Thursday, September 20, 2007

Live Blogging Mad Men: Madness Directed

Last week’s Mad Men episode began with a sunny shot of Betty in striking sunglasses, and ended with the crazed Bonnie Parker in pink Fredericks of Hollywood out for the 1:00 p.m. kill-the-neighbor’s pigeons session. It felt to many that we had taken a turn into David Lynch territory, because these two scenes had an unreal/hyperreal feel to them with Lynch’s underlying disturbing creepiness.

For me those sunglasses were a visual quote back to the all-time creepiest use of sunglasses in film history, in Leave Her to Heaven (1945). As described in the allmovie guide, “Gene Tierney portrays a beautiful but unstable woman who marries successful novelist Cornel Wilde. “ Swap out novelist to ad man, and we have a match. Tierney becomes so obsessed with her husband that she cannot bear him spending time with anyone but her, including his crippled brother. She lures the boy into the lake to encourage him to swim to get stronger as she spots him from her rowboat. One day she takes him out further and further, then puts on sunglasses and rows away from him as he calls out that he’s getting tired and needs to get back in the boat. The camera focuses on Tierney, expressionless, sitting there in those sunglasses as the boy struggles, and struggles, and drowns.

"It’s deepest noir in the brightest Technicolor"—a description some would apply to suburbia. And it was directed by John M. Stahl, who directed the original Imitation of Life in 1934 with Claudette Colbert and the original Magnificent Obsession in 1935 with Irene Dunne. Thus Stahl begat Sirk who begat Haynes—-with all those permutations of Heaven titles between them.

Matthew Weiner certainly draws upon that body of film work, where the director with his cinematographer is responsible for the creative essence. But in the producer’s medium of television, it's Matt, as creator/producer, who has all the power to get his creative vision on screen. Episodes are parceled out to numerous directors, who work within the established sensibility of the show (and channel David Lynch when necessary).

Mad Men
has an enviable “A” list of directors: Alan Taylor (who just won for The Sopranos “Heidi and Kennedy” episode); Ed Bianchi and Tim Hunter (Homicide, Deadwood); Lesli Glatter (The Closer, West Wing) and the multitalented Paul Feig, who directed “Shoot.” It’s the reason the show is so compelling to watch—-you can virtually feel that talent in the direction.

Update: AMC faked us out and ran a repeat. That's not supposed to happen in a first run series like this.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

QQF: Fresh Mint

A nosegay of fresh mint in the fridge is a magical mood lightener. I cannot smell its deeply aromatic leaves without smiling, no matter what has befallen me throughout the day enroute to the evening’s escapade in the kitchen. I find the scent of mint wildly heady—-it is a burst of freshness and hope and LIVING, all within a simple waft of its greenness.

Mint is so beautifully flexible and unfussy to work with. A pair of scissors is all it takes to snip, snip, snip it into salads—-float it in ginger ale for a superb beverage experience—-use it in tacos instead of lettuce, as it positively sings to the accompanying margarita--add it to store-bought tabbouleh for extra snap—-make an elegant omelette with it--all in addition to the de rigueur Mojitos and herbal tea.

What remarkable leaves they are.

Monday, September 17, 2007

The Emmys: Our Annual Fear and Loathing in the Living Room

It's not that the Emmy had any actual meaning before yesterday. But there are lines that get crossed, in terms of the world not making sense to me, that frighten me. And James Gandolfini not earning an Emmy for seven years of inspired, thrilling, serious achievement in the art of acting, frightens me.

Overreaction? No. Because it means that the judgment of a group of sentient adults, who supposedly have knowledge about the art of acting, particularly as it relates to television, is seriously impaired, and yet these people vote in national elections, drive on our highways, and raise children. The world is not a safer place with the likes of these Academy members.

That 30 Rock won Best Comedy and The Sopranos won Best Drama restored a little peace of mind to my worldview. And I thought the tribute to The Sopranos was an authentic moment. The images on the screens were well chosen, and the Jersey Boys's songs added a quick, ironic context to the clips. When the whole cast came out and stood in that huge circle in the round, you could sense the enormous, collective talent who now share a very special collective history. They took a bow, under that bold show logo, and it was a very classy piece of television.

Those bright spots notwithstanding, it is beyond embarrassing that the award show honoring excellence in television is such bad television. The show in the round didn’t work for presenters or accepters, the first 45 minutes were a complete jumble, with no coherence—a tribute to Tom Synder popped up out of nowhere—and there were two times what seemed to be a technical difficulty sent the camera off of the main stage, though it might have been the censor, who then must have gone home when Brad Garrett got onstage.

But beyond the sloppiness of this high school production, we had to witness a subsection of the culture wars.

The Family Guy cartoons started off with a song, a cute nod to the Oscars—-but one of the first lines was something about “trash” on tv, with a punchline of sorts that there’s such a broad range of trash. Why does TV have such low self-esteem? This quickly became a self-fulling prophesy by the most narcissistic, unfunny monologue from Ray Romano, well, until Brad Garrett got up. (How much power must Romano still have to be given that spot ?)

Jump cut to the fine actors from Roots, with Lou Gossett, Jr., saying, “I’m moved at what television can do to enrich our lives and educate, and I’m proud to be part of this medium.”

Television is a battlefield of sorts between the crassness of the Romanos and Garretts, and the actual contributions to the viewing lives of audiences from the Robert Duvalls, Helen Mirrens, Stewart/Colbert/Carrells of the world. The two collide each year on the Emmys (with the middle ground fighting to hold its own), and it isn't a pretty sight. I think Hugh Laurie as host would have helped.

Of course, you can always change the channel. But that's not the point. Television's own award show should be a true celebration of the extraordinary work we invite into our living rooms on a daily basis.

I'll be an optimist and say, maybe next year.

Saturday, September 15, 2007

TV Notes

Chuck and Triple Chuck.

The O.C. creator Josh Schwartz likes the name Chuck. He has an NBC pilot called Chuck, and a new series on the CW called The Gossip Girl that has a character named Chuck.

I’ll definitely watch the NBC one, hoping to maybe learn what the hell the "Anvil Chorus" is doing in the promo.

Not to be outdone, the go-to Mozart Requiem "Lacrymosa" is in the Cane promo. Is classical music making a surreptitious comeback on prime-time tv? Can a resurrection of The Bell Telephone Hour be far behind?

Update: its seems that Schwartz was just keying in to something in the zeitgeist--there is a Dane Cook/Jessica Alba flick coming out called Good Luck Chuck. This is a lot of attention on one name in a compressed amount of time. Hmm.

Emmytime

The Emmys are this Sunday. The Sopranos will be together for the very last time. It may be the only reason to tune in.

James Gandolfini had better walk off with that Best Actor statue. As Dennis Leary said at the recent nominee swag party, 'I just think he's the greatest character in the history of television.'' I agree. No other character has been so richly, deeply given life by any other actor, and sustained over time in numerous subtle and larger-than-life ways. What is the Emmy, if not to recognize truly extraordinary work.

Alan Sepinwall has his very funny "I watch the Emmys so you don't have to" line, but hopefully Sunday will be worth watching to see the fitting final closure to the life of Tony Soprano.

The snub to Deadwood, and to Ian McShane's Swearengen in particular (the only character who comes close to Tony Soprano), is one of those things that reinforces how miserable the award process really is. But in a post-lapsarian world, it's not surprising.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

And Now for Something Completely Denkkerent

I like to think that I have a good sense of humor, but it rarely manifests as a laugh. I'm trying to lighten up and not be encumbered with phrases like "manifests as a laugh."

But for now, it is rare for me to laugh aloud, particularly when reading something.

And yet, there is this classical pianist named Jeremy Denk, whose writing is so imaginative and strangely witty that I have found myself actually laughing aloud at his blog. It's quite amazing.

It was after being steeped in 9/11 memories and sadness that I read his take on our poor Miss Teen South Carolina, and like at the end of Sullivan's Travels, was reminded that comedy is a great gift to the world:

By now, we are all familiar with the recent performance of Miss Teen South Carolina. (I know what you’re already thinking: “why, Jeremy, why from the shelter of your Upper West Side comfort, hemmed in by prolific ATMs, would you feel the perverse need to pile any more scorn upon this poor girl? Just get a puppy if you need something to do!”)

I think it helps to divorce oneself from the visual component of this event, and focus on the pitiless words themselves:

Q: Recent Polls indicate a 5th of Americans can’t locate the US on a world map. Why do you think this is?

A: I personally believe that US Americans are unable to do so because some people out there in our nation don’t have maps and I believe that our education like such as in South Africa and the Iraq everywhere like such as and I believe that they should our education over here in the US should help the US or should help South Africa it should help the Iraq and the Asian countries so we will be able to build up our future for us.

… and they say poetry is dead! Grammar itself cowers in terror before this free-ranging masterpiece. [snip]

The proper vehicle for addressing this text is musical, not semantic or grammatical (though it refers to the semantic and grammatical in order to create its pseudo-musical paradigms). It begins innocently enough, with seeming Mozartean grace:

Antecedent phrase: I personally believe the US Americans are unable to do so…
(moving from tonic to dominant)

Consequent phrase: because some people out there in our nation don’t have maps.
(dominant back to tonic)



And on Jeremy goes, with such pearls of wisdom as "She has absorbed the lessons of Verlaine, but has transported them to Applebee’s."

His post on airline online checkin issues is equally entertaining.

Pop on over at your own risk. A doctorate in comparative lit and a degree in music will be useful, but isn't necessary. That airline stuff--it's like having Alan King back in his prime.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

For Moments of Silence


8:46 first plane hit North Tower

9:03 second plane hit South Tower

9:37 Pentagon hit

9:59 South Tower falls

10:03 Shanksville

10:29 North Tower Falls

God help all who struggled in that inferno and died, and all who are left to mourn. This was an unprovoked attack on civilians of monstrous proportions, and if we ever feel fatigue from respecting this day, our humanity will be sadly diminished.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

September 11, 2007


In July I was walking along the stunning waterfront of Lake Maggiore in Stresa, Italy, with some Californians, when a piece of sculpture caught my eye because it was an American flag running vertically. We went over to look at it, and the plaque said that it was a 9/11 memorial, dedicated to the victims of the terrorist attack from the townspeople of Stresa. When we looked again, we could see that the stripes were actually the twin towers. It was a simple, brilliant design. As we took pictures, I found myself weeping from the emotional generosity of what the piece stood for: that these Northern Italians had taken the time and money and energy to express their heartfelt commiseration with a city far from their own home because of the enormity of that obscene day.

The NY Times recently had an unnecessary article “reporting” 9/11 memorial fatigue. But I don’t think the heaviness surrounding this anniversary is about the day or the events. I think it’s the relentless disarray of our foreign policy, and the almost daily deaths of our young soldiers over a war we can’t define and therefore can’t win. That’s the fatigue. And some days, it feels overwhelming.

The deepest tribute to our neighbors’ violent deaths is in our aching hearts, as corny as that sounds, because it’s the only place we can comprehend the magnitude of loss, and all the death on foreign soil since then.

But there is a need for community and memory. In my own hometown, Massapequa Park, someone thought of a very appropriate combination of the two: the Boy Scouts put a small flag for every victim, by name, on the lawn of the Village Hall. The sea of stars and stripes is striking, but more than that, kids who were infants six years ago are learning what happened on 9/11 in a tangible way.

For adults, there are alternatives to the main ceremony at Ground Zero. One is Mygooddeed.org. It’s similar to a movement to add dimension to Martin Luther King Day. You could decide any day of the year to volunteer or donate blood or help someone, but if you haven’t actually done any of those things, let 9/11 kick you into gear.

Another is the September Concert Foundation. They are taking the very long view, that 100 years from now September 11 will be seen as a day of live music performance for peace. For New Yorkers there are some great concerts planned all over the city, especially in midtown. But it’s a global effort. See what’s happening by you.

On the Sunday following 9/11, the NY Times printed a flag on its back page. I put that flag on my door. I do wonder when I will take it down, but I’m sure it shouldn't be now.