For all my pretensions, all my attempts to present myself as a literate, knowledgeable, and discerning fellow, I’m really a lowest-common-denominator guy at heart. I don’t often allow that to come through. I know that a fart joke is just about the basest, most tasteless thing in the world, especially during Holy Communion, but it can also be the most freakin’ funny thing in the world, especially during Holy Communion, especially if it’s insinuated that it was the monsignor who stepped on the duck.

I’ll tell you about it someday.

That may explain my fascination with the Kids’ WB! animated series Freakazoid!, produced by Steven Spielberg back in the rip-roaring mid-’90s. Warner Bros. Television Animation had been through a resurgence of sorts, propped up by the success of the moody, atmospheric, and terrifically written Batman: The Animated Series. They suddenly had the rest of the entertainment world paying attention, so much so that Spielberg’s Amblin Entertainment came to call. From there, a succession of fondly remembered series tumbled out: Tiny Toon Adventures, Animaniacs, and Pinky and the Brain. The word came down that Spielberg’s next series should be a superhero show, so Bruce Timm, an integral part of the Batman show, started spitballing ideas, working up a premise and designing characters. The result was a show far more earnest than Spielberg planned, so he sent back the message to crank up the humor. He should have been more careful with his direction.

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Many miles have I traveled since I first knowingly encountered the music of Isaac Hayes, so I hope you’ll forgive me if my memory is a bit hazy, but I’ve got it narrowed down to one of two moments: either it was when I received a sampler for Rhino Records’ awesome Soul Hits of the 70s: Didn’t It Blow Your Mind! series, or it was when I watched the classic “Simpsons” episode, “One Fish, Two Fish, Blowfish, Blue Fish.”

Whichever of these methods served as the introduction, however, the song remained the same.

“Theme from Shaft.”

That song was a bad mother…

(Pause for appropriate response from PopDose readership)

But I’m talking ’bout “Theme from Shaft”!

(Pause for appropriate response from PopDose readership)

Of course you can dig it. It’s one of the greatest songs in motion picture soundtrack history, and it affected me so profoundly that I owned a “Shaft” t-shirt before I ever saw the movie. Damn, I loved that song…and, damn, I’m gonna miss Isaac Hayes.

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On A&E’s new dramatic series, The Cleaner, Benjamin Bratt is doing some of his finest acting since leaving Law & Order. After walking off the beat of NBC’s venerable cops and lawyers show, Bratt has tried to find substantive parts to sink his teeth into. The results have been mixed, at best.

So I approached The Cleaner with some trepidation. It appears that the years of searching for the right role have paid off, landing Bratt back on television. On the show, Bratt portrays William Banks, a recovering addict who, upon finally getting clean, took a vow with God to help other people kick their habits by using whatever tactics are necessary. Using a secretive team of rehab operatives, Banks and company literally yank people off the streets, go undercover, and get involved with high-speed car chases to help people get clean (at the request of at wits end loved ones). If that sounds a little preposterous, you should know that the series is based on the experiences of Warren Boyd, a drug counselor who not only beat his own demons, but used tactics similar to those shown in The Cleaner to help friends and complete strangers. Boyd serves as an executive producer on the show.

The Cleaner has the general feel of any procedural show: tracking down the dealers or addicts, doing surveillance, and then going in for the kill (or in this case, injecting the addict with some kind of tranquilizer, rendering them unconscious and carrying that person off in a van). This aspect of the show feels pretty familiar, and were it not for the charm and appeal of the actors in Banks’ team (Grace Park, Esteban Powell and Kevin Michael Richardson), it might not be worth watching each week. However, the other aspect of the show, Banks’s family life, if far more interesting and is what gives the show its soul.

Banks is married with two good kids. His wife, Melissa, is a strong, smart working mother who binds the family together. Their two children, Ben (Brett Delano) and Lula (Liliana Mumy) are smart, eager to please, and coming into their own as individuals. This means plenty of questions about William’s past and rebellion because of it. (more…)

Like watching a second-year veteran going through a hitting slump, three episodes into the Burn Notice sophomore season, the show still hasn’t found the same spark it displayed last summer when it became a breakout hit for the USA Network. For those of you who haven’t seen it, Burn Notice is an action-adventure series centering around ex-spy Michael Westen, played by Jeffrey Donovan. He has been “burned,” stripped of resources, and dumped in his hometown of Miami. With nothing to his name, Westen had to lean on his overbearing mother, Madeline (played by Sharon Glass) and reconnect with an old spy buddy who used to give information about Westen to the Feds. That guy’s name is Sam, and he’s played with womanizing sleazy charm by B-movie god Bruce Campbell. Also in tow is Westen’s on-again, off-again girlfriend, Fiona (Gabrielle Anwar), a hot ex-IRA operative who loves firearms. Season One followed Westen as he tried to track down the people who screwed him out of his life as a spy. At the same time, he took on side jobs helping down-on-their-luck friends of friends who needed muscle, but couldn’t go to the police. You know, like trouble with loan sharks, drug dealers or the mob. Whereas Season One had a Bourne Identity-meets-MacGyver-meets-The Equalizer sense of fun, so far Season Two feels a tad routine, and has me feeling obligated to tune in and see what happens.

The Season One cliffhanger saw Westen driving his car into the back of a semi-truck trailer to await a meeting with a mysterious woman who may or may not have burned him. As the screen went black, fans waited in anticipation to find out who was behind the overall story arc that drove his character throughout the season. One year later, the back of the trailer opened, and nothing really changed. Westen found himself helping some stranger at the bequest of the mysterious woman, Carla, (played by Battlestar Galactica’s Tricia Helfer). Carla refuses to disclose whether she is the one who actually burned Westen, and has nefarious plans to use Michael for her own needs, or his friends will pay the consequences. It all sounds intriguing, but so far, it feels like we’re treading water waiting for the big wave to come in. I suppose we, as viewers, should find the storyline of Westen and Fiona’s doomed love affair heartbreaking, or the storyline of his tortured relationship with his chain-smoking mother funny. But Gabrielle Anwar is better when she’s being sexy and dangerous instead of depressed and bitter. And frankly, as much as I admire Sharon Glass, Madeline is just plain grating. The less we see of her, the better. If the show really wants to delve into Michael’s family history, they should bring back his brother, Nate (Seth Petersen).

Will I keep watching Burn Notice? Sure. It’s on a season pass on my TiVo. However, I don’t rush to watch it when I know there may be other, more interesting things waiting for me. Here’s hoping the show rediscovers its swing before too long and breaks out of its slump.

Last week, this year’s Emmy Award nominees were announced with AMC’s drama, Mad Men, coming away with more nominations than any other show. What a pleasant surprise, since AMC is a little-watched network — and also because the first season of Mad Men was one of the most remarkable shows on television, not only for 2007, but in the past decade. Whether the series is able to sustain its quality will be answered in the coming months when its second season begins (the season 2 premiere is next Sunday, 7/27). Still, I shouldn’t be all that surprised that Mad Men and FX’s Damages both received a fare share of nominations. This isn’t a knock against either show (I also thoroughly enjoyed Damages), but both were created by people who worked on perennial Emmy darling The Sopranos. The Emmys have always had a tendency to throw their hats with their favorite sons and daughters — how the hell else can you explain Boston Legal and Monk getting nominated yet again? Boston Legal is well written, true, but is it better than Friday Night Lights? Hardly. And Monk barely has the laughs of My Boys or How I Met Your Mother. Yet it seems that every year Tony Shaloub, William Shatner and James Spader are nominated, along with their shows.

The truth is there is too much television to watch (as the 1,000 Emmy award categories indicate). I wager to say that you could find at least one show on any of the hundreds of channels available to keep your interest for an hour once a week. But the nominating committees aren’t responsible for watching every episode of a series to make their final call — that would be next to impossible. Instead, these judges see a couple of select episodes that highlight a particular writer or certain actors. Thus, the Best Series award isn’t really about how a show progressed (or went downhill) over the course of a season, or how well an actor made his character three-dimensional through 13 or 22 episodes. Is that fair? I say no. I say that if a show is going to be nominated for best series, the committee should be required to watch every single one. It’s sad that judges aren’t even willing to spend a short time in the hardcore world of The Wire or the naturalistic Texan life in Friday Night Lights, as evidenced by the lack of nominations for both exemplary programs.

In the end, I’m not sure if the Emmy awards mean much to anyone outside of the immediate television industry. The awards ceremony isn’t even broadcast live in Los Angeles, where all the networks reside. Unlike the Oscars, Tony Awards and Grammys, an Emmy win doesn’t necessarily boost the popularity of a winning series — just ask the producers of Arrested Development. (more…)

sit•com n. Informal
A situation comedy; a television comedy series involving a group of regular characters in everyday situations, often set in the home and/or workplace

For three seasons, Weeds was the very model of a modern pay-cable sitcom. Set in the fictional, cookie-cutter L.A. suburb Agrestic, it centered on widowed housewife-turned-pot dealer Nancy Botwin (played by goddess of stage and screen Mary Louise Parker) and her expansive circle of friends, family and…um…business associates, from her best customer Doug (Kevin Nealon) to her ambitious supplier/grower Conrad (Romany Malco). Neatly balancing Nancy’s dual roles as suburban soccer mom and dabbler in the seedy (no pun intended) world of illicit substances, Weeds was hilarious, sexy, sometimes even moving, and always good for a contact high. It also was (seemingly) confident in the one element that must, by definition, ground any situation comedy: its situation.

Beginning with last fall’s Season-Three closer, however, Weeds has audaciously – and, so far at least, disastrously – loosed itself from its sitcom moorings. Creator Jenji Kohan didn’t just shift the show’s setting; she burned the motherfucker down, destroying all of Agrestic’s “Little Boxes” in an inferno neatly tied to last year’s horrific California wildfires. Unfortunately, while most of the major characters survived the blaze, Kohan and the show’s writers seem to have left the funny behind along with the “MILFweed” in Nancy’s growhouse; as a result, Weeds has gone sadly (and with all apologies to Cheech & Chong) up in smoke. (more…)

Elvis Mitchell is one of the preeminent film critics and interviewers of our generation. Since 1996 his NPR radio show, The Treatment, has been a stomping ground for popular culture’s most talented and important individuals, where they can speak freely about their craft without the pressure of feeling like they’re “promoting” their work. Mitchell’s cool and laid-back style seems to place all of his guests at ease, including his listeners. It’s not just his ability to conduct an interview but his vast knowledge of information that makes him such a pleasure to listen to. In addition to The Treatment, Mitchell is also the entertainment critic for NPR’s Weekend Edition With Scott Simon, a job he’s held since the show’s debut in 1985. His extensive list of credits includes hosting Independent Focus for the Independent Film Channel, guest-hosting for Charlie Rose on several occasions, and a four-year stint as film critic for the New York Times, beginning in 2000.

Tonight at 8 PM ET (with a repeat at 10:30), Turner Classic Movies premieres Elvis Mitchell: Under the Influence, the network’s first interview program. In the first installment, taped last year, Mitchell talks with the late Sydney Pollack, and in coming weeks he sits down with Bill Murray, Laurence Fishburne, and Quentin Tarantino, among others, to discuss the art of filmmaking and just to listen to these craftsmen share their stories. More than your typical interview show, Under the Influence has the feel of overhearing a wonderful conversation in a restaurant or at a party, and therefore is a natural extension of Mitchell’s radio show. Whether you’re familiar with Elvis Mitchell or just being introduced to him, Under the Influence is a treat for fans of movies and those of us who simply enjoy an intelligent discussion between two knowledgeable people. I had the opportunity to speak to Mitchell via telephone in early June; throughout our conversation I found myself intently listening to him but at times forgetting that I was the one doing the interview. He has that way with people. Although he professed to being as nervous as the interviewee, it never came across that way.

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Can you feel it? I feel it. You know what I’m talking about – that sudden jolt, that shock that has surged through the American consciousness over the past three weeks? It’s not the Democrats nominating a black guy for president…who didn’t see that one coming? It’s not gays getting married in California…though I do distinctly sense my own marriage being undermined.

No, I’m talking about the recent revelation that, back in the ’70s, there were people with loose morals! Don’t take my word for it; the (vaguely titillating) evidence is right there on CBS (CBS?!?) every Thursday night at 10 on Swingtown, a show that’s a veritable smorgasbord of bell bottoms, Playboy Club parties, soft rock, and archetypal placeholders that so far occupy the space where real characters should be.

There’s Grant Show, who already made the ’90s safe for promiscuity on Melrose Place, as an airline pilot intent on bringing the Mile High Club down to earth. There’s Jack Davenport, the onetime backbone of the awesome British sex-romp Coupling who wasn’t much of a swordsman (ahem) in the Pirates of the Caribbean flicks, as a family man struggling with the sexual revolution and his American accent.

There’s Molly Parker, who first gained notice playing a necrophile (necrophiliac?) in the Candian indie film Kissed, as a homemaker straddling ’50s suburban mores and the swingin’ ’70s. (It seems clear she’ll be straddling other things in the coming weeks, but that’s another story.) And then there’s the gorgeous Lana Parrilla, late of 24 and the short-lived Windfall, as Show’s absurdly hot-to-trot wife who takes a practically evangelical approach to the recruitment and seduction of swinger wannabes.

It’s the bicentennial summer of ’76, and Davenport and Parker, thanks to some financial good fortune, have moved “only five minutes away” from their conservative Chicago neighborhood and their dowdy friends into a den of iniquity filled with wife-swappers, slutty divorcees, and perhaps even some nascent teen homosexuality. (Only on TV could changing neighborhoods seem like time travel – but then, Swingtown producers Mike Kelley and Alan Poul told the New York Times that they envisioned the show as the bastard child of Boogie Nights and The Wonder Years, and if that’s possible then I guess anything is.) Here’s a humorous sneak peek: (more…)

I was supposed to write a column about several reality shows airing this summer, and I had good intentions of doing just that. But the only reality I know right now is that I’m an addict … to Lost. I must find out what happens to the survivors of Oceanic Flight 815, which departed Sydney, Australia, for Los Angeles, California, on September 24, 2004, and crashed on an uncharted island.

It began as a curiosity. See, I was over at ABC.com, doing research for my Three Strikes column on Brothers & Sisters. All I wanted was a jpeg, you know? Honest, this was the only reason I was even near the site. Then I saw an option: “Full Episodes.” I mean, what could it hurt to check and see what they were streaming, right? Maybe… maybe they had unaired episodes of Cavemen, I liked that show. I did; really, I’m not making this up! Clicking that link was like finding a private room at some teenage suburban party where all of the “good” kids are drinking smuggled beers in the living room and the “cool” kids are doing something else away from the crowd.

I’d decided long ago that I wasn’t going to get caught up in the Lost hysteria. After I missed most of the first season, I thought there was no way to catch up. Sure, the DVD’s are available to rent, but I wasn’t going to waste one of the entries of my Netflix queue with Lost, not when I had 300 movies to get through. And after two seasons, I stopped caring. I thought, “Come on, can it really be as good as Deadwood, Veronica Mars or Friday Night Lights. Was Lost even close to the caliber of The Sopranos?” I scoffed at the notion. But Abc.com… damn you ABC! It taunted me… “Lost Season 1 in streaming HD.” HD? C’mon, it can’t be that good. I reasoned with myself, “Look, just this one episode. I’ll watch the pilot and be able to claim I’ve seen Lost. Then, back to my life.”

My life. Ha! I have no life! Two hours after watching the pilot, I was hooked. (more…)

Katie Couric is sexy. I’ll give you all a moment to digest that.

Aaaaaaaand … scene.

I’m not kidding here. I find Miss Couric genuinely attractive and, to add to that, I think that is the primary stumbling block for her turn as anchor of the CBS Evening News. To understand where we are, we need to remember an important detail. From the beginning of news dispersion, from radio to the infancy of television to the Golden Age of Edward R. Murrow and Walter Cronkite, this has been a patriarchy, a game run by men of age and experience with that commanding “Voice of God” presence. It is a role the networks have been only too happy to fill, even if the distinguished gentlemen taking the spotlight weren’t the most qualified to serve. They looked and sounded the part. That was enough.

In an effort to energize their sagging news division, CBS put their faith and a large amount of prestige behind Couric, going 180 degrees away from the standard. Since then it has been nothing less than a death-clock countdown to her stay there and, really, that is unfair. Yes, the viewership has moved to other networks and other anchors — male anchors who can wear the suit and sound appropriately authoritarian — but most of these viewers probably get the bulk of their news from old media anyhow. Network news and, in shockingly severe numbers, newspapers have been losing eyes to cable news outlets and the catch-as-catch-can speed of the Internet. The exodus from Couric, while partly due to this gender shock, is more about the waning relevance of these organizations. (more…)