The Shire and Impossible Expectations

I remember reading The Hobbit in elementary school. I was a pretty bookish kid, particularly for any kind of fantasy, and The Hobbit seemed tailor-made for me. It felt old to me, as if it wasn't a story, but history of a place that really could have existed, only told in the form of a gorgeous fairy tale. I then read Lord of the Rings (which was an endeavor for a ten-year old). I don't remember exactly when I saw the movies for the first time, but they blew me away as no other movie could. They were heavy stuff for an early teen-- lots of dialogue and exposition mixed in with some of the most brutal fighting scenes I had ever witnessed (I hadn't seen Tarantino yet). 

My love of LOTR continued into my 20's. I read the series a few more times, tried to read The Simillarion (I made it through Ulysses but I can't make it through that damn book. What gives?) I can't even count how many times I've seen the movies. When I heard that Guillermo del Toro would be directing the Hobbit movie, I was dismayed, but I knew that I shouldn't be. I loved the Hellboy movies. The Hobbit was much more of a weird fairy tale, not the epic that was Lord of the Rings. Del Toro could bring to life the ephemeral weirdness of the wargs and Gandalf's magic. His creatures could bring an eerier edge to the story. Where could it go wrong? For all the rationalizing that I did to get myself to like the idea, I couldn't bring myself to it. Peter Jackson was the man for the job. He brought the impossible to the screen. His singularity would be missed, and there was nothing that could console me.

As you can imagine, I was ecstatic when I found out that he would be directing. Everything was right in the world. What could go wrong?

Three movies? For The Hobbit? Seriously? That broke me. It's a deft little fairy tale, for goodness's sake. I had to kick my rationalization in full gear for that one: well, maybe Jackson is incorporating other stories from Tolkien's canon. Yeah, that's it! It'll be awesome!

48fps looks like garbage? Well, I'm sure we'll get used to it. People used to say bad things about color. I'm sure this won't be a big deal.

The story is too padded? Whatever. Critics just have a short attention span (yes, I actually said this). It'll be good for us Tolkien fans.

Well, I finally saw the movie. It was... all right. It had fantastic moments-- the scene with Gollum and Bilbo was so wonderfully wrought. The final battle through the mountain was straight from my childhood fantasies. They even brought out the Eagles. There was just so much in between that I could barely stay awake (I did see it at 8 or so, and it had been a long day. So there's that). 

After spending some time reviewing all the things that could have been better about the film, I stopped. In any way could this movie have fulfilled my expectations? When I saw the Lord of the Rings trilogy, the experience of reading the books was fresh. I was young and easily impressed. Nostalgia was playing havoc with my desires. 

Brooding over time makes it that much harder for me to be pleased by something. George R.R. Martin is going to have to do a knock-out job for me to be satisfied with the ending of A Song of Ice and Fire. When I listened to the new songs from Vampire Weekend, a staple of my high school years, I was pleased, but not overwhelmed with their artistry. They weren't any better or worse than songs from their previous albums. I'm just jaded now, and the wait for the songs had drained me of being overly excited about them. Novelty is one of the few things that can profoundly move me now-- that's why Beasts of the Southern Wild impressed me so much.

What's the solution to all of this? I don't know, but I don't think it's lowering my expectations-- that might make me go see a Michael Bay movie or something *shudder*. Art is going to have flaws 99% of the time, and we need to accept that. Caution is what I see-- it's perfectly fine to be excited about something, but childlike anticipation will only create disappointment. As art matures, our expectations for it need to also. If we're going to be giddy over something, let it be something new and unexpected. Then we'll go back to our childhood.

Revisiting the Island

We all have vestiges of nostalgia hidden somewhere. For me, LOST is one that's near and dear to my heart, along with Calvin and Hobbes and The Legend of Zelda. It's the first TV show that I fawned over, that I anticipated week to week, that I dreaded seeing the credits for. In my parents' house, there's a big analogue clock next to the TV. I remember wishing that time would stop during the show so that I could finally see every and last secret that the island had to offer. I didn't start from the beginning of the show, but Blockbuster DVDs filled me in during summer hiatuses. The mythology, the character arcs, the twists and turns-- I loved all of it (I'm still a little ambiguous on the ending, but that's an entry for another day).

Considering I have a few days before classes start again, I decided to watch a couple episodes of LOST. The pilot is immensely entertaining, and if I'm as enthralled as I was the first time around, why not appreciate it again? As it turns out, I wasn't looking backwards with rose-colored glasses: this show is just as good, if not better, than I remember it.

I'm a big advocate of repeated viewings/experiences of things. I can't tell you how many times I've read The Great Gatsby (okay, it's probably around 5 or 6), and Monty Python and the Holy Grail is my go-to movie when I want to kill a couple of hours. Art can't be fully appreciated in one sitting. Of course, the quality of the art in question is directly proportional to the number of times that I'll experience it (one viewing of Transformers 2 was approximately one too many). For a lot of things, it's a fantastic litmus test. While there are some fantastic movies and shows that once was more than enough, LOST has proven to be one for the repeat.

I watched the pilot and the first two episodes after it. The pilot is breathtaking in every way. Jack wandering around the wreckage for the first few minutes of the episode encapsulates the horror of the crash. What impressed me the most was how well the minimalistic approach to characterization worked. There was a lot to get to, even in an hour and a half, but all the major players got the necessary amount of exposure. The shot of Locke, smiling with an orange in his mouth, particularly struck me compared to the frenzy of Jack-- these are two very different men.

I wondered how it would be already knowing the outcome of the major events. I thought at first that it would ruin the suspense. LOST depends on suspense and the unknown to a high extent, and that to me seemed like  a major drawback to repeat viewings. However, watching all the pieces fall into places is fascinating. One of my favorite things about LOST is seeing the character's motivations clash against each other in the progressing circumstances of the island. I wanted to see these moments again, and that's where the suspense came from this time. Of course, faulty as memory is, I had forgotten about many of the subtleties of the island, and I was able to experience them as if they were new.

The biggest change for me has been myself. I watched the show for the first time as a teenager. I was mostly in it for the mythology, the deft action scenes, and Kate (yeah, her story may be boring, but... wow, she's good looking). Now that I'm in my 20's, it hits harder. "Walkabout", the episode that introduces Locke, is one hell of an episode. I still get chills at the scene where Locke is rejected for the walkabout. Such a tragic character finding redemption on the island is something that I want to believe in so badly. Some days, we all need our island. This is the best one we may have.

Critic Time: Community-- "Football, Feminism and You"

On my first go-around with Community, this was the episode that really encapsulated what the show could be-- stories of personal growth, the weirdness that is Greendale, and the conscious usage of common television tropes to explore its themes. These had all been done in prior episodes, but "Football, Feminism and You" has a cohesiveness that the other episodes seem to lack. The confidence in the characters and the writing provides for the foundation of one of the most solid sitcom seasons I've ever seen.

Up until this point, Troy had been comic relief. I found this odd, because he arguably, other than Jeff, lost the most by having to come to Greendale. The wait for character explanation paid off here. The scheming Dean gets Jeff to convince Troy to play for the Greendale Human Beings (changed from the Greendale Grizzlies, because the students have already been called animals too much). I take a sick satisfaction in watching smug characters get their comeuppance, and Jeff gets his through some hilarously atrocious posters. At this point, it's not really clear how much Jeff has settled into Greendale-- he'll defend it to bail Britta out of trouble, but God forbid anybody from his old profession find out that he's there (which results in blackmail from the Dean through one-too-many adjectives for the profession of law). It's a place of acceptance for all creeds (more on that later), but Jeff is used to the high life-- he still drives past the courthouse everyday to remind himself of where and what he was. Watching him get stuck in the schemes of people who he wouldn't have bothered with 6 months before is a constant source of amusement, as he manages to get his way, but he almost always ends up learning something in the process.

This episode had a lot going on, and I loved all of it. All of the story lines meshed together into a satisfying denouement. The highest praise I can give it is that it reminded me of some of the best episodes of Arrested Development, albeit with a less cartoonish vibe (not that that's a bad thing. You will never, ever hear me say anything remotely bad about Arrested Development). Troy's story line cuts deep for a character without much to do before-- he went out on top, and now he's accepted where he is. Walking between ambition and comfort is a tough gig. We've all had the chance to attempt things much beyond our perceived skills or intelligence, and the grind sucks-- it even blinds us to the glory that we may be able to receive. Troy couldn't handle that, and there's nothing wrong with that. He's happy because he's realized football isn't the most important thing in the world. Wouldn't it be nice for us to stop taking ourselves so seriously and just take a pottery class?

Britta also had a nice arc in the episode. Despite being a staunch feminist, she can't really relate to other women. Her disastrous trip to the bathroom with Shirley (who drowns her out with the hand dryer in one of the episode's funniest moments) helps her to realize that people need to be soft sometimes. Britta is a harsh character. She's passionate, and she makes no effort to hide it. When Annie finally breaks down over her unrequited love for Troy, Britta struggles to comfort her. I was worried here that the episode was going to delve too soft, that Britta was going to say the wrong thing, but no: Britta's feminism and independence came out in the best possible way to help Annie. It was a strong moment for all three women.

In the most surreal arc, Pierce and the Dean design a mascot for the football team. The boards of typical ethnic body parts cracked me up, and the horrid Human Being was one of the funniest TV reveals that I've ever seen. It did prove a good point that we can be so sensitive about race that we end up being a little racist (the exchange between Troy and Jeff about racism was hysterical. "Your blood.That's racist. Your soul. That's racist. Your eyes? That's gay. That's homophobic. That's black. That's racist."). Just fantastic writing.

From my write-up, I can see how people would think that this episode is overly serious. That's not the case. There are plenty of laughs to go around. The only thing I didn't like was the only thing that Abed did, a weird meta-joke that didn't seem to mesh with what he was talking about. But hey, one bad joke in 22 minutes? Better than most.

Final grade: A. This episode brought a fledgling show into the quirky, heartfelt misfit we all love. Except for NBC, apparently.  

Critic Time: Community-- "Advanced Criminal Law"

And so my foray into criticism begins. Critic time is a terrible name for this. I'd be grateful for suggestions, as I am drawing a blank on all good names.

Community has been one of my favorite TV shows over the past few years. I wanted to review the show because criticism should be a labor of love. As much as I love reading reviews that trash awful subject matter , I wanted to start off in a nice way. Community also presents a challenge-- it can be highly experimental and abstract, and for me, this is going to help out a lot in future criticisms.

I'm starting with Episode 5 of Season 1 because I recently watched 1-4 and I want to give it a little bit of time before I do those in earnest. I'll get to it on a lazy weekend. I'm only going to judge the show on the events of previous episodes.

This episode puts Jeff's scumbag lawyer skills to the test. This was the main reason that I took interest in the show-- a hotshot busted for his chicanery is forced to start all over with a bunch of perennial screw-ups? Joel McHale oozes a douchey charisma in his role that reeled me in through some excellent NBC promos (which they subsequently forgot to do). He has fantastic chemistry with both John Oliver and Gillian Jacobs, and this episode puts both relationships center stage. All the rapport between Jeff and Britta is fantastic-- Jeff recognizes that he cares for Britta beyond a visceral level, but he doesn't want to sacrifice the possibility of romance for her continued friendship. The scene in the locker room, where Britta admits that she expects failure and believes Jeff's confession is masterfully done. Britta is both a fire brand and deeply insecure, and Jacobs exudes both characteristics wonderfully.

Britta got caught cheating, and Chang has her put on trial (at the 6,000 dollar judges' table). The episode falters here-- the motivations of Duncan get lost up until the very end (he wants to bang Britta, despite her ridiculous name) and the relationship between Duncan and Jeff is compromised. I can't complain too much, as the Dean's ambitions being undercut by the divers and swimmers of the pool is pretty funny. Overall, this was a strong episode for the Dean. He overpowered both Chang and Duncan in the trial. Jeff's speech about Greendale being a shelter for crazy people was a nice touch. Jeff's speeches often walk the line between apt and overly blunt, and this one did a nice job of tying the motivations of the main players into a cohesive resolution. While this plot line was uneven, it had some nice moments, and it tied up nicely.

I absolutely loved the B story with Troy and Abed. Both actors were given free reign to play up their characters, and the payoff was fantastic. I was a little skeptic at first-- with all the TV that Abed watches, how can he not understand sarcasm? I loved his realization of what Troy was doing, and I loved even more that he was willing to push the concept to ridiculous levels to better establish his friendship with Troy. It was a silly story that respected the intelligence of both of the characters. Perhaps my favorite thing was that it didn't turn into a kitschy message about the power of friendship-- Troy just said, "let's not do that anymore" in a moment of exasperation, and that was that. Danny Pudi really showed his knack for physical comedy here. Perhaps my favorite part of the episode was the fleeting exchange between Abed and Duncan.

"Cheers!"
"M*A*S*H!"
"Fawlty Towers! Hah!"

This is one of the strengths of Community: even with such witty, polished dialogue, it rarely feels forced. The scenes have a flow to them that expand and push the rapport to its limit, and then the whole thing will deflate with an awkward stare-down or a Garrett intrusion. The individual scenes know exactly when they'll break under the duress of cadence, and they almost always toe that line. And if push comes to show, Pierce can fall over or Troy can start crying.

I wasn't a fan of the Pierce/Annie story. It felt tacked on, and it really didn't do anything interesting with the characters. Annie is controlling and Pierce sucks at things. Stereotypes of characters aren't always bad-- we saw that here with Jeff and Britta. The C story here was too obvious about it, and it contributed almost nothing to the story. Luis Guzman will be used well in the future, but here, it added little to an episode that had quite a few moving parts.

A flawed episode of Community is still a damn fine piece of TV. Final Grade: B

Any objections? Suggestions? Fawning praise? Leave a comment? Seriously. I crave attention, and I want people to read this.

I am Comrade Question

I'd like to think of myself of some kind of auteur of pop-culture consumption, particularly television  I don't watch anything on CBS, I post on online reviews, and I have a ongoing ledger of character development and story arcs in my head. I have the dream of writing and running the next HBO hit, or a not terrible AMC show (I'm looking at you, Walking Dead. I'd write more about my disdain for that show, but that'd require me to re-watch that horrid first season. I'm still angry they tricked me with a good pilot). I figure, hey, if I like TV so much, why don't I gay marry it?

My solution is to write crappy reviews for a show. The problem is, I don't know what show. I want to stretch myself. I was thinking drama, preferably on Netflix. The West Wing, Lost (even though I've already seen it), or Firefly (yes, I know that it's an internet sin to not have seen this show). Any recommendations would be greatly appreciated. Leave a comment. I think that can be done. If not, send me smoke signals or something.

And when I make it big for writing the spiritual successor of The Wire, I'll put your name in the credits somewhere. Maybe you could even guest star as a cadaver!

Doorways and Phantoms

Mad Men is possibly my favorite TV show. Umpteen things have been written about it, and they're much better than whatever I can express, but this show makes me feel things that few other forms of art can. I figure that if I'm going to write about something, this show is a good challenge.

I'm going to cover all events in the show, including the Season 6 premiere, so if you're avoiding spoilers, bookmark this entry, catch up, and then read.

Why do I love Mad Men so much? It represents who we are and who we think we are better than anything else I've ever seen. It makes sense; the show is about advertising, selling. I'm fascinated why people want what they want, and what they will do to achieve their desires. Advertising, and particularly the advertising on this show, delves right into that. Sure, the ad campaigns Don Draper and his wonder crew of bearded Orson Welle wannabes could throw me a pitch for nuclear fallout and I'd buy it, but how the characters present themselves to the world is really what drives the show, and what reels me in. The disparity of Draper's story-- from a backwoods bastard to the slickest ad man on Madison Avenue-- reflects the shallow sadness of the American Dream. He bounces from woman to woman, drink to drink, but there's little that's glamorous about it. He doesn't know what he wants, but he wants it right now.

One of the quotes that struck me the most from the series was from Bobbi Barrett, the wife of an obnoxious insult comic-- "I like being bad and then going home and being good." The duality of many of the characters is readily evident. We want it all. We want to be hedonistic and nurturing all in the same commute home. The ideals of the era come in the early seasons from Betty Draper, the pristine housewife. It's all Don could ever want-- a loving wife and kids, a beautiful home, a thriving social life. By the standards of the time, he was living the American dream. But his demons got a hold of him, and it all went to hell. Nostalgia does wonders to erase malaise, and Don, particularly in Season 4, is slayed by vices that some admirers of the show ironically glamorize. I'll get to the potential danger of the show later, but the dichotomy of what America, and  its inhabitants, is honest beyond the sex appeal of a full-page ad.

Even with its bleak tone at times, the show is damned funny. Roger Sterling shoots out hysterical one-liners faster than whatever rifle he used in WWII. My particular favorite is after a hotshot ad man loses a foot in a tragic lawnmower accident (this is somehow plausible on the show): "it's such a shame. Right when he got it in the door." The Mrs. Blanketship saga is one of my favorite things the show has ever done. Her death and its aftermath had me laughing harder than most sitcoms (if you haven't figured by now, the humor is rather dark). And then Mad Men went for the heart: Burt Cooper, writing her obituary as a former lover, says "she was born in a barn and died in the 34th floor of a skyscraper. She was an astronaut."

As much as I love the show, it has effects I'd rather ignore. I see internet commenters (that might be my problem there) saying how much they admire Don and want to be like him. In between that and the derogatory terms thrown around about the women of the show, I'm worried. Yes, Don is cool on a superficial level. He knows how to rock a suit. He knows how to order a drink. He knows how to love. But have you observed him for what he is, or for what he tries to be? I agree, men should try to dress well and aim for composure and charm. Don is sympathetic only because we identify with his struggles on some level, thanks to the masterful writing of the Mad Men team. We see ourselves in him, and that's why we wince and curse when he self-implodes. It's also discouraging that a show that spends so much time decrying misogynistic attitudes inspires so much from ignorant men. Yes, the women in Don's world are flawed, but compared to him, they're saints.

Don't even get me started on people hating on Skyler from Breaking Bad. I'll go Gus-with-a-box-cutter on you.

Actually, no. I don't want to go to prison.

Thanks for reading, and if you didn't like this....

"This never happened. It will shock you how much it never happened."

Yes, I have one of these now.

I feel like I'm succumbing to every part of the weird online culture that we live in-- Facebook, Twitter, now a blog... we're seeing the future through a backlight screen. I don't know how I feel about this. While it does facilitate so much, is it cheapening the human experience into a few Youtube videos? Probably. But there have probably been at least 4 New York Times articles on this in the past year, so I won't dwell on this and limit myself to saying that the world is best experienced in full 3-D.

The only real reason I can think of for doing this is catharsis-- unloading whatever variety of angst I have on Monday vs the joy I have on Thursday. Accountability too: by writing here, and creating some sort of expectation from people that I actually have something to say, and that I have done something worth reading about, I'll feel more motivated to lead a more fulfilling life. We shirk the difficult for what's easy, we don't train for a marathon because the couch feels so much better. We don't write the novel that we've been planning in our head for 6 months because the TV is on. We live in a convenient world that rewards passivity and complicates exertion. Why throw my voice into the slew of the internet? While I may not say anything enlightening, at least I'll be trying. I'll be making sense of the 21st century hurricane that's engulfing us, or at least I'll cut a tiny piece of it apart and sew it back together in some better form. Beyond whatever books, TV shows, or funny experiences I write about will be some attempt to explain our existence, which is what everything is trying to do-- science, religion, art-- and why not be a part of that conversation?

At the end of it all, what do I want to be able to say? At least I tried. And this here, this is one minuscule way to do that. Read, don't read, it really doesn't matter to me. I'm here to inspire myself, and anyone who's open for inspiration-- in any form. I'm not the next Faulkner or Scorsese (at least not yet) but I can promise that this will be something of value. Until next time.