I'll Watch the Emmys, Even Though "30 Rock" and "Mad Men" Will Be the Only Things that Win

Ah, the Emmys. The awkward, red-headed step-child of the Oscars. Then again, television has been coming into its' own, with behemoths like Mad Men, 30 Rock, and nearly everything on HBO and Showtime nominated for a plethora of awards. Some say it's unfair that there are so many categories, or that Tina Fey has been nominated so much that she could build a spiral staircase of potential Emmys. Regardless, here are my predictions, for better or worse.

Best Comedy Series:
Should Win: 30 Rock
Will Win: 30 Rock

Referencing everything from B-list zombie slashers to Peter Shafer's Amadeus, I'm not the first to say it, nor will I be the last, but I want to go to there.

Best Drama Series:
Should Win: Mad Men
Will Win: Mad Men

Though its return was lugubrious, the payoff was well worth the wait. Season Two of this slick drama chronicles the complicated lives of the addies at Sterling-Cooper. Don disappears to California. Peggy discovers clothes that didn't belong to her grandmother. And we, the viewers, discover how much we love the unfolding intrigue. Can there please be a LOST/Mad Men hybrid, so we can all time travel back to the 1960's? (I'm looking at you, JJ.)

Outstanding Lead Actor in a Comedy Series:
Should Win: Jim Parsons as Sheldon Cooper (The Big Bang Theory)
Will Win: Alec Baldwin as Jack Donaghy (30 Rock)

Jim Parsons, the slight, gangly Sheldon, defines "poindexter." With zero social skills and the uncomfortable burden of a genius IQ, he bumbles through life, stuttering physics formulas and committing faux-pas. Meanwhile, Alec Baldwin plays a slightly more egotistical version of himself.


Outstanding Lead Actor in a Drama Series:
Should Win: Jon Hamm as Don Draper
Will Win: Jon Hamm as Don Draper

Watch this genius SNL clip. And tell me you don't believe every word uttered by the once Dick Whitman.



Outstanding Lead Actress in a Comedy Series:
Should Win: Mary-Louise Parker as Nancy Botwin (Weeds)
Will Win: Tina Fey as Liz Lemon (30 Rock)

Let's look at these characters academically:

Liz Lemon: Neurotic, over-committed brunette writer with fast food fetish, has to deal with incompetent co-workers, writers, and actors.

Nancy Botwin: Neurotic, over-committed brunette drug dealer with Diet Coke fetish, has to deal with incompetent co-workers, drug lords, and DEA agents.

Sadly, the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences will go for the safe option. Not to say you're not brilliant, Tina, it's just...share the wealth, mmmkay?


Outstanding Lead Actress in a Drama Series:
Should Win: Elisabeth Moss as Peggy Olson, Mad Men
Will Win: Elisabeth Moss as Peggy Olson, Mad Men
Who would have thought that meek and dowdy secretary-cum-copywriter Peggy Olson would blossom into such a rich, complex stalwart of moxie and guts? Anyone doubting Moss' ability to exhibit this richness, watch season two's season finale, "Meditations in an Emergency." And then we'll talk. Marska Hargitay (Detective Olivia Benson of Law and Order: SVU) was, at one point, a contender, but already has a nod from the Academy, and has been so absent from the current season that it seems unlikely she'll get another statuette.

Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Comedy Series:
Should Win: Neil Patrick Harris (Barney Stinson, How I Met Your Mother), Jack McBrayer (Kenneth the Page, 30 Rock), or Tracy Morgan (Tracy Jordan, 30 Rock)
Will Win: Jack McBrayer (Kenneth the Page, 30 Rock)

While tempting to say all supporting actors are created equal (and only serve as foils for the lead characters), the truth of the matter is this year's batch of auxiliary funny men are as varied as Barney Stinson's collection of suits. Ultimately, McBrayer's earnest naivete wins out as accidentally hilarious. Sorry, Rainn, but Dwight just doesn't cut it any more. Fact.


Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Comedy Series:
Should Win: Kristin Chennoweth (Olive Snook, Pushing Daisies)
Will Win: Anyone's call

Chennoweth delights in the now defunct Pushing Daisies, as a jockey slash waitress Olive Snook, a pint-sized songbird and spy who helps the Scooby gang solve crimes. It doesn't hurt that this Broadway alum has some serious pipes, which she uses to great affect from time to time.

Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Drama Series:
Should Win: Michael Emerson (Benjamin Linus, LOST)
Will Win: John Slattery (Roger Sterling, Mad Men)


Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Drama Series:
Should Win: ? (To be fair, I have not seen enough of any other show to give an accurate, angry rant over talent and the Academy being biased. It happens.)
Will Win: Sandra Oh (Dr. Cristina Yang, Grey's Anatomy)

Cristina has had a tumultuous season - first, getting impaled by an icicle, then falling for Lieutenant Night Terror who tried choking her in her sleep. There are only so many people who can pull off obsessive-compulsive neurosis with such likable charm, and Sandra Oh is one of them.

So, it's time to watch the magic unfold. Updates to follow as to how wonderfully/poorly I did. Enjoy!

The Finale Countdowns

Bethertainment Weekly Presents:
Twittereviews: Season Finale Reviews in 140 words or less.

LOST
I wish I could time travel to the season six premiere. A+

GREY'S ANATOMY
Everyone's McDying or McMarried. McBoring. C+

SCRUBS
Titanic-like montage of JD leaving Sacred Heart. Awkwardly heartwarming. B

THE OFFICE
Michael Scott and Holly put on 'Dunder Mifflinaire.' Pam and Jim is havin' a bay-bee. That is all. B+

And, I am proud to announce I have - from a reliable source - the information that "Mad Men" has started production for a solidly brilliant season three. Let's just say I may or may not have run into a certain Art Director of Sterling-Cooper at certain Broadway revival show and may or may not have asked him questions about the marvellous "Mad Men."

The Ballad of Daniel Faraday: LOST Recap

Huh. Wasn't expecting the variables in "Lost's" 100th episode, conveniently titled "The Variable."

Talk about a conundrum. We discover the details of Faraday's encounter in the 1970's. He doesn't work in the Dharma Initiative, unlike many of the other islanders. He presents the quixotic knight-of-obligation haunted by the requests of his mother, who was either the biggest fan of Fate on Facebook, or an insatiable Destiny's Child devotee.

Faraday as a boy is the jumpy, nervous Physicist Faraday in Boy Size. Turns out most everyone on "Lost" harbors a secret pianist talent -- Jack, Benjamin Linus, and now Far-Away Faraday -- and is well-versed in the classics. But the important thing was Eloise Hawking, tearful and stern, telling him he cannot play piano anymore, that there's not time.

LITTLE BOY FARADAY: But I can make time.
ELOISE: If only you could.

Every line between Faraday and Eloise is a double entendre, each glance has meaning. Sadly, since I am neither J.J. Abrams or a staff writer on the show, the best I can do is hypothesize and use my shiny college degrees to make educated guesses.

First things first. Through flashbacks of Faraday's life, we get a better picture of who exactly Eloise Hawking is. One part scientist, two parts crazy pageant mom, she drives her son to be what he is meant to be -- a top scientist -- so there was simply no time in Faraday's childhood for games of Candyland and trips to the lake. When Faraday graduates from Oxford, Eloise is remarkably cold to his then-girlfriend-soon-to-be-brain dead Theresa. And when confronted by Charles Whidmore about sacrifices, slaps him. "You have no idea what I've had to sacrifice," she says. Which begs the question: does Eloise know what she must do? I would argue, to a certain extent. I'll come back to this idea.

This episode reveals that people are the variables -- that is, their actions and, convexly, lack of actions -- are malleable and are not set in stone. Exhibit A: Charlotte, "just remembering" a man who came to her as a child telling her she must leave the island.

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Does "just remembering" mean that Faraday of 1977 talks to Past-Charlotte in that moment, that Charlotte didn't have that memory until Present-Day Faraday (functioning in 1977) talked to her? It was in the past, but, much like Billy Pilgrim of Slaughterhouse Five, the past is subject to change, and memories with them.

Fans of the show will revel in a "big win" -- we find out the causality for everything! In 1977, unparalleled power is released. The hatch is built to control the power, the button made to reset every 108 minutes. Without the hatch, and the varying power, Oceanic flight 815 would not have crashed, and none of the events on the island would have happened. Jack sees this as promising. No island. No smoke monster. No Benjamin Linus. No feasting on Dharma O's and Dharma Ranch Dressing. Just landing in Los Angeles, a little worse for the wear.

And what of Penelope and Desmond Hume? There was a poorly attempted "ER/Grey's Anatomy" moment when we think Mr. Hume is on his way to the bright forever. Only to find out he's miraculously fine -- looks like the Wheaties he had in his bag o' groceries really did protect him!

Now, to address the giant smoke monster in the room. What of Eloise Hawking of 1977 shooting her son? Faraday storms The Other's Camp awkwardly brandishing a gun, demanding to see Eloise. A whole host of questions arise: why did Faraday feel the need to raid the camp? Did Richard Alpert know that Eloise was present, and, if so, why would he lie and say she wasn't in camp? Was Faraday aware of what needed to be done? That is, did he know it was his destiny to go back to 1977 and be murdered at the hand of his mother? These are questions I can't readily answer. But Eloise seems to have little idea of who she just shot in the stomach. Or, she knows it's all part of the island's destiny.

And, for those who subscribe to the church of H.G. Welles and Steven Hawking, another quantum-continuum "win" was won. "We are the variables," Faraday explains, building on the excellent season four episode "The Constant." That is to say, people are the variables. It was a giant awwww moment, because you think, People's actions aren't set in stone. We're erratic at best, unbalanced at worst. It goes back to Season One, where the story again revolves around the people of "Lost" (as per my letter seen in Entertainment Weekly) and not the extraordinary events surrounding them.

So, Daniel Faraday is dead.

For now.

But as evidenced by other resurrections, (see also: Jock Locke) dead means very little on the island. From next week's previews, Jack is again on a mission to save the island and perhaps stop Oceanic Flight 815 from crashing at all.

Gather round, and say it with me: "Oooh, mindplay!"

Bethertainment Weekly Grade: B+

Lusting for "LOST"

A new, two-hour epic episode of our favorite time-traveling island castaways airs tonight at 9PM. Obama's fourth press conference airs at 8PM. Expect a review of one or the other (or both, if you're lucky).

Quick Stats: LOST's 100th Episode, "The Variable." Daniel Faraday makes a long-awaited appearance, along with a young Charlotte. A whole unmitigated 40 minutes of Oceanic goodness.

Stay tuned!

Not Shaken, Not Stirred, But Boyled

By now, I'm sure even your slightly senile neighbor Bertha has heard of Susan Boyle. It trumps Somalian pirates, economic chaos, and even the newset addition to the Obama household, Bo'bama. Larry King managed to snag this singing sensation for "Larry King Live." For those of you who have been living in a cave, please click this link.

Boyle, 47, has done the impossible--rising from complete obscurity from a small town nested in the British Isles, to win the hearts of the world.

What I ask is this--why the shock, the complete and utter disbelief that an overweight and homely middle-aged British woman cannot hum "Happy Birthday," let alone belt a power-ballad from Les Miserables. Audience members began first to applause, then stand, then cheer, as a national hero was being birthed before their very eyes.

This isn't the first time this has happened. In a previous season of "Britain's Got Talent," a lowely man by the name of Paul Potts told the judges (scowling Simon Cowell included) that he was going to sing "Nessum Dorma," one of the most famous tenor arias of all time, from Giacomo Puccini's celebrated opera Turandot. The judges were again doubting Thomases. Not a one expected an uneducated British man to be able to pronounce an Italian syllable, let alone create a moving work of music and art.

What is it about these unassuming, ordinary people that instill so much doubt in audiences? The answer is as obvious as Tyra Bank's very fake hair color. We (that is to say, scholars and followers of the media) have been programmed to believe only the thin, lovely, and avant-garde have any idea of what art is, and indeed--how to perform it. Beauty comes in unexpected places, but when a society-ordained "fugly" Scotswoman belts out Schönberg--is this cause for media exploitation and international acclimation?

Just a thought.

The "Unusual" Suspects

Can the unusual cast of The Unusuals prove their New York prowess? And what's with the unusual facial hair?

Cop shows have been around for a long, long time. From Hill Street Blues to NYPD Blue, and the original Andy Griffith Show, audiences have been fascinated by the crime crunching men (and women) in uniform. So it comes as no surprise that ABC is trying a new spin on the New York City cop with the premiere of The Unusuals.

It is entertaining enough. Newcomer and ex-Park Avenue Princess Casey Shraeger (Amber Tamblyn) is moved to a new unit after a detective's partner is mysteriously murdered in a park during a shift where she was an undercover - ahem - woman of the night. A man dressed in a hot dog costume is arrested. Police radio quips fade in about a "man in a cape and no pants."

New York is certainly an unusual place, and these crimes do happen. But each character falls flat, each plot line fizzles out before it plays out. You find yourself watching, but disengaged, like an 8th grader sitting in biology class watching a NOVA special on covalent bonding: mildly interesting, but only because of the promise of lunch afterwards. The characters fall flat on their own cliches--LOST's Harold Perrineau plays the one-dimensionally paranoid detective Leo Banks, a man who wears a bullet-proof vest at all times in fear of stray bullets. The awkward, Brady Bunch 'stached Detective Eric Delahoy (Adam Goldberg) finds out he has a brain tumor, and has six weeks to live if it goes untreated.

Though these are all good building blocks, the talented cast fails to deliver the expected quirkiness promised in trailers. Bones veteran writer Noah Hawley keeps dialogue snappy and self-aware, but it is simply not enough to distinguish the show from every other crime and/or cop show with a "new and exciting" twist. Ratings for the pilot were poor, even though its' lead in was the hit show LOST (which was at one of its' highest points last week. Thumbs up, by the way). I wonder--will these gregarious gum shoes find an usual way to beat the barrage of cop and crime shows out there?

(Sidenote: Bring back Pushing Daisies! Please, I beg you, ABC Exec's. It was the only forensic fairy tale I ever liked...)

Bethertainment Weekly Grade: C+

Pace Lifts - Or, How to Improve the Somewhat Struggling Primetime Shows So They're A Lot, Lot Better

As Bob Dylan once noted, the times, they are a changing. We've got a new, tech savvy president who bequeaths iPods to royalty. There are pillow fights on Wall Street. And the once entertaining, freshly piloted network television series I fell in with love so many years ago are approaching middle age. With the wisdom comes creaky bones, weak plot lines, and plateaued characters. Here is my (non) expert advice on how to give face lifts (or, in Grey's Anatomy lexicon, face transplants) to these struggling shows.

Scrubs (ABC)

THE PROBLEM: For seven surreal seasons, I followed Scrubs religiously on NBC. When there was warning that its seventh season was the last, I accepted my fate stoically, without complaint. But after hearing ABC was picking up the quirky cast of Sacred Heart for another season, I had a JD-esque daydream of what this meant for me. Another year of Turk, Carla, and the Todd. A whole new season of ironic jokes and Dr. Cox's penchant for calling JD by girl's names. And yet, the joy isn't there. Zach Braff has been absent in two episodes already (perhaps foreshadowing an ill-advised 9th season without the front man) and the last episode ("My Full Moon") was just about Elliot realizing the American Dream - that when the right man came along, she would throw her talents as a doctor aside for a frilly apron and a family.

QUICK FIX: Though I am loathe to say it, the quickest fix here would be calling it quits at the end of the season. Scrubs has had a respectable run and survived the chop block once. Who knows if its' luck will last. Another idea? Have Turk have a run-in with diabetes that requires JD to wait on him hand and foot. The two will realize their undying love for each other, elope to Iowa, and live happily ever after dancing to "99 Luftballoons."

Grey's Anatomy (ABC)

THE PROBLEM: Avid "Bethertainment Weekly" readers will remember I once blogged about shows that were Jumping the Shark and Healing the Deer. Might you also remember that Grey's Anatomy made that list last season? While the show has proven more interesting and complex with new additions like Iraq veteran Dr. Owen, the show doesn't have the playful self-indulgence it once did in its first and second seasons, flawlessly balancing drama with dark humor, and a McPun along the way.

QUICK FIX: Shonda Rhymes needs to tap into the synergy of the early years of Grey's while finding new ways to develop the characters. Meredith's "dark and twisty" thing has been done, but what about her and Derek dealing with an unexpected pregnancy? Izzy will knit a whole Baby Gap worth of kiddy gear, Christina will get weirded out, and Boy George will fade into television obscurity. Another idea: playing off of the new batch of interns, having them mirror Seattle Grace's first and finest, but making their situations seem utterly ridiculous and trite. Or they could just keep up with the face transplants and robot pig surgeries.

The Office (NBC)

THE PROBLEM: Remember in middle school, when your mom packed you a bologna and mayo sandwich every day for a year? Good the first week, unfathomably dull the next. You were stuck in a lunch rut, and had no way of fixing it. The Office is no different. It's been pulling the Jam/Pim will they/won't they for too long. Dwight is not oddly endearing anymore as much as neighborhood pedophile with a beet fetish. The set-up's are far too obvious. Jim has been making a fool in front of the new boss, Charles Miner. Look who's on the chopping block. And Pam leaving Dunder-Mifflin to work for Michael? I smell financial ruin for the darling Halperts. And chronic boredom from the audience.

QUICK FIX: Have Pam and Jim get hitched, but have them run into an awkward situation whilst they're honeymooning on Dwight's beet farm. Might I suggest a classically biblical Leah/Rachel switcharoo, where Pam doesn't realize it's Dwight come to her marital bed, and not Jim. And what of the peripheral characters? I think we deserve a Creed-centric episode where we find out at least some of Mr. Bratton's dirty laundry.

Family Guy (FOX)

THE PROBLEM: I hate to belittle a show that is so admired among my friends and peers, but this problem has reached the size of a dwarf star. The show. Is. No. Longer. Funny. And I hate to break it to you, college sophomores, but much like Dane Cook, Family Guy loses much of its humor after you graduate college. If everyone could conjure up obscure pop-culture references from the 80's and 90's, would they have a successful show? It's possible. I'm not questioning Seth McFarland here, but in simplified form, all he is is a flashback magpie who gathers seemingly useless artifacts thrown on the side of the entertainment highway. Stewie already killed Lois, Peter has gone from fat to skinny, rich to poor, Meg lost her virginity to Jimmy Fallon. What else is there?

QUICK FIX: Why not take a leaf from South Park's almighty offensive book and make political statements that aim to both enlighten and offend? (Sidenote: "About Last Night..." was incredibly brilliant. I just needed to say that). The show was canceled once. That might have been the better alternative. Here's an idea: bring back Arrested Development, get rid of asinine shows that take movie parodies and Kool Aide commercials to absurd levels.

Lord of the "Kings"

I hope all of you paid attention in Sunday school. No, there won't be a quiz later, no, it's not the end of the world (at least, for another three years, give or take), and no -- I'm not going to give you a Pioneers Club badge if you recite John 3:16 properly. But, for watching NBC's new epic drama, "Kings," your Old Testament prowess would do nothing but help. Can I get an amen?

From writer/producer stalwart Michael Green comes NBC's newest drama about the fictitious kingdom of Gillboa and the city of Shiloh. Like other epicsodes (epic episodes of series like "Lost," "Heroes," and "Eli Stone"), "Kings" would do well to find a fervent, niche audience to decode the many biblical references. Gillboa is a country - proud and passionate - raised from the ashes by King Silas Benjamin, a man who, as he says at any political rally or gala, anointed by butterflies, chosen by God to be king.

Po'dunk little farmboy David Shepherd (Christopher Egan) plays a Rolfe-like idealist private in the Army who mistakenly becomes a hero after facing off with enemy tanks (called GOLIATH'S). He finds himself at the center of celebration, a Captain, who becomes so after saving the king's son. He asks for none of it, and yet, finds himself unwittingly drawn into this new military life.


It was a beautifully cinematographic two hours of my life. The location scout deserves an Emmy immediately for finding all of the real-life New York locations (some of which was filmed at Columbia University's Union Theological Seminary...well worth investigating for those in the New York area). However, there was something that didn't ignite. Maybe it was my years of conservative Midwestern Christian upbringing, but some things were too obvious, too expositional. Such as: David Shepherd. We get it. Jack Shepherd of "Lost," Derek Shepherd of "Grey's Anatomy." They all lead their people through greatness, blah blah blah. The headline "DAVID SLAYS GOLIATH" on the Gillboa Daily was a bit much, too.

But overall, the use of classical elements, mythology, and Old Testament lore (bonus props for the nod to Rachmonninoff), make "Kings" an enthralling and strange journey. It will be interesting to see how the characters develop - Silas is certainly hiding a dark past and harbors an intense pride that borders on tempestulent to protect his kingdom. And David, the It Boy of Gillboa, has a lot o' learnin' to do.

Can I get an amen?

Bethertainment Weekly Grade: B+
A royal introduction of a pilot...

If It Were an iPod, It Would Be a Shuffle! ("The Office" Review)

There were two bowls at play yesterday - the epic battle between the Steelers and the Cardinals, and the epic bowl Olympian Michael Phelps was seen smoking. But I'm not here to write of either. No, I have my head set straight, and know that the most important thing about Super Bowl Sunday is not the actual game, the advertisements, or even the halftime show. No, dear readers, it was the hour-long "Office" that followed.

I've had my doubts about this season of Scranton misadventures. Many of the plot lines have been unlikely (Andy forgiving Angela and being alright with Dwight) or trite (the budget surplus that resulted in a copy machine/chair debacle). Dwight's plights became annoyingly predictable, and I was almost hoping for a "Lost"-like intervention where he might get sucked into the space-time continuum, get time-travel sickness, and die a violent death at the hands of an astrophysicist; kind of what is happening for Charlotte Lewis). But fear not! Mr. Schrute is back with a bang, starting the show off right with a "practice" fire drill, in which he locks the doors, warms door handles, and sets a trash can on fire. At the first sign of smoke, the Dunder-Mifflinites break into a raw panic. Angela pulls out a cat from a filing cabinet (sidenote: awesome!) and eventually throws it up in the ceiling tiles. Michael Scott tries to throw an overhead projector to break the window. Kevin breaks the glass of the vending machines. Stanley has a heart attack. And among the mêlée, I rekindle hope for the workers of Dunder Mifflin Scranton.

Let's start from the beginning. A very un-contrite Dwight is dragged into corporate to get a stern lecture from David Wallace. He is told he must collect signatures from everyone in the office before he's let off the hook. Stanley returns to the office, a little shaky, but not enough for the wheelchair Andy offers him ("Just use it until you can walk," Andy says).

Thus begins official safety training, beginning with First Aide and CPR. The woman tries to coach Michael how to use the dummy. "It's 10o pumps a minute," she says, "kind of like that Bee Gee's song." And ridiculously Michael begins singing...as does the rest of the staff. Each gets a little more into it, Andy most so with his "Here Comes Treble" harmonies. Michael at one point is having so much fun with the impromptu karaoke that he forgets to pump. Never one to pass up an opportunity, Dwight breaks out a hunting knife and rips into the dummy's chest. "We must harvest his organs," he exclaims as he plummets a hunting knife into the dummy. Really, Dwight?

Michael begins his own stress-relief seminar, complete with ambient music he downloads from the interweb. He tries to help Stanley relax, but every time he gets closer to Stanley, a little heart monitor goes off, alerting Stanley of a dangerously high heart rate. Oscar tries it and the same thing happens. "You're the one stressing people out," he says. So Michael institutes a Roast, a la Comedy Central; a way for all of the busy bees at Dunder Mifflin to take out their anger and aggression. "It could be my race," Michael says, as if anyone needed ideas on how to Roast Michael Scott. "It could be the fact that I'm so fit, or a womanizer, anything. I don't want to write your stuff for you, but I want it to be good."

Turns out, it is. The whole of Dunder Mifflin meets in the warehouse for the Roast. Highlights include Kelly's list of people she'd rather make out with than Michael (a turtle, a wood chipper, anyone from warehouse, Lord Voldemort). Pam roasts Michael's "thing." "How small was it?" someone from warehouse calls out. "If it were an iPod, it would be a Shuffle."

Bam, Pam! Someone's got quite the searing wit. All of the roasts seemed a little much for Michael, and he fails to show up to work the next day. He wears a turtleneck. He tries to feed pigeons, but they've migrated south for the winter.

Meanwhile, on the Pim/Jam front (I haven't decided which adorable couple name to use), they're fighting...again. Pam's parents are on the rocky road to divorce, and Pam encourages Jim to talk to her father. He does, and next thing we know, Mr. Beasley, Senior is on his way to finding a new apartment. "What did you say to him?" she demands.

Turns out, Jim just said the sorts of things to make the 17-49 year-old demographic melt. "I told him I loved you since the moment we met, and that I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

Pam's dad never felt that, even at his best, and that's why he's moving out. And that's why we don't get married at 21, kids.

And Michael finally shows up (still in a sort of Paul Simon-esque turtleneck), this time, ready to roast the roasters. "Oscar, you're GAY!" he says. "Meredith is an alcoholic! Kevin, I don't know whether to make fun of you because you're stupid or because your fat!" Rather than the scandalized faces usually seen, Stanley starts...chuckling. And the rest of the office joins in. Could Michael Scott, the blundering, clueless captain of the sinking Dunder-Mifflin ship, actually have done something right? It would certainly appear so.

In my hot-wings induced state, I arrived at two very important conclusions. One, it was a decent episode. Decent, not great. Much like the 3D Sobe commercial that aired mid-Superbowl, this week's episode seemed high on the gimmicks and low on the substance. One of the great joys of this show is the unpredictable moments, the awkward pauses, the ignorance and bigotry that is somehow turned comedic; but points can only be made so many times, and at a certain volume. Dwight's character seems too much of a stereotype now to be anything more than the catalyst to a quick laugh. Pam and Jim have had far too many bumps in the road for me to care. Second, get on with it, already. The show has gone from speaking to me pleasantly to a loud monotone of stale jokes and a lack of insight.

Maybe they should be more like Pam and take the rest of art school, even if they fail and have to return to Scranton.

But it's just a thought. I'm not the inspiration in the black turtleneck.

Bethertainment Weekly Grade: B-

Plight of the Conchords

It is, indeed, Business Time for New Zealand's second most popular folk novelty band members Jemaine Clement and Bret McKenzie. After a few shadowed months of doubt and wallowing, "Flight of the Conchords" is back and zanier than ever. Though no fan is more loyal than Mel, the group's lone fan, Conchord tolerators might remember where the band was at the end of Season 1: Murray (the brilliant Rhys Darby) introduced a third Conchord, Todd (comedian Todd Barry), the over-zealous bongo player. Bret quits in protest, and forms his own Flight of the Conchords with keytar player Demetri (comedian Demetri Martin). After a bit of quibbling, Demetri and Todd split...to form their dream band of The Crazy Dogggs. With a breakaway hit ("The Doggy Bounce"), America has spoken with dubious taste, and Murray is on his way to being an actual person with an actual managerial position with actual gigs (arf, arf!). Bret and Jermaine play the library.


Season Two picks up exactly there. Murray has hit the big time, lunches regularly with Tori Amos, and drives a BMW, though fancy gilt casings cannot hide his former self ("R. Kelly wants to perform with you...do you want me to find out who that is?") Seeing that their future is bleak with Murray managing both the Crazy Dogggs and the Conchords, Bret fires Murray. Murray sings.

This is not the "Goodbye, Leggy Blonde" of last season. Murray is no longer a failing manager, and neither is he a failing singer. In a grandiose salute to Pavarotti, Murray dawns a tux and a dashing vibrato in a grand cinematic gesture of his grief. I forgot how much emptier my life was without this darling show.

Life Without Murray becomes slightly easier. Bret and Jemaine manage themselves, and manage to land a gig all their own, writing a jingle for Femident, the Woman's Only toothpaste. I must admit, while I did enjoy the Kiwi's donning Toothpaste hats and emerging from giant tubes, it struck me that the dynamic inexplicably, insurmountably, changed. With the cult success of Season 1, HBO gave "Conchords" a bigger, flashier budget, which resulted in a bigger, flashier show. And, as we all know, there is no killer to creativity like a big budget and the desire for more-well-money.

Murray finds out that money is no longer expected. Turns out, "Doggy Bounce" was nothing more than the doppelganger song from a Czech 80's band. Cue lawsuit, indemnity, and Murray's eminent poverty. He begins living out of his Honda Civic. He eats there, sleeps there, shaves there, conducts band meetings there. And he would for a very long time, if Bret and Jermaine had not needed green cards to get paid for their (gasp!) paying gig.

The songs in the premier were not as wholly rewarding as they were in episodes past. Ending the episode with a song about horny angels? Though I'm a supporter of non sequiturs and surrealist sequences, this one left me scratching my head. What purpose did this serve? How did it further the plot? Why do I now wonder what angels have going on under their robes? No thank you, FotC. No thank you.

In the end, Murray keeps his "other" job at the New Zealand Consulate, as Steve never realized he left. Bret and Jemaine are back to their old plight of scoring gigs and shaking off Mel. And all was right in the surreal New York that these crazy Kiwi's inhabit.

Bethertainment Weekly Grade: B

A Heartbreaking Letter to a Staggering Genius

Dear Tina Fey,

Stop it. Stop it now. We all know how intelligent and beautiful and witty you are. You probably use all of your Emmy's and Golden Globes as marshmallow roasters and back-scratchers. At least those that you have room for. But stop making the rest of us feel like wife-beater wearing slobs like Frank, or clogged and strained and utterly beat, like one of Jack Donaghy's coronary ventricles.

If your life is remotely like it is portrayed on "30 Rock," then give me a navy Brook's Brothers blazer, the impossible task of monitoring Tracy Jordan, and call me Kenneth the Page. I promise I won't be as hilariously creepy or have as many hick-like tenancies as Jack McBrayer, but I will bring some good old-fashioned Midwestern flair. Though, if I see Jerry Seinfeld in the elevator, don't wager I won't start humming the theme to "Seinfeld," rather than make polite conversation. ("So, Jerry. I hear you were in a show. That's terrific. I clean up stale pizza and was urinated on yesterday by a bearded man on the Six Train!") I have cute, antiquated sayings. I say words like: fiddlesticks, gosh-darn it, crappers, and mrrrrf. "Mrrrrf" isn't so much a word yet, but I'm thinking it could be my own personal "Blurg."

I'm trying it on for size, if you will.

I think, Tina Fey, we're not that different. We're not that different, you and I. While I may not have those chocoatately brown tresses or the affinity for Solidad de Sabor chips, I must say, we both look really really good when bespectacled. Though I got my degree in Creative Writing and you got yours in drama, I did my fair share of acting, as I'm sure you did in the crafting of great stories. And, we share some genetic background! We're both of Scotch-Irish stock! Isn't that fantastic, Tina Fey/Liz Lemon?

Also, we love to eat our feelings. Once, when I graduated college and couldn't find a job, I lived off of cookie dough and Mr. Pibb for a month. And then I realized that people would probably want to hire me even less, the closer I came to resembling Java the Hut. So, though I haven't purchased a wedding dress because it was "40 percent off" and tried it on at the office, and inadvertantly was seen by all my co-workers and was forced to wear said dress all day to make a point and get ham juice on it, I think that you have tapped into one of the deepest parts of my persona. And that bond lasts longer than "I Love Lucy" sindications.

But enough about our similarities, because that's where they stop. You were a writer on SNL - the first female head writer, in fact - before you came to bless America with "30 Rock." You led Weekend Updatet with unwavering reserve; a sort of younger Peter Jennings with lady bits who sometimes was confused for a lesbian.

Also, there is that whole writing thing.

So, please, Tina. I give you two options. Either stop being so darn good at what you do, or take me with you to the top. I would scale a medium-sized hill for you. I would wake up eight minutes early, if it meant I might see you. If I saw you on the Six Train and I had a seat, and you were standing, I would seriously consider giving you my seat.

That is to say, if the homeless man was nowhere in sight.

Mrrrrrrf.

Yours Sincerely,
Beth

If I'm Going to Die, I Want to Die in Manhattan

The storm's been percolating on this season's horizon: each character set up for the grand culmination. Peggy's secret lovechild with Pete; Don's erratic behavior; Betty's gradual liberation from the Stepford Wives; the Campbell's marital problems; Joan's unhappy engagement; Sterling Cooper's merger with Lowe. The Cuban Missile Crisis. The only question is ... what will explode?

This week's episode, "Meditations in an Emergency," is the title of a Frank O'Hara anthology of poetry - a moody, reflective collection that comments on dystopia. The episode certainly reflects upon that notion.

In last week's episode, Betty found that she was spotting. So she goes to see the doctor. Turns out, there is a third Draper bundle of joy on the way. The doctor is curious why Betty isn't delighted, even more so considering an abortion. "I find it hard to believe that a married woman of means is even considering that," he says. Don comes back from his sojourn to California, the prodigal husband. Betty has just finished riding (though the doctor has told her explicitly not to) "I want to be with you," he says. And who has ever resisted a sales pitch that Don Draper has made? Betty Draper, that's who. "Things haven't been that different without you," she says. Score one for the Home Front!

Meanwhile, the ever-ambitious Pete Campbell finds out he's got promoted to Accounts Director, as Duck has been promoted to the new president of Sterling Cooper. It is everything he has wanted. To be the new Don Draper. And, we see Duck's true colors. He has no wife, no life outside of Sterling Cooper; with this new promotion, he is eager to fell the mighty warrior of advertising.

Don's homecoming to Sterling Cooper is not a jubilant one. People no longer down gin like it is going out of fashion, no light-hearted jest, no laughter. People, hunched around the television. Tense radio broadcasts. Whispers of Castro. It is not the effervescent carnival of before.

"Mad Men"'s brilliance lies in the ability to simultaneously alienate and amalgamate - it's off-putting, for instance, that forty years lie between Don Draper and us - to paraphrase Dylan, the times, they have a-changed. But, there is a strange parallel between the Cuban Missile Crisis and the Economic Crisis of today. Though maybe not in the form of an empty Times Square or angry bickering at the local beauty parlor. Worry translates throughout the decades.

The nuts and bolts of the episode belong to the women: Peggy, Joan, Betty. Betty Draper. Betty Draper, Bonnie Parker. What's the difference there? Both are experiencing sexual liberation. In one of my favorite scenes all season, Betty goes to an upscale bar after dropping off the children with Don. A man on the other end of the bar buys her gimlet. "This means he'll come and talk to you," warns the bartender.

"We'll see about that," Betty says, taking off her coat and adjusting her new suit. The vintage McDreamy comes over to woo her, but Betty dismisses him like last year's fashions at Bloomingdale's. "Thank you so much for the drink, I'd just like to enjoy it, if you don't mind."

Back on the home front, Don and the children have ordered room service at his hotel. Sally and Bobby seem nonplussed by all of this...they're just happy they can watch "Leave it to Beaver" and eat burgers in bed.

Cut back to Betty: she asks the bartender to look over her parcels. We think she's just going to the ladies' room, though she lingers outside. McMystery comes back, obscured in shadow. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

"I'm waiting," she responds. He opens the door to the back room and looks at her expectantly. "I'm married," Betty says, more as a statement than an excuse not to go in. It's an interesting juxtaposition - Don at "home" with the kids, and Betty being the solicitous adulteress. It's a classic role reversal.

Then, it is time to meet with the new owners of Sterling Cooper. Tempers flare as Duck proposes a more surgical, sterile approach to advertising. "There's more than one way to run a company," Duck says, making a not-so-subtle jab at Don. To Duck, that means buying time on television. Lots and lots of time. To Duck, it's not about the client; it's about what sorts of profit the client can procure. To Duck, it's about what is owed to him. It's clear that his nerve is hanging on a thread, and he makes it known. Poor Duck; not only does he have an unfortunate name and no business prospects, but he's a lightweight.

"No, he never could hold his liquor," says one of the Brits.

The office clears out for the weekend, with some thinking it will be their last. Peggy and Pete are the only two left. So, Pete asks Peggy to stay for a drink, which, of course, leads to talking on the self-same sofa where they engaged in lusty, passionate copywriter passion. "I think you're perfect," Pete confesses, gazing into her eyes. "I wish I'd picked you, then."

You expect Peggy to swoon, you expect her to look at Pete and say that's all she's ever wanted, you expect her to say that there's still time. Peggy's look is hard to interpret. "I could have had you," she finally says. She confesses that she had his child and that she gave him away. Pete's less than dapper response:

"Are you serious?"

"One day you're there, and all of a sudden, there's less of you," Peggy explains. It wasn't in the cards for her to keep that child. She leaves Pete in the emotional equivalent of an atomic bomb being dropped. And you wonder, why can't the Academy Awards apply for television? Because that scene was the stuff of legends.

And Don, content again to be the supportive father and husband he once was, wrote a note to Betty, begging her to take him back ("I'll be alone forever"). So, Betty invites him back to their house in Connecticut. And, what a better way to end. The perfect, Norman Rockwell painting of a family in front of the television. Mother, father, sister, brother. It would be cliche only if you know the backstory; both husband and wife have been with other people, Betty wants an abortion. They're on the brink of oblivion. Their world is crumbling from the inside out.

What, then, is in store for next season? (That is to say, if there will be a new season - AMC has not ordered any more shows as of yet.) I see the repercussion of Joan's rape by her fiancee, daddy issues, mommy issues, the Merger, at a lot more smoking and drinking, to be vague. Suffice it to say that they'll keep us coming back for more.

A Show to "Pie" For

"Pushing Daisies" is revived for a thrilling second season.

If, one night, the Brothers Grimm went to a bar and drunkenly went home with Tim Burton, Nancy Drew, and Dr. Seuss, "Pushing Daisies" would be its' awkward offspring. From brainy brawny Bryan Fuller comes forth the fascinating fantasy of Ned the Piemaker (Lee Pace,) a pious person who precipitates people back to life. Such is Ned's tale (narrated by Harry Potter veteran Jim Dales) - to resurrect his childhood crush Chuck (Anna Friel), only to spend the rest of his life wearing bells on his slippers, avoiding the second fatal touch.

That is the premise; perhaps a little kitsch, but Pace and Friel play each flawlessly, with just enough deadpan to counter-act the whimsy. Equally as interesting is the pint-sized Olive Snook (the charming Kristen Chenoweth) who banishes herself to a convent to keep her secrets silent. In homage to The Sound of Music, Chenoweth swirls round and round a mountainous plateau like a blonde Julie Andrews, only to be told "here we value silence." Probably for the best, since Olive is harboring some zingers: that Ned accidentally killed Chuck's father, that Chuck's aunts don't know she's alive...again, that Aunt Vivian is really Chuck's mother.

It would seem, though, that "Daisies"'s producers felt it proper to summarize the entirety of Season 1, as fair-weather viewers will only now be tuning in. The effect seemed haphazard, shoving a savory season one into a To Go bag without the extra condiments or spice. Why not re-air the Emmy-winning "Pie-Lette" rather than recapitulate?

That aside, "Bzzzzzzzz!" presented a strong season premiere, with writers having more time to think about the story in the Writer’s Draught of 2008. No more agoraphobia for Aunts Lily and Vivian, it seems. They are out and about in the town of Cour d’Cour and are ready to live life again. Vivian (Ellen Greene) is the more naïve of the duo, unaware that her sister seduced her husband and a little bundle of joy in the form of Chuck resulted nine months later. Lily (Swoosie Kurtz) haunts Olive like indigestion from a bad slice of boysenberry pie, even to confessional. (The quote “Forgive me, Father, for I don’t like to be poor” is a smiley surprise).

And what of the weekly morgue investigations? More gruesome every time, this week’s victim, Kentucky Fitz (Autumn Reeser) is covered by livid bee-induced welts. And after Ned kills (or re-dead’s) her, a swarm of bees explodes from her mouth. Things are getting stranger, more bizarre. It makes you wonder when the mortician will interject more than the brilliant, “Mmmmm hmmmm” every time the Scooby Gang investigates a crime.

There are a few cosmic questions left unanswered: how much longer can this innocent It Happened One Night romance play out between Ned and Chuck? Eventually, they’ll have to touch, or at least try to. And then what? What about Olive obtaining a porky friend named “Pigby” to replace the canine one of “Digby”? And what of the strange juxtaposition of Emerson Cod (Chi McBride)? First, he’s a P.I., then he knits tea cozies for stress, next he makes pop-up books to find his daughter, what will he do next? His character most of all seems the most inconsistent.

For now, though, I’m stuck to this sweet forensic fairy-tale like Chuck’s fingers are after tending to her many beehives.

Bethertainment Weekly Grade: A-

Quote of the Day: Ned: “If I could breathe, I would vomit,” when Ned thinks Chuck’s aunts have seen her alive and well at the Pie Hole.

Mad about Mad Men

Imagine you are sitting a smoky bar in Manhattan. It's 1960, and you are fabulous and drinking a martini, with a Lucky Strike cigarette hanging nonchalantly from your fist like some Humphrey Bogart. The terror of the Cold War has passed, the nightmare of Vietnam is nothing more than a vague whisper: you are rich and fabulous and work on Madison Avenue at Sterling Cooper Advertising Agency.

You are Donald Draper, Mad Man.

But things are more than they seem: Draper, the creative force behind successful ad campaigns, must deal with Peter Campbell (Vincent Kartheiser), the newlywed Account Exec who nips at his heals; his alcoholic boss Roger Sterling (John Slattery), and - of course - his own infidelity with his ex-model wife, Betty (January Jones). In this world of smoke and mirrors, people are naive to health risks (Betty's pregnant friend smokes heavily, Merlot in hand), easy to judge (the new divorcee who shamefully works at a local jewelry store), and slow to forgive (insert any number of unfaithful spouses).

Into this world comes wide-eyed Peggy Olson (Elisabeth Moss), fresh from secretarial school. She quickly learns to keep her mouth shut, to show and not tell, and to type 70 words a minute. This is no small town.


After watching the first season, it's no wonder this behemoth of a show snagged a staggering 16 Emmy nods. Each episode is a rich, 42-minute movie, complete with stunning cinematography, painstakingly accurate attire (down to the rather pointy underpinnings), and witty dialog. It's incredible what strides feminism has taken in the past 45 years. On Peggy's first day, Pete Campbell comments how she should show more leg. Housewives are meant to stay home and dutifully raise the children while the wily men live their fabulous Manhattan lives. And let's talk about Draper himself, brilliantly played by Jon Hamm. Never is it overdone, never too much. When he pitches, you believe he knows what he's selling, and he'd throw himself from the roof of Sterling-Cooper to prove it.

So, grab a Smirnoff, some stunning lipstick from a basket of kisses, and a Lucky Strike cigarette, and watch perhaps the best period drama to hit television. Ever.

Networks, Expounded

Stations have always (and I use this term lightly, since always implicates infinite existence) been giving themselves aesthetic face lifts. Things to make them pretty. Shiny, even. But what's in a network? What is the signature thing that makes someone say, "Oh, that's an ABC show, right?" Just what I was wondering. Let's investigate, shall we?


ABC
American Broadcasting Company.

Known Best For: Endearing dramadies, heart-warming home renovations, crazy islands outside of the space-time continuum, wipe-outs
Famous Faces: Meredith Grey's whiny self-indulgent mug ("Grey's Anatomy"), Ty Pennington ("Extreme Makeover: Home Edition," Sears commercials), Scared and/or nervous people from "LOST," Mickey Mouse.
Catchphrase: "Start Here."
Underrated Show: "Pushing Daisies." No matter what Entertainment Weekly pundits have to say about it.
Shiny Factor: Invented

NBC
National Broadcasting Company

Known Best For: Deadpan comedies, Laws and Orders, The Olympics, More Reality TV, Conan.
Famous Faces: Michael Scott (Steve Carell of "The Office"), Ann Curry, Liz Lemon/Tina Fey ("30 Rock").
Catchphrase: "Must See TV."
Underrated Show: "Chuck." It's cute and cuddly and nerdy and is available on a Friday night. What more do you want?
Shiny Factor: Flashy as a peacock.



CBS
Columbia Broadcasting System
Known Best For: Demeaning Reality Television, Moderately Good Sitcoms, A Lot of Crime Shows
Famous Faces: The sad little children exploited for "Kid Nation"
Most Underrated Show: "Jericho," and also: "Twin Peaks."
Catchphrase: Let's See Who Next to Exploit.

(Not) Gone to Pot: Weeds Season One

It seems unlikely that anyone pitching a show would have an easy job of it. A man pitching "Magnum, P.I.," for instance, might say something along the lines of, "...and Tom Selleck will run around in obscenely short shorts and fire guns and solve crimes." That wouldn't fly well. Nor would, "Silver foxes past their prime lounge about and talk of all the hot sex they used to have." So, one might imagine the shock a Showtime executive received when he heard this pitch: "A recently widowed, upper crust Jewish housewife and mother sells pot to her equally upper crust white Jewish friends and gets her dope from wise-cracking Mama, who be calling her a skinny bitch."

And yet, that is the basic premise for Showtime's ingenious series, "Weeds." The pilot wastes no time in semantics and begins in full-fledged medias res. Nancy Botwin (Mary-Louise Parker) lost her husband to a heart-attack witnessed by her youngest son Shane (Finding Nemo's Alexander Gould). She's already selling the MJ to suburban dads at soccer matches, already making pot-lemonade from the metaphoric lemons with which her late husband left her.

The writing is snappy and sharp. (Do the writers not indulge in this mauie wowie, I wonder?) . That doesn't mean that it doesn't veer into well-charted territory. It's as though "Desperate Housewives" moved from Wisteria Lane to Agrestic, California and, rather than sleep with the gardener, they move pot and sleep with the drug lord of the community college. Nancy's friend, or rather, PTA associate Cecelia Hodes (Elizabeth Perkins) is the vindictive, perfectionist mother that hides laxatives in her child's hidden stash of Hershey bars so she'll lose weight. There are cheating husbands, dead husbands, and - most importantly for Nancy - pot smoking husbands.

Nancy must quickly find a covert cover-up business before suspicions start to arise of how she's maintaining her expensive lifestyle. And why not open up a bakery, where her product can be consumed without the damaging affects to the lungs. But things aren't exactly 'smoking' for her.

You've got it all here. Intricate plot, disturbed children who imitate terrorist videos and then wave to Mommy, sexually charged deaf teenagers, and even poop humor. And the added bonus of seeming really cool when you talk about "Weeds" with your friends.

Don't mow the lawn; the grass can wait. It's this entertaining joint where you want to be.

Quote of the Day: Andy Botwin: How can you be so blindly pro-Bush?
Doug Wilson: I like his wife Laura... I used to buy weed from her at SMU.

The Brill and the Aggro - The British Invasion

The Office. The Daily Show. Sanford and Son.

What do these three seemingly unrelated shows have to do with each other?

Is it that they're funny? That they deal with important issues like race, bigotry, and ignorance? That funny front men do inappropriate things?

How about they all hail from a small island in the northern Atlantic where the inhabitants drink tea and use proper grammar? Yes, that's right. Your favourite (as the Brits might spell it) television shows have their roots from Merrie Olde England. If it wasn't apparent with the recent super bands (Coldplay, Radiohead, Snow Patrol), then maybe it's the encroaching fashion. In any case, they came. They saw. They inserted their oddball humour.


The craze started as early as the 1960's and '70's when shows like Sanford and Son emerged after the British Steptoe and Son. Both dealt with racial bigotry and socioeconomic class, sure, but there is the whole accent thing to get around.

Big fan of TLC? Then you'd be a fan of the BBC as well; nearly all of TLC's programming has its roots in British television, from Trading Spaces (British alias Trading Places - see what they did there?) to the more famous What Not to Wear. The British version of the aforementioned is not nearly as polite. The brazen co-hosts, Trinny Woodall and Susannah Constantine, have no qualms against breaking into the victim's changing room and pointing out vast amounts of "poodge" that a pair of capri's are causing. Americans Stacy London and Clinton Kelly tend to tone it down and allow their guests to keep as much dignity as possible. Shut up, Stacy! I'm not even kidding!

And those of you who avidly watch the crazy antics of Jim, Pam, and Michael Scott? It started as the crazy antics of Tim, Emma, and David Brent. Only after a few desperate years did the comedy get transposed for American audiences. (And beer me strength, it did). The quirks and comedy was obviously adapted for American audiences, the insane accents, the obscure slang and the like.

So next time you're enjoying one of the Davids singing on American Idol, remember that it was Pop Idol first; Simon Cowell still offered his capriciously thorny criticisms; the only difference is the contestants on Pop Idol could understand him. So crack open a nice cold Magner's hard cider, pop on the BBC, and keep tuned, in a year or two you might be seeing a doppelganger show stateside.

Quote of the Day: "Bears. Britain. Battlestar Galactica."

What to Watch if You Can Ony Watch One Show For the Rest of Your Life

"Arrested Development."




That is all.

"The Bachelorette" Made Me a Widow: Several Reasons Why Reality Television Should be Forgotten like the Hackneyed and Trite Pseudo-Scare of Y2K

A few months ago, I had a behemoth of a cold. We are talking the Hindenburg of nasty viral infections. I was sick as a dog, I should have been quarantined and not have been allowed to resurface until Hilary is elected in office (meaning, of course, never). My point being, I had some unwonted free time, as rare as a lunar eclipse or Brittany Spears wearing more than one layer of clothing. Excellent, I thought. Now I can catch up on all of the quality television shows I’ve missed when I have so diligently been studying 18th Century British Literature.

False.

I turn on the tube only to find a terra nullius of shows—“Survivor,” “Big Brother,” “The Bachelor,” “My Super Sweet 16,” “Next,” – in fact, any show on MTV. (That network, at one point, used to play music, right? Or was that just a Buggles-induced fantasy?) The infamous Writer’s Strike of 2007-2008 had deprived me—and, by proxy—the world, of intelligent, plot-driven shows. Nowhere to be found was “The Office,” “Lost,” “Pushing Daisies,”—anything. It was a vast and desolate wasteland of shoulder cams and cleavage. Studies have shown, people have lost brain cells by watching “Fear Factor.” “Joe Schmo” has been known to cause uncontrollable drooling. And “Flavor of Love” has killed thousands of babies because of its asinine lack of plot and Flava Flav’s wardrobe choices.

Whatever happened to worthwhile, quality television that was both educational and entertaining, that stimulated a few dozen neurons and dendrites while being mildly interesting? While you’re shoving Cool Ranch Doritos in your pie hole with the same lusty vindictiveness in which Gerard Butler slays the Persians in a skimpy man-skirt watching “Big Brother,” is there any activity between thalamus, hypothalamus, and cortex? I’ll take a stab in the dark and say, probably there is not.

But it’s just a hunch.

Though I was young and naïve and had the thin veil of ignorance and callowness and extreme amounts of sugar from Hawaiian Punch, I remember the glory days of “Sesame Street.” And, of course, there was the wonder of “Wishbone,” a mid-90’s PBS show about a literature savy Jack Russel terrier who takes the viewers through lush landscapes of literary masterpieces. Ivanhoe. Paradise Lost. Great Expectations.

Now, the only Great Expectations viewers can hope for include the nagging question if Tela Tequila will ever find true love through the vast sea of sexually confused C-list actors and actresses. It is the basest form of television for those who will not or cannot follow simple story arcs and character development.

ABC recently broadcasted a teaser commercial proclaiming “The Mole” to be “the most fun you’ll have all summer.” Thanks, ABC executives. Why yes, before “The Mole,” the best hope for fun I had this summer was lathering SPF on Great Uncle Al’s back and trimming his nose hair. Geez. Just give me an embolism already.

In specific terms, “Kid Nation” is the Pol Pot of the reality TV show. Not only is it mind-numbingly dull to watch, but there are moral qualms as well. In a word, the show is about forty children, ages 8-15, who are left to their own vices in a ghost town in New Mexico. The ghost town looks suspiciously similar to the set of 3:10 to Yuma. It’s a western Lord of the Flies.

Or it would be, if not for the constant, irritating, and heavy-handed interference of the lobotomized CBS executives. Of course these children are not by themselves. They are surrounded by cameramen, producers, and child psychologists. And, like its’ big brother, “Survivor,” it is not the simple subsistence of surviving on an island or ghost town, but a heavily contrived romp of game-show like challenges and confessionals.

The children are split up into four teams—red, yellow, blue, and green. And from the get go, live, work, and play in these predetermined groups. Moreover, the socioeconomic status for the group is determined who wins the challenges. Say the Blue Team pushed all of their wagons over the finish line first. Then they become the bourgeois, and the others are below them. But do you see the flaw? (Loaded question, yes, but I mean within this context.) This is not a social experiment. It is the basic reinforcement of class and socioeconomics. In a word, it is reiterating the sordid underbelly of the American lifestyle.

The medium of television has allowed for this sort of meta-reality. It is not reality, but neither is it fictitious.

Even if this society would be autonomous—without the interference of ‘grown-up’s,’ there are the moral questions. Has television really sunk so low that they subject children to manipulative submission for the entertainment of a nation? In the “Kid Nation” contract, for example, there is a clause that reads something along the lines of the parents cannot sue and surrender all rights, including but not limited to if their child ingests bleach, looses an appendage, dies, or is sexually assaulted. For that matter, what kind of parent would subject their kid to this? And for a paltry $5,000 stipend, no less.

Excuse me, I need to release my vexation with this show and eat some Teddy Grahams.

It is called the Idiot Box for a reason, yes. But, what of what critics say—that we are in the Second Golden Age of Television? If that is the case, then there are a plethora of shows of which to chose that can be defined as entertaining, but with actual redeeming qualities. (Of course, the media is what I study, so I justify being able to watch 13 hours of straight TV). Post-Writer’s-Strike-Draught, there is a digital Babylon of quality shows. What of “30 Rock,” a wickedly intelligent comedy about writers in New York? Or “LOST,” perhaps the most intricate show to grace television since the dawn of, well, television?

What it boils down to is that people don’t want to have to think when they watch television. It is an escape, a means of travel that doesn’t cost $4.00 a gallon. It takes the viewer from the sofa to an abandoned ranch in New Mexico or an island in the Philippines without the hassle of having to follow intricate plot lines. That is, there is very little invested in reality television. You can just as soon sit down and watch season five of “Big Brother” as the pilot, and understand what is going on. Not so with “24” or “Dexter.” It’s the difference between a seven-course meal versus fries, a burger, and a shake at the local Burgers ‘R Us. One is delicious and takes time to ingest and discern, one is a quick fix.

And Americans have spoken on which of the two they like. Keep your giant hamburger with onion rings and pass me a book.

I think I’ll stay in bed with that cold.

Jumping the Shark, Healing the Deer

"Monday, Tuesday, happy days.

Thursday, Friday happy days.

Spending the week with you..."

Glad to spend another week writing the Bethertainment weekly blog. Glad to be here after an epic tornado in which i was trapped in a grocery. Glad to maintain my dignity and not die next to chicken cutlets and Frosted Flakes.

And, glad to write about a new and exciting bit of entertainment fodder.

This week's theme? Jumping the shark. A popular colloquialism among television theorists, the idea of jumping the shark stems from a 1977 episode of "Happy Days" in which the Fonz, while water skiing, jumps over a shark. Many argue that this was the point in the show that reality was thrown out the window (arguably with good writing) and the future of the show was on the downward spiral straight to the loo. It is, in essence, the loss of the show's original charm, where the plot and/or characters have diverged far from their original beginnings. it is, in a word, a ridiculous moment where viewers furiously yell at their television sets, "YEAH RIGHT! that would never happen!"

So why pull this out of the bowels of obscure television history? Not only for educational purposes, dear readers, but to appertain to modern-day instances. What shows have or are Jumping the Shark? Which ones can argue it is part of the show's confines?

1. Grey's Anatomy.

Seasons 3 and 4 proved a tumultuous roller-coaster for producer and creator Shonda Rhimes. What with the fledgling "Private Practice" needing constant attention (much like Cristina after a rough day without a cutting-edge surgery). Managing both proved a strain on the show's essence - a sort of liminal "cuteness" (read: whiny self-indulgence) that kept audiences coming back for more.

This show's shark jumping did not, however, involve a large cartilaginous fish; rather, a poor dilapidated deer in the back of a pick-up. Izzy Stevens (Katherine Heigel) is seen "Healing the deer" to prove a point to her interns that she's a credible resident over her fledgling interns. See if this term doesn't catch on. I certainly hope it does.

2. Degrassi, the Next Generation

Teenage pregnancy? School shootings? Canadians? All of these are seen in the-n's "Degrassi: the Next Generation." The show follows Canadian teens as they navigate the halls of Degrassi High and the streets of suburban Toronto. One girl gets pregnant. Another gets syphilis. One is bi-polar. A student is shot and bound to a wheelchair. All very real and consequential issues that are dealt with on a weekly basis.

But what of the past few seasons? It's gone from covering controversial issues - from Manny Santos' (Cassie Steele) eating disorder and abortion, where the episode was deemed to 'racy' to air on American television, to JT Yorke (Ryan Cooley) selling drugs to support his unborn child to the token Christian Darcy Edwards (Shenae Grimes) worrying about losing her virginity. While this isn't a true "jumping the shark" moment, the resurrected "Degrassi" might need to go to detention and think long and hard about what they've done.

Quote of the Day: "Some advice: find a dictionary and look up "pathetic".

(Courtesy of "Degrassi" - thank goodness for angst-ridden, French-fry induced adolescent insults.)