Last season, the controversial episode “The Jerk” had House pitted against a POW as mean as him; for the show’s return after the strike, the POW is so nice that House is claiming his amiability is a disease in itself.
But, as usual, the A-plot is nowhere near as interesting as the subplots revolving around House’s life. Wilson is still with Amber, which has House feeling ignored; in one of the cutest moments this season, he and Chase rock (non-matching, sadly) bowling shirts and gloves.
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I’m of the opinion that renaissance fairs and other “historical” destinations are absolutely worthless unless they go all the way and feature war, disease, and slavery, so I suppose I can chirp with satisfaction at the recurring object of this episode’s cold derision: “Pioneer Village,” an inconceivably irritating Old West diorama whose employees never ever break character. Here “South Park” is, as always, the trusty neighborhood child molester, ready and more than willing to pounce mercilessly on the weak and undefended (or, in this case, indefensible) elements of our engorged American society. And we should rejoice: like a Spongebob bike helmet, the “edutainment” movement places an unbearable burden of loud, grating lameness on our collective heads. It is perhaps the single most obvious product of our short attention spans, our gluttonous materialism, and our general stupidity as a nation (besides, of course, the inflatable barbecue, whose significance John Oliver recently mulled over at hilarious, articulate length in his amazing new stand-up special). It’s good to exorcise this particularly aggravating demon, lest it continue to gnaw away at the edifice of whatever we’re calling civilization nowadays.
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Seems that “The Riches” has love on its mind, or at least a momentary jolt of bunny-lust. It’s spring, I guess. These things tend to happen.
Cal gets ensnared by the Irish Traveler version of a blond bombshell–i.e., the same kind of blond bombshell we’re all used to, but with an accent and a rustic nonchalance. Di Di finds herself enchanted by the wiles of the friendly neighborhood security guard, who just happens to be about 15 for whatever reason. And even the androgynous final sibling–oh, if only the show could find something to do with him–appears to have found a random girl who shares his interest in lipstick. Love for all! It’s like Cupid woke up socialist.
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Allow me to explain the delay. This week’s “South Park” was so engorged with magnificent–yet subtle, oh so subtle–ideas that I simply could not write about it without stepping back and bathing in its profane bliss for a day or two. And it was as subversive and hilarious as the late Bill Hicks in his otherworldly prime, so of course I’ve spent my waking hours laughing (and thinking) like a possessed marionette.
Actually, I’m just lazy, and this week’s “South Park” was, by and large, as tepid as a cup of warm piss. As a general rule, it is improper to attack “South Park” for obviousness or stupid vulgarity–the show should be treated as a particularly loud op-ed columnist who has been graced, by the will of some benevolent God, with a form that has none of the traditional editorialist boundaries (taste, decency, integrity, and elegance). Given that shifted rule set, however, it certainly deserves to be crucified for the occasional moment of lethargic, overcooked blandness.
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I suppose the show, having sampled a million little crunchy bits of plot like an insufferable dilettante, is already regretting its own indulgence. We find “The Riches” on a bit of a spartan diet this week, committed not to total mania but to the exposition of its Great Big Purpose. Two plot threads enter, one idea leaves. Before “Fight Club” mucked everything up with redundancy, schizophrenia, and ambiguity, arenas had simple rules. Let us never forget that TV is a coliseum, subject to our decisive thumbs.
I’ll refrain from detailed plot synopsis because it always feels a bit sadistic–if you’re reading this, you’ve wandered into a remote, desolate, backwards shantytown corner of the internet and therefore you’re probably bored, so I don’t want to add to that dreary burden with a prosaic laundry list of shit that happened. So know this: Wayne, in the pursuit of Happyness (that is, self- and family-preservation as well as, to some degree, phallic empowerment in this capitalist world of ours), continues to flirt with the ethical limits of gigantic criminal enterprise. On the other hand, Dahlia and Cal each flirt with moral legitimacy, in the eyes of the state and…the land, I guess, or whatever spiritual construct good Travelers adhere to. Respectively. There’s the same face on both sides of the coin, and it’s probably not Jesus–in each case, the results of the moral (or immoral) flirtation are about as muddled as you’d expect from a show that flaunts its sense of subjective morality. And that’s the Great Big Purpose, by the way–to show honor amongst thieves, despicable shenanigans amongst those who have attained social legitimacy, and all the other inverses that comprise the great ratio of Money:Soul. It’s either a timeless idea or a stale one, but “The Riches” is not a show about ideas so the petty distinction doesn’t really matter. It’s a show of alternating showmanship and atmosphere; it asks us, before we start thinking of big questions whose answers are readily apparent, to check out what’s revealed and concealed, what’s given in force and taken away.
Right now, we’re getting a lot of Hugh. He’s going to run for mayor! I’m excited, because each one of his actions increases his level of blissful degeneracy by an amount proportional to the weight of the action itself. At the current rate at which he does big, ridiculous things, he’ll be a manic, bipolar, paranoid, and possibly child-molesting Lucifer by episode 8.
Allow me to start with a dick joke exegesis. Comedian Patrice O’Neal once said, on an episode of “Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn” (a great show, and one of Comedy Central’s most tragic and ill-advised abortions), that comedy was all about hard consonants. Words with natural bite–rhetorical effectiveness at the most elementary, molecular level. I don’t know if it was his theory, though I do consider him an urban Buddha of sorts so I wouldn’t be surprised. At the time, it seemed like the kind of beautiful simplicity that pours only out of the unclogged font of Nirvana.
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Good God, “The Riches,” you are testing my patience. In fact, I think you’re testing the limits of the human brain.
Episodes of “The Riches” (the good and proper ones, at least) used to move with the rhythm of a heist flick: encounter a problem, craft a creative solution, execute. It’s like the twelve-bar blues form–with, of course, some idiosyncratic riffs. Usually, we wouldn’t be told precisely what the plan was (though we would be shown bits of it, setting off the fuse of imagination), and there would almost always be ample room for improv during the execution. But the adherence to formula ultimately lent the show an air of professionalism and class, perpetuating the thin illusion that it was smarter and more graceful than we were. It seemed to know more about con-artistry–it was, itself, a con-artist of the aristocratic sort, like Michael Caine in “Dirty Rotten Scoundrels.” There are rules to prestidigitation, and “The Riches” often seemed to be aware of them.
But now it’s just a clusterfuck. Read the rest of this entry »
Get it? No one cares about writers, and no one cares about Canadians. Brilliant!
Despite its freewheeling degeneracy, “South Park” does have rules to follow. Much like you would expect “The Boondocks” to eventually tackle BET and “Cribs,” so too can you wait faithfully with the realistic hope that “South Park” will address the Stupid White Elephant of today, or at least yesterday. Because that’s what it does–every season, it glances at the newspaper with a sigh and sets out on a methodical journey through the twisting, obvious hills of pop culture embarrassment. Sometimes it approaches either brilliance or hilarity (or both) in the process; either way, unless it gets caught in a self-masturbatory swamp like last season’s “Imaginationland” trilogy, it’s going to keep chugging along until it gets to everything.
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There are moments laced into the typical TV season when even the best of shows finds itself helpless, for all its good intentions, against the pressing neediness of a multifaceted narrative. Unless you’ve stumbled upon “Frank TV,” Tracey Ullman’s torturous-looking new show, or a fossilized early-90s Gallagher special, you’re probably going to see some characters being juggled. Whether you get Cirque du Soleil or Baby’s First Exercise in Eye-Hand Coordination depends on the dexterity of the show and, of course, how many fucking characters it’s decided to try and amuse you with.
I’ll say it once and probably say it again in the future: “The Riches” secretly hates its children. Oh, sure, in the interest of upholding a noble Communism of character development (definitely a necessity for members of the titular family, at least) the show will give them adventure, danger, romance–all that good stuff. But these subplots of the spawn seldom end up enhancing the overall legendry or really going anywhere–ultimately exuding, as they whimper to their respective conclusions, a curious sort of reluctance, as if “Kid-duty” was slapped on a writer who really wanted to do some shit with Hugh. Cal is now expelled from Rosemere Fancypants Private School, having gotten caught with (and having taken the full blame for, in an act of minor martyrdom) the grade-tampering operation he’d set up with some other enterprising youths last season. Di Di, I think, hates school or something, because the other girls are bitchy. And the crossdressing little kid finds some of Pete’s blood in the house, which will probably catalyze some dark behavior, criminal intentions, etc.
But I really don’t mean to imply that all of these Happy Meals are going to turn out completely unfulfilling, despite their unfortunate status as Happy Meals. Because literally, for all I can predict, one of the kids might end up committing a murder or three. I don’t know if this will continue, but it seems that the show has decided to adopt either a sublime randomness or a lovable manic frenzy (a la Hugh) in some of its newer plot developments. Exhibit A: a new character who has no qualities whatsoever (not even a name, I don’t think) other than being completely evil (to the point of wearing all black) and Irish. He appears to be working with Dale, but he also decides to stab Dale with a fork. What? Exhibit B: Dahlia’s drastic decision to turn herself in for parole violation, which would make sense given her emotional instability if she didn’t also have a few lingering concerns about the solidity of the family unit and a few aversions to the American criminal justice system. Next week promises the random introduction of another former Doug Rich colleague, who will have to be craftily (or, given Dale’s methods, bluntly) dealt with. A question to think about: will “The Riches” provide us, in its erratic indulgence, with the brutal murder of Booger from “Revenge of the Nerds”? I wouldn’t rule that out.
Was that an Eliot Spitzer jab at the end? I see what you did there, “South Park.”
Like any respectable “South Park” episode (and by “respectable” I do mean “worthy of our respect,” though the show would, for all that creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone care, be perfectly content to have us shove our respect elsewhere), this one brayed its message with a filth-encrusted megaphone. Was it a good message? “Drugs are bad, m’kay, but because of human nature they’re worse if they’re criminalized, m’kay.” That’s the jist of it. Not particularly insightful or avant-garde, but “South Park” has always smugly paraded a rather moderate libertarianism, which it tries to pass off as the “voice of reason” by funneling it through the cherubic mouths of the boys. Because, you know, all the adults in “South Park” are either deluded, moronic, or evil.
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Air dates: 9/26/97- 2/13/98
“Teen Angel” graced our television sets during the 1997 lineup of “Boy Meets World”, “Sabrina the Teenage Witch”, and “You Wish” on ABC’s TGIF. Starring Mike Damus, Corbin Allred, Ron Glass, Katie Volding, and even Maureen McCormick, “Teen Angel” detailed the life of Steve Beauchamp (Allred) who recently witnessed his best friend, Marty (Damus), die after eating a six month-old hamburger. Marty comes back to life as Steve’s guardian angel in the pilot.
“Teen Angel” was, by no means, as much of a classic as one of its brothers in the TGIF lineup: “Boy Meets World.” And it certainly does not stick out in your head as a show about magic as “Sabrina the Teenage Witch” might. However, that isn’t to say it doesn’t have its own strengths. In fact, it seems that ‘Teen Angel’ takes the problems “Boy Meets World” dealt with (or as many as it could within its seventeen episode-run, anyway), and puts a light-hearted “Sabrina the Teenage Witch” spin on them.
The content of “Teen Angel” can be compared to that of the earlier episodes of “Boy Meets World”, except while “Boy Meets World” was more of a “I’m-a-teenager-growing-into-an-adult” show—in which funny moments were funny, and serious moments were serious—“Teen Angel” attempted to parody these same serious matters. It took the foreboding mysticism out of death and the after-life—ideas that are riddled with varying religious and philosophical weight to different people—and tried to make them comedic.
Additionally, the main “mysticism contender” that “Teen Angel” battled with in the TGIF lineup was “Sabrina the Teenage Witch.” “Sabrina” also dealt with the realm of magic and the supernatural, but “Teen Angel” went a step further and dealt with something that “Sabrina” never really did—death. But again, “Teen Angel” chose to parody this in a light-hearted, “Sabrina” fashion. Marty’s death (which occurs in the pilot) is made somewhat comical by the way in which he dies (by eating an old hamburger), the corny “death sequence” (as Marty’s eyes roll around and the walls around him begin to spin), and his immediate ascendance (via an elevator) into heaven. As this occurs in the first episode—probably within the first ten minutes—I must say, this is a somewhat “ballsy” move on the writers’ part: making death comical? That’s a hard first step to make.
The idea of the “supernatural” is also toyed with shortly after Marty’s death, as he soon encounters God’s cousin, Rod (Glass), in heaven. Rod, who can curtly be described as a sassy floating head in the sky, guides Marty as a new entrant into heaven’s ranks of guardian angels. He wags a phantom limbic finger at Marty when Marty does his usual pranks—you know, like putting Bengay in St. Peter’s underpants— but eventually helps Marty to guide Steve (which allows for a fair share of shenanigans). The relationships presented in “Teen Angel”—by Rod and Marty, and by Marty and Steve—lead the viewer to believe that, perhaps, heaven may not be that solemn, unimaginable land of harps and clouds after all. Maybe it’s a big floating head in the sky.
The verdict? The ability of “Teen Angel” to desensitize serious matters may not be everybody’s cup of tea. And it appears that it wasn’t, considering the show was cancelled at such a young age. Admittedly, it might not have lasted had the writers been told to create another season. Perhaps, by the end, after Steve went through a school play, went out on dates, and joined the wrestling team (all thanks to Marty), the show had exhausted its typical “hallmarks of teenager-hood.” Perhaps the concept, at least for the timeslot/network in which it was placed, was not strong enough to flesh out any more. Perhaps some of the laughs were too cheap to be worth the costs of production. (Or, perhaps Katie Volding [whose character was also named Katie] should not have been cast as Steve’s younger sister*.) Take your pick. But regardless, the show accomplished what it meant to accomplish: to be a somewhat more interesting way to spend twenty-two minutes watching ABC in the 1990s. (And, to perhaps be a way for Maureen McCormick—who played Steve’s mother—to have something else to do with her time.)
*Sorry to you “Au Pair” and “Smart House” fans, out there.
Let’s talk about avarice! “Everyone has their price,” we’re told several times over the last two episodes, as the con-artist clan considers bribery as a means of escaping thorny problems. The price of the Riches, then—the prospect that will keep them playing their dangerous game for a little while longer—is a respectable $13 million, which Doug (Wayne) stands to earn from a giant real estate deal that Hugh (and the writers) has conjured out of thin air.
So, since “The Riches” is seldom more than an incredibly entertaining trail of issues that come up—roadblocks, speed bumps, nuisances that threaten the delicate, deceitful status quo—here are the thorny problems of the week. Dahlia and the kids (and neighbor Nina, tagging along) find themselves held at ridiculously-large-gunpoint by a redneck who catches them stealing his truck, prompting the clan to cook up an incredibly elaborate con involving seemingly the entire town of Blunt, Texas to pay him off. Meanwhile, Wayne and Dale have to dispose of a body (more precisely, the body of Pete, last season’s biggest problem). Situation #2 doesn’t get much screen time, but it does provide a few fleeting moments of tension as the two men continually try to out-threaten each other, always aware of a pact of “mutually-assured destruction.” Situation #1 is, well, thoroughly ridiculous, with lovably implausible human behavior across the board. Always remember that what is possible and impossible for the Riches to achieve is determined only by the direction of the narrative. Call it a physics of deus ex machina. Here, the show wants to illustrate that they are utterly, utterly inept when fragmented, so they are caught red-handed just as suddenly and unbelievably as they are rescued, later on, by Wayne.
Note the curious fact that money, so far, has accomplished absolutely nothing. There was talk, last week, of buying off Pete, but of course Dale took care of that situation in his own idiosyncratic way (with a hammer). Cash doesn’t find its way into the hands of the crazy redneck either—some makeshift therapy, as well as Nina’s pot, do the trick instead. It’s no secret that “The Riches” wishes, in its heart of hearts, to bludgeon that suburban, whitewashed notion of the “American Dream” that it’s so reliably hip to attack. Just look at Hugh. But the show is notable, above all, for its underlying fairy-tale construction (it’s a kind of magical realism, without any magic), and it’s always interesting to see the ways in which money, which we all know is the root of all evil, literally becomes it. Let’s see how evil $13 million ends up being.
It would be folly to think that “Lost” could immediately one-up itself by giving us another classic episode one week after “The Constant.” So don’t feel too let down when I tell you that the latest “Lost” outing, called “The Other Woman,” isn’t nearly as essential, exciting, or even just plain interesting as its predecessor. It is, however, well-acted, and does a good job of developing some of the newer faces. Plus, Kate gets conked on the head, so I really can’t complain too much about it.
I guess your enjoyment of this episode depends on how much you like Juliet, since it’s her flashback this week. One thing I did notice was that the flashbacks themselves seemed a bit old, mainly because they were just that: flashbacks. The only other flashback this season was in the second episode, and since it was about the Freightaways, there was enough to keep us interested. I’m not sure you can technically count Desmond’s episode as having flashbacks, and the other three have been flash-forwards. And although we technically got new information this episode, it seemed like the show was reverting to its old tricks a bit: dutifully filling in the blanks. Luckily, good acting does a lot for an episode.
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So far this season, my two favorite episodes have been the ones I wasn’t so sure about at the onset. Sayid’s flash-forward initially left me underwhelmed and wondering if the whole gimmick of a flash-forward was going to run the show straight into the ground. Then, of coure, there was that big twist at the end, but I was won over long before then. But this latest episode takes the season 4 cake for me so far. It’s not that it focuses around my boy Desmond, or even that it tampers with the flashback formula yet again. It’s because it gets back to what I felt made the show so strong in the first place: a compelling, near-incomprehensible bit of island voodoo anchored by some incredibly strong acting and character development.
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Before I begin, let me just flesh out in detail my issues with Kate. I previously skimmed over my belief that she’s useless on this show, and after this episode, I can’t say my thoughts have changed. When we first met Kate, it was definitely a shock to discover that she was a fugitive, but since then, all of her flashbacks have been variations on the same thing. See her escape the Marshal not once, but five times! See her attempt in vain to reconnect with her mother not once, but three times! See her destroy, one by one, the lives of everybody that ever loved her (that may or may not include the Marshal)! But since we already know Kate is one of the Oceanic Six, she now gets a stupid flash-forward that is still focused on her stupid crimes and comes complete with a stupid title to begin with. “Eggtown.” What is that supposed to mean? Luckily, the ending is not stupid, although diligent viewers probably could have guessed it themselves.
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