Join Salon staff as we discuss Episode 7 of "The Wire."
Salon contributors will include: Heather Havrilesky, TV critic; Sarah Hepola, Life deputy editor; Alex Koppelman, staff writer; Kerry Lauerman, New York editorial director; Farhad Manjoo, senior writer; Laura Miller, senior writer; Joan Walsh, editor in chief.
BEWARE: Spoilers ahead!
Havrilesky: Hoo, boy. Now we’re starting to see why this homeless-serial-killer confabulation makes so much sense as a storyline that highlights the interplay of the police department, city hall, the street, and of course the newspaper. Now that everyone’s whipped into a frenzy over one fictional murderer, it’s clear how many careers can be built and crushed by what amounts to a tempest in a teapot. Suddenly McNulty’s case has manpower, overtime, image-scanning computers, you name it, Carcetti’s got a solid chance to be governor, and the city desk is buzzing over the story of the year. How would viewers resist the temptation to get caught up in the hype, if we didn’t know it was all the result of a few red ribbons, a faked phone call and a snapshot of poor Donald?
When McNulty confesses, “This shit’s bigger than I ever thought it’d be,” he’s mirroring the thoughts of everyone in this picture, from Landsman to Daniels to Carcetti’s team to Bunk. We’re witnessing the power of the press and its enormous ability to sway public opinion.
And in case anyone thinks public opinion doesn’t matter, we’re invited to watch as Clay Davis turns a rock-solid case against him into a common-folk-like-me charm offensive followed by an impromptu pep rally. “What the fuck just happened?” Bond asks Pearlman, who responds, “Whatever it was, they don’t teach it in law school.”
One of Simon’s themes is the disconnect between what you learn in school — whether it’s public junior high in Baltimore, the police academy, law school or journalism school — and the way the world really works. Which brings us to my favorite exchange of the episode, between Bubbles, who’s working in a soup kitchen, and Mike, the reporter from the Baltimore Sun who’s nervously looking around for some homeless people to interview.
Mike: Mostly I’m just looking for a story about what it’s like for them. What life is like.
Bubbles: Hard times out here.
Mike: I can’t imagine.
Bubbles: And you’re gonna write a story about what life is like, huh?
Most of all, this episode highlights how McNulty’s manipulation of the system grew out of his unreasonably passionate (albeit at times misguided) focus on his job. Some letter writers have asserted that McNulty is a flat, essentially self-serving character. I couldn’t disagree more. McNulty is a drunk and a cheat, sure, but his addictions are a way of counterbalancing his obsessive devotion to police work. When McNulty offers to help one guy, and then ends up with a steady stream of cops who want to pilfer the resources allocated to his homeless-killer case, we see his true colors. McNulty can’t say no to these people, many of whom just want to do good work and get paid for it. For all of the ethical lapses of this scheme by McNulty and Freamon, clearly they’re two individuals who are consumed by their desire to get results and put the bad guys away. Idealists like that don’t end up in positions of power like Davis and Carcetti and even Daniels do, because they don’t know how to turn their backs on people who need their help. In David Simon’s hopelessly corrupt system, idealists don’t just stagnate, they aren’t merely forced to accept mediocrity. True idealists are eventually cast out as pariahs or lunatics.
The ultimate tragic fate for McNulty wouldn’t be losing Beadie or losing access to his kids or getting sent back to the docks or even getting thrown in jail or killed. The worst thing for McNulty would be getting kicked off the force completely. This is what he loves and believes in, which is why he’s driven to such extremes to avoid simply treading water in an ineffectual department.
“Get me out of this, Lester,” McNulty says. “As fast as you can.” Oh, you’ll be out, alright.
Koppelman: Oh, sure, Heather — rub it in some more, why don’t you? The TV critic was right, the fake serial plot is worthwhile, and the rest of us should just go back to our (shudder) day jobs.
Actually, I don’t know that I’m ready to admit that much yet. You make some good points about the nature of McNulty and Freamon, but I still find their actions a stretch. As you say, they’re driven by a desire to put the bad guys away, and I’ve yet to be convinced that these characters wouldn’t have a problem crossing the lines they have and becoming bad guys themselves. So I still have a problem with the root of the plot, but I do like the way it’s spinning out. (And McNulty does make a convincing serial killer in that phone call, doesn’t he?) I’m interested to see what role Bunk will ultimately play in this; clearly, he’s getting more and more exasperated by what’s happening.
I know I said it last week, but Michael K. Williams, who plays Omar, is a fantastic actor, and I find myself anticipating his scenes every week. I know this in particular is the writers, too, but the moment when Omar kills Savino is just well-done. A man with honor we’ve seen again and again, Omar is still willing to literally blow a man’s brains out for little reason and with no hesitation, so casually that it seemed just the period at the end of his sentence.
Finally, Clay Davis’ acquittal damn near killed me. I so wanted to see his final perp walk, but I should have known better — clearly, David Simon wasn’t going to make anything that easy, and, frankly, neither would a real Baltimore jury.
Speaking of Davis, my dad pointed out to me the other day that I’ve been falling down on the knowledge I should have as a Charm City native. (Sheeeeit.) Davis seems pretty clearly based on former Maryland State Sen. Larry Young, who was expelled from the legislature in the late 1990′s, but acquitted in his own trial. Now he’s a radio host; in fact, he’s the radio host seen interviewing Davis last week. (Also, if your obsession with Simon creations goes back as far as mine, Young was the prototype for the congressman on “Homicide” who files the false report about a kidnapping that leads to Pembleton’s first resignation.)
Hepola: I loved this episode. And by the way, Dominic West (who plays McNulty) directed it. Apparently, he got enough extra man hours to sit behind the camera, too.
“The Wire” has always been about people who understand work much better than they understand their personal life — like Heather mentioned, McNulty’s true passion isn’t his kids or the woman sharing his bed, it’s police work. That’s true for so many of the characters on the show, that they are defined by their job — be it slinging on the corner, or landing a story above the fold, or nabbing a guy you know in your gut is dirty. Even the most romantic moment of the episode — a quiet evening between Rhonda and Daniels (actor Lance Reddick, clearly benefitting from time on the Bodyflex) — is shop talk. The cops unwinding are, naturally, at a cop bar. (Cameo of the season has to go to Richard Belzer.) This is a cast of workaholics, and I suspect it is a show beloved by workaholics as well. It’s fashionable not to give a shit about your job, to be cynical and sneering that anything you do matters, but these are characters who have the courage (or foolishness) to believe that the work they do can make a difference. I loved the scene that cut back and forth between the news room and the police station as each staff prepped for battle. Of course, in this case, none of their work does matter. There is no serial killer. There is no victim. They’re pissing in the wind, soldiers in a battle they can’t possibly comprehend, lied to and manipulated. In case we forgot how this story was going to end, we got a little reminder courtesy Clay Davis, who brought his copy of “Prometheus Bound” (and comically mangled Aeschylus’ name) to the courthouse. Behold: Greek tragedy.
I was knocked out by the show’s final moments, Kima at the window of her apartment with her little boy in her lap. Kima has never really gotten the importance of having a home life, has never really gotten what slips away when their work does become their entire life, but I think it’s starting to sink in now. (And who didn’t feel gratified to learn that a woman who’s been shot could be unraveled by IKEA furniture?) It was a touch of brilliance on the part of writer Richard Price to reimagine “Goodnight, Moon” for the scary, scarred Baltimore streets. “Goodnight popo, goodnight fiends, goodnight hoppers, goodnight hustlers, goodnight scammers.” Leave it to “The Wire” to make that sentiment sound so sweet.
Lauerman: Yikes, it’s hard to go this late in the lineup — too many good points have already been made!
But yes, I think Heather wins; this season has starting to come together in a powerful way. And I’m not having any real trouble buying the behavior of Freamon or McNulty; I think we’re all saddened because we’ve come to like and relate to them over the years, but I think their frustration explains their actions entirely. (And as readers have rightly pointed out, the serial killer plot is no less believable than Bunny’s crazy Hamsterdam free-for-all in season three.)
I also appreciated the brutality of the Omar scene, Alex. They’ve been laying it on a bit thick with Omar and the Robin Hood act (he doesn’t even care about the money!). He’s a murderous thug, after all. I just wish they’d had him whistle a little “Farmer in the Dell” for old times.
I’m curious what happens next with Clay Davis. Surely, we haven’t sat through that much story for an abbreviated (and not that believable) courtroom hamfest and jaunty pep rally? I hope that’s not the last we see of him, or it will be an anticlimax.
I also loved that “Goodnight, Moon” riff, Sarah. I thoroughly enjoyed watching Templeton react when the “serial killer” threatened to bite him. And, sure, I suppose it was nice to see Richard Belzer as, I presume, Munch.
But the biggest distraction for me this week was Donald. As the story explodes, and that would-be snuff photo of him is plastered all over the media so that friends and family (what a wrenching scene with the parents, by the way) see it, surely it’s going to be noticed very quickly in a homeless shelter in the larger Potomac region. Then, how much longer before the trail leads back to McNulty? He seemed to loiter around that shelter for a while before leaving. And as the shelter manager told McNulty, it was rare the anyone would actually bring someone in, potentially making it all the more memorable to her. To me, McNulty’s perfect crime seems guaranteed to lead right back to him. Pretty lame for a detective. Unless he, in fact, really wants to get caught, and this is his way of . . . whoops, sorry. I’ve been watching too much “In Treatment.”
Miller: Tonight’s episode drove home to me that I can’t get too excited about this season when Marlo’s not in play. I’m not saying the serial killer story isn’t consistent with this or that character or that it isn’t funny or likely to produce some kind of crisis illustrative of whatever is wrong with the world Simon is portraying. But it’s preposterous, in a show whose value, for me, has always been its stringent realism. It’s not that McNulty’s scheme is incompatible with his character, just that it’s way too unlikely. It’s not that it couldn’t happen, but rather that it wouldn’t. It’s satire — not just of how the media works but of the public’s weird fixation on this exotic breed of murderer — and I like satire, but that’s not what I come to “The Wire” for. I’m sure real crime fiction writers (like Richard Price, who wrote this episode) are probably sick of having to think up new twists on the serial killer story and, if they’re socially minded, are also annoyed at readers who just aren’t interested in more realistic material. But instead of giving that material to an audience that’s already proven itself to be interested, I feel like Simon is rubbing our noses in the stupidity of an entertainment-industry cliche instead.
I’m with Alex, though: Clay Davis’s triumph by demagoguery, however, is exactly the sort of thing that would happen in a city like Ballmer. Could the jury actually believe that Davis strode his district like Senator Bountiful, handing out petty cash for Similac or funeral expenses? Or did he just manage to make them hate the uptown lawyers arrayed against him? It amounts to the same thing when people feel that ground down by the powers that be.
How much longer is Omar going to roam the streets, knocking off Marlo’s thugs and calling him out? Everyone’s trying to flush Marlo! Yet he’s nowhere to be seen, and ditto Chris and Snoop. I pretty much expect McNulty and Scott to go down this season, but Marlo’s likely fate is a complete mystery to me. Is he the new model drug lord, ideally suited to the ultracold street capitalism of the 21st century? Or is he flying too close to the sun? That’s the only story that matters to me at the moment.
Manjoo: I read in the New Yorker that David Simon’s next show is about jazz musicians in New Orleans, a very high-minded idea that’s sure to titillate the NPR set. But this week’s episode got me thinking about a way for Simon to cash in.
Three words, Mr. Simon: Clay. Davis. Sitcom.
Call it “Clay!” Think “The Cosby Show” or “Family Matters,” only now the dad’s a scheming, manipulative, crooked politician — and lovable! You’ll frown upon his transgressions, but you’ll fall for the quick wit, the plastic face, the silver-tongued comic brilliance.
If it takes off (sheeeeeit, when it takes off), there’d be Clay Davis T-shirts and coffee mugs, Clay Davis tax and investment guides (“My world is strictly cash-and-carry!”), and, of course, catchphrase-spewing pull-string toy dolls.
Consider it, David. Because I’m telling you, no else one on “The Wire” this season has been as enjoyable as Isiah Whitlock Jr.’s Clay Davis, and this episode proves it. I too didn’t see it coming, but when it came — when Davis won over the jury with his tale of Clay-as-man-of-the-people — the story felt perfect. Of course Davis would bring the courtroom to his side — after all, I fall for him every week, and I know he’s crooked.
I’m with Laura and Alex on the serial killer plot. Sure, such a story is possible, and the tale does, as Heather points out, serve to show up the connections between the city’s various dysfunctional constituent parts. But it still breaks with “The Wire”‘s commitment to what would actually happen. The story’s entertaining, and I like where it’s going — but as it keeps twisting, I can’t help but yelling at the screen, “Oh, come on!” And that’s never a good a thing.
Walsh:I’m sorry to be late to this party but I’ve been doing old-fashioned newspaper work, on the road three of the last five Sundays covering the presidential primaries. I’ve also been reluctant to weigh in until now because, as much as I love “The Wire,” I’ve had a hard time enjoying this season; the plot weirdnesses documented by others have distracted me, but I’m reluctant to kvetch about a creation as great as this one.
A couple of kvetches are crucial: The newsroom scenes started out pretty awful, lacking the nuance Simon captures among drugdealers and cops and school teachers and city bureaucrats. Scott Templeton seemed a terrible, unbelievable, almost unwatchable character. And the faux homeless serial killer plot has bugged me as much as many of you: I’ve never understood why the city would necessarily be any more galvanized by a guy preying on the homeless than by vicious drug dealers preying on the black poor.
But somehow – the sexual twist? Ah, McNulty, what a great pervert – it started to work last episode, and as the plot began to rumble and rattle forward this week, it was easy to forget my quibbling. I knew I was falling when the sight of Templeton wearing his awful “Kansas City Star” T-shirt to visit the homeless last week at first struck me as awful and unfair. But as the scene went on, and the pink cheeked fabulist got scared and ran away from a homeless dog, I chuckled, and I was hooked. This is some shameful shit – and I’m loving it again.
Even the newspaper plot has gotten a little more fun and believable, now that Templeton and McNulty have gotten so hopelessly intertwined. I’ve loved both times the two liars have come face to face across a conference table, with only one of them sort of knowing the truth. (Templeton faked a call to himself from the fake serial killer, and then McNulty faked a second call to the lying reporter, if you’re keeping score.) I love the way McNulty can’t help but pick at Templeton, with questions that could unravel his own lies. “Did he sound like the same guy?” he asks, and poor dumb Scott can’t decide what to say. “No, I mean yeah, well, no,” and then he adds that he had a real thick Baltimore accent. “You didn’t notice that the first time?” McNulty asks cruelly.
The best scenes are still on the corner. Simon’s heart is with the kids: Dukie looking at (newspaper) job listings (no Craigslist for Dukie), reading about dental office positions. “Man, you ain’t even been to no dentist,” Michael reminds him. When Carv arrives and pulls Michael off the corner, he reminds Dukie: “Don’t forget about Bug.” When Omar arrives, telling Michael to inform Marlo that he killed Savino, Michael is shaken, but the littlest boy plays the stoic, shaking his head at the hobbled Omar, “gimpy as a motherfucker.”
I’d like to say the scene where corrupt Clay Davis is acquitted was convincing, but it wasn’t, really. I believe his faux-Robin Hood, populist shtick might get him out of trouble; the accepted corruption of leaders like Davis is a huge part of the story of continued urban poverty. But it was hard to believe the prosecutors would be so complacent. Simon is tying up too many loose ends too quickly.
But I’m enjoying McNulty’s undoing. At first, he loves granting other cops’ requests for more staff, to do real police work. “Go with God,” says Father McNulty the first time he’s asked. By the last time, when a colleague calls him “Boss,” he’s done. He wants Lester to liberate him, but Lester needs eight more guys to help crack Marlo’s clockface code (wtf?) McNulty’s fellow situational ethicist, Clay Davis, summed it all up walking into court carrying a copy of “Prometheus Bound” by Aeschylus, which he pronounced “Promethes Bound” by “A-Silly-Us.” The moral of the story, Davis tells us, is “No good deed goes unpunished.” We know McNulty, and many others, will be punished; we’re just trying to figure out how and by whose hand.
Ricky Gervais: My conscience never takes a day off
In a Salon exclusive, the comedian answers critics, explains his hilarious new HBO show, and talks "Office" sequels
Warwick Davis and Ricky Gervias in "Life's Too Short"
Ricky Gervais is not listening to those who say he should pick on someone his own size.
“Life’s Too Short,” which begins next Sunday on HBO, is a mockumentary that follows Warwick Davis, a real-life showbiz dwarf with a very real small-man syndrome. Like David Brent on “The Office” and Andy Millman on “Extras,” Davis suffers a mean case of self-delusion, even as his career tanks, his wife leaves him and a massive unpaid tax bill comes due. He compares himself to Martin Luther King Jr., while also talking about the importance of his dignity, all while falling out of his SUV or asking strangers to press doorbells he can’t reach.
It’s painfully and excruciatingly funny, yet in early episodes, at least, Davis is an extraordinarily likable Napoleon. In an interview last week, Gervais insisted that the show is not making fun of Davis or little people. And in a wide-ranging discussion that might surprise some after his controversial and sometimes mean turns hosting the Golden Globes, Gervais says that comedy and humanity can’t be separated. “Comedy is about empathy,” he says. “Comedy is about the blind spot, comedy is about rooting for them, comedy is about flawed characters.”
You have a tradition of writing and playing characters who are dangerously self-deluded, who can’t see the blind spots everyone else notices right away. “Life’s Too Short” follows a dwarf actor who not only says he wants to be the Martin Luther King Jr. of little people, but believes that if anyone takes offense at that, he points out that he’s never seen a black person shot out of a cannon before. Was part of the challenge for you making it both OK to laugh at a dwarf in these circumstances, but also somehow humanizing him so completely?
Well, the thing is, we wanted to make it clear that we weren’t laughing because he was a dwarf. There’s nothing mildly amusing about that. He doesn’t have to be a dwarf at all, really. It’s that he’s got small man complex. He’s conniving, manipulative, pretentious. When he falls out of his car, we’re laughing at him because he chose a car that’s not right for him. Way too big for him. And he was just saying, “I carry myself with dignity.” It’s about getting his comeuppance.
So, we want people to see the difference between a show that exploits little people and a show that shows exploitation of little people, and this is clearly in the latter. And Warwick is so likable, we had to make him into a little Hitler to feel that you could laugh at him and want him to get his comeuppance. Because despite everything, he’s drenched in humanity.
You’re right, we had to make sure people knew that they were allowed to laugh. And there will still be people that aren’t sure – around England there are people saying, “Oh, why is it funny that he’s caught in a cat flap” [trying to get back into a house after his wife changes the locks]. It’s funny if anyone gets caught in a cat flap. How is that not funny? [Warwick] is a fantastic physical actor. He’s like Chaplin or Harold Lloyd or something. So we’re going to exploit that. And I mean that in the sense of exploiting his skills, as opposed to exploiting his height, which we don’t. And if people think that a dwarf actor is not allowed to do slapstick, that’s their prejudice. How dare they say that Warwick Davis can’t do slapstick in case someone might think that we’re just laughing at him because he’s a dwarf falling over, as opposed to all the other reasons.
Some people might think that’s convenient: You get to make the joke about the dwarf falling over, after all, and immunize yourself from criticism. Or are people just too quick to take offense?
Some people believe it’s their job. And what you’ll notice is, it’s always someone taking offense on someone else’s behalf. You know? It’s always the person saying, I’m not a dwarf myself, but I find that offensive. It’s crazy. You see that all the time. And I’ll tell you why, it’s because whenever you do something slightly taboo, or contentious, or you’re dealing in any irony or satire, people mistake the subject of the gag with the target of the gag. You can tell a joke about race, without it being racist. You can tell a joke about disability, without it being disabilist. And I have done it all my career. David Brent (Gervais’ character in “The Office”) felt uncomfortable around people of difference.
So he goes up to a black man in “The Office” and assures him “I love Sidney Poitier.”
Right, clearly we’re laughing at him not knowing how to behave. When he grabs the girl in the wheelchair and says, “I’ll take her down the stairs,” because he wants to be seen helping out on camera. And when Gareth says, “Well, the disabled should be tested to make sure they are claiming benefits and they’re really disabled. Stick pins in their legs, or something like that.” We’re laughing at their stupidity. And, let’s not forget, people like that exist. People like that exist.
As cynical as people think I am with the subject matter I deal with and the flawed characters I show, I’m a romantic. There’s always hope in my characters and there’s always hope in my shows. And there’s nothing more exhilarating than redemption. Forgiveness is very important as well. I like to take an absolute asshole, and show him the error of his ways, and have him say sorry. Who can’t forgive when it’s a genuine apology.
What humanizes them is that gap between the way they see themselves — the aspirations they have, who they hope to be — and the person they really are.
That’s a staple of British comedy. It’s always about the blind spot. It’s always that we’re laughing at the difference between how David Brent sees himself and how the rest of the world sees him — particularly with middle-aged, midlife-crisis males. Men as boys, men who never grow up — the man wants to be cool and loved. And Warwick’s a branch of that tree really. He wants to be thought of as the Martin Luther King of little people. He’s not and he never could be. And he doesn’t really care about dwarf rights; he cares about himself. He exploits dwarfs, he takes all the best jobs for himself. [In a later episode] he goes on the board of the Small People’s Society – he’s the deputy president, but he wants to be president. That’s what annoys him more, he wants to be president. So he’s more worried about being top dog – he doesn’t care about their rights. In fact, one episode he’s there and there are a lot of little people there, and he’s trying to recruit them to be human bowling balls. And the president says, “I don’t think this is the right forum for that,” and he says, “This is the perfect forum, it’s full of dwarves, isn’t it?” He’s like David Brent: He thinks he’s going to try to fight sexism and racism, but he doesn’t really know how to. Because he’s a bit sexist and racist himself.
And yet, on some level, we’re all a little afraid that we have some David Brent in us, aren’t we?
We see ourselves in them, of course we do. We look at David Brent, and everyone, it’s fundamental — everyone is worried about their reputation. David Brent wasn’t a bad person at all. People say, “Oh, nasty boss from hell, bastard.” He wasn’t any of those things. His worst crime is he made the mistake of confusing popularity with respect … But the downfall of society will be people just wanting to be famous. And everyone is now. Everyone on Twitter is a broadcaster. TV shows are obsessed about what people say on Twitter. It’s bizarre. Just make the show!
I use Twitter as a bit of a social experiment. I’m working on a show at the moment, so I do the odd tweet to see what happens. And I think people might think I’m schizophrenic cause I’m playing a few different characters now and again because I’m trying to see the reaction. It’s fascinating what comes back.
What can you share about the characters?
It’s a new sitcom set in an old people’s home and it’s about the forgotten — everyone’s forgotten. Just like all sitcoms, when it comes down to it, it’s them against the world. It’s a family. It’s all these arbitrary people who didn’t know each other, and they’re in there now because they’re in the last years of their life. And it’s about the people who help them, who themselves are losers and have their own problems. It’s about a bunch of people with nothing, but making the most of it, and they’re together.
It’s a show about kindness. Kindness is more important than anything else. Kindness is more important than intelligence, than success, than rewards, everything. Kindness is the most important thing. And it’s about that. So, it’s a very good experiment for me, Twitter. Because you see the absolute worst and best in people.
It’s interesting that you use the word “kindness,” because that’s exactly what Tom Hanks accused you of not being when you hosted the Golden Globes last year.
Right, “He used to be a tubby, kind comedian.” “And neither of those things he is now.”
Were celebrities genuinely offended at your jokes, or was it all a game to generate attention?
No, no, they weren’t. A couple of people said that people were, so that goes into legend. But who was really offended by it, you know? And the other thing is that I’m not going out to hurt people’s feelings and embarrass them; I’m going out to make people laugh. But I also have to make a decision as a comedian – do I pander to the 200 people in the room, or the 200 million people watching at home?
There were critics this year who expected an edgier performance.
I started with a backlash. If you’re going to stand up there, and you’re going to say what’s on your mind, and you’re going to take contentious subjects head-on, as many people are going to hate you as love you. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I cherish the gasps as much as the cheers. And the groans as much as the laughs. I look at it in Darwinian framework. I’m going to do what I do – not so much proudly, but because I have to do this – and I’ll either survive, or I don’t. And so be it.
Seeing as it’s televised, there’s no doubt about it. If you just want a sycophantic back-slapping session, by all means, but don’t put it on telly, because there’s nothing in it for us watching at home. There’s nothing in it. Winning awards is the most boring thing to watch you’ll ever imagine, so I try to make it a spectator sport. So that was doing my job as a comedian, I think. Two, whatever you say, someone will claim it’s offensive. And to that I say, offense is taken, not given. It’s up to you whether you’re offended. And I’ll add one more thing: Just because you’re offended, doesn’t mean you’re right.
If people are offended, they certainly have a funny way of showing it — Sting, Liam Neeson and Johnny Depp are all among the celebrity cameos on “Life’s Too Short.”
Well, I understand why they do that now. Because I’ve had a taste of my own medicine recently when I did “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” When you play a twisted version of yourself, you realize that the more awful you are, the more armor you wear, in a way, because you’re saying, “Oh, I can’t be like this, because that’s too mad, it’s too terrible.” And so, it’s sort of like you build a credibility shield.
There’s a line in the first episode of “Life’s Too Short” when you’re doing an excruciating improv session with Liam Neeson and he makes an awkward AIDS joke. You and Steven Merchant both try to talk him out of it. Neeson asks, well, why can you do it? You both just shrug. Well, why can you do it?
Because I know what I’m doing. And I know the real target of the joke every time. I’m not one of these people that thinks comedy is your conscience taking a day off. My conscience never takes a day off. I can justify everything I’ve done. I can tell anyone why that joke is justified comedically. Comedy is an intellectual pursuit – as soon as you bring real emotions into it, it stops being comedy and starts becoming rallying. I’ve seen comedians go out there and go, “Why are there so many immigrants?” and get a round of applause. And I go, well, where’s the joke? That’s not a joke; you’re just with like-minded bigots. And the reason why a real racist joke isn’t funny, why an actual racist joke isn’t funny, it’s not because it’s offensive. It’s because it’s not true. It’s based on a falsehood. As soon as someone says, “Why is it that Mexicans always …” I’ll say, well, they don’t. That’s not true. I’ll stop you there. You can’t go on. The punch line’s irrelevant to me now, because the premise is false. So, as I said, I can justify everything I do. And that’s why I can do it. And the fact that there’s anyone in the world that gets it, makes me know that it’s gettable. If everyone in the world said, “That joke’s terrible,” I’d have to go, “Wow, I’m the only person in the world that thinks that works.” But that doesn’t happen. It doesn’t happen at all. It’s the opposite. Ninety-nine percent of the people say that’s fine and 1 percent say you can’t say that. Well, watch me.
Do you have a line you won’t walk over? Or a Potter Stewart-sense of when a joke has gone too far?
I’ll tell you how I find that line myself. My own sense of morality. And that’s the problem with offense, it’s not right or wrong, it’s personal. It’s feelings, and feeling are personal. I’ll give you an example. I did a stand-up show and I played this non-reconstructed character who gets everything wrong. I say things like, “Steven Hawking. They say he’s a genius, but he’s not. He’s pretentious.” So it’s me getting stuff wrong, I’m the idiot. “I saw a documentary about this little Indian girl. She had to walk 12 miles every day just to get water. She should move.” It’s things like that. It’s getting it all wrong. I made jokes about famine, the Holocaust, cancer, AIDS, everything. Right? And I got a letter saying, we enjoyed the show, but we didn’t appreciate the jokes about the Holocaust. And I wanted to go, but you enjoyed the jokes about AIDS and famine? That’s your thing, and everyone’s got a thing. But it’s personal.
You studied philosophy for several years. How did that shape your perception of how comedy works?
I think there’s a similar train of thought with a joke: start with a real premise and take it through to its logical conclusion. There’s a flowchart of choices, and there’s a certain scientific method to comedy. Where, experimentation, the proof’s in the pudding. Particularly with stand-up. The audience picks your best jokes for you. It’s an evolution. The jokes are the genes, and it’s the survival of the fittest.
My first love’s always been sort of science and nature, and the arts, in equal proportions. It’s myth that if you’re a logician or you’re an atheist you can’t appreciate the beauty of nature. It’s a total myth. It makes it more beautiful to me that it was random events. I don’t see the problem in it. I just did this show with Richard Dawkins, it’s about the meaning of life and everything. My bit was “Well, if you’re an atheist, what’s the meaning of life for you? What do you get out of it? What’s the point of living?” And I just listed them: It’s friends, family, loved ones, a decent job of work, making a difference and creativity.
Right — things you can actually do in this life, without waiting for the next one.
I think religion was born, really, out of a certain spirituality. But the two are very different. Spirituality is a personal thing and there’s nothing wrong with that. If that helps you, thinking a superior being created the universe in six days and he loves you — if that gets you through and you do good things in his name and not bad, then good for you. I think the Dalai Lama said, ask me my religion, my answer is kindness. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t think they’re right, I don’t think there is a God, and I don’t think they are going to go to heaven. But whatever gets you through, whatever makes you kinder, is fine by me.
Then there’s religion, which is a different kettle of fish. Now these are people who are arguing over whose God’s right and are killing people in the name of it. They’re stoning people to death for believing in the wrong God. That’s what I’ve got a problem with. I don’t think there is an afterlife, and what’s strange about even the kindest people among religious folk is they often say things like, “Well, if you think that this is all there is, then what’s the point?” Which is such a strange thing to me — because that’s why I cherish every moment more. Because it’s not going to last forever. And who wants to live forever, really. Fuck all. Terrible. Terrible idea.
Lastly: We live in such a nostalgic, reunion culture. And yet you’ve really never gone back and revisited these shows. They’ve had really well-defined lives and no matter how popular or influential they’ve become, you’ve probably resisted millions for another “Office” special. Why not show us where David Brent is now?
Because they’re important to me. They’re really important to me. And I’ve seen people let me down in the past by doing a series too often, one too many times. I think they should survive in their own world, and that’s it really. And also, it begs the credibility a little bit if a fake documentary team is still hanging around Slough for 10 years. I think one of the reasons for the success of “The Office” was the realism. I think that’s what resonated. Because nothing comes close to real life. It’s like how art tries to emulate the beauty of nature, and sometimes it nearly, nearly gets close. Well, sometimes comedy and drama create the excitement of real life, and the closer you can get to it, the better you’ve done. You can have the greatest movie of all time – you can be watching “The Godfather” at home – and if there’s a screech of tires and a shout of the neighbors you’re at the window, because real life wins.
“Walking Dead” creator: Get ready for breakneck pace
Robert Kirkman heard fans' howls about Season 2 being dull, and promises to bring the action starting Sunday
(Credit: AMC/Gene Page)
“The Walking Dead” returns Sunday to AMC to finish its second season, with sheriff Rick Grimes’ revolver still smoking from the first half’s shocking finale. While audience numbers have stayed high, the show has run into problems other than the packs of drooling undead. Showrunner Frank Darabont left for unspecified reasons, the pace of action noticeably dropped – to what creator Robert Kirkman admits now was “a little bit slower than it should” — and the zombies, when they did appear, seemed to be moving a lot faster than you’d expect from a group called walkers.
The affable Kirkman, 33, who also created the bestselling “The Walking Dead” comic book series, paused to address these issues as well as hint about new threats and locales to be encountered by the characters, and discuss the approach of new showrunner Glen Mazzara, who he says will bring a comparatively “breakneck pace” to the show as it resumes. (For those who haven’t finished the first half, there may be one spoiler included.)
What are you calling this point in the series, anyway, Part 2 of Season 2?
We call it all kinds of different things in the writers’ room: It’s Season 2.5; it’s the second half of the second season, which sometimes seems a little cumbersome, so I don’t know. It’s the last six episodes of Season 2.
I guess cutting it in half is now a common way for cable networks to present its seasons. How do you look at starting in the middle like this?
There’s a lot of different ways to look at it. I sort of enjoy the “mini-season finale” thing because I think season finales are really kind of cool and I’m a big fan of cliffhangers. Also, it’s nice to have a little break. It’s also nice to structurally make your season have some sort of punch in the first half and more punch in the second half. So structurally, it’s kind of cool. It helps writing-wise. But I don’t know, I could take it or leave it.
Consensus on the first half of the season is that it had a much different pace than the first season. Did you just want to slow the storytelling down?
It appears that the first half of second season moves a little bit slower than maybe it should. And I think that’s a byproduct of building to our midseason finale and knowing where we were going to end up, and putting all our pieces in place, and trying to tell the story in a somewhat cinematic kind of way, which may or may not work in episodic television.
I will say that’s one of the holdovers from Frank Darabont. He really wanted to take things slow and spend a lot of time dealing with different things. He was very much a big fan of the slow burn. Because he’s no longer on the show and Glen Mazzara took over as showrunner, he’s a big fan of much more fast-paced storytelling. So I think there will be somewhat of a shift when we come back with the season where we’re going to be a little more action-packed and are going to move at kind of a breakneck pace compared to the first few episodes.
And I think, looking at whole season together, when you see the first two parts, you’ll see that the first half of season kind of works, because we were building towards an event. And once that event happens — when Sophia emerges from the barn — things just continue to escalate. So it will make sense and the whole season will be cool to watch as a whole. But there is going to be some drastically different pacing issues now that Glen Mazzara is running the show.
Do you regret that it went as slow as it did in the first half?
I don’t know that I regret anything. I think that despite the criticisms of it being slow, it was good to take the time to know the characters a little more and it was nice to see them interacting at that farm and I think that that sense of security and that tranquility, when it’s played against the chaos of coming episodes, will make chaos seem that much more intense. I think it will accentuate these episodes. So I liked it. But if I had to do it over again, I might have tried to cram some more stuff in.
From this side of the screen, it appeared that there were fewer zombies so far this season, and setting it at a farm seemed a little less expensive than clearing out part of the city. People assume it was a cost-saving measure.
No, it wasn’t a cost-saving measure at all. It was just adapting what we did in my comic book series. If you read the comics, you’ll see that eight years ago, when those stories were being told, there was a little bit of Atlanta action and then they moved into the more rural parts of Georgia and went there for safety. So it was just a decision to follow where the comics went. Filming out in the woods is not as cheap as you might think.
What has it been like for you to write for two different versions of your story, first for the comic and then for TV? Do you consider them the same story or separate?
I kind of have to view it as separate. That’s really the only way to do it. I still write the comics month in and month out, putting new issues out. If I weren’t able to separate the two into two separate projects, it would be a little confusing.
But I’m having a lot of fun on the show. The collaborative medium of television is a really cool thing. I really do enjoy working in the writers’ room and getting to experience working in a group and forming a kind of a hive mind to try and tell stories. It’s a very different way of doing things for me.
Comic books are also kind of a collaborative medium in that you work with an artist and you tell that story together through words and pictures. But the artist on “The Walking Dead,” Charlie Adlard, he lives in the U.K, so I’m never in a room with him saying, “Wouldn’t it be cool if we did this.” It’s a very solitary working environment, where I’m in a room — I was in Kentucky and now I’m in Los Angeles — and then he’s in his room on the other side of the ocean, and we’re making a product together. But working in a room with guys and coming up with ideas and really having that exchange and pushing each other is a lot of fun for me. I really enjoy it.
We’re actually in our third or fourth week of working on Season 3 right now in the writers’ room. And one of the first things we did is we basically blocked out what happened in the comic book series in a chunk of time, from issue X to issue whatever, and said, “This is the story that we want to cover in our third season. What from this do we think is essential? What do we want to keep? Is there anything we want to add?”
It’s kind of cool to look at the comic book as a framework to improve upon; being able to have seven other talented writers look at your previous work and say, “Oh, you could have expanded this, I would have glossed over that, it would be cool if this had happened instead of that.” And for me to be involved in that process, it’s kind of a cool thing.
I guess it can be a little nerve-wracking to sit in a room with seven people and pick apart something you wrote seven years ago, but I don’t know, I think it’s a fun experience and I like being in the mix. And even I’m going, “Well, this led to this and it might be good to leave that out and it might be better if we did this instead and this really worked, people really liked this, I think we should definitely do this.” Being able to do that, and have this give and take, is a lot of fun.
But at the same time you want to have surprises for fans of the comic book.
Absolutely. That’s why there are so many differences in the show. People who read “The Walking Dead” comic, I think one of the appealing things about it is when you sit down and read an issue, you have no idea what’s going to happen. So to lose that in the show, for people who have read the comic, I think, would be a horrible thing. So even when we adapt something in the show, we try to arrive upon an event in such a different way that it still holds a bit of surprise for people who are absolutely familiar with the comic. I like to change things up, and keep people guessing.
The comic is so similar in form to a storyboard. Does that explain why the series is so much more visual than most?
Yeah, well, it’s not really an action show. But there is definitely a lot more to be done with the visuals in this show than I think other shows. Because we’re adapting the comic, I think there are a lot of visuals to adapt from the comics. I think Charlie Adlard in particular is a fantastic artist who has been doing some real cool stuff. To leave that stuff on the cutting room floor would be a mistake. Also we have Greg Nicotero doing an amazing job bringing our zombie creatures to life. His team at KNB Efx are really essential to the show. So there’s definitely a wealth of visual storytelling for us to draw upon in order to make this series happen.
But there’s quite a lot visually happening, with those big wide establishing shots, or those subtle scenes, like the one Sunday where Daryl and Carol just sit there and don’t even speak a word. A lot of shows don’t do that.
Yeah, well, I think that’s good storytelling. When you’re making people talk just to make people talk, I think that’s when things start to be kind of fake.
So what is it about zombies in general that people are so interested in them these days?
First of all, they’re awesome. They look cool. They do cool things. There’s definitely a lot of reasons to love zombies. Culturally, the last time zombies were this popular was the height of the Cold War. So I think any time there’s a sense of unrest in society, it tends to drive people toward stories of the apocalypse and the end of the world. It makes it interesting to sit on your couch and think: OK, if society did collapse, would I be like Daryl Dixon? Would I be like Shane Walsh? Would I be like Rick Grimes? Which person would I be like? What decisions would I make? And analyzing that kind of stuff makes it easier to ignore the economic collapse or the crisis with oil prices, or whatever is going on in the world today. It’s much easier to sit in the safety of your living room and analyze it rather than to actually think about all the horrible things that are going on out in the world.
With the current cultural zombie takeover, is there a possibility of reaching overkill, as vampires seem to be doing?
Vampires cycle in and out every few years; they get really popular, then they go on the back burner for a while. I think that zombies reaching this level of popularity is a cool thing. In the history of entertainment, zombies have never got that kind of height of popularity where there is an overkill of people making zombie things and telling zombie stories. It’s kind of a cool thing for zombies to reach that level.
But I definitely feel the big budget World War Z movie with Brad Pitt and things like that that will carry it along, ‘The Walking Dead’ included. It will shoot back down eventually. But I think “The Walking Dead” hangs its hat on drama. And isn’t necessarily just a zombie adventure. It’s about human characters dealing with survival after the fall of civilization and I think that kind of story is always going to hold a vast appeal for audiences, whether it’s got zombies running around or unicorns or whatever.
While vampires (and unicorns, for that matter) seem to have their rules set in stone, things seem to be not quite nailed down yet for zombies.
One of the things I was trying to do with “The Walking Dead” was canonize zombie lore. Most people do try to reinvent the wheel when they do the zombie thing. Sometimes you have to dismember them completely, sometimes you have to shoot them in the head. Sometimes they eat brains, sometimes they eat flesh — people try to play around with it a little bit too much.
With “The Walking Dead,” I try to take the best part of the Romero model – George Romero by far did the best zombie movies in history — and his films are all consistent. Then I wanted to use most of those rules, because those are the best, and then add a few of my own — things that are logical; things that to me make sense. To just to try and say: Look, there should be some set rules on zombies. There are certain set things that make zombies cool, and we should try to maintain them.
That said, it seems like the zombies in “The Walking Dead” are a little speedier the second season than they were in the first. And why weren’t, say, the dead people in the highway pileup at the start of Season 2 not all turned into zombies as well?
There were definitely a few zombies trucking around in the first season as well. I don’t know if people didn’t notice them, or maybe they should just go back and watch it. One of the rules that we have in “The Walking Dead” is, depending on how fresh the corpse is, or how rotted it is, would logically make it fast or slow.
I don’t think we have any Olympic sprinters or anything like that. But a fairly recently formed zombie would be able to move somewhat like a human, but not quite. And we definitely have zombies that are much slower and mill about as they get more rotted. We’re trying to do things that are logical and make sense. And then every so often, you have an overzealous extra who is moving a little bit too quick, and we have to edit around that.
What about those bodies in the cars?
That’s the whole ting. That’s part of the fun of “The Walking Dead” is that you don’t really know all of the rules yet. What’s going on with those dead bodies? Why are they not zombies? Why are they just sitting in cars? That’s part of our specific set of rules that will be revealed over time.
So there are going to be mysteries like that: Why is that guy a zombie and the other guy isn’t? What happened with that guy, and various different things. I think by the end of Season 2, you’ll have a better understanding of what makes a zombie, and what goes into it and why those zombies in the car weren’t walking around.
So, in the short term, what can we expect?
We’re getting off the farm a little bit, and we’re introducing a lot of new characters and new threats. The very first episode that we come back on, on Sunday, we introduce new characters that represent a larger threat that is going to be coming after Rick and the rest of the group. And that’s really going to be a driving force that gets us right up to our finale. We’re going to be dealing with a lot of big problems.
There are a lot of questions as to whether or not Hershel knew that Sophia was in the barn, or how he and Rick are going to deal with that. And that’s not really what we’re going to be dealing with. We’re not going to have time to rest on our laurels and analyze the whole Sophia situation. There’s so much more happening and so many more threats coming into the forefront that we’re going to have to hit the ground running and deal with all these problems on our feet as we go.
“The Walking Dead” resumes its second season Sunday at 9 p.m. on AMC.
The civil rights battle ignored by the U.S. media
The documentary "Black Power Mixtape" tells a counter-history of the 1960s, through the eyes of foreign journalists
A still from "The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975"
It was tough enough to track the social and political upheaval of the 1960s through domestic news coverage, let alone to pay attention to what the rest of the world was reporting. But journalists from abroad were fascinated by the roiling changes — and often saw it quite differently.
Though U.S. network coverage of civil rights cruelties helped rally the country against the worst offenders in the South, coverage of revolutionary groups such as the Black Panther Party more often took J. Edgar Hoover’s extremist stance that it was the most dangerous internal threat to the U.S. Rarely did it look at the accomplishments of its free breakfast programs, community organizing and determination to stand up to police harassment and brutality.
Swedish newsmen and filmmakers who didn’t follow the FBI line came to America to learn what they could, looking at life in largely segregated black America, talking frankly and seriously with black leaders and closely following their trials.
Footage of the era, said to have been sitting in a Swedish basement for three decades, became the eye-opening documentary “The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975” making its U.S. television debut on PBS’ “Independent Lens” Thursday night as part of its Black History Month series.
The modernist title owes in part to filmmaker Göran Hugo Olsson using modern-day commentary, from musicians in many cases, to accompany the found footage. Talib Kweli, Erykah Badu and Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson of the Roots add their contemporary revolutionary musing among commentaries by professors and historians.
The wealth of Swedish footage owes in part to the Panthers’ desire to see their movement as an international one, or one that certainly relied on support from outside the U.S.
It is the Panthers’ Embassy in Algeria where Eldridge Cleaver holds court, for example, far from the threat of FBI invasions. Martin Luther King Jr.’s visits to Stockholm to meet King Gustaf VI Adolf that are well preserved, and King’s traveling partner Harry Belafonte recalls the meeting.
Some of the earliest footage in the film shows a young Stokely Carmichael speaking in Stockholm in 1967, stating in the simplest terms the recent history of black movement in the U.S., carefully stepping beyond the nonviolent action approach by King.
“In order for nonviolence to work, your opponent has to have a conscience,” he points out coolly. “The United States has none.”
In some ways, it is the footage of Carmichael, the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee and honorary “prime minister” for the Panthers, that is the revelation of “The Black Power Mixtape.” How suppressed has his voice been over the years, even at a time of black history mining?
It’s certainly eye-opening for modern-day commentator Kweli, who exclaims, “He has so much passion and fire inside of him,” yet remains quite cool. “He seemed like a regular dude.”
After telling reporters in Stockholm, “I’m not as patient as Dr. King,” Carmichael takes over a Swedish interview of his own mother in Chicago to get to the point: The family’s struggles and limited opportunities can be boiled down to the fact that they are black.
One gets the sense that Swedish journalists enjoyed visiting black ghettos, where they tried to get a taste of life as they paused for interviews with Huey P. Newton and Kathleen Cleaver.
The coverage was noted in the U.S. as well, when TV Guide in a cover story complained about its negativity. Swedish reporters interviewed the story’s writer, balancing it with the view of director Emile de Antonio, who dismisses TV Guide as “an absolute nothing magazine.”
Officially, Sweden had been so critical of America’s role in Vietnam that the U.S. pulled its ambassador from Stockholm in 1968 and ended diplomatic relations with the country altogether for a time in 1972, after Prime Minister Olof Palme compared the bombings of Hanoi with the worst atrocities of Nazis.
Whatever the diplomatic relations, Swedish journalists certainly took the black revolutionaries more seriously and were plainly excited to be the first TV reporters to talk to an imprisoned Angela Davis. Still, because they worked from the same script, the question soon boiled down to: Do you have to use violence to reach your goals? Davis, receiving her first media visitor, was plainly annoyed by this, in just about the only footage that’s in color rather than black-and-white.
“When somebody asks me abut violence, I just find it incredible,” she says. “What it means is that the people who ask have no idea what people have gone through, what black people have experienced in this country since the time the first black person was kidnapped from the shores of Africa.”
The revolutionary tone of the film may provide grist for those on the right who erroneously see PBS as some kind of government-funded left-wing propaganda machine. When was the last time Louis Farrakhan was given a forum to talk about white devils?
But “The Black Power Mixtape” qualifies as a social history of a revolutionary movement, one quashed by a mid-1970s drug infusion to black neighborhoods that film participants are quite sure was caused by the government.
More than that, the modern voices in the film are resolute that lessons of the past need to be learned as the struggle goes on.
“Smash”: An irresistible take on Marilyn, musicals
A much-hyped musical -- maybe you've noticed the promos -- pays off big, even for non-theater fans
Katharine McPhee as Karen Cartwright, Megan Hilty as Ivy Lynn (Credit: NBC/Mark Seliger)
I’m a bad gay. I don’t like musicals. I am not a “Gleek” (though I am awestruck by “Glee’s” bold portraits of gay adolescent life — I’d have given anything to watch a show like that when I was 15). I have trouble suspending disbelief when people spontaneously break into song; I get squirmy and my eyes dart around as if the singer is prancing naked in front of me, and I’m trying to give her privacy, whether or not she wants it.
So I am not exactly the ideal audience for “Smash,” the new series NBC has been promoting like crazy (the pilot is already posted on Hulu), by playwright Theresa Rebeck (“The Understudy,” “Seminar”), about the making of a Broadway musical about Marilyn Monroe. (That’s this season. If the show gets renewed, we will watch another musical develop throughout the next season — a sort of musical-theater procedural. “Law & Order: The Musical!”) The pilot opens with “American Idol” runner-up Katharine McPhee belting “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” daydreaming of her Broadway debut while auditioning before an underwhelmed director: For a curmudgeon like me, that has skin-crawl written all over it. Except that I was absolutely, instantly bewitched. By the writing. By the acting. By the story and the stories within the story. Even by — especially by — the music. That credit goes to the Tony-winning team Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman (“Hairspray”), who wrote more than a dozen original songs for the series, classically great musical-theater numbers that recall Jule Styne, even a little early Sondheim, and are performed only by those striving to be on the stage (no, Debra Messing will not break into song, nor will Anjelica Huston) — at auditions, or practiced at home, or in fantasy sequences — with lyrics that masterfully mirror both the theatrics of musical in progress and the goings-on of the actors’ lives.
A show about theater demands as much drama behind the scenes as on the stage, and “Smash” won’t disappoint: There are betrayals, divorces, complicated adoption stories, sordid seductions, dreams fulfilled and quashed. We meet songwriting duo Julia Houston (an understated, lovable Debra Messing) and Tom Levitt (the equally terrific Christian Borle) who’ve been enjoying a successful run on Broadway and London’s West End with their breakout show “Heaven on Earth,” and who’ve vowed to take a year-long breather because Julia is pursuing an international adoption. It’s a promise quickly broken when Tom’s ambitious, crush-worthy new assistant, Ellis (Jaime Cepero), suggests the team do a musical about Marilyn Monroe — a concept that has previously failed on the Broadway stage (meta data: In 1983, a Marilyn show with a happy ending was a critical and commercial disaster) despite the subject’s perennial popularity — and it’s a challenge they can’t resist. For Julia, it’s about creating a work that honors a subject who said in an interview before she died “Please don’t make a joke out of me.” Julia says, “There was just something about her, how much she wanted to love and be loved … Reminds me of a saint. I don’t want anyone else to do her.” For Tom, it’s the prospect of writing the baseball number about Joe DiMaggio.
The duo swears they’re going to write just one song. And maybe record that song with an ensemble cast member from “Heaven on Earth,” Ivy Lynn (Megan Hilty). Which is fine except that Ellis secretly films it with his phone to share with his mother, who posts it online, and the recording goes viral. Julia’s husband, Frank (Brian d’Arcy James, a Broadway musical actor in his own right), predicted this would happen — he knows songwriting is Julia’s gateway drug to a full-on production, and that means possibly losing her for at least another year to a show in development, and to her gay partner, Tom, to whom she can seem more closely committed than to him. (Not to worry, this is not a setup for a Grace Adler/Will Truman redux dynamic, or even Grace/Jack McFarland. Julia and Tom are far more realized — neither goofy, nor batty, nor undermining.) Will this adoption be shelved?
Broadway producer Eileen Rand (Anjelica Huston) is eager to get involved with the show-in-progress, now that her pet project — a revival of “My Fair Lady” — is stuck in escrow, along with her money, due to an acrimonious divorce battle with her rich soon-to-be-ex-husband. She sees in the biographical musical an opportunity to assert her independence in the theater world. But she needs to lure away some of the talent he’s locked into place, in particular, the “My Fair Lady” director, Derek Wills (Jack Davenport), a pompous, indisputably talented English lothario — he reads like a Broadway Simon Cowell, an incongruous misstep that I can only hope was the result of network notes — who hates Tom (the feeling is mutual), and who believes Marilyn’s bleak track record speaks for itself and wants to stick with the original plan. But “Marilyn Monroe,” Eileen argues, “is an American Eliza Doolittle.”
This “My Fair Lady” trope carries through at least the first two episodes: Is Marilyn an American Eliza Doolittle, and do the creators want to take one on and mold her into a Marilyn? Indeed the Marilyn project is a very clever entrée into the insular realm of Broadway musical theater, allowing us to see the subject’s biography bisected, and follow her evolution from Norma Jean to Marilyn Monroe, not only through the musical itself, presumably, but through the experiences of the two hungry actresses vying for the title role. With her blond hair and hourglass figure, and a vague air of tragedy with her perpetual singledom and hardworking background, veteran ensemble actress Ivy Lynn appears a no-brainer for the iconic Marilyn and she is desperate to lead a production (and is played to perfection by seasoned Broadway actress Hilty — also in need of a breakout role). Karen Cartwright (McPhee), the other actress in contention, is a very green Midwestern brunette beauty with an incredible voice (and the only person at the open audition not dressed as Marilyn — she sings Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful,” seeking to evoke her romantic innocence). She’s the Norma Jean. Or, if you will, Eliza D. Unlike Ivy Lynn, Karen has a boyfriend, Dev (Raza Jaffrey, who last starred as a cuckolded husband in the English answer to “Sex and the City,” a deliciously overwrought BBC series called “Mistresses”), as well as well-intentioned provincial parents (real-life couple Becky Ann Baker, Lindsay and Sam Weir’s mother from “Freaks and Geeks,” and Dylan Baker, perhaps best known as the pedophile in “Happiness”), as a safety net — Dev encourages her to follow her dreams; her parents gently suggest she shelve them.
The project, even as a work in progress, demands a charismatic star. Tom and Julia have been workshopping the songs with Ivy, who they feel is perfect for the part, and they want to reward her. But with Derek and Eileen on board, they are forced to open the door to other Marilyn options, which is why they’re faced with the unanticipated quandary: Do they want a ready-made Marilyn, who they know can do it, or accept the challenge of a Pygmalion-Marilyn story within a Pygmalion-Marilyn musical? That’s the pilot cliffhanger, presented with a goosebump-inducing closing number, “Let Me Be Your Star,” a cross-edit duet between Karen and Ivy Lynn, as they prepare for the final callback, tracking them from their respective apartments to the their face-off, each singing the story of her plight, until their voices, naive and knowing, yet equally exhilarated and earnest and fervent, converge in a fever pitch: “And what you’ve been needing/Is all here and my heart’s bleeding/Let me be your star!” I guarantee you’ll be genuinely torn.
Puppies and nostalgia will always sell
In a brand-savvy world, Super Bowl ads attract social media attention with sex and cuteness
(Credit: CNET)
“If God manifested himself to us, he would do so in the form of a product advertised on TV.” –Philip K. Dick
So how did you like this year’s Super Bowl ads? You know, the ones that haven’t aired yet? The ones that have been teased, previewed, screened, deconstructed and parodied days and — in some instances, weeks — before their broadcast “premiere” during Sunday’s big game?
Which dancing and/or talking, cute, furry piece of CGI wizardry did you like best? Which retro-celebrity comeback performance? Which piece of brilliantly choreographed boomer nostalgia or crowd-sourced slapstick? What offended you more, the GoDaddy boobs or the boobs that represented the prototypical salt, trans-fat, hops-barley-and-corn-obsessed American male, circa 2012?
We once experienced events as they happened and we were surprised or delighted, nonplussed or disgusted, in real time. But now, in a hyper-accelerated world where 4G is just waiting for 5G to supplant it, the speed of light is too slow, and even the sense of immediacy somehow feels inadequate; we prefer to experience our events, particularly the enormous ones, well before they happen.
Trailers for next summer’s blockbuster begin running in December, filled with the funniest gags and the sexiest innuendo, making it feel as if we’ve seen the film before it ever happens. Reviewers give spoiler alerts to preserve the sanctity of a plot, yes, but also to alert the alphas of a future-tense culture that they’ll know what happened before it happens
So it only makes sense that we see the ads for the most-watched television event of the year well before they debut, right? As advertisers profess, extending the customer interaction is a great way to maximize the impact of a $3.5 million, 30-second media buy. Pre-premiering a spot online gives a brand the chance to garner substantial incremental YouTube views (9 million and counting – not including the new extended version! — for Honda’s new “Ferris Bueller” homage). Plus, previewing the same spot on an entertainment show such as “Entertainment Tonight” or “The Insider” further adds to the cumulative number of eyeballs that will see their message. When else can a brand get Billy Bush to dish about its product? Add to this the extensive, ongoing social media engagement campaigns attached to almost every commercial featured in this year’s game and the $3.5 million investment almost seems justified.
But at some point this strategy is doomed to backfire. Doesn’t every sneak peek and online preview undermine the wonder and spontaneity of an event viewed by 110 million viewers, more than half of whom, according to a study conducted by the advertising agency Venable and Partners, are watching primarily for the commercials? Why mess with one of the last DVR-proof pieces of broadcast content? The reason NBC can charge $116,000 per second is because on the 364 days a year that are not Super Bowl Sunday, we’ll do whatever we can to avoid television commercials. Perhaps one year it will take its toll on the ratings and the impact of the ads. Perhaps it will seem so very 2012 to race our friends to first post a soon-to-be buzzed-about ad on Facebook. But curiously, this Occupy-influenced culture is also being convinced to fetishize consumerism this week — to know the back stories, the interesting production facts, even the details about ads that were too controversial to make the cut.
I used to hypothesize that the Super Bowl ads of a given year were a reflection of the zeitgeist, a sort of ideological barometer. For instance, the 1999 E*Trade dancing monkeys that captured the brio (“We just wasted $2 million!) of the pre-Internet bubble burst or, conversely, the 2002 White House PSAs that ominously linked smoking marijuana to, among other things, terrorism. But now more than ever the commercials aren’t as much a reflection of the zeitgeist as they are a reflection of a desperate media reality and the degree to which advertisers and their agencies are asked to exceed the massive expectations of an increasingly brand-savvy, post-ironic culture that is almost impossible to surprise.
Despite all this, most of this year’s ads, on first viewing, do surprise. As a group they are as consistently entertaining and smart as any I’ve seen. Makes me eager to see the 2013 Super Bowl ads when they’re released next week.
Page 1 of 495 in Television
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Occupy Valentine’s Day 
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Occupy fights the law: Will the law win? 
The right’s lost causes 
Unhappy Valentine’s Day in Israel 
