Warning--this is about the series finale to House so it may contain spoilers.
I've always found House to be one of the more consistent quality shows on TV.
It wasn't perfect but it was better than so much of the other stuff that's on these days. The central character was interesting, the other characters were alive and complex, and the cast was amazing. The writing was even more amazing. Complex, dense stories, multilayered, with subtexts and depth . . . and they never did something just for the sake of being cute. Unlike another show I used to like but which I predict won't last more than one more season *cough*Bones*cough* . . .
It iwas fitting that the final episode ever began in House's demented mind, with cameos from characters who have died during the show's run. It sort of underscores what the entire series has been about--House and his relationships and his self-destructive urges. The love he has for the people closest to him and his destructive way of showing it--in a way he abused those he cared for the most to torture himself.
But he always has an agenda, a plan, and this episode is no different. In that, it was perfect.--his scheme within a scheme to avoid being sent back to prison and thus being unable to spend that time with a dying Wilson. Vintage House.
Overall, what made it perfect for me was the underlying cause for House's problem in the episode--he had decided to accept Wilson's decision to stop his chemotherapy, out of love and respect for his best friend, and the sky almost literally falls in on him.
Throughout the show's run that's how it worked for House--every time he did something selfless or for reasons other than because he stood to benefit from it, something awful happened. Usually that something was the result of something House did himself--like here where he flushed those tickets that caused all the damage to the hospital's plumbing.
It was also a treat to see Andre Braugher reprise his role--the episodes with him and Hugh Laurie are perfect exanples of great writing and great acting. Two great actors performing intense, well-crafted scenes.
The retrospective was fun, too--I especially dug Bryan Singer's saying when he initially watched Hugh Laurie's audition tape he liked his look and the way he delivered his lines, and he finished it by saying, "And . . . he's American." That was too funny.
It wasn't perfect--Lisa Goldstein didn't put in an appearance but to me that was one thing that they sort of misfired on. Cuddy and House should never have gotten together. But Sela Ward returned as Stacy, Jennifer Morrisioin and Olivia Wilde also put in appearances, putting the hot babe quotient for this episode through the roof.
So, all-in-all, I dug it. What did you think?
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Why I hate TNG
OK, I just need to get this off my chest.
Years ago, when it first began airing, I really wanted to like Star Trek: The Next Generation.
I had my qualms when I heard about the show--none of the writers were science fiction folks---most of them, if I remember correctly, wrote for sitcoms. When I saw the pilot episode my fears were realized.
Every tired old cliche storyline was trotted out. As well as every character, straight from stock.
For example, take Wesley Crusher. Now, I have no problem with Wil Wheaton, the actor who played Wesley Crusher--he's a fine, multitalented fellow who was trying to make a living in a tough business. My problem is with the inevitability of Wesley Crusher.
See, he's an audience identification figure. One of those characters that the folks who create these shows thinks is necessary for the fans to get into it--the Boy Genius. When we sit around and play ST:TNG we all want to be Wesley.
Uh, no.
He was also a useful crutch for lazy storytelling. Here's the plot of a typical episode:
The Enterprise is in a dangerous situation.
If they could only do x they could get out of it.
But x is physically impossible.
Really, x is not possible!
We are really, totally not kidding. x is not possible.
Wait. Wesley has an idea that'll make x possible just this one time.
Whew. That was close!
Then there was Data. Again, my problem is not with Brent Spiner, the actor who played the character. He's wonderful and I wouldn't hesitate to cast him myself, should that situation ever arise. However, he's The One Who Is Trying To Figure Out What It Means To Be Human. Another inevitable character that people unfamiliar with the genre think is absolutely required. I know, people dig Data, but that's largely because, as I said, Brent Spiner is amazing. A less talented actor would have made Data a joke in sf circles.
Then there's Q, another crutch the writers used. It's nice to have a character with godlike powers to step in and snap his fingers to alter the fabric of reality when you write yourself into a corner and Wesley isn't around anymore to invent a ruminframiator or whatever to get us out of this mess.
And if I saw one more frakkin' episode on the holodeck . . . those guys loved the holodeck. Why? Because all kinds of crap can happen there and, really, nothing actually happens. Episodes where nothing actually happens are wasted airtime, which would account for half of every season of this show.
Then the time travel episodes, where all sorts of things happened, then we went back and made it so nothing actually happened. The writers seemed to love that, and be completely oblivious to the fact that this was old hat back in the fifties.
I'm watching an episode now on BBC America, which is what prompted all this--this one is the Groundhog Day episode. See previous paragraph about time travel.
And if Pickard gave one more speech about how perfect things were in the Federation, I was going to throw something. If things are so damned perfect, why is the Enterprise armed? And why is it every person of color on this show is either a:) an alien, or b:) handicapped? And where are the openly gay characters?
And I kept hoping someone would explain to the writers for this thing what an alien actually is. I don't think they ever figured it out.
I gave this damned show three years. Three years of hoping it would finally get better. And there were a few good ideas, a couple of entertaining episodes, but most of them followed the basic plot outlined above.
What finally made me give up? I'll tell you.
The Ferengi.
Think about it. They're ugly. They're stupid. They're lazy. They steal. And they want our women.
What does that sound like to you? Yep. Every offensive racial stereotype you can think of. The epitome of lazy storytelling. I can't emphasize enough how frustrating it was to me when I first saw those guys. This show went from lazy to pathetic right then. And I changed the channel and never changed it back.
I know some of the spinoffs avoided these pitfalls but by then the whole thing was contaminated, to me. It was too late.
Watch Stargate or Battlestar Galactica or Caprica to see what real science fiction is, folks. For TV, that is.
OK, I feel much better now. Thank you.
Years ago, when it first began airing, I really wanted to like Star Trek: The Next Generation.
I had my qualms when I heard about the show--none of the writers were science fiction folks---most of them, if I remember correctly, wrote for sitcoms. When I saw the pilot episode my fears were realized.
Every tired old cliche storyline was trotted out. As well as every character, straight from stock.
For example, take Wesley Crusher. Now, I have no problem with Wil Wheaton, the actor who played Wesley Crusher--he's a fine, multitalented fellow who was trying to make a living in a tough business. My problem is with the inevitability of Wesley Crusher.
See, he's an audience identification figure. One of those characters that the folks who create these shows thinks is necessary for the fans to get into it--the Boy Genius. When we sit around and play ST:TNG we all want to be Wesley.
Uh, no.
He was also a useful crutch for lazy storytelling. Here's the plot of a typical episode:
The Enterprise is in a dangerous situation.
If they could only do x they could get out of it.
But x is physically impossible.
Really, x is not possible!
We are really, totally not kidding. x is not possible.
Wait. Wesley has an idea that'll make x possible just this one time.
Whew. That was close!
Then there was Data. Again, my problem is not with Brent Spiner, the actor who played the character. He's wonderful and I wouldn't hesitate to cast him myself, should that situation ever arise. However, he's The One Who Is Trying To Figure Out What It Means To Be Human. Another inevitable character that people unfamiliar with the genre think is absolutely required. I know, people dig Data, but that's largely because, as I said, Brent Spiner is amazing. A less talented actor would have made Data a joke in sf circles.
Then there's Q, another crutch the writers used. It's nice to have a character with godlike powers to step in and snap his fingers to alter the fabric of reality when you write yourself into a corner and Wesley isn't around anymore to invent a ruminframiator or whatever to get us out of this mess.
And if I saw one more frakkin' episode on the holodeck . . . those guys loved the holodeck. Why? Because all kinds of crap can happen there and, really, nothing actually happens. Episodes where nothing actually happens are wasted airtime, which would account for half of every season of this show.
Then the time travel episodes, where all sorts of things happened, then we went back and made it so nothing actually happened. The writers seemed to love that, and be completely oblivious to the fact that this was old hat back in the fifties.
I'm watching an episode now on BBC America, which is what prompted all this--this one is the Groundhog Day episode. See previous paragraph about time travel.
And if Pickard gave one more speech about how perfect things were in the Federation, I was going to throw something. If things are so damned perfect, why is the Enterprise armed? And why is it every person of color on this show is either a:) an alien, or b:) handicapped? And where are the openly gay characters?
And I kept hoping someone would explain to the writers for this thing what an alien actually is. I don't think they ever figured it out.
I gave this damned show three years. Three years of hoping it would finally get better. And there were a few good ideas, a couple of entertaining episodes, but most of them followed the basic plot outlined above.
What finally made me give up? I'll tell you.
The Ferengi.
Think about it. They're ugly. They're stupid. They're lazy. They steal. And they want our women.
What does that sound like to you? Yep. Every offensive racial stereotype you can think of. The epitome of lazy storytelling. I can't emphasize enough how frustrating it was to me when I first saw those guys. This show went from lazy to pathetic right then. And I changed the channel and never changed it back.
I know some of the spinoffs avoided these pitfalls but by then the whole thing was contaminated, to me. It was too late.
Watch Stargate or Battlestar Galactica or Caprica to see what real science fiction is, folks. For TV, that is.
OK, I feel much better now. Thank you.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
How Tool saved my world
For most of the eighties I'd given up on music.
Music had been a refuge for me as I was growing up, but for a long time during my early adulthood that world was desolate and forlorn, to me.
We didn't have an Internet back then, and in the backwater area where I lived the only radio stations were top 40--which means they'd pick the blandest, most inoffensive tunes in the top ten or so of the charts and play those songs over and over again. My loathing of Kenny Rogers stems from this time.
This was also the time of eighties pop. I have many friends who love this music but I detest it--to me it's emotionless, fake, overproduced tripe. Punk left me cold, too, when I could find any to listen to--I just didn't get it. And don't get me started about rockabilly. There were some glimmers of hope--Irom Maiden was a nice discovery, and Black Sabbath getting Dio to be their new lead singer for example--but if I wanted to rock--and really rock, not Rick Springfield rock--I had to go with those insipid hair metal bands. A mostly unreasonable facsimile of what I was longing for.
So, for years I just quit listening to music almost entirely. It was too depressing.
As a consequence I lost touch with that world. As I said, no Internet, so if I wanted to listen to something I had to go out and find it. And I just didn't have the energy and the heart.
Also during this time I moved to Savannah to begin working at the job I hold now.
One day I realized that, as a single, heterosexual male with no girlfriend, I ought to at least go by a strip club. Which I did--there was one just up the road a bit--and had so much fun I went back again.
During that second trip I was getting a table dance from a lovely young lady who said her name was Hailey. The song she was dancing to was incredible--a dark, tense chord progression, vocals that went from a low growl to a scream of anguish. It was a three-minute festival of rage and pain.
It was the kind of music I have always heard in my own head. The kind of music I want to make.
I fucking loved it. I asked Hailey about that song.
"It's called 'Sober."" she said. "By a band called Tool. Isn't it amazing?"
Yes, it was. I bought that CD, and the one from before, and nearly wore them out (Undertow had just come out so there were only two Tool CDs available at that time. If I remember correctly.). I had rediscovered what music could be. I desperately needed something to hang onto during that time, and this was it--music that was worth something. Music that spoke to me. Music that was actually saying something real and passionately felt, not sticking to convential, overworn platitudes.
The girls at that club---and the DJs, too--figured out what I liked pretty quickly, music-wise, and they turned me onto Ministry, White Zombie, Nine Inch Nails, and many others. A whole wonderful world of incredible music that spoke to me on a level that I hadn't experienced since listening to some of The Beatles later music.
These days I still love Tool. How could I not? I've been going through a Scandinavian Goth Metal period for a while now--Draconian, and Tristania mostly--but I always come back to Tool. I hope, when you listen to my own music, that maybe you'll hear an echo of Adam Jones, Maynard, and company, in some of it. Being compared to those guys would be an honor.
So, let me take this opportunity to say it here for the world to see--to Tool: thank you for existing, guys. And thank you for putting color back into my life.
Music had been a refuge for me as I was growing up, but for a long time during my early adulthood that world was desolate and forlorn, to me.
We didn't have an Internet back then, and in the backwater area where I lived the only radio stations were top 40--which means they'd pick the blandest, most inoffensive tunes in the top ten or so of the charts and play those songs over and over again. My loathing of Kenny Rogers stems from this time.
This was also the time of eighties pop. I have many friends who love this music but I detest it--to me it's emotionless, fake, overproduced tripe. Punk left me cold, too, when I could find any to listen to--I just didn't get it. And don't get me started about rockabilly. There were some glimmers of hope--Irom Maiden was a nice discovery, and Black Sabbath getting Dio to be their new lead singer for example--but if I wanted to rock--and really rock, not Rick Springfield rock--I had to go with those insipid hair metal bands. A mostly unreasonable facsimile of what I was longing for.
So, for years I just quit listening to music almost entirely. It was too depressing.
As a consequence I lost touch with that world. As I said, no Internet, so if I wanted to listen to something I had to go out and find it. And I just didn't have the energy and the heart.
Also during this time I moved to Savannah to begin working at the job I hold now.
One day I realized that, as a single, heterosexual male with no girlfriend, I ought to at least go by a strip club. Which I did--there was one just up the road a bit--and had so much fun I went back again.
During that second trip I was getting a table dance from a lovely young lady who said her name was Hailey. The song she was dancing to was incredible--a dark, tense chord progression, vocals that went from a low growl to a scream of anguish. It was a three-minute festival of rage and pain.
It was the kind of music I have always heard in my own head. The kind of music I want to make.
I fucking loved it. I asked Hailey about that song.
"It's called 'Sober."" she said. "By a band called Tool. Isn't it amazing?"
Yes, it was. I bought that CD, and the one from before, and nearly wore them out (Undertow had just come out so there were only two Tool CDs available at that time. If I remember correctly.). I had rediscovered what music could be. I desperately needed something to hang onto during that time, and this was it--music that was worth something. Music that spoke to me. Music that was actually saying something real and passionately felt, not sticking to convential, overworn platitudes.
The girls at that club---and the DJs, too--figured out what I liked pretty quickly, music-wise, and they turned me onto Ministry, White Zombie, Nine Inch Nails, and many others. A whole wonderful world of incredible music that spoke to me on a level that I hadn't experienced since listening to some of The Beatles later music.
These days I still love Tool. How could I not? I've been going through a Scandinavian Goth Metal period for a while now--Draconian, and Tristania mostly--but I always come back to Tool. I hope, when you listen to my own music, that maybe you'll hear an echo of Adam Jones, Maynard, and company, in some of it. Being compared to those guys would be an honor.
So, let me take this opportunity to say it here for the world to see--to Tool: thank you for existing, guys. And thank you for putting color back into my life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
