Las Vegas hotel.
With the stakes so high, you'd think these contestants graduated at Le Cordon Bleu or the Culinary Institute of America. But no. One contender grilled at a Waffle House.
To enter the contest, cooks submitted videotapes demonstrating their TV faces, rather than mailing in plates of achiote-seared shrimp with quick habanero-pickled onions.
"People always judge me when I walk in a kitchen -- by my looks," one wannabe says. She cooks pepper-crusted steak and roasted asparagus.
Other contestants are fragile and cry a lot on camera after Ramsay screams at them.
"Stop f---ing crying," Ramsay bellows at a man in a cowboy hat who normally cooks for retirees somewhere.
Ramsay says later in the season debut: "Why are you crying? What in the f---?"
And: "I've had some tough nights in my life, but not over a f---ing egg!"
Also: "F---ing concentrate!"
Plus: "Sir, do you mind just wiping the snot off your f---ing face before we serve chicken and snot?"
This entertaining sadism is served to contestants who crave TV time by any means necessary. But viewers can relate to his bossiness, if it's anything like their own workplace hell. (Misery loves company.)
To draw that masochistic conclusion, you could turn on other shows -- "The Office," "Rescue Me" and any other workplace series like "Scrubs" and "Grey's Anatomy" -- where labor is overworked, underpaid and berated.
But "Hell's Kitchen" is transparently rawer than most.
"You are one chunky monkey, aren't you?" Ramsey growls at the heavy, cowboy-hatted, retiree-feeding cook.
Fighting among contestants also depicts our foodie republic's oral fixation.
"What are you doing with the risotto?" one woman snarls at another. "No! This is not how you do it. Risotto -- you don't even add that much liquid to begin with!"
At its base, "Hell's" is a search for a star who isn't the best in America but the best available, TV-worthy person who has "vision."
"Hell's" greatly wanted competitors with "vision," Ramsay says.
But vision is the most overrated and dangerous quality within us. To have vision in your sights is to wear blinders.
George W. Bush has a vision about war. Terrorists have a vision about religion. Paris Hilton has a vision about singing.
Shakespeare, Mozart and Picasso are not defined by vision. They were master craftsmen. They were servants to methods to produce high-quality work, and only by deduction, then, did they challenge tradition and trends in their fields.
In college, I waited tables in New Orleans under chef Emeril Lagasse. Emeril was a spectacular cook. He did not blabber about vision. He was a learned chef, working very hard, six or seven days a week, morning to night.
Similarly, Ramsay roasted and baked tirelessly for top-notch eateries around the world to attain skills, then fame. The peak of his mountain now is to host "Hell's Kitchen" and hand a reputation shortcut to a short-order cook.
At least "The Apprentice" judged very accomplished CV owners. And surprisingly, "The Search for the Next Pussycat Doll" featured extremely skilled vocalists, mostly better than on "Idol," though the winner must now sing dumbed-down Dolls songs, booty out.
Step back to get perspective and you'll see the mediocre talent in "Hell's" is a microcosm of other Americanisms, like our politics. If you ran a huge corporation a decade ago, would you have hired Arnold Schwarzenegger as your CEO? How about George W. Bush or John Kerry?
Of course you wouldn't have. You would have headhunted the most skilled, brilliant, learned and trained taskmaster you could find, someone with an impeccable track record. Someone who's not primarily a lying visionary.
That's how we should hire politicians, but we don't. In government and on TV, we focus on candidates we can laugh at, or root for as underdogs, sweethearts or the best of the worst.
We the viewers and voters are our own undoing. We feast on fast-food crumbs forked out by anti-intellectuals who underrate our taste buds.
Consider "American Idol." If it were serious, it would hold auditions at Berklee College of Music, in addition to Soldier Field. But we don't want a serious "Idol," apparently.
And if "Hell's Kitchen" sought a world-class chef, a few producers would sniff out culinary classes around the world.
But what "Hell's Kitchen" desires is good ratings as fluffy amusement. And -- other than an aggravating, cymbal-riddled music score -- it is undeniably entertaining, because Ramsay is the R. Lee Ermey ("Full Metal Jacket") of cooking.
"It tastes like gnat's piss!" he shrieks at a cook's dish.
That contestant may soon be serving roast cannon of new-season lamb with confit shoulder, white bean puree and baby leeks at Las Vegas' Green Valley Ranch. If so, don't expect to see "gnat's piss" on billboards, just on plates.
delfman@suntimes.com
PUPPY LOVE REVIEW | Chicago's most adorable young canines go tail-to-tail in We's contest to determine who's the cutest of the cute
June 1, 2007
BY DOUG ELFMAN Television Critic
Awwwwwwwwwwwwww. Puppieeeeeeeeeeeeeeees. If you think your puppy is the most adorable little scamp in town, you've missed your chance to enter it in We's "America's Cutest Puppies" contest. The winner is ... I won't spoil the surprise.
But in Saturday night's Chicago-based episode, three local judges pet and play with scores of local pooches --and get peed on, naturally -- before crowning the city's cutest dog between 4 and 8 months old. The champ goes on to take a bow-wow-wow in dog-eat-dog national finals.
Every pup is cute, and that's all the show needs to trot along as canine eye candy.
Doggies face three female judges, no males. Dozens and dozens of dogs vie for affection. It's like "The Bachelorette" with actual animals instead of metaphorical beasts.
You can tell a lot about the judges by how they describe their favorite doggy traits. DJ Erin Carman of the Loop (WLUP-FM, 97.9) has a crush on one English bulldog; when she expresses an interest in his self-assurance, it sounds like a dogmatic confession from "Sex and the City."
"I think the attraction to Sweet Bea is the fact that here's this confident dog," Carman says. "We're looking at it like, 'Whoa, this dog has no idea how crazy it looks.' It doesn't care. And that's cute. That's absolutely adorable."
Carman also takes a shine to a pug because it "gave me a few kisses, so, big bonus."
When the pooches don't please them, the judges sound pretty Chicago-y. They're hard-bitten, hard-to-please critics. Charisa Antigua, a fashion designer, grumbles, "I don't like dumb dogs." She's looking for a cutie who's sweet, loving, kind and gentle yet playful.
"He wasn't playing with his toys," Antigua says of a pup. "So I don't know. He just didn't do it for me."
Ruff comments! The judges' barks are bigger than their bites, though. They all succumb to "awww"ing and take it in stride when a puppy tinkles on them.
It appears these are everyday pets, not super-trained show dogs. Even owners whose dogs lose shake it off. No one gets in a catfight. "America's Cutest Puppies" isn't that kind of best-in-show. In fact, the winning human cries like a big baby at the end.
If the show is any indication, Chicago has a lot of puggles, bulldogs and golden retrievers, plus Boston terriers, Chinese charpiers and chowchows.
Owners named their tail-wagging loved ones Hefner, Dolly, M&M (not Eminem), Budha, Bruzer, Briskett Blues, Bocephus and Miss Gina Marie. One dog wears a tuxedo shirt complemented by a Napoleon hat. Another, a one-piece, yellow chicken suit.
Puppies that make it into the top 10 are hot pooches like Budha, a deaf staff/Lab mix who wins over Carman the way dogs catch all the ladies' eyes: He's attractive and has character.
"He tells a story just by looking at him," Carman says. "And that sounds really stupid, but it's true. You just look at that dog and you get emotional!"
Awwwwwww. Now heel, Carman, heel.
BY DOUG ELFMAN Television Critic
Awwwwwwwwwwwwww. Puppieeeeeeeeeeeeeeees. If you think your puppy is the most adorable little scamp in town, you've missed your chance to enter it in We's "America's Cutest Puppies" contest. The winner is ... I won't spoil the surprise.
But in Saturday night's Chicago-based episode, three local judges pet and play with scores of local pooches --and get peed on, naturally -- before crowning the city's cutest dog between 4 and 8 months old. The champ goes on to take a bow-wow-wow in dog-eat-dog national finals.
Every pup is cute, and that's all the show needs to trot along as canine eye candy.
Doggies face three female judges, no males. Dozens and dozens of dogs vie for affection. It's like "The Bachelorette" with actual animals instead of metaphorical beasts.
You can tell a lot about the judges by how they describe their favorite doggy traits. DJ Erin Carman of the Loop (WLUP-FM, 97.9) has a crush on one English bulldog; when she expresses an interest in his self-assurance, it sounds like a dogmatic confession from "Sex and the City."
"I think the attraction to Sweet Bea is the fact that here's this confident dog," Carman says. "We're looking at it like, 'Whoa, this dog has no idea how crazy it looks.' It doesn't care. And that's cute. That's absolutely adorable."
Carman also takes a shine to a pug because it "gave me a few kisses, so, big bonus."
When the pooches don't please them, the judges sound pretty Chicago-y. They're hard-bitten, hard-to-please critics. Charisa Antigua, a fashion designer, grumbles, "I don't like dumb dogs." She's looking for a cutie who's sweet, loving, kind and gentle yet playful.
"He wasn't playing with his toys," Antigua says of a pup. "So I don't know. He just didn't do it for me."
Ruff comments! The judges' barks are bigger than their bites, though. They all succumb to "awww"ing and take it in stride when a puppy tinkles on them.
It appears these are everyday pets, not super-trained show dogs. Even owners whose dogs lose shake it off. No one gets in a catfight. "America's Cutest Puppies" isn't that kind of best-in-show. In fact, the winning human cries like a big baby at the end.
If the show is any indication, Chicago has a lot of puggles, bulldogs and golden retrievers, plus Boston terriers, Chinese charpiers and chowchows.
Owners named their tail-wagging loved ones Hefner, Dolly, M&M (not Eminem), Budha, Bruzer, Briskett Blues, Bocephus and Miss Gina Marie. One dog wears a tuxedo shirt complemented by a Napoleon hat. Another, a one-piece, yellow chicken suit.
Puppies that make it into the top 10 are hot pooches like Budha, a deaf staff/Lab mix who wins over Carman the way dogs catch all the ladies' eyes: He's attractive and has character.
"He tells a story just by looking at him," Carman says. "And that sounds really stupid, but it's true. You just look at that dog and you get emotional!"
Awwwwwww. Now heel, Carman, heel.
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