TV Surveillance definitely is not going away, but I think it will be changing in some ways.

I am no longer enchanted by episodic reviews, so chances are, you will not see many of those around these parts (outside of premieres, finales, etc. I might be interested in). To fill the void, I hope to go both shorter and longer. Look for the blog to have more updates with rapid, concise thoughts on a news item or even an episode or two. I have realized that I do not need 1,200 words to get my point across to your informed minds. At the same time, I have some ideas for longer pieces as well, so it won’t all be minuscule updates. Included in that longer batch will be a slew of “season wrap” pieces on many of my favorite series. Those start next week. And of course, Test Pilot will continue. 

Ultimately, TV Surveillance is here to stay. But I wanted you to be aware of the new normal around here. Thanks again for sticking with me. More big news to come next week.

It has come to my attention that I have yet to link to a work that I spent the last year working on, my MA thesis. Thankfully, I busted my butt last summer and didn’t have much to re-write or tinker with over this school year, but all sorts of other responsibilities kept me from officially finishing this sucker until early February. Then, of course, university processes took even longer to get it approved and published on the proper channels and platforms. In any event, you can access the entire thesis, in PDF format, in this location. I’ve included the abstract below, in case you’re curious. As the headline suggests, the thesis covers USA Network, its programming and its promotional content (namely, the Characters Welcome branding campaign). Please check it out if you’d like.  Writing this thesis allowed me to speak to CNN.com about USA Network as well, which was a really great opportunity. 

Abstract:

In the fragmented post-network era of television, networks are looking for any advantage in attracting audiences. One way networks try to draw attention is through branding. Branding helps networks stand out among the hundreds of other choices, but can also link all of a network’s programming under one carefully-crafted theme. When viewers access a network’s content from numerous devices, it is crucial that each experience evokes similar images, styles and themes. It is my assertion that cable giant USA Network has succeeded with its branding campaign like no other contemporary television network. By combining a programming formula of blue skies, cool cases and pretty faces with thematically-connected branding under the “Characters Welcome” label, USA Network and its structurally formulaic programs are activated into a new genre of television. This activation from formula into genre is accomplished narratively, thematically and aesthetically within the programs themselves, but is primarily driven by the commodification of those narratives, themes and aesthetics through an overarching branding campaign (television spots, on-screen chyrons, print ads, web sites, Tweets, various other intertextual directives) that promises diverting, but not mindless, fare. The brand emphasizes escapism and inclusivity through sunshine-drenched imagery and a laid-back, summertime ideology. Using Jason Mittell suggestion television genres exist as “cultural categories” created through discourse, this thesis discusses how USA Network exists as a generic category shaped by branding and how critics and audiences embrace and acknowledge that generic category.

Test Pilot #44: The Shield

Debut date: March 12, 2002

Series legacy: One of the best cop dramas, and series, of all-time

Hello, everyone. Welcome back to your favorite discussion of television pilots on the internet, Test Pilot. Today we conclude our survey of the contemporary police drama. Hopefully we have done a fine job of exploring this dominant format and the somewhat-recent specific case studies that have attempted to step outside the boundaries of that format. As always, I would like to think my co-writers in this theme for their wonderful and informative insights. And thanks to you for reading.

We finish off this theme with one of the most beloved recent iterations in the genre, FX’s The Shield. The Shawn Ryan-created drama ran for seven seasons, picked up all sorts of critical adoration and went out with one of the more-respected series finales as well. This is the first “cop show” we have talked about that aired on cable, which is certainly worth noting.

Anyway, joining me today is Carrie Raisler. Carrie writes all sorts of great stuff for The A.V. Club’s TV Club, including weekly reviews of The Vampire Diaries and Revenge. You can and should follow her on Twitter. Carrie, take it away:

“Good cop and bad cop left for the day. I’m a different kind of cop.”

Rarely has a pilot entered a more definitive mission statement for the series as a whole than The Shield’s did. Although it rather deftly set up an intriguing and varied ensemble full of both good and bad cops, from the very beginning this was clearly Vic Mackey’s story. And Vic Mackey was different.

The concept of the antihero is old news these days, especially with a popular network series like House ending an eight-year run this season, but not too long ago the idea of a morally compromised main character on a television series was fairly groundbreaking territory. It exploded onto the screen at the end of last century with The Sopranos on HBO, but until The Shield such boundary-pushing content didn’t exist without a premium cable subscription. Not only did it put FX on the map as a destination for quality original programming, but it put basic cable on the map as a place willing to embrace the type of stories network television—with its mandate to reach the widest possible audience—simply couldn’t tell at the time.

Why was Mackey so different? For most of the pilot he was ambiguously shaded as a cop with both good and bad qualities: for every drug runner he roughed up and pocketed evidence from, there was a prostitute he gave money to and encouraged to see her son; for every dealer he casually shook down for cash, there was a little girl he helped save from a dangerous pedophile (by viciously beating said pedophile, yes, but still). Mackey was the brash and cocky head of the elite Strike Team at work and loving husband and father at home, all while casually soliciting what was obviously an off-and-on affair with a fellow female officer at the station. Everything about him was contradictory but yet not outside of the realm of normal television cop behavior, which is why the ending of the pilot—when he boldly kills a fellow officer who was secretly working with his Captain to bring him down—was so revolutionary.

Only one hour into its life as a series, The Shield put forth a cavalcade of evidence its main character was most likely a reprehensible human being, and let the audience decide what to do with that information. Would they accept it? Embrace it? Return for more? For a medium all too famous for spoon-feeding its audience, this was the most different thing of all.

I happen to think the pilot of The Shield is one of the greatest pilot scripts of all time, but I must admit I do have a special connection to the material (and therefore a staggering amount of bias). In 2000, I was a recent college graduate trying to make my way in Los Angeles and working for a literary management company. A staggering number of scripts crossed my desk that required reading, but one day my boss set down a script and told me to read it immediately; it was by one of his writers, Shawn Ryan, and had just been bought by FX to be their first foray into a new realm of scripted television. It was literally like none of the other dreck sitting on my desk, waiting for me to summarize all of the reasons I hated it. It was smart and edgy and jaw-dropping, and although I didn’t understand how the network that only programmed Buffy reruns and action movies was going to make it work, I had high hopes. Now, having seen the entire series, I can only say it was better than I ever dreamed.

What strikes me watching now for the first time in a few years is how great the pilot still is, and how you could put it on television right now and it wouldn’t feel dated one bit. (Well, except for perhaps the use of “Bawitdaba” during the final sequence. My name is Kiiiiiiiddddd!) Before The Shield my only real experience with cop shows was Law & Order, where although they used location shooting in New York to their advantage, to a girl who grew up in Florida it still basically felt like a soundstage because it looked just like what you saw on every other television series or movie shot in New York. What Shawn Ryan and pilot director Clark Johnson did with The Shield was take the action to the Los Angeles streets, using handheld cameras for action sequences and spotlighting the parts of L.A. they don’t advertise on the travel websites. Having just moved to Los Angeles, this felt like a living, breathing showcase of what I saw every day and was real in a way a series like Law & Order, with its rigid structure and predictable procedural feel, never could approximate. The technique is used so frequently now it doesn’t have the heft it once did, but to see a new technique for telling stories be created right in front of my eyes was pretty special.

In addition to the visuals and the Vic Mackey story, the pilot also did a great job of setting up the world and the characters who inhabited it with remarkable shorthand. Pilots often do this awful thing where they have characters speak in expository dialogue even the greatest actor couldn’t make sound natural. Here, every conversation was obviously building character traits and setting up interoffice dynamics, but it did it in a way that felt like an average day in the life of this particular precinct. Vic’s immediate foil is established in politically hungry Captain Aceveda, his bully/victim dynamic was explored with intelligent but insecure Dutch, and his calm truce was hinted at with pragmatist Claudette. But the relationships aren’t only established as reflections of Vic: partners Claudette and Dutch get their own case to solve and dynamic established. This, on top of introducing another set of partners and establishing a bit of their personal lives, is a remarkable thing to do in only one episode. It’s incredible it all worked so well.

Over time, it feels as if some of the fervor for the series has dissipated, with people inevitably moving on to things that are newer and shinier and are available on Blu-ray. This is a shame because almost all of the programming revered on basic cable today might not exist if The Shield wasn’t there to pave the way. Not all great pilots go on to become great series, but the ones that do—in particular, the ones that break new ground along the way—should always be celebrated. Especially ones with a protagonist as different as Vic Mackey.

(Oh, yeah, and Clark Johnson? Sorry you had to yell at me to get out of the shot that one time. I was young and in awe of the fact there were unlimited Krispy Kreme donuts on the craft service table.)

–CR

And now, my newbie take on the pilot episode of The Shield:

Because I did not start following television and the industry until around 2006/07, there are dozens of series I missed during their first runs that I wish I could catch up on. Of them all, The Shield haunts me the most. Unsurprisingly, after watching this pilot episode for the first time, my suspicions were correct: I should probably be grabbing that Complete Series set on Amazon.

I appreciate Carrie covering how innovative and quality The Shield and Vic Mackey seemed to television audiences a decade ago and what I found so refreshing about this pilot and its lead character is how current both still felt. The Shield came to us at the beginning of television’s anti-hero era and few more recent examples I have seen work as well as Vic does in this opening episode. Vic is full of contradictions, many of which could work on the page but fail to register in practice if it were not for Michael Chiklis’ multi-layered performance.

As Carrie noted, the series does not ask you to feel something specific for Vic. Instead, we are given a variety of actions and emotions and basically forced to make our own judgments. That approach to character construction is what makes the great anti-hero characters great (after this pilot I would Vic there with Tony Soprano and Walter White, above House and Dexter).

This pilot does what all great pilots do: Introduces, intrigues and leaves you wanting more. Shawn Ryan’s script succeeds at building a world, but is especially adept at developing characters without much exposition or specific positionality. The performances, from top to bottom, are impressive without being too showy. Chiklis gets many of the big moments (as he should), but Jay Karnes, Benito Martinez, CCH Pounder and Walton Goggins bring their characters to life quite quickly with strong performances as well. The visual pallet is gritty without being obnoxiously so (as is/was the case with productions that so clearly tried to ape The Shield). In short, there are really few faults with this opening episode.

Not to pat myself on the back or anything, but I think I made a great choice to have our discussion of The Shield come at the end of this theme. In doing so, it is really clear to me that The Shield, while certainly innovative in many ways, still deeply relates to those projects that came before it. Vic Mackey is not the first corrupt and damaged cop we have seen on television. NYPD Blue’s Sipowicz certainly had his personal problems, as did many of the characters on Hill Street Blues. Mackey is definitely a more extreme representation of those characters, but he still follows in a sequence nonetheless. The tension between “tougher” cops and their lesser counterparts is also not a new development. Even the visual style of The Shield reminded me just a bit of what NYPD Blue put forth in its initial episode.

This last paragraph does not exist to discredit The Shield’s pilot. We are smart enough to know that few things are wholly original, or even original at all. But what makes The Shield pilot so great is that it takes these familiar elements to another level and brings many of them together, creating an appealing formula if you will. This episode does things we have seen before (and after), it just happens to do them better.

Carrie mentioned that The Shield paved the way for so many basic cable series that came after and while I totally agree with that assertion, I have been thinking about how The Shield fits into the “cop show” drama. In many ways, The Shield feels like the culmination of decades of television’s portrayal of police officers and police work. Based on what I saw in this pilot and what I know happens later in the series’ run, it is clear that The Shield takes many of the genre’s conventions to the furthest degree possible – and as I said just a moment ago, makes them better. Once you do the stories that The Shield did and have the characters do the things they did, there is little else worth exploring on that end of the spectrum.

Therefore, The Shield plays more like an (fantastic) outlier to the whole genre rather than one that set the tone for cop shows for years to come. The series is a forefather of quality, complex cable dramas with morally corrupt anti-heroes, but not necessarily a forefather of the contemporary police drama. Vic Mackey shares more in common with Dexter Morgan than he does whoever Chris O’Donnell plays on NCIS: Los Angeles.

Of course, much of this is due to the fact that The Shield aired on FX, one of the best platforms for television programming around. Even if a broadcast network wanted to replicate the successful formula of The Shield and perhaps push the police drama into a new direction, it really could not. As we discussed last go-around, programs like Boomtown, which debuted six months after The Shield, tried and failed, quite miserably. Most of the recent attempts to do something different with the cop drama have met the same fate as Boomtown, while the descendants of CSI: have thrived handsomely.

I do not mean to put forth much of a value judgment with these statements. Yeah, I would prefer to live in a world where series like The Shield are all over the place and there are not three two CSI: series kicking around. But I understand why that is not the case. However, as we close this theme down I am wondering: Is the cop drama a better fit for “broader” networks? I use “broader” so that we can include the slew of police-centric series on networks like TNT, USA Network or A&E, but the point remains the same. Obviously, FX made a go of it with The Shield and HBO brought us The Wire, but both series were so much more than what we expect(ed) from the genre (and this, of course, is why they are so beloved). I cannot imagine either network trying to do another cop-related series without some other substantial hook, and even when AMC tried it with The Killing, well, yikes.

Perhaps we simply prefer our police-centric series to be broad, and even safe. We have expectations for what conventions we will see, and most of the CBS, FOX, ABC, NBC or TNT procedurals give us that. Cable, with its interests elsewhere, might not be the best place for cop dramas to unspool. This is not a question I can answer, but it is something that we should think about.

–CB

Conclusions on legacy: Tremendous, innovative at the time and worth all the praise, but not that influential within the genre itself

With House airing its series finale this evening, I thought it was time to bust out a list or two. I love House and I love lists. It seems only fitting. First up, one of the lists I “do best”: ranking the seasons. Obviously, the finale could have some influence on the placement of season eight, but I cannot much impact either way. House has had a few stand-out seasons and a few that I thought I clearly disliked the most, but doing this list made me reconsider various things. It is much closer than I imagined. I think there is a clear division in quality between the bottom four seasons and the top four seasons, that much is true. Nevertheless, here we go, ranking the seasons of House, from worst to best.

Season 5 (2008-2009): I’ve been on record about my frustrations with seasons five and six so I won’t belabor the point here too much. BUT, season five is a melodramatic mess. Season four ended on a powerful note that suggested big changes for the House-Wilson relationship. Those changes were shooed away in a half-dozen episodes or less. Thirteen’s story was a mess. The Lucas character didn’t really work. Kutner killed himself because Kal Penn wanted to be a (temporary) civil servant. There were too many dumb, dull “event” episodes. Shall I go on?

Season 6 (2009-2010): Season six featured many of the same problems that plagued season five, but it was also buoyed by a better focus on Chase and Cameron (albeit one that was powered by a fairly dumb plot) and a really solid arc for House. The two-hour opener “Broken” is one of the series’ best and the events of that episode actually influenced the entire season.

Season 8 (2011-2012): This final season has been way less ambitious than the previous three or four years, but I think House has been better for it. The lower stakes resulted in an amiable, enjoyable stretch of episodes that led into what has been a fairly powerful conclusion. I understand that many see the series as a shell of its former self in many ways. I happen to disagree. Hugh Laurie, Robert Sean Leonard and Jesse Spencer were awesome all season. Season eight featured less “great” episodes, but also featured less awful, miserable ones as well.

Season 7 (2010-2011): Your mileage of season seven is almost solely dependent on how you feel about the House-Cuddy romance. I, for one, feel like the series had to go there eventually and I appreciate many of the things David Shore and his team tried to explore with that relationship. Laurie and Lisa Edelstein acted the hell out of those scenes. Nevertheless, at times, Huddy-related stories verged on the melodramatic (“Family Practice” might be my least favorite episode in the entire run) and the ending was a bit of a disaster. Thankfully though, most of the non-Huddy content in season seven was great. The team’s rapport was better and Masters added just enough to the formula.

Season 3 (2006-2007): In season three, House continued producing fine procedural stories that kept our interest. However, the “arc” with Tritter and House never, ever worked. It started poorly and only descended into stupidity (on a narrative- and character-level) from there. The Tritter story suggested certain changes and then immediately discarded them and was the first sign that House’s writers were sometimes more interested in shocking swerves than they were substantial character development. Even the finale’s big move (no more team) didn’t really have much weight behind it.

Season 1 (2004-2005): I think I’m a bigger fan of Vogler than most people (not that I love him) and that might make this season’s placement a bit surprising. However, after a few expected stumbles in the early going, the first season of House easily found an entertaining, complex gear. The middle of the season is very strong and Sela Ward and Hugh Laurie’s quality chemistry makes the final stretch pretty great, despite Vogler’s presence.

Season 4 (2007-2008): This is far and away my favorite season of House. The ambitious Survivor-like competition for new fellows played out masterfully and most of the possible candidates were very compelling. Unfortunately, the Writer’s Strike delayed much of this season’s momentum (and those characters’ development), which prevents me from putting it at the top of the list. Many individual episodes though.

Season 2 (2005-2006): I cannot imagine many people being shocked by this one topping the list. In its second season, House churned out one high-quality episode of procedural television after another. The cases and the medical mysteries were still intriguing (and the writers still cared writing them), the moral dilemmas felt important and the characters were given a sufficient amount of time to be more than pretty exposition-delivery machines. The series’ most consistent run of episodes, for sure.

There you have it folks. Thoughts?

Happy Monday, y’all! Although Upfronts came to a close last week, we’re not done talking about it. Hopefully you saw my posts on NBC, FOX, ABC and CBS (sorry, I just couldn’t get to the C-Dub), but today we offer you an extended look at all five networks’ big scheduling-related decisions. My buddies Les Chappell and Wes Ambrecht join me for almost four hours of upfront chatter. It’s a lot, I know. I’ve provided a rough key below in case you only care to here about one network or the other. And remember, you can subscribe to the podcast on iTunes, if that’s your thing. 

Note: At times, the audio is a bit wonky. Skype is not always your friend. I apologize. 

3:00-20:00 — Dan Harmon/Community news
20:00-1:18:00 — NBC
1:19:00-1:53:00 — FOX
1:54:00-2:40:00 — ABC
2:41:00-3:02:00 — CBS
3:03:00-3:54:00 — The CW

This week is basically like Christmas for television nerds like myself. Frankly, it is better. Of course, I am talking about Upfronts, the time of the year where the networks bring new fall schedules (and sometimes winter/spring schedules that do not end up sticking) to advertisers. Thanks to the glorious nature of the internet and Twitter, we basically already know what has been picked up and what has been canceled. But discussing brand-new schedules is still damn fun. All this week, I will be providing some thoughts on each network’s pilot orders (though I obviously have not seen anything), schedules and more. 

Almost caught up! Let’s move on to your parent’s favorite television network. CBS.

Primary needs: Another season, another round of successes for CBS. This year, CBS grew 2 Broke Girls and Person of Interest into freshman hits and kept the momentum going everywhere else. I would guess that Les Moonves and company were disappointed that Unforgettable and A Gifted Man did not do that well, but even CBS is open for a few failures here and there. Heading into next season, CBS needs to do what it always needs to do: Add a few solid performers to its always-aging crop of programs. There has been a lot of talk about opening up a second hour of comedy on Thursday to demolish NBC once and for all, but I think CBS would just settle with stabilizing the post-Big Bang Theory timeslot. On the drama side, the network needs the 10 p.m. timeslots on Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday to be better. Take care of those things and CBS could dominate even more in 2012 and 2013.

Pilot orders:  Vegas, Elementary, Made in Jersey, Golden Boy (Drama); Partners, Friend Me (Comedy)

It is really easy to make fun of CBS and its perceived factory of procedurals loved by old people, but I have to be honest: CBS has the best slate of new series for next season (again, of course based on the short clip packages we have all seen). That response is partially based on the generally mediocre crop of pilots that were ordered to series but mostly based on the fact that Vegas, Elementary and Partners look very solid and Made in Jersey looks like something my mom will absolutely love and I might watch because Janet Montgomery is super pretty (Golden Boy and Friend Me don’t have air dates or clips yet, but the loglines, casts and creative teams are quality). For comparison’s sake, I would much rather have CBS trot out a period piece full of star-power like Vegas over Unforgettable. And despite all the rightful skepticism about the Eyeball’s modernized version of Sherlock Holmes, Elementary plays damn well. Jonny Lee Miller is a great television performer (and getting to do his natural accent work here, thankfully) and Lucy Liu handles drama well (see: Southland), making the Watson gender change less obnoxious in practice. The clip nicely balances fun and heft in a way I didn’t expect, even if it does play like a slightly darker version of The Mentalist. Partners features an excellent cast that should be able to overcome some awkward premise-y episodes that are surely to come. From the clip, it seemed to “get” dirty jokes better than the unfortunate way 2 Broke Girls keeps churning them out.

Schedule:

Monday

How I Met Your Mother

Partners

2 Broke Girls

Mike & Molly

Hawaii Five-0

Tuesday

NCIS

NCIS: Los Angeles

Vegas

Wednesday

Survivor

Criminal Minds

CSI:

Thursday

The Big Bang Theory

Two and a Half Men

Person of Interest

Elementary

Friday

CSI: NY

Made in Jersey

Blue Bloods

Saturday

Crimetime Saturday

48 Hours Mystery

Sunday

60 Minutes

The Amazing Race

The Good Wife

The Mentalist

Unsurprisingly, CBS made sizable moves to fix any holes in the schedule. The network eschewed the two-hour Thursday comedy block (leaving a lot of comedy pilots unordered in the aftermath), but pulled out a move with less risk and likely bigger pay-off in moving Two and a Half Men to 8:30 p.m. Now CBS has its two big comedies together again to duel with not only NBC’s comedies (which Big Bang slays on its own) but also FOX’s singing competition output. Plus, having Two and a Half Men lead into Person of Interest will only further help PoI, which in turn will likely help Elementary grow into a substantial success itself. Flow might be overrated in 2012, but if there is a place where it still matters, it is CBS, and the network executives there know how to make it work.

Moving Two and a Half Men over to Thursday means 2 Broke Girls slides back a half hour on Mondays, a move that will surely work just fine. Even if Girls does not grow substantially in season two, Mondays at 9 p.m. will not be so tough that CBS cannot deal with the slight dip from Men’s choke-hold on the timeslot. And really, moving Men away from Monday night creates a better block anyway. Partners seems like a fine fit with HIMYM and both Girls and Mike & Molly will continue to do well in their respective slots as well.

As I said up top, the other big question marks coming into Upfronts were the Tuesday and Sunday 10 p.m. spots and for my money, CBS answered those questions pretty easily. Despite the terrible and generic title, Vegas looks great and could give the Eyeball more Emmy attention. I’ll be curious to see how the ratings are since the series is a period piece, but with all that star wattage, one would think Vegas would be just fine – especially after the double shot of NCIS.

With the two new series taking those Tuesday and Thursday 10 p.m. slots The Mentalist was the odd series out and therefore it must relocate to Sundays at 10 p.m. However, going from old, wobbly CSI: Miami (RIP) to The Mentalist is a very nice upgrade in a timeslot that CBS could and should now gain ground in. Made in Jersey will not be anyone’s favorite new drama of next season, but snuggled between CSI: NY and Blue Bloods, it will do just fine. The clip played like a USA Network drama series, and as far as I’m concerned, there is nothing wrong with that.

The rest of the schedule is rock-solid. It’s CBS, y’all.

Initial analysis: I love it. CBS ditched a few unappealing series (Miami, A Gifted Man, Unforgettable and Rob) and replaced them with seemingly obvious upgrades. On top of that, CBS did as CBS always does by fixing the few issues on the schedule with the Two and a Half Men and 10 p.m. slot moves. I expect CBS to make the smartest moves, but I do not always expect CBS to have the most compelling pilots as well. 2012-2013 could be a massive season for the Eyeball.

Previous:

NBC

FOX

ABC

This week is basically like Christmas for television nerds like myself. Frankly, it is better. Of course, I am talking about Upfronts, the time of the year where the networks bring new fall schedules (and sometimes winter/spring schedules that do not end up sticking) to advertisers. Thanks to the glorious nature of the internet and Twitter, we basically already know what has been picked up and what has been canceled. But discussing brand-new schedules is still damn fun. All this week, I will be providing some thoughts on each network’s pilot orders (though I obviously have not seen anything), schedules and more. 

Again, I am still running behind. I apologize. Right now though, it is time to talk about ABC.

Primary needs: ABC has had a really weird season. Modern Family continues to soar, Grey’s Anatomy had a solid season and the realty stalwarts (Dancing with the Stars and The Bachelor) continue to do well. On top of that, Once Upon a Time became the season’s biggest new drama, Revenge grew into the buzziest and other new series like Suburgatory, Don’t Trust the B in Apartment 23 and Scandal did well enough to get second seasons.

And yet, ABC will likely finish the season behind NBC in the ratings (mostly because of the Super Bowl, but still). The odd thing about ABC is that few nights actually feel like they have holes. Mondays and Thursdays are rock-solid, Wednesdays are stellar and Sunday is somewhere in between. Tuesdays need work, but the Dancing results show at least helps in that regard.

Nevertheless, ABC has a few big needs going into next season. First of all, the net needs to make Revenge into a real hit instead of just a media darling. The ratings have been good, but not great. I still think ABC needs another sizeable drama hit as well, with Desperate Housewives going off the air and Grey’s getting long(er) in the tooth. Once Upon a Time has a hold on Sundays and Scandal could grow (but likely won’t since that post-Grey’s slot does not lead to much), but ABC lost out on a lot of big drama series in 2011-2012 (Pan Am, The River, GCB, Missing, etc.).

Finally, ABC needs to strengthen its already-great comedy output. The post-Modern Family slot has been a bit of a challenge, for some reason, and the network clearly wants Tuesdays to work as well, which could be a challenge now that FOX is going all in on comedies there as well. ABC has a lot of series people like, the network just needs to make sure more people like them.

Pilot orders: Nashville, The Last Resort, 666 Park Avenue, Mistresses, Red Widow, Zero Hour (Drama); How to Live with Your Parents (For the Rest of Your Life), The Family Tools, The Neighbors, Malibu County (Comedy)

Since the 2004-2005 season, ABC has struggled with identity issues. That season brought the Alphabet Network Grey’s Anatomy and Desperate Housewives, two series very popular with women that helped shape the network’s soapy image. Yet, that season also gave ABC Lost, a series the network has tried to replicate ever since. Over the last few seasons, ABC moved away from big tentpole, “mythology”-based serialized content and more towards soapy programming. The problem is that the biggest hit the network could cultivate is Once, which is definitely more the latter type of series than the former.

This slate of new series suggests that ABC is trying to appeal to those viewers who might not have loved Desperate Housewives. I am not entirely sure who that new audience is, but I would at least suggest that ABC wants more men watching, hence The Last Resort and Zero Hour. The former series is written by Shawn Ryan and features a cool premise and great cast…but who watches it? That is a legitimate question. Zero Hour is being held for an undetermined time and looks like poor miniseries. 666 Park Avenue could be compelling and be a crossover hit – perhaps the broadcast American Horror Story? – but Rachel Taylor is not an appealing lead. Nashville is clearly ABC’s favorite project of the new season and should fit into the current brand landscape. Connie Britton looks great, which is important. Mistresses looks like a dozen other ABC series that have failed and Red Widow might as well already be canceled.

Comedy-wise, the lukewarm feelings continue. The Neighbors plays like a Disney Channel Original Movie. I am a big fan of both Sarah Chalke and Kyle Bornheimer and actually chuckled at both clips for How to Live with Your Parents and The Family Tools. I am just convinced neither series will last that long since both performers have had pretty poor luck, especially Bornheimer (RIP Perfect Couples). And, yeah, good for Reba.

Schedule:

Monday

Dancing with the Stars / The Bachelor

Castle

Tuesday

Dancing with the Stars Results Show / How to Live with Your Parents (For the Rest of Your Life) and The Family Tools

Happy Endings

Don’t Trust the B in Apartment 23

Private Practice

Wednesday

The Middle

Suburgatory

Modern Family

The Neighbors

Nashville

Thursday

The Last Resort

Grey’s Anatomy

Scandal

Friday

Last Man Standing

Malibu County

Shark Tank

20/20

Saturday

Football

Sunday

America’s Funniest Home Videos

Once Upon a Time

Revenge

666 Park Avenue

From a scheduling perspective, ABC’s choices make a great deal of sense. Moving Revenge to Sundays behind Once Upon a Time is a move to help the former become the hit it could maybe be and putting Happy Endings and Apartment 23 together on Tuesday shows a real dedication to making comedy fly there. Nevertheless, if you are like me and you do not find many of ABC’s new series to be that interesting, the schedule still looks boring and problematic.

ABC’s always had problems with using its established hits to build newer ones, mostly because it refuses to move certain programs out of those cushy timeslots. The network finally pulled the trigger and pushed Private Practice to Tuesdays this spring, where, shocker, it did just fine, and decided to keep it there next fall. And yet, here we are, coming up on five seasons of Castle and ABC keeps giving it that nice Monday at 10 p.m. timeslot. Based on what I know, I would bet that the Castle audience would follow the series elsewhere on the schedule, like say Thursdays at 8 p.m., where new series have gone to die for something like five years now. Instead, Castle stays put on Mondays and Ryan’s Last Resort gets to lead off a competitive night. Maybe ABC spends enough money to draw people to Last Resort – which has a somewhat complicated premise – but I am more inclined to believe that the series will fail pretty quickly, quality-aside.

Although I am happy to see Happy Endings and Apartment 23 both alive, freed from the great expectations of that post-Modern Family timeslot and together, I will be curious to see how those series match up against New Girl and The Mindy Project. I see the logic in pairing The Neighbors with Modern Family since both are “family-oriented.” But Neighbors looks miserable. ABC will be happy if Nashville’s ratings match what Revenge did this year and I guess people love country music so maybe that will pull in even more folks.

Honestly, pairing Tim Allen and Reba and their respective multi-camera sitcoms is probably my favorite thing about this schedule. I will not watch much of either program, but they could do some damage with slightly older viewers in that fairly weak 8 p.m. timeslot come November. It also would not shock me to see ABC swap those two comedies with any struggling combo from Tuesday if things get too rough ratings-wise.

Sundays suddenly become ABC’s big night on the drama front, a move that I like but do not love. Once Upon a Time held up well against football and Revenge’s female audience should too, but I am not sure about the real compatibility of those two will-be-sophomore series, nor am I sure that the network can get anything to work at 10 p.m. At least 666 Park Avenue’s pilot did not cost $10 million dollars.

Initial analysis: ABC has a lot of programs on its schedule that I really love and a few more that I like quite a bit. Unfortunately, only one of these prospects is that appealing to me (The Last Resort) and I am mostly resigned to its cancellation already because of it probably will not fit with the network brand. As I said a few times, I do like what ABC is trying to do. I am just unsure if these new series are going to stay afloat long enough for the various veterans to stabilize certain timeslots like the second hour on Tuesdays or the third on Sunday. ABC needs one of these dramas to hit or for Scandal to grow in year two and the Tuesday comedies have to perform. Uncertainty abounds.

Previous:

NBC

FOX

This week is basically like Christmas for television nerds like myself. Frankly, it is better. Of course, I am talking about Upfronts, the time of the year where the networks bring new fall schedules (and sometimes winter/spring schedules that do not end up sticking) to advertisers. Thanks to the glorious nature of the internet and Twitter, we basically already know what has been picked up and what has been canceled. But discussing brand-new schedules is still damn fun. All this week, I will be providing some thoughts on each network’s pilot orders (though I obviously have not seen anything), schedules and more. 

Sorry for the delay on these posts folks. I picked a terrible week to try to find a new place to live. The one benefit of waiting a bit longer to talk about these schedules and new series is that I have seen a few clips. More informed opinions are always better. Probably.

Anyway, FOX. Let’s do this.

Primary needs: With less schedule real estate than the competition (especially when we consider the chunk of time devoted to X Factor and Idol) and less holes to fill overall, FOX does not have many needs going into next season. Kevin Reily has wanted to start a two-hour comedy block for a few years and with the success of New Girl this season and the somewhat shocking renewal of Raising Hope, that was always going to come to pass with this new schedule. But of course starting a two-hour comedy block and making it work are two different things, so FOX needs to make sure it has quality comedies to build around New Girl and Raising Hope (which is poorly rated).

On the drama side, FOX needs to do two things: develop a new hit and figure out what the heck to do with Glee. With House going away and none of the network’s new drama series working out that well (only Touch returns next season), FOX needs to find something other than Bones. Glee’s time in the big, bright spotlight is over, but it still performs. The big question going into this schedule announcement was whether or not the network would shift the series to make room for that comedy block.

Pilot orders: The Mob Doctor, The Following (Drama); Ben and Kate, The Mindy Project, The Goodwin Games (Comedy)

When you’re FOX, you can be pretty confident that things are continue to go well. Just five new series for 2012-2013 could be a risk if something fails, but FOX can always just super-size Factor and Idol if necessary.

In any event, all five of these pilots look (again, from short packages) pretty good. Comedy is obviously the focus here and thankfully, Ben and Kate, The Mindy Project and The Goodwin Games feel like quality single-camera choices to partner with the established Tuesday sitcoms.

The Mindy Project is the season’s most talked about comedy (and perhaps series) and the edited clips backed that up well. Mindy Kaling is very talented behind the scenes and it is nice to see that this project seems to let her flex her muscles in front of the camera as well. People have destroyed NBC for passing on this script and while I totally agree with those criticisms because NBC should want to be in business with people like Kaling, this feels like a FOX sitcom. Mindy is a perfect fit with New Girl.

The Ben and Kate clip was a smidgen busy and premise-y, but I laughed throughout and enjoyed the warmth it seemed to project. Again, putting it right behind Raising Hope makes so much sense. The Goodwin Games was my least favorite clip of FOX’s five offerings, but the creative team and cast fill me with some hope. We will see.

Drama-wise, shrug. Folks are really excited about the Kevin Williamson/Kevin Bacon project The Following, but the initial footage is full of porous, awful dialogue and Bacon seems mostly disinterested. Do not get me wrong, I am watching the series when it debuts in the spring. I just expected to be more wowed. The Mob Doctor has so many things going against it: Dumb title, unappealing premise and a messy clip package. And yet, Jordana Spiro appears to have made it work. Let’s say this, I did not hate it.

Schedule:

Monday

Bones

The Mob Doctor / The Following

Tuesday

Raising Hope

Ben and Kate

New Girl

The Mindy Project

Midseason: The Goodwin Games

Wednesday

The X Factor / American Idol

Thursday

The X Factor / American Idol

Glee

Friday

Touch

Fringe

Midseason: Kitchen Nightmares

Saturday

FOX Sports Saturday

Midseason: Cops, Animation Domination High Def

Sunday

Football and The OT / The Cleveland Show

The Simpsons

Bob’s Burgers

Family Guy

American Dad

I tweeted this a few days ago when I saw the “leaked” version, but this FOX schedule makes so much sense it feels like a prank. Bones has done just fine leading off Mondays and the departure of House created a nice little vacuum for the network to push its new drama series. I am a little surprised that FOX is not using X Factor to test out The Mob Doctor, but that approach did not really work for Touch when it was paired with Idol for a week or two. FOX surely recognizes that Mondays in the fall will be tough with CBS’ comedies, Monday Night Football, Dancing with the Stars and now The Voice clogging up the schedule. Bones gives the net a safe and solid ratings performer. The Following is running 15 episodes straight through and will surely get a massive promotional push, so midseason is the perfect place for it to be.

I am really excited about this Tuesday comedy block. FOX needs the first hour to do better than it did for those few weeks this spring, which means a whole lot of promotional dollars are going to be dedicated to this night. Raising Hope is one of television’s best comedies and maybe leading off a night, with proper promotion, will help. Baseball and election preemptions are going to kill the momentum quite frequently though.

My interest in The X Factor is basically non-existent, but even I will watch the first few episodes to see how Britney Spears and Demi Lovato fit in with Simon and LA Reid. Factor performed solidly last season despite a lack of substantial buzz. FOX and Simon were smart to shuffle the deck with the judges, and we cannot underestimate the value of The Voice’s placement on the schedule. The media will not be able to stop talking about the glutton of singing series, which could draw in viewers who previously did not care.

Moving Glee to Thursdays at 9 p.m. was all but a given.* One would think that the series’ die-hards would follow it anywhere, but I think that might honestly depend on what creative direction Glee takes, what cast members come back (probably all of them, ugh) and how much time FOX spends on promoting it. It is clear that Glee is no longer as respected or popular as it was even this time last year, but it is not quite “dead” yet either. The audience overlap between Glee, The Office and Grey’s Anatomy probably is not that massive.

*Of course, the season four move to Thursday just reminds me of The O.C.’s fourth season. Both that series and Glee burned so brightly, so fast. Now if only we can get Kevin Reily to kill Glee by February of this season.

Touch is being shepherded to Fridays as a gesture of appreciation for Kiefer Sutherland, a decision I more or less respect. I do not know anyone who actually watches that series, however, which I guess makes it a fine fit for Friday nights.** Fringe has 13 more episodes to tell whatever it is story it is trying to tell now (i.e. something that probably makes me sad). I appreciate that FOX (and really, all networks) is dedicated to making Friday nights work as more than a wasteland.

**BUT HOW WILL IT STACK UP AGAINST WHITNEY?

FOX Sundays mean nothing to me(Bob’s Burgers is a thing people enjoy), but I am curious to see how the network approaches the late-night Saturday animation block and if it will actually work. Definitely something to keep an eye on.

Initial analysis: Sometimes, boring is good. FOX did not have a great season with its new series (I will miss you most of all, Terra Nova), yet New Girl and X Factor did well enough to buoy the net amid those other struggles. Establishing those two series allows FOX to secure a few more nights on the schedule and approach 2012-2013 with logical choices. Most of the attention will be paid to Tuesdays and if FOX can make the comedy block work, it will be in great shape. I would be somewhat concerned about Mondays, especially if The Mob Doctor tanks, but I have to imagine the network will give it a lot of slack going up against such stiff competition. This time next year, we might be talking about how FOX’s inflated ego left holes in the schedule. However, we could just as easily be talking about how great that Tuesday night comedy block is and how well The Following took off in the spring. Like all schedules, there are some risks. But FOX will be fine.

Previous:

NBC

This week is basically like Christmas for television nerds like myself. Frankly, it is better. Of course, I am talking about Upfronts, the time of the year where the networks bring new fall schedules (and sometimes winter/spring schedules that do not end up sticking) to advertisers. Thanks to the glorious nature of the internet and Twitter, we basically already know what has been picked up and what has been canceled. But discussing brand-new schedules is still damn fun. All this week, I will be providing some thoughts on each network’s pilot orders (though I obviously have not seen anything), schedules and more. Today, we kick things off with everyone’s favorite “network,” NBC. The Peacock likes to announce its schedule a day early to avoid sharing the press with FOX, who also has an Upfront presentation tomorrow.

Primary needs: This is NBC, so, well, basically everything. The fall was more or less a disaster and although the spring slate worked better thanks to The Voice starting off very strong, NBC still has an otherworldly amount of holes to fill. The Voice’s ratings have been sinking, Smash is not the success the network hoped it would be, the Thursday comedy block is dying and Tuesdays and Wednesdays are basically craters.

I have said for a while now that NBC needed to blow up the Thursday comedy block – especially if CBS makes a move for a two-hour stable of its own – and I still believe that. But perhaps even more importantly, I think NBC needs a solid drama hit. Prime Suspect and Awake failed on Thursdays, SVU is old and Parenthood, while awesome, is not it. Whatever NBC wants to do with its comedies is one thing, but at least those are still creatively and somewhat commercially solid. The same cannot be said for the drama side of things.

Pilot orders: Do No Harm, Hannibal, Mocking Bird Lane, Chicago Fire, Revolution, Infamous (Drama); The New Normal, Go On, Animal Practice, Guys With Kids, Next Caller, Save Me, 1600 Penn (Comedy)

Obviously, it is impossible for me to make solid, or even partially fluid comments about these pilot pick-ups without having read a script or having seen more than just a few minutes of poorly-edited clips. That is always the case when no one pays you to write about television. But, I like to try to make some judgments anyway, because that is what the internet is for. More seriously, these orders are…interesting. I noted that NBC’s struggling on the drama front and then it went on to order just six drama pilots, two of which (Hannibal and Mocking Bird Lane) that were already on the books (and are also both based on previous material, something I suggested NBC get away from).

I love Eric Kripke just about as much as anyone can, but Revolution is A.) high concept and B.) the kind of series that fails miserably on television, especially NBC, in 2012. Do No Harm seems like a mess as well. Chicago Fire is from the Dick Wolf warehouse, features a solid cast and is in a friendly timeslot, so it appears to be primed to be the best chance NBC has for new drama success. Still though, these six make an odd, cold bunch.

On the comedy side, things are unsurprisingly better. All the projects but the one starring the immortal Dane Cook have quality people working on them in front of or behind the camera. Go On is going to get an Olympic-related push and I hope it works out for Matthew Perry. Longtime readers know how I feel about Ryan Murphy, but The New Normal has a solid cast and an intriguing premise. It will at least be compelling in some way or another. Animal Practice, 1600 Penn and Save Me have appealing leads and easily consumable premises.

Schedule:

Monday

The Voice

Revolution

Tuesday

The Voice

Go On

The New Normal

Parenthood

Wednesday

Animal Practice

Guys With Kids

Law & Order: SVU

Chicago Fire

Thursday

30 Rock

Up All Night

The Office

Parks and Recreation

Rock Center with Brian Williams

Friday

Whitney

Community

Grimm

Dateline

Saturday

Whatever, it’s Saturday

Sunday

Fall: Football

Spring: Dateline, Fashion Star, Celebrity Apprentice, Do No Harm

The big news here for most us is that Community is moving to Friday nights (GASP) where it will be paired with the internet’s favorite series Whitney (GASP GASP) and might be developed under the guise of someone who is not creator Dan Harmon (SOMEONE BURN DOWN THE INTERNET). Before you jump off that ledge my friend, let me be far from the first person to tell you that this is not the worst news in the world. Here’s why:

#1: Community is still on the air. Despite our love for it, the ratings are not good. If it was on a network not named NBC, it would not have made it through season one. More Community is good news.

#2: Fridays are no longer a death slot, especially for series with a niche appeal. Fringe will have eventually survived two and a half seasons there. Supernatural does fine, and will continue to do so. Smallville did as well. Grimm is doing very well, relatively speaking.

#3: Fridays, though no longer a death slot, do come with lower expectations than the prestigious Thursday night comedy block. Community will not have to lead off the night, and although you hate Whitney to death, it had solid ratings and could be an okay lead-in for Greendale’s finest. I’m guessing Community’s ratings will inch down towards the low 1’s in the demo, but that will be fine.

#4: The audience is the audience. NBC has the data. Bob Greenblatt and company know how devoted Community fans are. Most fans are going to watch online anyway, and heck, maybe a less-cluttered Friday (away from the apparently overlapping Big Bang Theory) will free Community up to garner more live viewers. Probably not, but even still: the fans will follow.

In short: This does not bother me at all. Community needed to be moved away from that Thursday 8 p.m. timeslot, and various folks and I have discussed Friday as an option since at least this fall. I know that the series’ fans want to make everything into an underdog fight, and that is okay. But we are moving into a fourth season. Community is now a veteran. It still exists. We should be happy – very happy.

In other, and in the grand scheme of things more important, news, NBC unsurprisingly decided to bring The Voice right back in the fall, meaning there will be two cycles next season (likely with different judges). Listen, NBC is a sink hole right now and The Voice is more or less all it has to hang its hat on. And Greenblatt talked about some of the precedent with Dancing With The Stars working twice a year. However, this feels like a massive mistake. We already saw how X Factor drained Idol’s juice over at FOX, and those are at least marketed as different properties.

NBC is basically screwed here. It needs to bring The Voice back for any of its new scripted projects to possibly succeeded, but in doing so, it is going to drive The Voice into the ground so much faster. It wouldn’t surprise me if The Voice is already drained of any momentum by this time next year, or by January 2014 at the latest.  

On a night-by-night basis, this is not a terrible schedule, but very little stands out either. Like I said, using The Voice to help Revolution on Mondays and Go On and The New Normal makes a lot of sense in theory. Mondays at 10 is a winnable timeslot, especially if ABC moves Castle, but it is hard to see that Revolution and The Voice are that compatible – or that audiences care about Revolution at all. I project that this plan will work much better on Tuesday. The Voice can probably handle itself against either Glee or whatever comedies FOX puts there and the Olympic bump could give those two new comedies a leg-up over New Girl and The Mindy Project. Tuesday is the place that NBC needs to be strides.

That Wednesday line-up does little for me. Animal Practice looks fun, but I’m not sure how it pairs with Guys With Kids. The good news is that NBC had a little success with comedies on Wednesdays, but that was with Whitney leading the charge. It seemed that we were headed for a Whitney/Guys With Kids block, if only because of the format similarities, but here we are. I will be intrigued to see if Animal Practice can self-start. I would have flipped Chicago Fire and SVU. How many times does NBC have to try SVU at 9 p.m. and watch it fail before moving the veteran series back to 10 p.m. again? Apparently at least five. I get the logic behind having SVU be the lead-in, but if it struggles at 9 p.m. and 10 p.m. timeslots suck anyway, what is the point?

Despite my wishes, I am not shocked that NBC kept Thursdays pretty much intact. The network is still convinced that the Thursday real estate means the same thing in 2012 as it did in 1997, and until NBC stops obsessing over its own history, it will just revel in wheel-spinning mediocrity. NBC already knows 30 Rock cannot lead off a night, but there it is, where it will not only get slaughtered but also hurt Up All Night. The Office, apparently, will never die. Greenblatt said that he is working under no assumption that any comedy is in its final season, not even 30 Rock. So expect NBC Thursdays to look the same until 2015. I guess that means way more Parks!

And hey, at least NBC recognized the devalued nature of Thursdays at 10 p.m. Rock Center!

NBC has a slew of stuff held for mid-season, which is great news because most of the new programs airing in the fall will likely fail. Smash is coming back at some point to terrorize us all and both of Bryan Fuller’s high-concept projects (Hannibal and Mockingbird Lane) will see the light of day at some point as well. The comedies held for midseason make sense, and they will likely fill in on Thursday when 30 Rock finishes its short season (1600 Penn seems like the best bet there) and on Wednesday when Guys With Kids and/or Animal Practice fail. Dane Cook’s Next Caller will hopefully get the Bent treatment.

Initial analysis: NBC is in so much trouble that any one decision is not going to change much. The scheduling approach makes sense for the most part, despite random choices like the Whitney-Community pairing that was apparently made just to troll the internet, but it is unclear if said approach will pay off. The Voice is going to walk out of next season weaker. The Thursday comedy block is only going to fall further. Those are the big tentpoles of the network. It seems to me NBC struggled more on the development side, which has been a trend. None of these pilots look like they will light the world on fire, or even stabilize a timeslot. I know there is fear in blowing things up only to rebuild on the rubble, but at this point, that is what NBC needs to do. This feels like more of the same, which will only bring similar results.

Test Pilot #43: Boomtown

Debut date: September 29, 2002

Series legacy: A well-respected but barely-watched entry into the police procedural genre

Good afternoon! Hey there, party people. Welcome back to the internet’s most popular discussion of television pilots, Test Pilot. We’re still chugging our way through an exploration of the contemporary police procedural. Before you groan or immediately think of David Caruso-delivered puns, I think it’s important to point out that not all “cop shows” are generic, lowest-common-denominator fare. The police procedural is one of, if not the, most dominant scripted format in the television industry. We like to think of the “cop show” with very specific terminology and iconography in mind, but countless series have attempted to mix up the general framework of the police drama. My hope is that this theme will explore five series that personify the innovative and complex ways to approach a cop show, especially in the contemporary era of television that is so-defined by basic procedurals (mostly on CBS).

Today, my guest and I take on a less successful attempt to innovate what was at the time (and basically still is) a fairly boiler-plate formula. The other four series covered in this theme ran for at least 85-plus episodes. Today’s focus aired a glorious 20 (and had four left unaired). I speak of course of NBC’s 2002 effort, Boomtown. Graham Yost’s purposefully screwy riff on the typical rhythms of the police procedural charmed critics in its debut, but failed to capture the attention of a substantial audience (shocker). My guest and I hope to explore what made Boomtown different, but also why it did not succeed.

Joining me today (for the second time) is Paul Rodriguez. Paul is a longtime consumer of all manner of entertainment & information. He’s blogged about pop culture since 2005 at ThePopView.com and briefly wrote a regular column at Spot-On.com. He also blogs professionally at CableTechTalk.com as part of his regular job as Senior Director of Social Media at the National Cable & Telecommunications Association. You can follow Paul on Twitter. Paul, take it away:

Nowadays, if you mention Graham Yost, savvy TV viewers can immediately identify him as the creator of FX’s Justified. And a decade ago, he was primarily known as That Dude Who Wrote the Movie Speed (even though the script was largely re-written by Joss Whedon).

But before the success of Justified, I always thought of him as the creator of one of my favorite failed TV series, Boomtown. I was a huge fan of the 2002 series when it originally aired on NBC. I found it inventive and sharp and was saddened by its poor ratings. However, re-watching it later on DVD, it became clear why the series probably never had a chance.

Since this run of Test Pilot is focusing on cop series that took an innovative approach, I’ll let you know right up front what made Boomtown different: It was the police procedural that took its cues from Rashomon and the sprawling films of Robert Altman.

Specifically, almost all episodes of Boomtown featured two elements: fractured timelines, sometimes looping back around on themselves, and multiple points-of-view. We see that in the pilot, which begins at the end of a crime investigation, then jumps back towards the beginning of things and then goes all over the place (including back in time to the childhood of a dead character). We often see events more than once, but from different perspectives.

The intention of this structure is to show the interconnectedness of human beings and the ways in which we deceive others. We see that characters are linked in ways that we don’t initially realize, so that what seems like a background character in a scene actually turns out to be someone who plays an important role when we revisit events. We also often see characters express something and then we jump back in time to see what really happened or we learn about how they got to that emotional place.

Graham Yost has said that he had two possible ideas to construct in this complex back-and-forth manner: one series about the American military in Bosnia and one about fighting crime in Los Angeles. The title comes from the 1986 album Boomtown by David + David, a harsh look at life in Los Angeles (You can see the music video for their successful single “Welcome to the Boomtown” here.)

If the series had been more successful, it could have been a precursor to The Wire, displaying the different centers of power in an urban environment. Ultimately, it stuck much closer to being a cop show.

There are seven main characters: two detectives, two patrol officers, a deputy District Attorney, a paramedic, and a journalist. The two weakest characters were unfortunately the two female ones, the reporter and the paramedic. Those two parts were often underwritten and the actors weren’t strong enough to bridge the gap, In addition, not being part of the crime side of the equation, they often seemed forced into stories. In the aborted second season, they dropped the reporter entirely and the paramedic joined the police academy.

But all of these issues were to arise in the future. The pilot itself remains incredibly strong. The male cast is particularly effective. Donnie Wahlberg is earnest and brooding, Gary Basaraba is goofy and possibly corrupt. Jason Gedrick seethes with feelings of inadequacy. Neal McDonough and Mykelti Williamson, who both played prominent roles in this past season of Justified, are two big standouts, with McDonough playing a self-destructive seducer and Williamson a true philosopher.

Just in the first few minutes, Yost’s script gives us two terrific monologues, starting with a wonderful meditation on the Los Angeles River by a minor character:

Not quite the Ganges, is it. Not really a river anymore…  London’s got the Thames. Paris got the Seine. Vienna’s got the Blue Danube. L.A. has got a concrete drainage ditch. It’s all we got. It’ll have to do.

The story wanders into corners, such as a phone call between Gerick’s Officer Tom Turcotte and his father or a moment when paramedic Teresa Ortiz (played by Lana Parrilla) watches Detective Joel Stevens (played by Donnie Wahlberg) hose blood off a sidewalk. The characters often refer to events we haven’t learned about yet (such as why Joel’s wife is having mental problems) and some we never do really fully know (such as Officer Ray Hechler’s possible involvement in the Vista Heights corruption case).

In one brilliant sequence, lasting only slightly longer than two minutes, we learn the truth behind a drive-by shooting, as we watch the life of a dead kid roll backwards in time, with brief flashes that explain how he ended up falling off a building, including a freeze frame on the exact moment when he made the choice that set him on the path to his doom.

For purposes of the first episode, Yost’s conceit works well. But the series didn’t seem to get a handle on managing all of those characters properly. The fractured structure seemed too difficult for TV audiences to watch, as opposed to focusing for the two hours of a theatrical film like Memento.

But Boomtown might have fixed those problems if they had been given a proper chance (or if they had ever been able to attract an audience). The reason it remains worth watching is that the acting and writing were generally quite good overall. The series does a great job of exploring Los Angeles, a city usually poorly served by Hollywood (irony of ironies). The opening credits give some sense of that exploration of the town.

The staging of events was generally very naturalistic and the cinematography often resembled that of a documentary. The first episode of the retooled second season, which featured a pair of female super thieves, personified the difference the low-key approach made, something you can also see in comparing early episodes of Law & Order to later ones, which become highly showy and unrealistic.

I would prefer to see police procedurals that are down-to-earth and humanistic. There’s nothing wrong with the mystery approach, such as Law & Order: Criminal Intent, or something dramatic like The Shield, based on the real Rampart Division police scandal, but it’s nice to see something grounded.

The complex structure ultimately came across as more of a gimmick, but when it worked, it rounded out characters, even minor ones, and allowed us to see them as complete people. And that’s something I like to see from police procedurals as well.

–PR

And now, my thoughts on the opening episode of Boomtown:

The tension between convention and invention powers all media genres, across mediums, platforms and time. As a viewer, it can oftentimes feel like that media producers only give us convention – familiarity, comfort, ease. We think that we want something new or innovative. Maybe we do, maybe we do not. And from a producer perspective, being the first to that new or innovative thing certainly has its advantages.

Of course, for both viewers and producers, invention/innovation/the new comes with one big caveat: risk. Not all innovations are good, and they certainly do not come about quickly and easily. Watching Boomtown nearly 10 years after its debut date reminds me of these risks.

Let me be the first to admit (as I always do) that my place as a “new” viewer of a series after the fact is colored heavily by time and the changes, expectations, etc. caused by it. By that I mean I can totally understand why someone watching Boomtown in 2002 might find the pilot episode’s toying with timelines and perspective engaging and especially inventive. The series’ approach was (and honestly, still sort of is) those things. In the 2002 television landscape, I could see why critics would have latched onto this one, especially with Yost’s involvement (he was coming off of Band of Brothers).

Yet, by the end of this initial episode, I was already chilling on the structural and temporal tactics used to prop up the narrative. I certainly appreciate and respect the attempt that Yost and his very game cast (more on them momentarily) make here, but there is something very off-putting to how the concluding minutes of Boomtown’s pilot flashes back to the teenage boy’s childhood. Paul mentioned that Yost used the narrative devices as a way to show how people are all connected, which, again, is a fair goal. Nevertheless, scenes like the rewinding journey through the victim’s childhood played exactly how so many scenes and stories in “interconnected” narratives play out: substantially manipulative.

I have no problem with narrative gimmicks (let’s be honest, that is what these are, and that is okay); in fact, I love them. For a good chunk of Boomtown’s pilot running time, the shifting perspectives and loopy time tricks hooked me in. However, these approaches worked because they informed plot and character without dipping into saccharine or hacky thematic territory. I can enjoy a narrative powered by skewed perspective of a police case that makes me question who is guilty, who is innocent and who might just be inherently nefarious (sup, David McNorris, played with typical aplomb by Neal McDonough). I can enjoy that narrative when it reveals intimate details of characters’ lives that they would prefer not to share with a larger cohort of colleagues, or in the case of Mykelti Williamson’s Fearless, details they have no problem sharing with everyone.

But I get frustrated with these narrative tactics when they are used to evoke large emotional responses that are not earned or attempt to make wide-reaching, generalized thematic points. The final moments of Boomtown’s pilot dips its toes too far into this territory for my liking, in such a way that makes me question the validity or usefulness of the devices in the first place. Yost is a really tremendous writer/showrunner, but the conclusion of this pilot immediately reminded me of a lesser-respected peer of his: Tim Kring. I know. I feel bad about it too.

I feel especially troubled by the way that the conclusion affected me because as I hinted at, so much of this pilot is quite great. The narrative devices do mix in an additional layer of complexity to the procedural elements and help separate the personal lives from the professional lives in useful ways. Each of the “personal life” sequences for Fearless, Donnie Wahlberg’s Stevens and Jason Gedrick’s Turcotte are muted and moving, with each actor delivering really strong performances in them. These scenes allow us to get to know the characters in private spaces without them having to deliver annoying, wordy monologues about who they are and what they represent (which is typically what we see in lesser pilot scripts).

And as I have referenced a few times, the performances here are really, really strong. Williamson and McDonough are, as expected, very adept at making long-winded characters sharp and compelling. Gedrick is typically Gedrick-y: understated, but just soulful enough. For better or for worse, I have seen enough of Blue Bloods to know that Wahlberg can actually act (dare I say he might be better than his brother?), but I really enjoy his work here because it is quiet and still fairly moving. Paul mentioned that Lana Parrilla ended up not getting much to do as the series progressed and that is most certainly a shame. Her character is a bit of an odd fit (again, part of the series’ attempt to provide a wide-ranging perspective on crimes and crime scenes), but Parrilla is good.

I finished my Boomtown viewing experience wishing that the perspective and temporal gimmicks were less prominent, especially if it meant that any subsequent episodes had the same sort of manipulative thematic bow on them. I wanted more of the characters, both interacting with each other on the clock and dealing with problems at home (even if that home is a hotel). But at the same time, I realize that those gimmicks brought me the most evocative character moments and conversations. Obviously, this is a pilot and perhaps the things that annoyed me about the narrative tactics were downplayed or figured out over time. Thus, my feelings on Boomtown are a bit muddled.

But this is often what happens when invention tries to share space with convention. Some things work, some things do not. I would argue that for the most part, things work in the Boomtown pilot, but the things that do not are particularly annoying.

Expanding the focus to the police procedural as a whole, it makes some sense to me why Boomtown did not catch on with audiences: It was probably too different. Last time, we discussed CSI:, a series that had (and is still having) this great impact on the genre and television as a whole. But if you think about it, CSI: did not innovate that much. That pilot and subsequent first season added forensic science and to a lesser, but still important extent, the prominence of the team framework. Nevertheless, the beats and rhythms of CSI: was pretty familiar to early-aught audiences. Meaning, CSI: found the right mix of convention and invention. Just enough “new” to seem different, but a whole lot of comfort to keep audiences safe. And really, we could say the same thing about the other two series we covered in this theme thus far, NYPD Blue and Homicide. The former mixed in some salty language and perceived vulgarity; the latter reveled in the glory of procedure. But I cannot imagine many television viewers complaining that the three series were that different.

Certain genres are so established that most of the conventions are immovable. Elements can be added or removed over time, but the basic structural, visual and thematic formulas mostly remain. The cop show is definitely one of these genres. Boomtown likely stepped too far outside the boundaries of the formula (and most definitely struggled to do so, at least in the pilot) and paid the price for it. Boomtown definitely is not the only series to try to put a square peg into the round hole of the cop drama – NBC’s Awake immediately comes to mind – and it will not be the last. Those future series, like Boomtown and like Awake, will almost definitely fail commercially. But maybe audiences will learn a little bit or grow a little more comfortable with something more overtly different in their cop shows.*

*I want to make it clear that I am not making any value judgment about “viewers” (as a general) group wanting the comfort or familiarity of a typical police procedural. Sure, other series are better, but I see the appeal, and I watch many of these series myself. Generic convention and the overall appeal of genres exist for a reason.

–CB

Conclusions on legacy: A flawed, but compelling attempt to innovate a fairly static genre

5/25 Update: And they’re all filled! Thanks people!

5/21 Update: Still a few open slots! Help me!

5/11 Update: I’ve updated the schedule with the requested spots. I still have many files open. Please consider joining me!

After much consideration and the help of many of you (thanks by the way), I’ve crafted the Test Pilot schedule through the end of 2012. Below you’ll see the themes and files that you folks voted for the most. I’m really excited about these topics and I hope you are too, because I need your input. If you’re interested in co-writing one of these with me, please let me know in the comments, via email (barkerc65@gmail) or on Twitter. 

Theme 11: Superhero TV (Special Theme Week): Superheroes are going to dominate the film screen this summer, but they’ve struggled to catch fire on television in the same way — especially lately. This theme explores television’s take on the superhero, from decades ago to today. 

File #46: Batman [June 4, 2012] – with Andy Daglas
File #47: The Incredible Hulk [June 5, 2012] – with Cameron White
File #48: The Flash [June 6, 2012] – with Adam Wright
File #49: Aquaman (WB/CW pilot not picked up) [June 7, 2012] – with Wes Ambrecht
File #50: Wonder Woman (2011) [June 8, 2012] – with Andrew Rabin

Theme 12: Bad Pilot, Good Series: Sometimes, pilots blow. The good news is that series can overcome those terrible opening salvos and become good, even great series. In this theme, we explore five series that overcame pretty weak (relatively speaking) pilots. 

File #51: The Bob Newhart Show [June 20, 2012] – with David Loehr
File #52: Seinfeld [July 3/4/5, 2012*] – with Josh Spiegel 
File #53: Star Trek: The Next Generation [July 18, 2012] – with Thomas Wachtel
File #54: Parks and Recreation [August 1, 2012] – with Les Chappell
File #55: The Vampire Diaries [August 15, 2012] – with Austin Morris

*The holiday messes up my schedule here. If you’re interested in this one, we can talk about when it could be posted. 

Theme 13: War on Terror TV: One of the most controversial/important/extended events in our culture has barely been examined on television. Why? We try to answer that question by exploring the few series that did engage with the War on Terror.

File #56: Sleeper Cell [August 29, 2012] – with Kevin McFarland
File #57: Over There [September 12, 2012] – with Christine Becker
File #58: The Unit [September 26, 2012] — with Julie Hammerle
File #59: 24 [October 10, 2012] — with Eric Thurm

Theme 14: Post-Lost Failures: In the aftermath of Lost‘s initial success, the broadcast networks (especially ABC) tried to capture lightening in a bottle again. They failed miserably. We tackle those failures in this theme.

File #60: Invasion [October 24, 2012] – with Adam Wright
File #61: Threshold [November 7, 2012] – with Eric Van Uffelen
File #62: Surface [November 21, 2012] – with Saralyn Smith 
File #63: The Nine [December 5, 2012] — with Chris Roof
File #64: FlashForward [December 19, 2012] – with Kate Tripoli

There you have it. Again, if you’re interested in co-writing, let me know. And thanks for voting!

It’s that time again, folks. This is the Barker Chappell Daglas Reviewing Agency. It’s time to reconsider our life insurance policies and sleep with our favorite WB starlets, as Les, Andy and I take on this week’s great episode of Mad Men, “Lady Lazarus.”

Cory: Welcome back, gents. I’m sorry. I said I was out with some friends last night, but actually, I was just pursuing my dream to write Mad Men fan fiction on the internet. I have to quit my job. I hope you can learn to love me either way. 

On a serious note, “Lady Lazarus” is one of my favorite episodes of this fifth season. So many of the things we’ve been harping on for six weeks came to a real head here and in ways I’m not sure we all quite predicted. We’ve speculated about Megan’s desires to keep working and even though the last few episodes showed us that she was at least more committed to doing the job more than her new(ish) husband, tonight’s effort reflected that Megan’s not really interested in doing this job. The acting bug is just too strong in her — as it is in you Andy — and apparently, she’s been taking auditions on the side. Of course, as much as Megan is driven to perform, this episode shows us that she is also still driven by a little fear as well. Fear that she might not make it, but more importantly, fear of what her husband would say if he found out about her dreams. As I mentioned, we’ve talked a whole lot about Megan and Don, as individuals and as a couple. How do you guys feel about both characters in light of tonight’s big revelations? Were you surprised at Don’s reaction to Megan’s choice?

Les: I think “surprised” is indeed the best word to describe my reaction to what Megan did and how well Don seemed to take it. I suggested two weeks ago that an investment in the creative process may be the shot in the arm the Draper marriage needed, and was confused last week at Megan’s seeming disinterest in her success, but I wasn’t expecting it to move from one state to another as this did. For Megan to wake Don up* and tell him that she wanted to be an actress, and for him to accept it (and have a wonderfully awkward conversation with Joan about the protocol) was a mature approach I wouldn’t have guessed based on the fight in “Far Away Places.” I think it says a lot about both of them for how much they really want to make this marriage work – there’s a lot of  “I love yous” and small kisses exchanged this episode, and Megan’s speech as she’s cooking about how Don’s everything she thought he was when he proposed. 

*I don’t know about you, but after what happened in “Mystery Date,” I don’t think I’ll ever be 100 percent comfortable with any scene of Don Draper in bed with a woman standing over him ever again. We’ve seen what tactic he’s capable of following in those circumstances.

But is it going to last, is the question? I’m sure everyone’s sick of the three of us expecting the worst from Don Draper in his relationships and wanting to know exactly when the other shoe is going to drop, but this is certainly the biggest change that their marriage has seen, and I wonder how Don’s going to deal with this brand new dynamic so soon after becoming adjusted to a similarly unfamiliar one. Last week with Heinz and this week with Cool Whip, it looked like he was growing very comfortable with a creative partner to bounce off of in his meetings, someone who gave him a second wind in pitches and who the clients liked seeing almost as much as him (well, as much as clients want to see him given what Leland Palmer told him last week about trust). To have to go back to handling it himself, and – more to the point – having to walk into the office alone every morning, without the promise of a quickie on the couch during the day? I want to say he’s mature enough to move past this, but not having Megan near him on a daily basis is going to be good for his mental health regardless of his desire to avoid a repeat of Betty. Don may be a man who talks a good game and puts up a strong front, but as we saw in the discussion of getting a Beatles-esque band for the Chevalier Blanc ad, and at the very end when he pulls the needle off “Tomorrow Never Knows,”** he’s not very good at facing the music.

**And now I’m feeling a little sorry I used up the reference to that song in our discussion of “Far Away Places,” when it’s actually used here – and used here in a montage fashion Mad Men usually saves for its season finales. That couldn’t have been cheap for AMC and Weiner to get the rights to.

Andy, your thoughts on the new status quo of Mr. and Mrs. Draper 2.0?

Andy: We few, we happy few, we band of brothers…

Oh sorry, you caught me indulging my secret thespian side. Damn you, Cory, you know me too well! Like Megan Draper, I’ve decided to give up this humdrum writer’s life and return to my first love: the stage. As enlightened partners, I’m confident that you’ll be as understanding as Don, and won’t find a way to interpret this as me throwing back in your face the opportunity and support you’ve given me as I successfully pursued a path you chose for me.

After all, one reason you love me is for my independence. You really believe that to be true. And good thing, since it looks like that conviction will be tested now that I’m displaying full-fledged independence, and not just a simulacrum of it which still keeps me in your orbit—and, to some extent, under your thumb. At the end of the day, you’ll both still be there to greet me with a kiss and a home-cooked meal.

Um. This parable has gotten away from me a bit.

“Lady Lazarus” wasn’t as purely enjoyable as many episodes this season have been, but it was just as rich and puzzling. Since there were so many fascinating facets, I’ll offer up a few of my big questions for discussion: What’s the state of Peggy’s mind, after yet again watching Megan do things she feels herself incapable of—like escaping this career? Pete Campbell: worst person, or worstest person? And how in God’s name did Les spoil that landmark music cue without Matthew Weiner throwing him down an elevator shaft?

Cory: Les, you make some great points about our constant cynicism in relation to Don and his relationship with Megan. I’d like to say I wasn’t surprised by Don’s relatively calm, pointed reaction to Megan’s choice, but I’d be lying. I would guess that most of the audience keeps assuming that Don is going to do something to screw this up, which I think makes the character and this season that much more compelling and in many ways, intense. We keep waiting for that other shoe to drop, for Don to make a terrible choice or for him to be the selfish bastard we’re so used to him being. But at the same time, I couldn’t help feeling a bit proud of him while watching that scene with Megan. You always assume people who have disappointed you in the past will keep doing so until they consistently prove you wrong, and this might be a big stepping stone for Don proving to the audience that he is, actually, a changed man.

I know that a certain section of the audience wants Don to be the guy we saw in the early seasons and that character certainly has appeal, but I’m just as intrigued by older, wiser and less motivated Don Draper. But…those last few scenes keep our cynical hopes alive that something terrible is still coming around the bend. Don doesn’t understand what’s going on out there, and it seems like he doesn’t want to know. He has grown happy and comfortable living in the Mr. and Mrs. Draper routine that Ken loved so much. The uncertainty that now exists is not what Don signed up for. 

To your questions Andy, I’d love to start with Pete, mostly because I always love starting with Pete. I’ve made it known that the petulant Mr. Campbell is my favorite character, despite and mostly because of his selfish, oftentimes childish emotional reactions, but I have to say that this episode made me feel a bit of sympathy for Pete. There’s no question that he is making deplorable choices* and generally sulking through what is a pretty solid life. And yet, the degree at which he seems to have fallen into this sullen depression is, well, sad.

He wants to do cool Old-School Don Draper stuff like sexing up non-wives and getting classy hotel rooms, but even then, it doesn’t work out, mostly because he’s Pete Campbell, not Don Draper. His fling with Rory Gilmore is the epitome of that. Their first hook-up goes swimmingly, but Pete’s slimy clinginess instantly turns Beth off. Old-School Don knew how to play it cool and transfer his self-hatred into detached sexual debauchery. Pete is not cool, and he certainly doesn’t know how to detach himself from anything. And yes, this all makes him a terrible person. But in that final scene, with Beth leaving with her husband and Pete sitting in his car alone, I felt for the guy. For the first time all season, I started buying into the suicide theories.** Les, your thoughts?

*Weiner doesn’t even have to try that hard to make Pete’s adultery villainous because if there is one rule on the internet, it’s Don’t Mistreat Alison Brie or Characters Played By Her. 

**Of course, this episode certainly stoked that fire even more by having Pete talk about his life insurance policy. It has to be a misdirect, right?

Les: My regard for Pete has sunk to new lows this week. Who would cheat on Annie Edison with Rory Gilmore?! I mean, seriously. Has he not seen just how adventurous his wife is? 

But anyway, this was clearly not a good episode for Mr. Campbell’s personal life – which as you say Cory, paradoxically makes it a great episode of the show. Pete’s been fascinating to watch this season because as his star climbs – entirely due to his own talents at ingratiation and networking – it just seems to make him feel worse and worse. As opposed to Roger, who knows what he wants and isn’t shy about taking it, Pete’s never really known what he wants and tends to latch onto whatever seems most fulfilling at the moment. He wanted to be Don and pitch ideas to clients, he wanted to be Ken and publish stories, he wanted to be a partner because that was the big prize he set, he wanted Roger’s office because it stoked his ego, and now that he’s run out of things to strive for he’s realizing how little satisfaction he’s gotten from any of it. 

I’m starting also to wonder if there’s something more forcefully self-destructive in his behavior: Pete had to know what a risk he was taking by going to Howard’s house, and the closer it got to him wrangling that invitation for dinner the more I kept yelling* “Pete, no! Come on, no!” Maybe he wanted to be found out, to blow up his life and try to build something new from the ruins. Or it’s possible he knew that Beth wouldn’t show up to the hotel, but wanted to be there and feel that anger just for the sole purpose of feeling something. 

*Mad Men is great at those moments. Roger moving towards Megan’s mother, Don’s proposal in “Tomorrowland” – the show’s been around so long and spent so much time with them you really feel when they make decisions that seem so wrong at the time. 

That mention of suicide certainly felt as much like Chekov’s Insurance Policy as various mentions of his rifle, or Roger and the windows in earlier episodes. But at this point I’m half-convinced Weiner’s just toying with us. Mad Men‘s been playing this game for years now, much the same way it played with our expectations about Dr. Greg getting killed in Vietnam and removing that tumor from Joan’s life. I’m not ruling out the fact that the show could be building to this – and come season finale time we’ll be looking back and dumbstruck by how well it built to this in retrospect – but I’m in no way convinced it’s going to happen. (How would it happen, I wonder? Maybe a Roger/Pete murder/suicide pact, which caps off an entire bottle episode of the two in the office deciding to end it all? That would be bizarre, but I would watch the hell out of that.)

Andy: If there’s one thing that strikes me as more plausible for Pete at this juncture than suicide, it’s a failed attempt at suicide. Waking up in a hospital bed, saddled with pity and ignominy, having to pick up the pieces—somehow it seems like an even more appropriately morose outcome.

That, or he skis into a tree in Vermont.

Pete’s happiness will always be a façade, a mask he dons to smooth the way to whatever short-term gain he seeks next, as when he cons his way into Howard & Beth’s home. More tragic to me is Peggy, whose happiness is genuine but fragile. At times she really enjoy her station and her social circle—her easy way with a quip  (“Are you a really good skier? Like famous?”) betrays some small level of satisfaction. But she has to bust her ass to earn every ounce of it. How many times this year have we witnessed evidence of Peggy in her office well past sundown? And if it may not be what she truly wants, she’s hard-pressed to imagine what could be better.

When Megan announces that the ad game isn’t for her, Peggy’s knee-jerk defensiveness is the flip side of last week’s insistence that “This is as good as this job gets.” She’ll stick up for every tepid prize life has to offer, but recoil at the notion that they aren’t prizes after all.

All of which is a long build-up to saying that Elisabeth Moss has been positively killing it this year. Expressive, understated, always holding two opposing emotions in her head at the same time, puzzling something out under the surface. Not to mention that she’s displaying some of the most skillful comedic timing anywhere on television. (And given the bumper crop of deft comic actresses on the air right now, that is saying something.)

Guys, did you have any thoughts on the latest breaks for our favorite Pegasus*?

*Non-Animated Division. Because if we’re talking overall, she’s at least tied with Rainbow Dash. I THINK WE CAN ALL AGREE ON THAT.

Cory: Peggy’s arc this season mirrors Pete’s in many ways, but is certainly more muted and less…suicidal. As we’ve chattered about in previous weeks, Peggy has reached pretty great heights at the office. She is respected enough that the partners let her take leads on pitches, guide her own team and  more or less come to her when they are in a pinch. And I don’t think any of the respect paid to her is fake. Don and Roger really, really like Peggy. Unfortunately, with great responsibility comes great frustration, long hours and disappointment. That’s the slogan from Spider-Man right? In any event, like Pete, Peggy has accomplished quite a bit in a short time, and yet, she is still left wanting…something. Pete’s unsatisfied desires have certainly manifested themselves in more problematic and overtly terrible ways, but I’m almost more compelled by how Peggy has and will continue to react to her current circumstances. This week, she takes her frustrations out on Don, who doesn’t necessarily deserve it (nevertheless, that was a tremendous scene that both Elisabeth Moss and Jon Hamm acted the hell out of) and commiserates with Joan a little bit. 

I’m curious how you guys feel about Peggy’s desire to actually have this job. She started at the bottom and obviously has had all sorts of motivation to be upwardly mobile, but are we sure that she actually likes this gig? I’m wondering if Peggy’s frustration with Megan at least partially stems from the fact that she doesn’t feel like she has the gall to up and quit and find something she really, really loves doing for a living. With this season’s focus on the obtainment of empty dreams, I’ve noticed that so many of these characters never particularly wanted to be ad men/women. Megan’s an obvious one, so is Ken. But Pete, Peggy and even Don were/are in that position in some way as well. I’m not sure if this ties into the season’s focus on the personal over the professional or not. What do you gents think?

Les: To borrow Andy’s earlier allusion, I want to reemphasize my point from last week that were Mad Men and My Little Pony to join forces I would watch that show like crazy. My Little Peggy: Advertising is Magic! If someone hasn’t rendered fan art of this already, I don’t understand how the Internet works.

Peggy’s struggle with her feelings in relationship to her job has always been a great undercurrent of the show, and it’s been pulled to the forefront this season. We have to remember about her that she literally fell into this job – she had some ideas on the first season that Freddy noticed, was given more and more responsibility as Don saw them too, discovered a talent for office politics and copy-writing she never expected to have, and in it found her sense of validation. As she told Don in “The Suitcase,” “I mean, I know what I’m supposed to want, but it just never feels right, or as important as anything in that office.” I think this more than anything is the foundation of the quasi-friendship she’s built with Joan in the office – the two women are incredibly different from each other, but they always come back to the agency because this is the one place where they feel not just validated by their choices, but empowered by the fact they can make those choices. 

I think her dissatisfaction isn’t so much that she doesn’t want to do this job (she’s had plenty of opportunities to stop doing it, plenty of Draper rants that could have given her the excuse to quit) and more that she’s never been able to really justify or put into words why this means so much to her. She’s tied so much of who she’s become in this job that it’s an alien concept to her anyone else wouldn’t want it – her drunken ramblings to Dawn earlier in the season where she assumed Dawn wanted to be a copywriter too, and now her frustration at Megan getting out of it after she showed legitimate talent. Andy, you’re completely right that her reactions to Megan the last two weeks were yin and yang, and it’s completely unsurprising she didn’t want to go to the final lunch and celebrate the possibility that just maybe people can be happy doing non-SCDP work. 

But of course, her feelings about Megan are complicated by the fact that Megan replaced her as Don’s work wife, and the fact that now she’s apparently expected to fall back into that role. And that’s going to be a bumpy road, as we saw in the wonderfully cringe-inducing Cool Whip routine they did for Dessert King Mr. Belding. (The only way that could have gone worse is if Peggy intentionally called it Cool Hwhip to throw Don off.) Unlike Heinz, Peggy’s not a fan of the Don/Megan pitching team, preferring the old professional Draper to the new happy one, and this finally gave her a venue to get that frustration out there. The fact that she actually told Don off in front of Ken and a stranger was fantastic, and is forcing me to readjust my earlier theory that Don might be the one on the offensive re: her inability to run the creative department as well as he did.

Speaking of Don again, one moment I wanted to touch on: the moment where he tries to go after Megan in the elevator, only to be confronted with the empty shaft. Do we see this as a Chekov’s Elevator Shaft for later in the season? Or simply a Nietzschean moment of Don gazing into the abyss?

Andy: The elevator shaft fits with much of the visual symbolism this season has bestowed, at once both obvious and oblique. As yet another harbinger of death (and an indication, perhaps, of the direction the incorporeal soul will travel). As a manifestation of Don’s pervasive feeling that things you’ve relied on are no longer where they’re supposed to be. As one more reason to feel like the bottom has plummeted out from under everyone.

Which is why I feel like a near-death would be a more potent turn of events this season. Suicide feels like too clean a getaway for Pete (or whomever). Like you said, Cory, the personal is encroaching on the professional. Problems that everyone thought they’d have pushed their way out of by now are only becoming more intractable. And knowing Matthew Weiner, I bet it’s no coincidence this is happening as the quagmire of Vietnam creeps into everyday life.

Cory: It sure does seem like disappointment, depression and death are more pervasive this season. Just for conversation’s sake, who do we put the best odds on to have said death or near-death experience? Pete and suicide does feel too much like a misdirect, but could anyone else meet the Grim Reaper this season? 

And while I’m throwing out sort of frivolous questions, let me ask you guys this: Is this the best Mad Men has ever been? I’ve seen a couple of pieces and more than a few tweets suggesting as much recently, and it’s made me think. It’s pretty misguided to make those assertions in the middle of the season and Mad Men is a series that I can’t really pick out my favorites of anything. Yet, I’d still like to hear what you guys think.

Andy: This has been a stellar stretch, no doubt; I’ve been intrigued or invested by nearly every moment to air so far that didn’t involve Betty. Since it’s also the first time I’m watching the show live week-to-week, it’s hard to weigh it against previous seasons without considering that shift in my viewing experience. Still, when the series is all said and done and I’ve been through it at least twice, I think the odds are strong that I’ll register many of these episodes among my favorites.

As for a Mad Men death pool….if this were a Joss Whedon show, my chips would be on Kenny all the way. But if it isn’t to be Pete, then death may strike with a glancing blow, taking someone outside the core characters but close enough to them to provoke bouts of soul-searching. By that measure, Bert Cooper is a logical option.

Les: Like you Cory, I’m withholding judgment until the end of the season and we see what events have been building to, but this has been a tremendous string of episodes we’ve had the privilege of watching and talking about. With the exception of the fat Betty Francis arc in the second episode (which itself earns a pass for creating one of the most hilarious Twitter feeds of the year) there’s not been a dud amongst them. I think I’ve been enjoying this season more than season four, which I thought was the best and also the first time I watched the show week-to-week. In terms of individual episodes, I don’t know if I’d put any on the level of “The Suitcase” or “Shut the Door, Have a Seat” (possibly “Far Away Places” for its ambitious structure) but there have been a legion of moments that I’m positive I’ll remember when it comes to picking best of 2012 lists. 

I think truthfully it’s not a case of the show being “the best it’s ever been,” but more this is a show that the longer it’s on the better it gets. This is a show that’s built on its characters and their interplay, and the longer we watch it the more history gets amassed and stories become intertwined. Remember the utter hilarity of Joan bringing Kevin to the office, secrets and subtext beyond counting? 

Pete’s malaise, Peggy’s frustration, Don’s newfound happiness – we love talking about these moments because we’ve watched these characters for so long we know how they got there, and we can almost predict exactly how they’ll react when the next obstacle comes up. It’s been fantastic, and there’s been nothing this season to contradict an adage I’ve heard many people say: When Mad Men‘s on the air, it’s the best show on TV.
On the death pool subject, I still won’t rule out a murder/suicide pact of Pete and Roger, but more realistically I think it’ll be a secondary death that affects one character very personally with ripple effects. Maybe Abe gets killed while covering a riot, or Dr. Greg actually does step on a mine in Vietnam? Ginsberg’s father? Dawn’s brother? Lots of possibilities.

Cory: If Ken Cosgrove dies, we riot. Until next week, friends. 

Good afternoon all. We are coming to the end of our already-established Test Pilot themes and files, which means it is time to select some new ones. I have a slew of random notes and ideas scattered around, but I always like asking you folks what you would like to see covered in this space. Yesterday, I put the question out on Twitter and received some really fun, fine ideas. I have looked over those suggestions and my previous ideas and come up with nine possible theme ideas. I have listed each of them below and what I would like to do is hear more feedback from you. I’ve crafted a poll where you can vote for the three themes you’d like to see covered most. Please take the time to vote and share this with folks. Feel free to fire away in the comments below or at me on Twitter as well.

As I think most of you know, this has been an extremely crazy, busy time for me. Content has been sparse around these parts — something I promise that will change as early as next week — but I’ve still been lending my voice to various television-related works over the last few weeks. I just thought I’d take some time today and pull them all together in one place. And thanks again for sticking with me folks. 

Mad Men Roundtables 

Hopefully you’ve noticed that Andy Daglas, Les Chappell and myself are doing weekly roundtable discussions about this season of Mad Men. Two (on the season premiere and “Signal 30″) have been posted here, but the three of us are rotating “hosting” duties. Please check out our thoughts on “Tea Leaves,” “Mystery Date” and “Far Away Places.” I’ll update this post when this week’s roundtable goes live. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading these as much as we’ve enjoyed writing them. Update: You can now read our take on Sunday’s episode, “At the Codfish Ball” as well.

Podcast appearances

The content most damaged by my busy semester has been the TV Surveillance Podcast, which is basically on an official (I guess this makes it official?) hiatus. However, that doesn’t mean my podcasting days are over. Last week, I joined The A.V. Club‘s Todd VanDerWerff and host Jason for a very fun episode of the TV Times Three Podcast. The three of us discussed Justified, Mad Men, Girls and more. And this week, Mark Waller had me on an episode of The Blogulator Podcast to discuss my Test Pilot feature and pilots in general. I had a great time on both podcasts and I appreciate Jason and Mark for having me on. 

Discussing the end of House

Finally, my buddy Adam Wright and I exchanged a bunch of emails about the last string of House episodes, what we expect from the finale and what we want from the finale. Check that out. 

Test Pilot #42: CSI:

Debut date: October 6, 2000

Series legacy: One of the most popular, but not necessarily well-regarded series of the last decade-plus

Hey there, party people. Welcome back to the internet’s most popular discussion of television pilots, Test Pilot. We’re still early into our contemporary police drama theme. Before you groan or immediately think of David Caruso-delivered puns, I think it’s important to point out that not all “cop shows” are generic, lowest-common-denominator fare. The police procedural is one of, if not the, most dominant scripted format in the television industry. We like to think of the “cop show” with very specific terminology and iconography in mind, but countless series have attempted to mix up the general framework of the police drama. My hope is that this theme will explore five series that personify the innovative and complex ways to approach a cop show, especially in the contemporary era of television that is so-defined by basic procedurals (mostly on CBS).

Today, we move ahead with our exploration of the contemporary police drama with a look at the series that arguably has had the most impact on television in the 21^st century. That might make some of you vomit, but it is likely true. I speak of course of CBS’ CSI:, the long-running science- and technology-heavy crime solving powerhouse that spawned two very popular spin-offs, helped CBS become an even more dominant force in the aughts and shaped the face of the modern procedural. But of course, it’s not cool to like CSI:, especially in 2012 and especially on the internet. Hopefully my guest and I can interrogate the series’ influence, but also its cultural cachet as we continue down this road of analysis.

Joining me today is my good friend Adam Lukach. Adam is a journalism major about to graduate from Indiana University.  He is currently a job-seeking freelancer who has written as many as one articles for publications like the Quietus and VICE magazine. Adam is also my former co-editor at the WEEKEND desk of our school paper, the Indiana Daily Student. You can, and should, follow Adam on Twitter. Adam, take it away good sir:

I’ve probably watched more CSI: than a young man of 22 ever should. Growing up, I was confined by the shackles of antenna TV and dial-up Internet, which would explain why my two favorite series when I graduated high school were Grey’s Anatomy and Smallville. Yeah, you read that right. So there was a time when I would have called myself a “fan” of the CSI: franchise.

Cory hasn’t seen many episodes, but I might as well be collecting grey hair and my 401k I’ve seen so many of these. During my time as a watcher of such series, I’ve probably witnessed a couple dozen episodes each of these: CSI:, CSI: Miami, CSI: NY, Without a Trace and Criminal Minds. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that my favorites of these were Without a Trace and Criminal Minds, the latter of which I still watch on occasion (Shout out to Mandy Patinkin!).

Point is, the CSI: were always my least favorite in the wonderful world of procedural crime dramas. Maybe it’s because my mom likes Gary Sinise so much and I’m really sick of that guy. But it was very easy to notice the different elements of this pilot that have influenced later series, some of them good and some of them bad.

For instance, CSI:’s glossy animation sequences popularized their super-detailed, super-zoomed shots for the sake of the “science” of the show, so the viewer can “understand” what’s going on. Those are straight out of the House playbook, including its theme song, which would be terribly unfortunate to have lived without. It somehow made it hip, or at least allowable, to be ABOUT the violence on your TV show. CSI: touted its violence in a way that was cold and removed – strictly scientific, just like Gil Grissom. That’s how even a series like Dexter works it, from its intro to its human disassembly sequences. That Grissom-blood spatter with a golf club scene immediately conjured up memories of when Dexter used to pretend to do his job.

While Criminal Minds is pretty gratuitous on the violence front, it’s also heavy on the teamwork. Between that and Without a Trace, you could keep a pretty solid over/under of 2.5 life-threatening situations on the two teams each week. Death, or losing a member of the team became an easy way to raise the stakes. CSI:’s season 5 finale, the Quentin Tarantino-directed “Grave Danger” (puns!) did it best, burying George Eads alive in an epic two-parter. He lives to see 6+ more seasons. In this pilot, CSI: ups the ante quickly, predictably killing Gribbs by the end of the first episode, shaking up the team chemistry so that they much “pull together.”

People like to see challenges overcome, especially when it’s a team effort and they say cool stuff while they’re doing it. Playing out these relationships, both friendly and romantic, across the team became the show’s way of propping up its cold side, the one that emphasized science over emotion and weird deaths over watchability. While most of these relationships rarely went beyond will-they-won’t-they melodrama, like with Gary Sinise and the lady from Providence, they forged a simple emotional engine that helped relieve the perverse banality of weird, heinous crimes.

Its worst influences though, were also on parade in this pilot. I could barely stand the way the show aggressively asserted each one of its characters’ shticks – Grissom is quirky and calculating, Brass is the old vet, Willows is the cop with a heart of gold who loves the job too much. I had always remembered this version as a little more subdued, but it was a lot like CSI: Miami, which has long been best hate-watched. Their zippy dialogue contributes to this more than anything else – it’s the House syndrome of everyone always have something elaborate, snappy prognosis of the world for everyone else. I lost my shit when Grissom said “Alcatraz!” while he was peering in that microscope.

Having said that, I did really appreciate the energy that this pilot brought to the table. I know this is a little like having your cake and then deciding it’s not the kind of cake you wanted exactly, but so many of those spinoffs and adaptations are so tired and boring. CSI: Miami might as well be a parody of itself, try watching it sometime (ed note: please don’t). Even my parents hate LL Cool J on NCIS: LA, and they don’t even know who he is. Here they were almost a little daring with their language, making on-the-nose jokes about anal swabs and even using some profanity at times. The acting allows them to pull some of this off, as most of the main cast handles their soap-opera-like lines rather gracefully.

This last thing falls in line with their earnest set-ups, but I remembered at the end of the episode how manipulative the series could be. As soon as Gribbs started spitting about “not being a cop,” I knew she wouldn’t be with us for long. Surrounding crimes with grimly unfortunate circumstances or threatening team members became emotional tests that were an easy way to bring the audience back every week. Instead of fostering a true kinship with the characters or the story, the series preyed on your basic humanity. 

So in watching this pilot, I’m reminded of the many reasons I stopped watching these series, but also the many reasons I did for so long. I still love the crimes. The campy executions and ridiculous whodunit paths paved by science were always entertaining in a pure sense. But it is always ruined by the earnestly and seeming lack of self-awareness with which it presents its other elements that bothered me. The writing isn’t funny enough to be what it wants to be, and definitely isn’t clever enough to make up for any shortcomings.

Its influence is impossible to deny – it spans multiple genres and multiple decades. But I’d rather have the acting or depth of Criminal Minds (did I really just say that?) or the slightly more subdued Without a Trace. Even CSI: NY kept its dialogue away from Big Bang Theory territory. I recognize this wasn’t a comparison test. Having watched so many others, it was just hard to enjoy an example, and the root, of so many of the genre’s most loathsome tropes.

–AL

And now, my thoughts on the CSI: pilot episode:

You probably hate CSI:. I basically hate CSI:. The only people we know who do not hate CSI: are our parents, grandparents or that one uncle we actually talk to. You can see this coming, but, why? What makes it so easy to crack jokes about CSI:, or to automatically assume that the only people who watch it are old and out of touch? Twelve years into the series’ run, those jokes, assumptions and perceptions are ingrained, so why have they existed for so long?

These questions were important, albeit with sort of obvious answers, to me heading into my viewing of the CSI: pilot. I have been an active consumer of television for about a decade and producer of criticism for much shorter and I would like to think I have few blind-spots.* Yet, I have probably only watched a half-dozen full episodes of CSI:, and that includes all three projects in the franchise. By the time I made it into this game, the stories were already written about the franchise. Sometimes, it is too late or too hard to go back, and other times, there is just no reason to. CSI: certainly fits into the last category for me.

*Sup, animation?

In any event, as I watched the first episode of CSI:, my prior assumptions about our larger perception of the series was more or less confirmed. Generally speaking, I think we ignore, mock, dislike and perhaps even hate CSI: more for what it spawned and what it represents than for anything that it is within the text itself. Every episode of CSI: that I have seen (and again, that is not many, but still), I have enjoyed. This pilot, frankly, is actually quite fun, and a does a fine job of setting up what was-then somewhat complicated forensic science and the series’ cast of characters. I was legitimately surprised at how well this effort created the world, developed relationships and somehow even introduced some moderate stakes.

Is some of the dialogue awkward and forced? Yep. Are the events of Gribbs’ shooting and death a little manipulative? Yes. Yet, the sense of odd, clinical and detached cynicism I have felt with other episodes was not found here and like I said, the integration of forensics into the typical rhythms of the police procedure is handled (mostly) well. It is somewhat challenging to look back on those elements with fresh eyes because of everything that has come to us since 2000 (more than in a little bit), but the opening acts of the pilot provide a handful clear, concise examples of the team doing their jobs. There is nothing about the then-new process to the procedure that feels cumbersome to the proceedings.

Moreover, the introduction of the lead characters is strong. I have always admired William Petersen’s work as Gil Grissom and he is already locked in to the character’s low-fi quirk here. However, I was shocked to find how much I cared about the possible promotions of Brown and Stokes, which must be due to the work of Gary Dourdan and George Eads, two performers I did not think much of before this pilot. Their respective stories were straightforward, but the actors did a nice job of embodying the basics of their characters with ease.  

Finally, that aforementioned lack of cynicism really caught me off guard. The episodes of the series I have seen were much grimmer, and yet, the actors seemed stuck between delivering heaps of exposition and oddly-timed jokes. That combination never set well with me, and is one of the (admittedly many) reasons why I have stayed away from CSI: over the years. In this opening salvo, though, the characters seem like regular people interested in the processes of their job, but not entirely consumed by it. There is a humanity to Gil, Catherine, Warrick and Nick that I honestly did not expect.

Thus, while I do not want to go as far as to say that folks have misjudged CSI:, I will say that I recognize why people fell so deeply in love when it began, and might even be willing to understand why the series garnered a few Outstanding Drama Series Emmy nominations. Of course, both the series and perceptions of it have changed over time. Like many long-running series, CSI: has fallen victim to all sorts of pressures and problems that altered what was a very appealing pilot formula. Obviously, the popularity of the series and certain elements (the science, and perhaps the violence) brought forth the disease of more – more (and less believable) science, more violence, etc. The CSI: just watched in the pilot is not the same CSI: that made waves for doing an episode about Furries or the CSI: that made even bigger waves for letting Justin Bieber “act,” multiple times.

Plus, we cannot discount the slew of actor departures (way to stick it out, George Eads), the expansion of the franchise and simple aging as major influences on why CSI: is not an especially enjoyable series in 2012. I watched an episode this season because I wanted to see how Ted Danson would do in the starring role and it was boring and kind of miserable. That episode certainly was not like the pilot episode I just watched.

So, returning to my primary point: CSI: is one of, if not the, most influential television series of the last 12 years, and it is that influence that makes it easy to get frustrated about. Snobbier critics and commenters mock the series, the franchise and CBS as a whole for popularizing and formalizing a handful of important markers of contemporary television: the use of forensic science, the glossy style and visual pallet and the importance of teams working together, intellectually solving problems. The forensic science element has been discussed to death, and criticized by a slew of real law enforcement agencies, but the visual style and team style of case solving have been similarly prevalent and important. To this day, many series evoke the clinical gloss popularized by CSI: and even more still feature people standing around, bouncing ideas off one another until one of them figures out a solution. These two elements of course work well together, as the former helps the latter seem less visually “boring.” In short, CSI: substantially changed the shape of the television procedural, updating it for a faster-paced, shortened-attention environment.

Most of the dramas that have populated the broadcast network’s schedules over the past decade likely owed a portion of their lives to CSI:. Without CSI:, we would obviously not have the glorious CSI: Miami, the less glorious CSI: New York, fellow CBS juggernauts like NCIS, its spin-off NCIS: LA and Criminal Minds. But we also would not have had now-cancelled CBS programs like Without a Trace, Cold Case and Numb3rs or popular series on non-CBS networks like Bones, Crossing Jordan, House and even Fringe.

Ultimately then, CSI:’s shadow is much bigger than most of us who talk about television online were probably like. It is one thing for there to be one, kind of okay version of this series to be kicking around television. It is something else entirely for the entire landscape of the medium to be altered by it. As an individual series, CSI: is fine. But as a quasi-pioneer that reshaped contemporary television? Ugh.

Nevertheless, I would argue that the influence of CSI: is not all bad. Sure, it feels suffocating at times to look at CBS’ schedule or the slew of team-based problem solving elsewhere, but later series like House, Fringe and even NCIS have managed to integrate those elements into the fold without letting them run roughshod all over the narrative, the characters or the visual style. When managed accordingly (i.e. combined with good, appealing characters), the tenants of CSI: work quite well, even today.

So, yeah, you might hate CSI:. But there is probably something you watch that would not exist without it.

–CB

Series legacy: So influential. Problematic, but just so influential. 

I talk television with a lot of people. Friends, family, other critics on Twitter, vagrants on the street. I just love talking about TV. Because I don’t have the time and resources to do a podcast like I used to in college, I’m going to sort of replicate that experience in textual form in a new recurring feature. Basically, I’ll just exchange a few emails with someone on a particular topic. You’ve seen this kind of thing done tons of other places, but it’s something I enjoy doing so expect more of it here on TVS.

Hiya, folks! As you may or may not know, I am current in the midst of a period that necessitates I keep my television criticism to a minimum. But although I do not really have the time to fit much in, I cannot stay away. There are too many interesting things to discuss. That is where a feature like Chitchat comes in handy. After a handful of exchanged tweets, Wes Ambrecht, Andrew Rabin and I decided to pull together a more organized discussion about one of the most overlooked new series of the year, Battleground. Below, we talk the series’ willingness to try new things and why Hulu has dropped the ball promoting its first original series.

Cory: We’re here to discuss Hulu’s first foray into original programming, Battleground. The Office-West Wing hybrid is nearing the end of its first season, and although it appears to be fairly popular based on Hulu’s mysterious and unidentifiable metrics, it often feels like the three of us are the only ones on Twitter watching it. Frankly, that’s really unfortunate. I started watching the series on Wes’ recommendation and I was pretty much hooked instantly. As I said today on Twitter, Battleground isn’t necessarily a great series, and sometimes isn’t even that good, but it’s most definitely an interesting and engaging experiment. Throughout these initial episodes, the series has not only toyed with the documentary/mockumentary format, but also tried to mix and mash various generic conventions and themes as well. I think people view Battleground as a poor Office rip-off, and that’s just not fair. It’s certainly not as funny, or as heartfelt, but there’s a certain edge and, let’s say…muddiness to the characters and proceedings that I find really appealing. Wes, you obviously got me hooked on this damn thing. Why did you start watching? And why do we think no one else is really giving it a chance?

Wes: While most of the critical community was a buzz about Netflix’s dive into original programming, very few pieces have been written about Hulu and the steps they’ve made to enter the fray. Unlike Netflix, which made flashy buys like David Fincher’s House of Cards, Eli Roth’s Hemlock Grove and a new season of Arrested Development, Hulu chose to take a more conventional approach to development. For a few years now, they’ve been reviewing scripts and plotting a new direction. Battleground, which had previously been set up at FOX, became the centerpiece of that plan after creator J.D. Walsh self-financed a pilot and director Marc Webb came on board to produce.

A few months back, Hulu took the project to the Television Critics Association Winter Press Tour in advance of its February premiere date. Sadly, it is my understanding that few outlets actually attended Hulu’s portion of the tour, and those who did have made no effort to cover Battleground. For some reason, that made me inclined to champion the show. Thankfully, it ended up being quite good, because if it had been bad things would have been awkward.

The Office still has enough goodwill among young viewers that being branded a show in the same mold isn’t inherently terrible, but Hulu hasn’t done a great job promoting the show. They’ve run ads for the show on their own site, but they’ve done very little to bring in new eyeballs. So, to answer one of your questions, I don’t think people are writing the show off. I just don’t think they’ve heard of it. And, that’s unfortunate, because I REALLY like it. I think it’s smart, funny and willing to do things tonally that other shows simply aren’t. 

Take the show’s third episode “Hold The Whipped Cream,” for example. Although largely comedic for the first 18 minutes, there is an undercurrent of real drama to the events unfurling. Events that culminate in an absolutely heartbreaking scene involving Tak and his wife. Jay Hayden acts the hell out of that scene, and many more since then. He’s a real find. Andrew, what drew you to the show and how do you feel about its run thus far?

Andrew: I’d like to say I was drawn to Battleground because I went to college in D.C. and studied political communication, and not because I had a crush on Alison Haislip after several episodes of Attack of the Show! and a season of The Voice. So I’ll say it was a combination of the two.

As for how I’ve felt about it, I’ve been impressed. I knew little of the production team before hand and had heard of none of the main cast, aside from Haislip. Stylistically, I would have to disagree with the comparisons to The Office. Unlike The Office, Parks and Recreation, and any other mockumentary shows I can remember, the interviews on Battleground take place after the events of the entire season, if not later. This provides some interesting dramatic irony, and that differentiates it from the other shows. We know from an interview that Lindsey and Ben end up together before we even meet Lindsey in the campaign, but I think this enhances the story more than a generic “will they/won’t they.” Imagine how difference The Office would be if we knew from the start that Jim and Pam were married with two kids. We also know something is coming with Cole, although with only three episodes left, I’m not sure how we’re getting there.

I also like the focus on the campaign staff. The West Wing was originally supposed to be focused on the staff, with the president only making cameos. That didn’t happen, but even if it did it is not quite the same. Josh, Sam, CJ, Toby, and crew were all genuinely ideologically tied with the president. Here, outside of Jordan, these people are only working for Samuels because she hired them as political operatives. The press photos don’t even feature Samuels or her husband. This focus, to me, on being a political show rather than a government show, is much more interesting. It also leads to an ambiguous future.

Obviously, as Cory stated, we have no idea how many people are watching this show. By keeping all the episodes available for free, Hulu seems to be hoping that people will choose to catch up at their own rate, but we’ve all noted a lack of discussion of the show by critics and others on Twitter. At the same time, just this week Hulu announced their next slate of original shows, including three scripted series.

So I’m wondering where you guys think this show is heading? Is there a season two in the future, or should this be a single, 13-episode story? And what would you want that to be?

Cory: I think the lack of “big names” has most certainly hurt Battleground‘s ability to attract the attention of most critics. People know and like Marc Webb, but no really turned out to watch his (pretty fantastic) direction on the Lone Star pilot either. Armed with a cast of basically no-name actors, and it’s easy, though disappointing, to understand why people have shied away. However, I’m still a bit surprised, if only because Hulu is an important player in television and the idea of online-only original content is even more important. Battleground might not be Emmy-worthy, but it is certainly part of a sea change in television product and for that alone, it deserves more attention that it has been given. And really, it’s odd to me that Hulu hasn’t even tried that much to push the series. It’s not like Hulu’s afraid of paying for ad space on traditional media outlets, would it have killed them to throw a mention out there?

As for the series itself, you both make great points. I’ve been pleasantly surprised at how willing Battleground is to shift tones and focus more on the characters, or even the format, more than trying to get super-obvious laughs. This is definitely a comedy, but it’s not especially funny all the time, and I’d like to think that’s pretty purposeful. This isn’t a zany workplace comedy, or hyper-earnest ideological stump speech, this is a very realistic story that isn’t afraid to make its characters look terrible, flawed and not especially heroic. Tak is a compelling lead character because he’s all those things. We’re trained to root for him because he is the lead character, but the series keeps forcing us to re-evaluate what kind of person Tak actually is. He’s a massive mess of a person who can barely hold it together on a daily basis. This is a simplistic, base-line criticism, but I enjoy Battleground because the characters feel like real people, and this feels like a real situation. The stakes aren’t super-high, but they feel earned in the series’ world.

The most recent episode bent the mockumentary style by showing us a flashback episode to a True Life-like documentary about Tak and his father from years ago, and although it wasn’t an entirely successful experiment, it’s the sort of experiment a Hulu-only series needs to do. I mean, why the hell not? How do you guys feel about the characters and the small, purposeful risks the series has taken thus far?

As for the series’ future, I’m very, very curious to see what happens. I can’t imagine Battleground costs a whole lot to make and Hulu might be inclined to bring the series back as a way to evoke a certain level of “success” (one that, again, we’re entirely in the dark about), and yet, I’m not sure I want more until I actually see how the season plays out. It feels like they’re playing a bit of a long game with Cole’s prison jumpsuit and the lack of future talking head from Tak, but a lot of things could happen in three episodes. If there is a second season, I’d like to see the team win, and then move on to an even bigger campaign. Or actually be on opposing sides.

Wes: The point you bring up about a lack of big names is important, because it helped add to illusion of Battleground being actual campaign footage in the early going. Obviously, as this first season has gone on, we’ve seen more and more of Ray Wise. But, outside of him, it would be difficult for me to name anyone else without looking on IMDB. That dearth of big names isn’t something that would drive me away and honestly I don’t think it’s Battleground‘s problem either. People turned out in droves for Modern Family a few years back, and no one in that cast was really a name at the time. I really think it comes down Hulu not pushing it via traditional media. Maybe a spot during The Office or Parks and Recreation would inspire people to check it out. Neither of those shows is a tremendous tonal fit, but you could easily cut a spot that suggests otherwise to net eyeballs.

You bring up the notion of Emmy-worthy and, although it won’t be eligible, there are things about Battleground worthy of recognition. As I mentioned before, I’m particularly taken by Jay Haden’s performance, but the show is also more enjoyable and (quite frankly) better than much of what will be nominated. No, this week’s experiment didn’t really work but, like you, I admire their willingness to take risks. It was interesting to see where these characters were like 8 years ago, since their past decisions inform the ones they’re currently making. Unfortunately, had the special that served as this week’s episode aired, I doubt Tak would have allowed the cameras to film the Makers campaign.

Two weeks ago they seeded the idea of Tak joining a presidential campaign and, if that’s what season 2 is, I’m on board. Truthfully, I’m on board regardless, and I think Hulu is too. Why wouldn’t they want a 2nd season? It’s not as if the show brought them negative criticism. If they could grow it properly, they might have a cult hit on their hands. What about you Andrew? Are you expecting a 2nd season?

Andrew: I’m not totally sure where I stand on a second season. To be clear, this has nothing to do with the quality of the show or my enjoyment of it. I just have no interest in seeing these characters as a political staff for a theoretical Senator Samuels. Part of the problem is that I’m not totally sure how the timeline of this show would work. Assuming the season ends with the general election, would any of these characters really have a campaign to work on for the next year? Would they be able to skip ahead to 2014 in their timeline? 

The idea of a presidential campaign helps avoid this issue. Assuming the presidency is on the West Wing style 2 years off schedule (so presidential elections would be 2010/2014), them beginning a campaign in 2013 is certainly realistic. The question there would be what role this team would play. Tak, with a poor record in local elections, is not set to run a presidential campaign, but perhaps he could run a field office.

What I’d almost prefer, if the show is renewed, is almost a spinoff-style, with a focus on only one or two of these characters. We know that Tak and KJ have been in Wisconsin a while from the most recent episode, but I’m not sure we have much background on any of the other members of the campaign staff (aside from Jordan, who would be almost guaranteed to be gone next season unless they continue with Samuels). So as much as I’ve enjoyed Jay Haden’s performance, I’d almost rather see KJ (who we know has received offers) or Ben and Lindsey go off and run a campaign on their own, than see this team move together to run another campaign.

As for big names, I agree it may have hurt from a gaining-an-audience standpoint, but I agree it makes for a more believable campaign staff. As I said before, I knew Haislip from her prior work, but the role of Ali seemed like such a logical place for a “political Alison Haislip” to exist in that it never bothered me. That said, it would not surprise me if the candidate in a second season would be a bigger name, perhaps even a big enough name to follow in the footsteps of Alec Baldwin and Will Arnett as the advertising face of Hulu.

This brings us back to the origin of this discussion- why aren’t more people talking about this show? And, while Wes commented that more people were talking about the Netflix originals, the shows that have been most hyped (House of Cards with exceptionally famous talent and Arrested Development which obviously isn’t exactly an original) haven’t actually been released yet. On the other hand, Lilyhammer, which came out around the same time as the first episode of Battleground, has been talked about, if not as little as Battleground  than only a bit more. So Cory, do you think Battleground‘s problem are series-specific, or are people just not interested in full episode length, non-televised original programming?

Cory: As I mentioned, my desire to see a second season is also a bit…complex. Like you Andrew, I don’t really want to see the team stay on with Samuels, but you make a great point about how Tak hasn’t been particularly successful to actually make the logical leap to the presidential playground. Though, I’m guessing the show could try to convince us that a Samuels win plus more involvement from Tak’s dad could equal that sort of impressive promotion. I’d personally love to see him be thrown into a much deeper, seedier and more challenging race. I’m very attached to Tak (and Jay Hayden’s performance, as you mentioned, Wes), so I can’t picture the story without him. And yet, this is all very conditional for me thanks to the mysterious nature of the post-campaign talking head segments. I’m certainly curious to see how those play out, how they’d impact a future second season and even curious to see if the series would include them in said second season. If there’s a twist coming — and I think there is — I’m not sure if I’d like to see them try that again in a second go; if they do, it becomes like Damages, all about the twist and not necessarily about the journey getting there (although this story is far less complex). 

The possibility of a big name for season two is very intriguing, but not necessarily crucial. Ray Wise is a familiar, but not famous face, and I think the series could certainly cast someone at a similar level, or even a bit higher, for a theoretical second season. Now that I’m thinking about it, shouldn’t Battleground embrace its West Wing similarities and cast Bradley Whitford in a substantial role? I’d love to see him play Tak’s boss in a larger presidential campaign. But again, casting a big(ger) name requires more money, and it’s just so unclear (and unfortunate) how much this cost or how well it is recouping those costs. It drives me nuts that Hulu doesn’t release any sort of quantitative data to the media for series that are available elsewhere, but it feels especially frustrating in an instance like this. If Battleground is doing well, wouldn’t Hulu want to trumpet it via press release? We know that two dozen media outlets would copy-paste the damn thing in an instant, and that would almost certainly result in an uptick in baseline interest. I just don’t understand the business model here. 

On that note, I think Hulu is the most to blame here. As we’ve discussed throughout this conversation, Hulu hasn’t made much of an effort to get the series to eyeballs outside of its own HQ — which again, makes no sense considering they’ve been paying for ad space to push the brand anyway. Hulu has done an okay job giving Battleground quality time on the homepage and in ad breaks for other series, but that it’s hard for me to believe that most people are going to take a flier on a series that’s trapped between quick blurbs for last week’s Modern Family and the Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol “Now on DVD” nonsense. Perhaps they assume indirect association with things like Modern Family or The Office will help, and maybe they will, but I still struggle to see a clear path for making sure people watch Battleground. 

Andrew, you make a fine point about the similar lack of discussion about Lilyhammer. Netflix obviously took one approach to their forays into original programming and Hulu is taking another, one that is less expensive, but also less splashy. Netflix might lose a boat-load of money on House of Cards, but I do think that creating that sense of pre-release buzz is more helpful in garnering critical and media attention. Not to be glib and cliché, but if Hulu creates originally programming and no one talks about it, but does it even exist? 

It’s possible that viewers have yet to warm up to “online only” programming, if only because the previous iterations made us think of cheap, product-placement-focused additional content (all those terrible Heroes webisodes come to mind). In that regard, maybe Arrested Development ”season four” is the big, buzzy product that viewers need to feel confident that online only programming might be solid? Wes, what do you think about that?

Wes: I have to disagree with your assertion that Lilyhammer went unnoticed, Andrew. Netflix rolled out every episode of Lilyhammer at once and, for a brief moment, it was the talk of the town. They paid for billboards in Los Angeles to make their presence known to perceived competitors, littered the internet with banner ads and got a decent amount of press coverage. Considering how low their investment was on Lilyhammer, that’s impressive. I can only imagine what the campaign for something like House of Cards will look like.

Similarly, I don’t think people care whether the show they’re watching has a network home, if they’re watching on Hulu. It would be interesting to know how many of Hulu’s users actually know when and where their favorite shows air, but I’d reckon the number isn’t that high.

I guess the next logical question to pose is this. Do you think Hulu was wise to roll a new episode of Battleground out every week or is the Netflix approach of releasing an entire season at once more beneficial to web based programming?

Cory: I’m okay with the one-a-week schedule. Maybe audiences don’t care about where they watch programming, but there’s probably something to be said for the familiarity of the release schedule. And, theoretically, releasing one per week keeps the series in the minds of viewers for a longer period of time (though it also gives the series more time to leave their memories). That could just be me, though. Ultimately, this is an experiment, and really one of dozens that are going to occur over the next few years. I think we’d all love for programming like this to exist in the future, and I think the industry is headed in this direction, but it’s a challenge. We want online only programming, but we still need to be led there. Contemporary audiences are active, but still need a little help. It’s likely that Netflix’s buzzier projects will help Hulu and things like Battleground in the long run, even if those projects aren’t as good as this one.

Andrew: I have to agree with Cory here. I personally like knowing that on a Tuesday when I have a free half hour I have something to watch. Additionally, I think the best advertising this show has is between when it goes up on Tuesday and has the front page of Hulu, and when Glee goes up on Wednesday. If the entire series had debuted at once, maybe it would have gotten a bit more press at the moment (the AV Club did review the pilot, but that is about it), but by now it would be stuck in the depths of the Hulu archive between Pamela Anderson’s Stacked and the 2008 Knight Rider reboot (both available in their entirety, even without Hulu+!).

Still, as Cory said, this is just the start of the process, and an impressive first showing. Hulu, Netflix, and I’m sure eventually YouTube and others will continue to build on this. As for Battleground, it’s very good, even if it isn’t great, and at the very least it filled a spot that otherwise may have led to some “Hulu considering saving Breaking In” stories.

Hey all, it’s that time again. This Sunday’s Mad Men was one of the strongest the series has ever done, and the Barker Chappell Daglas Reviewing Firm is here to break it all down for you. Enjoy this, or Les will challenge you to a round of gentleman’s fisticuffs.

Cory: Les, Andy: Welcome back to the Barker Chappell Daglas Reviewing Firm. I don’t know if it’s just that this episode was Pete-centric, or that it was nice to get away from all those damn dreams, but “Signal 30″ felt like the most satisfying episode of the season, and one of my favorites in the series’ run. I think I’ve made it clear that I like my Mad Men with a healthy dose of Campbell, and this episode was a fantastic showcase for everyone’s petulant constant-climber. We had been given hints that Pete was extremely dissatisfied with his life already this season, most notably with his childish needling of Roger and the complaining over the office space, but “Signal 30″ brought us a full helping of Pete sadness. He’s taking driver’s training in hopes of gaining license, but more importantly, in hopes of gaining some freedom from what he sees as a closing window on his life. Beautiful wife, beautiful/alien-looking child and a new house. Apparently, none of those things make Pete happy, even though he spent a good deal of the last few years trying to grab them. Now, he’s making passes at teens in his driver’s training course and having (from what we could see, fairly passionless) sex with ladies of the night. So, Pete’s basically Don, three years ago. And to make matters worse, current Don is no longer sympathetic to either his own past mistakes or the ones Pete is replicating in the present. Gents, how did we feel about Pete’s descent into misery? And does Don really have the right to judge so harshly (if he is at all)?

Les: Definitely this felt like the most satisfying episode of Mad Men this season, and also – partially because of John Slattery’s direction – one of the more genuinely fun episodes of the series. In that vein, how much fun was the Pryce-Campbell bare-knuckle brawl in the conference room? (Roger had the best line of the entire episode in that context: “I know cooler heads should prevail, but am I the only one who wants to see this?”) That was a sequence where I honestly can’t feel too bad for Mr. Campbell, because as Joan observed we’ve all wanted to kick the tar out of him at various points throughout the series. 

We’ve talked in previous installments about our affection for Pete Campbell, but he clearly wasn’t much of an admirable figure this episode – I personally spent a lot of time yelling at him not to do something stupid by sleeping with the high school student he’s taking driving lessons with, because I could completely see that as something this character would do. Pete is, as we’ve said, a character who always wants more despite being in a very good position with his life, and this episode was full of Campbell moments where he’s just not happy with the world. He forced Ken to praise his new sound system, pointed out how pleased he was that Don deigned to come to his house, and when he wound up in a room with another woman only assented to sleep with her if she called him a king. He’s clearly fought hard to get some measure of respect – and in cases like season four’s “The Rejected” has earned it – but in his mind he’s always going to be overshadowed by the Don Drapers of the world, who can fix his faucets when his own successful repair work is just a coincidence. I do like the guy after a fashion, but he brought this on himself by insulting Lane’s value to SCDP, and personally I was right alongside Roger in betting on Lane over the “grimy little pimp.”

And as an aside, observations of an alien child? Spot on there Cory. My first thought was that evidently she and Gracie Bell Taylor are the advance forces for the hive mind which will eventually consume us all. Andy, thoughts on the fight or the role of the other partners in just letting it happen?

Andy: Give me a moment, I’m still sussing out which of the two of you I mean to challenge to old-timey fisticuffs. 

As you’ve both observed, Pete hit for the slimeball cycle this week (attempted statutory cheating, call girl carousing, coworker belittling, oblivious whining), and that’s usually a recipe for success* But everyone’s favorite incurable malcontent wasn’t the only one facing the sting of perceived failure. 

*I can’t help but notice how, on a night when much of my Twitter feed was discussing the “privileged-white-people-bitching” ethos of HBO’s debuting comedy Girls, ol’ Pete Campbell was putting on a clinic in how privileged-white-people-bitching is done, son.

And Lane – even if he too is a comparatively blessed individual who refuses to acknowledge the fact – at least has a legitimate reason to feel undercut by the world. As master of the coin for an agency on shaky financial footing, he’s constantly got to be the one saying no, shutting down the wants and needs of others. Here, he finally gets the chance to add some value, to play offense for the firm instead of defense. Yet first he’s mocked by a jealous Pete, who throws Lane’s penny-pinching proclivities back in his face. Then he loses his grasp on the account as quickly as he got it, in part because his new friend thinks he’s, er, quite unsuitable for a bit of proper whoring. (And why does one hire an ad agency in the first place if not for the call girls?)  

Emasculation is a common theme on Mad Men, and generally handled as unsubtly as it is here. But while it’s often presented as a symptom of insecure men who can’t bear to surrender a shred of their entitlement (as it is with Pete), I think there’s something more nuanced in Lane’s story. Even successful people need to feel like their lives have some forward momentum, some sense of accomplishment. Like the English World Cup team, Lane’s plateaued; even a taste of victory is fleeting and may never be repeated. Losing Jaguar not only because he’s too poor at schmoozing clients but also because Roger is too good at it, that’s a genuine setback for a man running out of chances to prove himself.** No wonder the man’s feeling bold enough to live out the twin dreams of the Mad Men universe: planting one on Pete, and then planting one on Joan.

**As opposed to, say, losing your teenage flirting partner to a suitor more age-appropriate…and way hotter.

Reverting to Pete briefly: Cory, you asked whether Don has any right to judge the guy, considering his own well-documented transgressions. I think that’s precisely why Don has the right to judge. I don’t think he means to shame Pete but to warn him. Much like another of New York’s finest products, Mr. William Joel, Don don’t like watching anybody make the same mistakes he’s made. Which once again presents us with a picture of Don Draper: Upstanding Dude. Guys, we’ve talked about whether or not Don can truly mature. Since that appears to be the case (for now), my question becomes: Can Don mature…and remain an interesting character? 

Cory: Andy, your point about Don is spot-on. I just recorded a podcast with a few fellow critics, and we discussed how Mad Men seems to be forcing us to consider how we actually feel about Don. This season, he has been placed in one familiar location after another where we assume that he will fold, and do the Don Draper thing (i.e. sleep with all the women, ever). Whether it is the backstage of Rolling Stones concert or the hot-spot of a fancy whorehouse*, Don has constantly avoided giving in to the urges that used to define him so strongly. He turns in to a young girl’s dad at the Stones concert and here, he’s entirely unimpressed with all the spoils around him. Matthew Weiner and company want us to consider how this Don makes us feel. We presumably want him to change and “be happy,” but those changes and that happiness might lead to the version of Don we’ve seen on-screen thus far: responsible, detached and a bit bored. Most fans probably want Don to be Don, which doesn’t fit with “happiness.” I personally think “Happy Don” is an interesting character, but I’ll admit that part of my interest in this version of the character is the waiting for the one moment where he fails. 

*PHRASING. 

And yet, even Don’s reaction to Pete and the suggestion that he’s actually just looking out for young Mr. Campbell, is a bit staggering to me. I don’t think Don’s ever had it out for Pete, but he certainly hasn’t cared about him in the past. Here, he quickly folds and attends the Campbell party (once and all proving that no one on the planet can resist Alison Brie or women she embodies) and gives Pete legitimately quality advice. WHO THE HELL IS THIS PERSON? I would love for Don to become this weirdly prescient mentor to Pete as the latter descends into drunken depression, or even crazier, what if Don helps Pete out of the tail-spin? Les, your thoughts on Don, Wise Old Man, and Lane’s issues in this episode?

Les: Quick clarification Andy: Marquess of Queensberry rules I assume, or are we carving it down to Fight Club‘s eight? I never get into a match unless I know how the game is played.

But anyway, Don Draper as interesting character/wise man? I think it’s certainly possible for him to mature and remain interesting, partly because Jon Hamm’s such a terrific actor and partly because Don’s got so much history and personal drama that deciding to settle down a bit isn’t going to take away what made him interesting in the first place. We saw an instance of that at the party in the little moment at the dinner where he found himself mentioning the name “Whitman” and there was a pause Megan (and curiously not Pete) noticed, and again when he mentions to the madam that he grew up in a whorehouse. Don’s sleeping around and self-destruction were symptoms of something deeper, and maybe Megan can treat those symptoms but that doesn’t mean the cause is removed. I do agree with you Cory that we’re waiting for the honeymoon to be over – as Pete predicted will happen – because Mad Men’s conditioned us to do so. But at the same time, why can’t he just be happy? People are occasionally allowed that, even in a universe as cynical as this one.

Truthfully, I think the fact that Don’s a more neutral figure means he could be an interesting center around which the inter-agency conflicts could bounce off of, of which there’s a lot. While last week we were talking about Roger’s personal issues being front and center, it’s now clear that Pete might be even more damaged. On Twitter several of our friends have been talking about the possibility that the latter’s emotional nadir could be driving him to thoughts of violence against either Roger or himself – it can’t be a coincidence that Trudy mentioned his rifle during the party and we saw it among his things when he moved to Harry’s office. Literal Chekov’s gun* perhaps? Pete’s not a happy person, and he’s now been humiliated by Lane even more than when he was passed over for head of accounts in favor of Kenny and his haircut. If anything, Don’s advice may be the one thing keeping him from eating his rifle, to find some new inspiration as he tries yet again to please his father figure.

*Yes, I know the Chekov’s gun is a facile argument. And also woefully esoteric. Fetching a rug now.

And despite bringing the pain on Mr. Campbell, Lane’s clearly not any better off emotionally. The tension between him and his wife over being expatriates has been around since he was introduced, but I have to admit I was very surprised by just how insecure he is about his own position at the firm. The show’s portrayed him as being as essential to running the firm as Joan was, but to see him so upset over not being able to close the deal with Jaguar and admitting he thinks Joan could do both their jobs seems a bit out of character from what we’ve been told. (I’m also pleased that my premiere prediction that something between Lane and Joan would happen has borne out, even if it’s a moment of desperation as opposed to a mutual hook-up – and one that Joan handles as perfectly and diplomatically as you’d expect Joan to do.) Does he really believe this or was it just a moment of weakness? Of the named partners he seems to be the most useful given Don’s disengagement, Roger’s apathy and Bert’s general air of obsolescence.

Once again, it seems like the only person who’s well-adjusted in this office is Ken Cosgrove, whose literary aspirations come up for I think the first time since season two’s “The Gold Violin.” How’d you feel about this spotlight for Ken, particularly learning he’s in Kurt Vonnegut territory and writing sci-fi during his off hours?

Andy: It’s always a treat spending time with Ken Cosgrove (Robots!), and his lovely wife who even Megan strains not to call “Alex Mack” to her face. What worked so well about the re-emergence of his literary moonlighting was how it contrasted with Pete’s and Lane’s malaise. Ken isn’t defined by his job or his stereo system. If his boss decrees Ben Hargrove go into retirement, that just opens the door for Dave Algonquin’s roman a clef. The very fact that he’s comfortable writing under multiple pseudonyms (his need for discretion aside) betrays a level of self-assurance that most of his day job coworkers can only dream of. Could you imagine Peter Campbell ever doing any work that he wouldn’t loudly insist on being hot-welded to the name Peter Campbell?

While we’re accentuating the positive, I’d like to mention a fleeting moment of encouragement for Roger, when he advises Lane on proper wining-and-dining techniques. Although he begins by casually acknowledging that he’s more a “professor emeritus of accounts” these days, he seems to recapture a bit of his old spark with the chance to pass on a nugget of Sterling gold. It’s probably nothing, but it might also suggest an alternate path for Roger. I’d love to see him acquire a more pliant protégé who would not only be grateful for the old man’s wisdom, but who could act as a proxy adversary against Pete. Hey, do you suppose “Handsome” Hanson is in the market for an internship?

Les: I’d like to think that Roger’s getting back in the game, but I think it’s more that he’s finally found people he’s in a position of authority over. Andy, it’s funny you mention Sterling’s gold, which was of course the title of Roger’s ill-fated attempt at a memoir. (“I always liked chocolate ice cream, but my mother made us eat vanilla because it didn’t stain anything.”) Roger himself invokes his past as “a fellow unappreciated author” when he informs Ken that this job should in fact be his all-consuming goal and forces him to kill his earlier pseudonym. After two season finales where he seems engaged at the adversity of a leaner agency only to come back more apathetic than before, I’m even more skeptical about his capability for change than Don’s.

This interaction also raises an interesting question I’ve seen a couple people bring up. We logically assume that Pete ratted Ken out because Pete’s generally a rat (and also very insecure around Ken’s success) but do you think it could have been Peggy? It seems out of character for her – especially given their pact to always work together when they can – but do you think she sabotaged him out of fear he might leave the agency?

Cory: I was ecstatic to see that Ken got something quality to do for the first time in multiple seasons, and I think Andy’s point about how his life contrasts with Pete’s (or Lane’s) is really tremendous. Ken has never really seemed that interested in his job outside of doing just enough to stay employed, and I really loved the moment at the Campbell dinner table where Don more or less acknowledged that Ken’s writing was a good thing. Even in the early seasons, I’m not sure Don actually cared that much about his career either. He’s always been chasing a feeling, or a life, that he never could quite reach. And while Don’s certainly good at his job and values work, I think he respects Ken and maybe even admires his desire to find something else. Especially now. This version of Don is all about finding happiness and sticking with it, and he recognizes that Ken has accomplished just that. And of course, Don might respect a guy with a fake name. Har-har. 

Lane’s issues actually weren’t that surprising to me. You guys mentioned the issues he’s had with his wife, but going back just a few episodes to the premiere, we can see that he’s just longing for something. Lane certainly isn’t as anxious or petulant as Pete, and yet, finding that woman’s picture awoke something in him, even momentarily. I’m not sure if this is a direct extension of that or not, but you have to imagine that Mr. Pryce expected a more exciting life when he took the plunge in creating the new firm a few years ago. The rush of that decision and the terror of the opening months of a new firm likely carried him through, but now, it’s sort of business as usual at SCDP, and apparently, Lane can’t really take that. 

I have two observations that I wanted to throw out there, one of which I believe we’ve already talked about in the past so I don’t want to belabor it too much. It sure does feel like that “the world,” (i.e. the events of 1966) are a lot more present in this season of the series. In every episode, characters are consistently discussing current events or directly engaging with them in ways that are somewhat familiar, but also new as well. It’s fair to say that the world’s changes are too difficult for even the most naive and ignorant white males to ignore at this point in 1966, but I’m curious as to what you guys think the narrative or thematic purpose of this is. Thoughts?

And secondly, it also seems like we’ve spent more time outside the office this season than in previous years. That might be entirely off-base, but the actual work being done by the firm and the power-players in it feels…less important. Two episodes have been built around parties, another featured Don mostly outside of the office at the Stones concert and in another, he was out sick. Is this part of Don becoming less focused on work and less central to the story, or is something else going on here?

Les: I think we can add a third to those seasonal observations, in that the time period of the show appears to be slowed down much more than usual. The premiere took place in June, and based on events in the show (Fourth of July, the Richard Speck killings, England winning the World Cup) we’ve now spent three episodes in one month when usually the show likes to jump ahead one to two months between installments. Are they trying to drag out Don’s happiness as long as possible before the collapse? Or do they just to slow down the clock so season six can be full-bore 1967?

As to the other two, I think you’re right Cory that the insular world of the agency has been disrupted by the intrusion of real-world events and Don’s own disengagement with the office. On a lesser show I’d say that they’ve just run out of material and are now trying to find something new to do after four seasons, but Mad Men is not a lesser show. I think the thematic purpose ties back to after four seasons these characters have been through a lot of personal and professional struggles, and season five is where a lot of them are trying to figure out exactly what sort of person those struggles have left them as. Don’s trying to switch his attentions from work to Megan, and that seems to be working. Joan kicked her husband to the curb and returned to be queen of the castle, and that seems to be working (at least in the brief glimpse we got). Lane, Pete and Roger are all still warring with that self-examination, and for the most part they don’t like what they see, hence the resulting insults and fisticuffs. 

So to that end, it makes sense that the show would be spending more time outside the office, as a lot of these characters are simply trying to find something new. And given how much is going on outside the office, it also makes sense that those real-world events would shape the way Don and company go on that journey.

Andy: I think you’ve both captured it nicely. The big temporal leaps between episodes has always evoked the quotidian passage of real life – things mostly happen the same way, one day to the next, such that weeks and months go by unremarkably. Slowing down this season may speed things up, underscoring the growing unease of people who can’t seem to turn on the TV without encountering one scary incident after another. And we know it’s going to get even scarier. After all, Nixon’s not even back in the news yet.

Les: Though he is still on the radar of some in the know. It was lost in the spectacle of the great Campbell/Pryce bare-knuckle brawl, but Cooper predicts (correctly as we of 2012 know) that Nixon’s lying in wait to try again. Maybe his people turn to SCDP a second time for advertising? Given that happens in 1968 – which would fit for the show’s seventh and presumably final season – that’d give an interesting bookend feel to the narrative, or show us how much/how little has changed in eight years.

Cory: Most definitely. In many ways, this season feels like one of transition. As Les mentioned, a few of the characters are coming closer to the life they want, and the others are working on getting there. Add that with the proverbial “changing times” around the characters and we have ourselves a really intriguing, and likely important, series of stories this year. We just need more workplace boxing. Until next week, gents. 

Test Pilot #41: Homicide: Life on the Street

Debut date: January 31, 1993

Series legacy: One of the most well-respected series of all-time, but still, somehow, undervalued

Hey there, party people. Welcome back to the internet’s most popular discussion* of television pilots, Test Pilot. We’re still early into our contemporary police drama theme. Before you groan or immediately think of David Caruso-delivered puns, I think it’s important to point out that not all “cop shows” are generic, lowest-common-denominator fare. The police procedural is one of, if not the, most dominant scripted format in the television industry. We like to think of the “cop show” with very specific terminology and iconography in mind, but countless series have attempted to mix up the general framework of the police drama. My hope is that this theme will explore five series that personify the innovative and complex ways to approach a cop show, especially in the contemporary era of television that is so-defined by basic procedurals (mostly on CBS).

Today, we move forward with our exploration of the police drama with a series that actually debuted before NYPD Blue and regularly had trouble stepping outside Blue’s sexy and dangerous shadow: Homicide: Life on the Street.

Joining me today is Eric Van Uffelen. Eric studied cinema when film production classes were unavailable, and so finds himself writing amateur movie and TV reviews when he has the time, after his completely unrelated but rewarding day job. You can view his stuff at http://51percentkidding.blogspot.com and follow him on Twitter. Eric, give the people what they want.

Thank you, Cory. When you wrote in the introduction to this theme in the NYPD Blue piece, of “so much promise and wide-eyed hope” that a beginning holds, I wondered if you had recently watched the Homicide pilot. Because when new detective Tim Bayliss (Kyle Secor) enters the Baltimore homicide division squad room, fresh off a two-year detail with the mayor’s security team, he embodies this sentiment, despite the grim realities that he thinks he’s ready for. Here he is talking to Lieutenant Al “Gee” Giardello (Yaphet Kotto) about how “This is where I’ve always wanted to be, you know what I’m saying, homicide? Thinking cops. Not a gun, this.”

However, Bayliss’s introduction to us, as audience surrogate / exposition device (which is rather subtle and underplayed, considering), isn’t how the series actually starts. It opens in a back alley at night, with detectives Meldrick Lewis (Clark Johnson) and Steve Crosetti (Jon Polito) looking for a shell casing. They’re alone, literally kicking through trash, with Lewis complaining, “If I could just find this damn thing I could go home.” They then come out into the wider crime scene, with uniform cops, ambo, nosy neighbors, and the murder victim. Crosetti observes of the work and the mystery before them: “that’s the problem with this job – it’s got nothing to do with life.” Then the victim’s name gets written in dry-erase red marker on a white board, and the credits begin. Let’s keep this opening, including Bayliss’s introduction, in mind – in red, pending – because I’ll come back to it.

Homicide: Life on the Street premiered on NBC after the 1993 Super Bowl. Its first season of nine episodes had already been off the air for six months when NYPD Blue came on the scene and dominated the water-cooler talk for procedurals. The second season of Homicide was ridiculously short – only four episodes, all airing in January 1994 – and probably did not gain many viewers. Season three, premiering in October of that year, finally got a full run of episodes, and the series went on for seven total seasons as well as a TV movie. But the series was mishandled by NBC throughout its run: all seasons but the fifth had episodes aired out of order, which led to egregious continuity errors; a character was killed off because he wasn’t “sexy”; it wasn’t promoted well and was regularly trounced in its Friday death-slot by CBS’s Nash Bridges (where are the criticism pieces on that?). Yet the series had a healthy critical respect at the time. The pilot won executive producer Barry Levinson an Emmy for Outstanding Directorial Achievement in Dramatic Series, and the series won three Peabody Awards. It seems to me, however, that these days the show’s legacy is often relegated to “what David Simon did before The Wire.” In watching Homicide again, I can tell you this is unfair, not only because the series has a plethora of its own merits, but because The Wire employed many aspects strikingly similar to ones already captured in Homicide (such as scenes lifted wholesale from Simon’s book Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets, filmic techniques, and the basis of certain characters and even their arcs), but less effectively. No, really – and I recognize, as is required by most TV fanatics, that The Wire is The Greatest Show Ever. It’s just that Homicide beat The Wire to a lot of punches, and it had better character dynamics, and it has the benefit of being a formative influence on my tastes and expectations in television.

When Homicide premiered, I was a junior in high school. I don’t think I really knew of the show until midway through season four, when it aired its first crossover two-parter with Law & Order [Classic Formula] in February 1996. I then came on board with fervor, because Homicide was certainly unlike my at-that-time go-to procedural L & O (which was reflected smartly in the clash between the series’ leads during this first of three crossover events). As I recall, I managed to mostly catch up with the show in syndication, on Lifetime of all places. By the time Andre Braugher finally won an Emmy for Outstanding Lead Actor in a Drama Series in 1998, for his last season as Detective Frank Pembleton, I was a diehard fan of the show, and Braugher was my favorite actor – in TV or film. As much as Secor’s Bayliss was meant to be the audience’s empathetic hero in Homicide, Braugher’s Pembleton was the electric powerhouse that hooked me.

Pembleton is smartly built up in the pilot: an entire table of detectives at lunch (eating crab, naturally) talk about him before he’s ever seen, creating a low-level mythos so that when we first meet him – midway through the episode, in a discussion with Gee about clearance rates and partners (he likes to work alone, remember) – we can believe his bravado and confidence. This is quickly and comically subverted when he’s paired up with Detective Beau Felton (Daniel Baldwin) and he can’t find their car in the police lot. Felton of course gives him grief. Despite Pembleton’s at first subtle anticipation of racism (saying of the cars he’s methodically trying: “you know how it is, they all look alike”), and then outright baiting Felton with the presumption of “I don’t like being in the basement with that nigger,” Felton tries to explain that it’s more about ego and expectations.

This handling of racial tensions (including parts of the opening scene with Lewis and Crosetti) is just one thing that the series handled with finesse. What is most striking to me about the pilot is the way in which the audience is essentially thrown in – the exposition is handled exceptionally well. Bayliss does not even briefly learn about his new co-workers and fellow detectives, though there is a brief tour from Gee: The Box (the interrogation room); The Fishbowl (the on-deck circle for suspects); The Board (where all the recent cases, open [red] or closed [black], get put up under the respective detective’s name). Gee also informs Bayliss/us how the division uses the primary system: each case has one primary detective and one secondary. Most of the rest of the pilot is four different cases, that four different pairs of detectives work on. That’s a lot of storylines and characters for any episode of TV, let alone a procedural, let alone a pilot. The eight detectives also include partners John Munch (Richard Belzer) and Stanley Bolander (Ned Beatty), as well as Kay Howard (Melissa Leo), who partners with Felton. (Leo was the sole female regular for a while, but by the end of the series there were multiple female detectives, and an even more ethnically diverse cast.) Everything we need to start is there. Aside from the cases and characters, there’s a distinct sense of place, since it was shot on-location in Baltimore, and the crime scenes, detective ride-alongs, and restaurant/bars help establish the world. There’s a feel of the look (shot on 16mm) and rhythm (a few instances of the series-constant three quick jump cuts are used for emphatic moments) that the show would maintain.

The focal point of the episode is Pembleton’s interrogation of a suspect, Johnny (Alexander Chaplin), in a strangling case that Pembleton, Bayliss, Howard, and Felton all drove out to, so that the new guy could see his first dead body. Bayliss becomes Pembleton’s de-facto partner, per his offer to Howard and Felton, “leave this rookie with me.” Nothing that I have written or could write can put across just how remarkable Braugher is, particularly in this scene in The Box. It’s his shining moment in the pilot. When Bayliss and Pembleton observe the suspect behind their two-way mirror, Bayliss says that he wants to sit in on the interrogation. Pembleton responds, smoothly, “Then what you will be privileged to witness will not be an interrogation, but an act of salesmanship: as silver-tongued and thieving as ever moved used cars, Florida swampland, or bibles. But what I am selling is a long prison term, to a client that has no genuine use for the product.” They enter and Pembleton introduces Bayliss to the suspect, nonchalantly dropping that Bayliss lives “next to the gas chamber.” Pembleton methodically has Johnny sign his rights away, and Bayliss is dumbfounded that it worked like that.

Pembleton gets his suspect to say what he wants him to say, interrupting him when need be, and never allowing him to properly ask for a lawyer. Look at Braugher’s face here, as Pembleton listens calmly, openly, sympathetically to Johnny’s story:

Hearing enough, Pembleton tires of toying with his prey and goes on the offensive. This happens in a moment – only a few seconds pass between the previous screencap and this:

“Johnny Johnny Johnny Johnny – Berger was strangled, huh?” Pembleton lays out the scenario for him. “You did a man’s crime, son, now act like a man.” Johnny cries and the confession is won, if coerced. Not only does Pembleton completely school Bayliss in how to break someone down, but when Bayliss confronts him out in the squad room (he’s at least smart enough to wait until then) about the suspect wanting a lawyer but being “tricked,” Pembleton lays out how the criminal trial might go down, because he’s experienced it enough times, and then when Bayliss naively pesters him with “what an innocent man would do with the same chance?” Pembleton goes off in one fluid moment: “What is that, what is that, what is that? Is that a line from your textbook, rookie? Stay out of my face!” Here the distinct staccato rhythm of the three quick jump cuts is expertly deployed in one uncut moment.

Beyond all I might rave about acting / character work, direction, editing, etc., the show’s strong suit is the actual police work itself – it doesn’t shy away from portraying how banal and dreary the work can be of solving murders. In a moment just before the end of the pilot, Munch, Lewis, and Crosetti commiserate about their work in Bodymore, Murderland: “It’s really getting to me, I wake up in the morning, I’m lying in bed, and I’m checking my own body to see if there’s a chalk outline […] Last year we had 325 cases, we solved three quarters […] it’s like mowing the lawn.” “It’s homicide, the one thing this country’s still good at.” When I watched the series while it was on the air, I never had a strong sense of “this will be wrapped up in 40-something minutes” that I did with other TV shows, especially procedurals. Homicide did not ultimately have the scope of The Wire (nor, despite Simon’s recent grumblings about ratings and fandom, the support of a premium cable network or an Internet community that could spread word-of-mouth) – any comments it made on the systemic problems of Baltimore were mainly through character moments – but that was not its intent, and it was still ambitious and daring. There were multiple-episode case storylines, strong character work (including villains), political machinations, domestic troubles of the detectives, and a revolving door of characters. Some cases were played for macabre comedy, some for aggravation at injustice and fatal randomness, and some for haunting, disturbing tragedy. It’s this last that we’re left with at the end of the pilot, when Howard prompts Bayliss to pick up the ringing phone and take his first case as primary. Even years later, watching this piece of fiction that I’d seen many times before, I still found myself saying “don’t pick up that phone, Tim.” But he does, and now it is raining, and Bayliss pushes his way through the neighbors and first responders, and there is a little girl in an alley, and it is a homicide.

This case, the murder of Adena Watson, would haunt Bayliss throughout the series. It worked to establish not only his character but also the methods of homicide detective work and the struggles of the job. Unlike his fictional contemporary from ER, Noah Wyle’s equally new and sympathetic John Carter, Bayliss never disappeared from the show, and so Homicide was able to build a clear arc for him, showing how the work changed him over the years. The series finale, in May 1999, focused on Bayliss, as he reflects on his start in the homicide division and all of the difficulties he’s faced (which were significant, but I won’t spoil them), as well as the current challenges. There are direct callbacks to the pilot through dialogue and imagery. Now to come back to that opening scene – what follows is a slight spoiler (no plot points are mentioned), but I think in calling for someone who’s seen the whole series for this entry in Test Pilot, this is something I couldn’t leave out: in the last scene of the series finale, we again find Detective Lewis, in an alley at night, looking for a shell casing. He remarks to his new partner, Rene Shepard (Michael Michele) “If I could just find this thing, I could go home.” She offers, “Life is a mystery, just accept it.” Then Lewis, echoing the words of his old partner, declares “Yeah well that’s wrong with this job – it ain’t got nothing to do with life.”

When this aired, I was just about to turn 23, and I still had my collection of VHS tapes that I had recorded from the syndicated airings, but I didn’t need to review the first one. I remembered the significance of the dialogue and imagery, but I knew that this wasn’t a cyclical return – a neat little bow tied on a complicated series lasting 122 episodes – it was a comment on the continuum of death, of the unglamorous, never-ending work that goes into seeking justice for those who can’t speak for themselves.

– EV

And now, my thoughts on the Homicide pilot, which will be less about the actual nitty-gritty details of the episode since Eric did such a wonderful job of exploring them:

When I was younger, and knew very little about television (or the world), I thought Law & Order was the best television series that could have ever existed. This is mostly because my parents loved Law & Order and watching the series, even in its early years, was something of a family ritual. As you do, I grew comfortable with the narrative and character conventions of L & O, which were easily consumable even for someone at my young age. Then, at some point, I found my dad watching an episode of Homicide. I still remember bits of the episode (Pembleton interrogating the hell out of someone, most notably), and I definitely remember how surprised as was to find that there was something else out there, a television series about cops interested more than just the boiler-plate formula. Clearly, at like seven years old, I didn’t know exactly what made Homicide “different” than Law & Order. I just…knew.

Although I never really got hooked on Homicide after that moment (again, I could barely do multiplication at this time, let alone stay invested in a grimy story about rough detectives), that single feeling has always stuck with me, and made me want to get hooked on the series. After watching the pilot episode, “Gone For Goode,” I’m happy to report that seven year-old me wasn’t as big of an idiot as I thought. This opening episode is a complicated, but not confusing. It has an edge to it, but it certainly isn’t trying too hard to be “dark.” The cases and the procedures matter, but the script gives the characters moments to shine amid those more traditionally appealing portions of the episode. “Gone For Goode” is, simply, a fine introduction to a group of characters, a world, and perhaps most importantly, a worldview.

Police dramas often attempt to explore the continuum of experiences and responses to the job by stuffing the cast with types: the new guy, the wily veteran, the borderline crazy one, etc. What I like about the beginning of Homicide is that the characters quickly exist in more complex spaces. As Eric astutely mentioned, the police work is both important to the series and to the characters themselves, but there’s also a sense that it’s wearing on some of the vets, and not just in a “I’m getting too old for this shit” Hollywood-like way. The Wire gets lots of credit for portraying a “realistic” portrayal of how detectives interact with not only one another, but criminals and crime scenes, but that’s certainly very present in the first episode of Homicide as well (and leads me to believe that Eric’s pro-Homicide agenda isn’t entirely insane).

What I found so impressive about this pilot (and the other, later episodes of Homicide I’ve randomly seen over the years) is how well Paul Attanasio’s script balances the procedure and the character. I love Hill Street Blues, but I would argue that the series’ first season (the only one I’ve seen) works so well because it steps away from the procedure so it can tell intriguing character stories. The procedure is certainly less important. Even NYPD Blue is more character-focused, at least in the pilot. And on the other end, we have the procedure-obsessed L & O. But of all those, Homicide manages both ingredients of the police drama the best. The job matters, but the pilot creates situations where we learn about the people as they do the job. That doesn’t always work, but it does here.

There are obvious strengths here, most of which Eric pointed out and I don’t need to go over in much detail. The performances are very, very strong. Andre Braugher is clearly the stand-out worker, but I also really enjoy Clark Johnson and Melissa Leo’s performances as well. Across the board, Homicide feels like a world full of real people, doing real jobs. Barry Levinson’s direction is another integral element of this opening episode. The on-location shooting certainly helped matters, especially considering said shooting took place in Levinson’s hometown, but I loved how the director established a very specific world, both inside the precinct and out and about in Baltimore. Both Law & Order and NYPD Blue work wonders with New York City, but I have to admit, I’m more partial to the working-class stylings of Baltimore. And finally, although not as apparent as it was in the NYPD Blue pilot, the editing here is quite strong and purposefully used.

It makes sense to me why NYPD Blue was more popular with mainstream audiences: It is flashier, louder, more overtly stylish and in-your-face-shocking. By just looking at the pilots, you can tell that Blue and Homicide are two different series interested in telling somewhat similar stories from different perspectives. Whereas Blue presents us with a dramatic representation of the impact detective work can have on someone (such as Sipowicz’s drinking and whores problem), Homicide is more concerned with the smaller ways in which the job takes over the life of a detective.

What is curious to me about Homicide is its place in history. I know that I mentioned that to a younger member of the online television criticism field, NYPD Blue feels left out, but that sentiment only applies more with Homicide. It would be hyperbolic and misguided to say that a series that was showered with Peabodies, Emmys and TCAs has been forgotten by history. However, the series definitely fell through the cracks when it was on the air and has arguably continued to do so, even amid an era of Netflix queues, DVD collections and Classic Rewatches. I have to imagine that a number of folks have turned to Homicide once their Wire fixes were satiated, but as Eric suggested, the comparisons between the two often give the upper-hand to David Simon’s newer (and some would say purer) vision  of crime in Baltimore.

Moreover, if we look at the contemporary television landscape, there isn’t much of Homicide to be seen. Clearly, Law & Order’s influence shines brightly on today’s police dramas, especially on the broadcast networks, but I would argue that certain stylistic conventions (most notably the editing and sound) from NYPD Blue are still kicking around on current television. If we trace the trajectory of the police drama over the last 30 years, we tend to focus on Hill Street Blues, Law & Order and then CSI:/NCIS. And in many ways, we’ve learned to split the genre into two specific forms: the character-focused series like Hill Street Blues or to use something more contemporary The Shield, or the procedure-focused series like L & O and CSI:. Unfortunately, Homicide just happens to fall directly in the middle of those two poles, which is often a recipe for lukewarm mainstream reaction (not to belittle “typical” viewers).

No police drama I’ve watched has nailed the balance between procedure and character like Homicide,* and I’m wondering if audiences are just primed to expect a whole lot of one or the other, or at least expect that the stream of “character detail” be given in specific contexts amid the typical rhythms of procedure (special episodes, finales, etc.) or “plot” to happen around tons of character development, depending on what version of the contemporary police drama we’re discussing. By falling outside of those obvious boxes, Homicide doesn’t have much of a tangible legacy to stand entirely on its own (again, the connection The Wire is important, but that series typically supersedes everything else when discussed).

*The one current series that comes close to striking this balance is TNT’s Southland, which has a really strong core of characters. But even there, the focus has become less on the actual *doing* of the police work and more on just watching it unfold. I guess perhaps, then, it is no surprise that Southland struggled to find an audience and has almost been canceled a few times now.

–CB

Conclusions on legacy: Even more overlooked than NYPD Blue, and perhaps just as worthy of the praise that David Simon’s other baby receives

I talk television with a lot of people. Friends, family, other critics on Twitter, vagrants on the street. I just love talking about TV. Because I don’t have the time and resources to do a podcast like I used to in college, I’m going to sort of replicate that experience in textual form in a new recurring feature. Basically, I’ll just exchange a few emails with someone on a particular topic. You’ve seen this kind of thing done tons of other places, but it’s something I enjoy doing so expect more of it here on TVS.

Hiya, folks! As you may or may not know, I am current in the midst of a period that necessitates I keep my television criticism to a minimum. But although I do not really have the time to fit much in, I cannot stay away. There are too many interesting things to discuss. That is where a feature like Chitchat comes in handy. This week, I exchanged a bunch of emails with my good buddy Noel Kirkpatrick about the second half of The Good Wife’s third season. We discussed the series’ strong string of spring episodes, our favorite guest stars and Alicia’s path to independent woman. Enjoy.

Cory: Noel, the two of us discussed The Good Wife‘s third season way back in the fall, after I think only three episodes. Since then, the series has burned through a lot of different stories, to varying degrees of success (at least in my opinion). But each one of the last handful of episodes has been fantastic, and so I wanted to check in with you and see if you’re feeling as great about TGW as I am. I know we were both a little skeptical of the series’ new direction at the beginning of season three, and apparently that’s something the Kings were cognizant of as well, but everything is firing on all cylinders now. How are you feeling about The Good Wife now, as we enter into the final stretch, and what (if anything) do you think changed that brought the uptick in quality? 

Noel: Thanks for having me back for a follow-up on TGW as we head into the final hours of the season. 

As you mention, we were both a bit underwhelmed with the initial episodes of this season. The case weren’t great, and Celeste (remember Celeste? Because I had completely repressed her, and I think the Kings did, too!) was bogging down Will in vague ways, supposedly being a threat toward Alicia, forming some silly half-baked love triangle. And then the season just became a bit of a blur to me. Part of this is that I stopped writing about the show for bit (episodes 6 through 9, an eternity in episode-by-episode reviewing time), and part of it was just…the show slowly spinning things into place for the second half of the season. There’s nothing wrong with that, really, but it does make some episodes just kind of fuse together.

But then around the winter hiatus, with “What Went Wrong”, things began falling into place. That looming threat of an investigation into Lockhart/Gardner was given a nice twist and a stronger antagonist than Peter (who is good, but not great, too close to things), there was a good case of the week (Hi, Romany Malco! I miss you!), and Alicia got angry at Cary about what he did with Kalinda (that weird shell game).

But things have generally gotten better since that episode. I firmly believe that Will being suspended was the best thing that ever happened for the show since it has given so much more time to Diane and the wonderful other characters at Lockhart & Associates, and made the fallout of that investigation arc have more impact than I think I (we?) initially thought it would. 

And the show has, since that episode, also steadily upped the troubles for Alicia in really great (and not-so-great) ways, including the recent struggles with the house, the Caitlin thing (which is something I think we should discuss), her slowly thawing relationship with Kalinda (I loved her yelling at the laptop in “Blue Ribbon Panel”) and how Alicia sees herself as, and is treated as a professional woman.

Cory: Holy hell, I completely forgot Celeste. Yeah, from the beginning it felt like the season lacked something, which I ultimately realized was a larger conflict for Lockhart/Gardner. The Kings did a nice job of explaining this in that interview with Jace, but the series works a lot better when there are outside threats on the office to go along with Alicia’s personal problems. This is partially because the series likes to take its time with Alicia’s life issues (a tactic I appreciate quite a bit) and because the series has a shockingly deep stable of supporting characters that come into play with the firm is in upheaval. The lack of firm-related conflict impacted most of the characters: Eli was mostly aimless. Diane was sidelined. Most of the Will stories were also Alicia stories, and therefore personal stories. I love Alicia, I think she is one of the best characters on all of TV, but The Good Wife works best when everyone else has something to do as well.

What is really interesting to me is how loose and even directionless this season seemed for so long, until it just suddenly didn’t. You mentioned Celeste, but there was also that random love interest for Cary that quickly went away (because the actress got another gig, I think). The Cheese Lobby was a bit too cutesy for me. “Everybody’s Attracted to Kalinda” stories are a bit tired at this point. And even Will and Alicia’s relationship wasn’t that interesting. I love the Kings because they’re willing to try new things and TGW is somewhat underrated for its ability to reinvent itself on the fly, but sometimes, trying new things doesn’t work. 

But you’re right, the case against Will and its impact on the firm gave the season the macro-plot engine it needed. Even so, I kind of wish the whole “case” itself would have taken longer (and I think a lesser series would have dragged it out much further), but watching Wendy Scott Carr fail miserably is always something I’ll root for and everything since Will got temporarily disbarred has been wonderful. The series has been able to have its cake and eat it to with Will’s new situation, but they’ve also knowingly reveled in that. Any scene involving Will skirting by the rules of his new predicament is an instant favorite of mine. As you suggested, the story pivoted nicely to give us great Diane material (has Christine ever been more likable than she is on this series?) and provided the series’ patented inner-office drama. I really love how the writers give us quality character-based stories (like Diane Getting Her Groove Back a few weeks ago) without diving too deep into them or taking away from larger concerns. Few series have as many balls in the air, but The Good Wife has juggled them quite nicely in 2012, after struggling earlier. 

You mentioned Caitlin, and I think that character is a great example of how the series handles supporting characters, both positively and negatively. Caitlin was obviously set up to be antagonist (I thought both professionally and personally, since she kept going to Will with so many questions) for Alicia, and then she wasn’t. On one hand, I love how the series allows characters to exist in this world in short order, wherein they serve a temporary purpose and then leave L/G (but aren’t forgotten), because that’s how real life works. But at the same time, I was a bit disappointed to see Caitlin go. Alicia needs to be pushed at work and because of the character’s centrality to the narrative, she often comes off as perhaps more successful or prominent than she actually would be, if this were a real firm. Putting her in a situation where she’d have to compete a bit, and also recognize how she’s improved in three years, was really interesting to me. I understand the parallels the writers were trying to make with Caitlin and her decision, especially since it paired with Alicia’s home-buying, but that felt like a moderately missed opportunity, if only because the character worked so well up to that point. 

How did you feel about Caitlin’s place in the story, and what’s your take on Alicia’s personal arc this season?

Noel: See! I feel horrible that I had forgotten about Celeste because she’s LISA FRIGGIN’ EDELSTEIN, and I love her, Cory. She and I will get married and have kids and ship them off to boarding schools and live happily ever after. But, gawd, awful character. Anyway.

Like you, I also appreciate the slow burn of Alicia’s personal stories, getting to your question at the end of your last reply. It’s funny that I never think about it too deeply because it doesn’t quite have the whiz-bang-pow of the law firm plots, but when you step back from that and focus on it, I think it’s always very elegant and well-developed. This season has seen Alicia navigating waters a bit more independently and dealing with those ramifications. She’s had an affair, she’s keeping her kids happy (apart from their jaunts with YouTube ministers, they’re incredibly well-adjusted youngsters), she’s trying to advance her career, she doesn’t have any friends (except the MIA Owen), and is now buying her old house.

The house purchase is perhaps the most interesting one, aside from her slow re-establishing of a relationship with Kalinda. Alicia clearly wants the house back, and I’m not entirely convinced I know why, but I don’t think she knows why either. Is it a desire for simpler times in her life (what did you think about those flashbacks? I loved them) and a belief that it will make her happy again? I think this must be it, between the end of her affair with Will and her struggles at the firm, she needs a return to something positive and lovely, and that house is those things for her.

But as the house plot digs in deeper (How delicious was the return of Jackie, who has been gone for so long and then just swoops in and takes the house?), I feel like it’s connected to the events of “Long Way Home.” Alicia sees Caitlin and Colin Sweeney going off to their little nuclear families, however twisted they may be in the case of the latter, and it makes her nostalgic for a life she used to have (as you note yourself), a life that isn’t possible any longer, really. And with a lack of female role models in her life, apart from Diane, she has few options to figure out her life at this point.

What did you think about Caitlin decision? I saw some anger about it and its post-feminist implications, and was curious as to your thoughts. I grapple with it since I know women who have made this choice, or will make this choice, and as Diane noted, the glass ceiling as broken so it was a choice and not a default position. At the same time, I am frustrated by it since Caitlin is only able to make this choice because her husband. Alicia cannot stop working to maintain her kids happiness (I’m not even sure she wants that, really), but I think she longs to have a choice, any choice at this point, and maybe the problem is simply that Alicia cannot make one, and that’s why she’s (potentially) so frustrated by Jackie snapping up the house.

Tossing out three questions for you: 1) What do you think about Cary this season so far? We talked about him a little bit last time (I think), but I’m curious as to how you feel about him so far. My love of him is no secret. 2) You mention guest stars and supporting characters, and what a deep bench the show has. Who is your favorite? Whose presence do you dread? 3) We talk a lot about writing and acting with TV, but only sometimes about directing and visuals. I have really been loving the aesthetics of the show lately. What about you?

Cory: Alicia’s journey is, like you mentioned, secretly engaging. This season, going all the way back to that, uh, awesome, poster, has been all about Alicia’s growing independence, but the story has gone a lot deeper (without being that flashy) than a new haircut and some steamy sex. Although I wish that her relationship with Will lasted longer (I tend to feel that way with so many of the series’ stories, apparently), cutting it short made a lot of sense, both in the aftermath of the issue with Grace, and for the larger. So much of the first two seasons was about Alicia dipping her toes in pools she always wanted to swim laps in, and a relationship with Will was the ultimate pool, one of those Infinity pools or something. The temptation was overwhelming, but as these things often do, the realities of a relationship with Will weren’t exactly like the dreams of a relationship with Will. Not that either of them was really at fault in the break-up. Will didn’t do anything wrong, but once Alicia went “there” with him, it complicated things instead of solving them. 

But even in that break-up, Alicia made the choice. She was an active participant in her own life, and I think that’s been a big theme this season (and one that carried over from the tail-end of last season for sure). She wasn’t just going to let Kalinda off the hook (as stubborn as that might be at this point). She wasn’t going to let Peter slink his way back into the family. She wasn’t going to let Caitlin take her spot and she wasn’t going to keep working at L/G if she thought she was underpaid. Even in “Blue Ribbon Panel,” she stood up, both for herself in the panel itself and for Kalinda in the faux-IRS investigation. I love how this season has been about Alicia, independent woman without being about Alicia, INDEPENDENT WOMAN. 

With that in mind, the house story confounds me, and not necessarily in a bad way. You make a great point about nostalgia and the timing of the decision (not to mention the fact that she’s basically being forced out of her current spot), and I don’t think Alicia is aiming to explicitly reconnect to her old life. Instead, she sees the possibility of returning to that house as a way to bring back the good memories, while still flushing away the bad ones. She wants to do this for her kids and it’s something “old Alicia” couldn’t have done. So even though buying this house might be slightly regressive on the surface, it plays like just another way that she’s asserting control over her own life. She wants to buy that house and that’s all that matters. 

If we’re making considerations for larger gender relations, Caitlin’s decision was certainly…curious. Like I said, I was disappointed to see her go because of the potential I saw in the character and looking at her choice through the prism of feminism makes it more troubling. I’m not qualified enough to speak about post-feminism, but I do think the series could have handled it a bit more elegantly. They tried to cover their tracks and did fine with that attempt, but I see where the outrage came from — especially since she seems so adept at her job. Obviously, it’s not one thing or the other for women, the whole thing just felt very sudden. Again, that’s how real-life works (I guess), but the criticisms are valid in my eyes.

To your questions (there are so many): I’m with you, I adore Cary. He’s gotten lost in the shuffle just a bit this season, but any time we spend time with him, good things happen. The Kings and Matt Czuchry don’t get enough credit for taking Cary from primary antagonist to morally-centered, basically heroic supporting character. I don’t really care about his various flings but the way he fell on his sword with Peter a few weeks ago was a great moment for a character who seemed entirely interested in rising through the ranks and self-preservation when we first met him. I think he and Alicia need more scenes together though, right?

The guest stars on The Good Wife are unbelievable. I don’t think that’s hyperbolic word choice at all. The obvious ones are right there, and have been around lately: Michael J. Fox, Dylan Baker, Gary Cole, Paker Posey and Carrie Preseton. I’m not sure any series on TV right now (or over the last five years) knows how to seamlessly fairly high-profile performers into its world without being distracting at all. The guests don’t just come on and play their public personas (or go the SVU, Criminal Minds or CSI: route where they play the opposite of their persona), they actually, you know, act. The recency effect might be taking over here, but Matthew Perry was great in “Blue Ribbon Panel.” After two minutes, I immediately wanted him to be a series regular. Can’t his character try to buy the firm? Or make Cary a partner at his firm? Something. Perry is a lovely comedic talent, but he’s just as a good of a dramatic performer. It’s simply a shame he hasn’t had better luck. Who are your favorites from this season? And do you think there’s any law of diminishing returns with the regular guests like MJF or Dylan Baker?

Honestly, I haven’t really noticed any specific visual moment lately. Not that the series isn’t great-looking (because it is), but nothing comes immediately to mind. You asked the question, what were you thinking? Maybe it will jog my memory. 

Noel: You provide a nice correction of my notion that Alicia hasn’t had, or even made, choices by mentioning, well, ALL THE CHOICES she’s made so far. Smarty pants. My lack of thinking on these issues is that Alicia is making these choices in a really subtle manner, going to your idea of “Alicia, independent woman” as opposed to “Alicia, INDEPENDENT WOMAN.” I do wish we got a bit more of Alicia, devious lawyer, like we did in the premiere and how I like to read her situation of playing Diane off against Louis (or vice versa, or whatever). But she’s also not very good at be conniving. (Luckily for us, everyone else around her is.)

I do agree that Caitlin’s departure was too sudden, and I feel like they rushed to make the parallels more pronounced before she ran off, which in turn made it feel a tad ham-fisted (the promos didn’t help matters, I think we can agree). Perhaps this is what raised the concern: Suddenly she had a husband and was pregnant, and now she was leaving as a result, but that she framed it as a choice is the issue…Hm.

Yay! Cary is awesome. We’ll start a fan club! No, I agree, Cary’s hook-ups don’t feel developed enough to me to care about (though I’m fascinated by the notion that the show is only recently, slowly, giving its primary male characters sexual lives; the show’s take on sex is certainly something I haven’t given much thought, but deserves more), but like you I relish that Cary has become what would’ve been an antagonist to someone who genuinely cares about right and wrong, and is willing to do what it takes to keep that idea live in Cook County, including pushing for his own demotion.  

I do think he needs more scenes with Alicia, but I think Cary needs more scenes with everyone. The juxtaposition of his goodness (for lack of a better word) against the cynical nature of Cook County is always a delight. I like when he sticks it to folks looking to undermine others for no justifiable reason (see the blue panel testimony, his behavior toward the end of the grand jury, etc); it gives the show some sense of a lighter gray than anyone else.

I do think there’s a slight law of diminishing returns with some guest stars. I do think Colin is probably best tucked away for a while (until he kills poor, underused Morena Baccarin), and while I absolutely adore him, Judge Abernathy has become a bit one-note (even if that note is absurdly funny). But MJF’s Louis is someone who I thought would see this happen quicker, but the show has managed to keep him fresh and engaging each time, so no I now longer get antsy when I see Fox in the credits.

But if there’s an MVP of guest stars for the show, it’s Carrie Preston. Her Elsbeth is such an amazing breath of fresh, quirky air (remember when she and Eli met in s1? It was magical), and everyone is so bemused by her presence, and then totally in awe of her skills. I was disappointed that she didn’t get to go toe to toe with Wendy Scott Carr beyond that one scene. 

I do have one guest star I would like to see return. Hopefully they can make it happen next year.

As for the visuals, I’m thinking very specifically about the show’s great use of “looking at things”-ness, if I can sound like a pretentious asshole for a moment. The show has always done a nice job of utilizing looking at things, but this season, and I think I started to notice it around episode 9, but it may have been happening soon. The show doesn’t use close-ups too often on people’s faces, but they love a tight shot on documents, evidence, pictures, and I just really really love it. I feel like it’s an extension of the show’s overwhelming (but excellent) sense of voyeurism, and for me it’s just always exciting. It’s not as flashy as some of the work on Breaking Bad (but then what is?), but the show’s sense of stillness attached to looking at these objects just isn’t done. We’re always zooming or cutting or swooshing around things and Good Wife pushes back against those things.

I’ll turn myself over for questions now from you! 

Cory: Ah, that visual convention! Now I see what you’re talking about, and it is quite impressive. Recent episodes have also featured that quasi-sudden zoom in to someone’s face at the beginning of the episode that I really enjoy. The series does a wonderful job of throwing the audience into the deep end (I’ve made a lot of pool- or water-related references in this conversation, I apologize) each week. You’re right about the lack of unnecessary cuts, zooms and swooshes, as TGW simply lets the actors do their work while staying visually appealing. 

As we wind down here, let me ask you this: Where do you see this season heading in the last few episodes? We thankfully already know that Good Wife will be back for another season, do you think that will impact how the Kings conclude the season? I don’t know about you, but this season feels… transitional. There’s an assumption that the election stories will ramp back up next season (both for Peter and Eli’s wife, which should be unbelievably juicy for Alan Cumming to work with), and the Kings hinted that Alicia’s relationship with Kalinda will be on somewhat better terms come 2012-2013 as well. I can’t imagine Will’s suspension will conclude over the next three or four episodes either.

So where does that leave us? Alicia and Jackie are certainly going to butt heads over the house — though I assume Jackie will end up giving it to Alicia, if only for the kids, right? — and there will likely be a bit more scrambling between various power-players inside the firm, but other than that, I don’t really know what to expect. Last season, we knew the Kalinda bomb was about to go off, and we knew that Will and Alicia would at least talk about things (and they sure did more than that). The lack of clear end-points is both compelling and odd to me. Are there any stories you think we’ll see resolved, even temporarily? Are there stories you want to see resolved? 

Noel: I think the season does feel transitional, but I feel like that’s purposeful. It’s been a new day this season, and that day, I think, is coming to an end. Alicia is looking at her previous home, Jackie is angling to get back into the mix, Peter will be running for office again, and Will will be back in his nice office (like you, I assume next season).

I certainly think there’s a lingering plot this season in the form of Wendy Scott Carr and her axes to grind with Will and Peter, so I imagine she’ll be back, and hopefully better equipped (her complete collapse during the grand jury, while satisfying from a plot perspective, made no sense from a character perspective for me). I don’t know when she’ll be back though, but it could very well be this season.

There are still the L/G power plays. I will be curious if Howard Lyman (how great was his sudden reappearance as the solution to Will and Diane’s problem?) will go quietly into that good night once Will’s suspension is over.

I would like this Kalinda tax thing to go the hell away as I feel it’s a bit of a non-starter, especially this late in the season, but it does mean that Kalinda and Alicia have to spend time together, and I am very pro Alicinda (is that the name?). But, man, Jill Flint’s character may be one of the least engaging the show has made, right up there with Blake.

Likewise, there’s still the issue of the divorce. But this has been an on-going plot for the show since season 1, and one I suspect will receive more of a profile in season four, should Peter begin his campaign for the governorship. I don’t know where Alicia and Peter stand on this, however, since their time together has been pretty limited (and understandably so).

On the whole though, yes, there seem to be no loose ends for the show to tug on for the last few episodes. Maybe that’s okay due to the show’s rich narrative world that has created for three seasons. Maybe they don’t need a big finale this year with any number of other plots already set up and ready to go.

Plus, you know, four word episode titles will be awesome.

Test Pilot #40: NYPD Blue

Debut date: September 21, 1993

Series legacy: Descendant of Hill Street Blues, one of the catalysts for an era of grittier police dramas

Hiya, folks! Welcome back to Test Pilot. This is our 40^th entry and that’s simply crazy to me. Thanks to everyone who has read or written with me in this space, I really appreciate it.

Anyway, let’s get that false modesty out of the way, because today we kick off a brand-new Test Pilot theme. The beginnings of themes are always so fun. So much promise and wide-eyed hope for quality discussion (that’s almost always fulfilled!). Over the next 10 weeks, my guests and I will tackle the contemporary police drama. Before you groan or immediately think of David Caruso-delivered puns, I think it’s important to point out that not all “cop shows” are generic, lowest-common-denominator fare. The police procedural is one of, if not the, most dominant scripted format in the television industry. We like to think of the “cop show” with very specific terminology and iconography in mind, but countless series have attempted to mix up the general framework of the police drama. My hope is that this theme will explore five series that personify the innovative and complex ways to approach a cop show, especially in the contemporary era of television that is so-defined by basic procedurals (mostly on CBS).

We kick things off with what was, at the time, one of the most controversial broadcast network dramas to ever air on American television, NYPD Blue. Though initially draped in a hyperbolic hullabaloo, Blue quickly became one of the most popular dramas of its era and along with ER, helped solidify the prestige of the 10 p.m. drama series. NYPD Blue ran for dozen seasons and oddly, time hasn’t been too kind to it. The David Milch-led drama is rarely discussed in any “great series” discussions (until Vulture’s recent Drama Derby, where it lost to The Shield). Today, we discuss why people loved NYPD Blue so much all those years ago, and perhaps why we’ve sort of forgotten about it over the last decade.

Joining me today is Mark Waller. He is a pop culture blogger at TheBlogulator.com and TV Podcaster for Blogulator Radio. He’s also constantly tweeting at @marquallerand you should follow him. Mark, go crazy:

It’s kind of hilarious to think about how controversial NYPD Blue was when it premiered on ABC back in 1993. As a budding television enthusiast at age ten, I remember seeing the cover of TV Guide touting NYPD Blue as the first “R-rated” series on network TV. It was the first series I remember having the now ubiquitous “Parental Discretion Advised” advisory in its promotional material. And, from what I heard, there was nudity! On television! That stuff be crazy to a ten-year-old in the early 90s. Naturally, this was not a series that my parents allowed me to watch, even though I had weaned my way into the network drama by way of Dallas.

It’s hilarious to think about the controversy mainly because, by today’s standards, NYPD Blue comes off as relatively tame. But the coarse language and sexual situations caused over 50 ABC affiliates to not screen the pilot episode, or about 10% of the total affiliates in the country. Clearly, this was a winning strategy in building publicity about a series that, underneath its gritty surface, was a complex, high-quality drama, a winning strategy because the series quickly became a Top 20 ratings hit that ended up running for twelve seasons, while the pilot episode itself was clearly seen by a lot of eyeballs.

And for good reason: the pilot is, even today, a gritty, occasionally uncomfortable series to watch, but all because of the way Det. Andy Sipowicz (played with incredible intensity by multiple Emmy winner Dennis Franz) is characterized right out of the box. The cold open, with Sipowicz in court fighting a losing fight over keeping mobster Alphonse Giardella in jail, immediately establishes Sipowicz as a morally ambiguous, racist, loose cannon cop, a guy who just isn’t very nice to be around. (“Hey! Ipsa this, you pissy little bitch!” he tells prosecutor Sharon Lawrence as he grabs his crotch as they leave the courthouse.) Short after the cold open, we find Sipowicz in the bar, where he tells his young, up-and-coming partner Det. John Kelly (played with a plucky spirit by David Caruso) that he can take his career advice and shove it. At the end of his bender, he gets picked up for harassing the crap out of Giardella, stuffing a $100 bill, his own socks, and Giaradella’s wig into his mouth, in a way that just feels super uncomfortable. It’s not the coarse language that makes thees situations uncomfortable, though – it’s the intense trouble that Sipowicz finds himself in immediately.

Certainly, Sipowicz is a much different cop character than the type TV audiences were used to seeing on a weekly basis. Prior to Blue, police officers on TV series were upholders of the moral code, keeping the streets safe from crime, while helping other people get back on their feet. Series like Law & Order churned out episode-by-episode involving detectives, prosecutors, and judges held to uphold the law and maintain civility. By comparison, Sipowicz is a total mess, someone who nobody wanted to work with in the NYPD.

Except for Det. John Kelly, who works as Sipowicz’s partner and, as we learn, works with Sipowicz because of how he worked both as a professional mentor and as a surrogate father, especially since his own father was killed in the line of duty. (It always comes back to the parents, doesn’t it?) Kelly himself is at a crossroads – he’s in the midst of a divorce with his attorney wife Laura Kelly (played by ER’s Sherry Stringfield). As we learn in the pilot, he’s battling demons himself, with the aforementioned father issues related to his line of work. Caruso himself is a great presence in the pilot, surprising this viewer who mainly knows Caruso as the guy who takes off his sunglasses at the beginning of episodes of CSI: Miami. Even with that, though, Det. Kelly plays more as a typical good-guy-detective archetype that wouldn’t be out of place on a Law & Order (albeit with a bit more spunk than any of the detectives on that series.) When Sipowicz is gunned down and Det. Janice Licalsi (played by Amy Brenneman) gets roped into a scheme to kill Kelly by Giradella, the series plays some cop show beats that probably felt a lot more familiar to TV viewers in 1993. It’s that smooth finish that Stephen Bochco, a veteran producer with lots of hits on his resume at the time, most likely brought into the mix.

But, it’s the mixture of smooth, slick drama and gritty personal drama that makes NYPD Blue a trailblazer. Sipowicz himself can be seen as a precursor to future TV characters like Vic Mackey on The Shield, Tony Soprano on The Sopranos, and, to a lesser extent, Jack Bauer on 24. The difference lies in the writing of executive producer David Milch. Though Milch had a writing staff who was credited for writing most of the episodes, he reportedly rewrote every script that was written in his seven years as lead producer. Many of the elements of Milch-written series, especially like Deadwood, are in full effect in the pilot, most notably making his hard-drinking, hard-living central character a lost soul with a big heart that got lost in a haze of alcohol and past traumas. Milch himself is a fascinating character, and learning about his own career makes it seem obvious that he wrote Sipowicz as a character channeling many of his own personal experiences.

Other Milchian hallmarks evident in the pilot include Kelly’s somewhat adversarial, strange, occasionally hilarious relationship with the guy who lives in apartment 4B next to his soon-to-be ex-wife (a plot that takes a surprising, tragic turn in a later episode), characters cooling down their personal angst with prostitutes (not unlike Al Swearengen’s predilection for prostitutes on Deadwood), and characters reciting monologues to people and/or things that can’t respond, like in the scene where Kelly monologues to a hospitalized Sipowicz that touches on all the reasons why he keeps doing what he’s doing. As the first season progressed, the special stuff that Milch brings to the table continues to blossom, as the series continued to find beauty and grace in ugly situations.

It’s easy to look at NYPD Blue on the surface as a gritty turn on the police procedural. But Bochco and Milch worked the bait-and-switch angle hard with this pilot, sucking viewers in with the publicity and keeping them around with a well-written, superbly acted series. The pilot is a great snapshot of what would become a great series.

–MW

And now, my thoughts on the NYPD Blue pilot:

It is difficult to discuss the opening episode of Blue without considering the hoopla surrounding its premiere that now seems outdated and a bit ridiculous. Mark did a fine job of addressing that context so I won’t belabor the point further and instead just say that I couldn’t not think about the outrage while watching this episode nearly 20 years later. However, there’s something else that I couldn’t stop thinking about while watching Blue’s opening salvo: Hill Street Blues.

This pilot and HSB’s pilot share many qualities, both within the respective texts and the contexts surrounding their arrivals. Both series were met with a certain level of skepticism, whether because of the vulgarity and nudity (NYPD Blue) or because of what was deemed an inaccessible approach to the cop drama (Hill Street). Both pilots throw the audience into the deep-end with few contextual clues as to who is who and why they matter (although NYPD Blue certainly gives the audience more guideposts, if only because the cast is smaller). Both pilots feature characters who are far from perfect, and who don’t even really fit into the typical construction of the “flawed” television hero. Sipowicz and Kelly are pretty messed up, just like many of Hill Street’s leads. Adultery, blurred lines between cop and criminal, even an attempt on a cop’s life – it’s all here.

This of course makes sense. Steven Bochco brought Hill Street Blues to life and eventually hired a young buck named David Milch to guide the ship in that series’ later years. Not too soon after, the duo brought NYPD Blue to ABC, meaning they provided two networks (the other being NBC) the prominent police dramas of two decades (1980s and 1990s, obviously). Without Hill Street and the barriers it broke, both on a creative level and how it opened the audience’s eyes to the kind of complexity they could actually enjoy, NYPD Blue likely couldn’t have existed in the following decade. The two series are definitely different (at least in their first seasons, which is basically all I’ve seen of either), but they are of a piece.

And the biggest similarity between Hill Street Blues and NYPD Blue? Both pilots hold up against time quite well. I’ve discussed the opening HSB pilot before (and that’s mostly why we disregarded it for this theme as well), but I felt very similarly as I watched NYPD’s initial episode. While there are moments where this effort seems dated, most of those moments can be written off as artifacts of a different era. The fashion is predictably nineties: ugly colors, clothes that don’t appear to fit and some pretty porous haircuts. The music is definitely evocative – that opening theme song is one of my favorites ever – but there are times where it grates as well.

Elsewhere, though, NYPD Blue shows very little sign of aging, some 20 years later. I was surprised to see how visually striking this opener is. It is simultaneously dirty, grimy and sweaty and stunning at the same time, which isn’t easy to pull off on television. Gregory Hoblit’s direction is one of the stronger pieces of work in an admittedly strong pilot episode. Hoblit creates a great sense of place from the get-go (the on-location shooting certainly doesn’t hurt in this regard) and there’s a frenetic, but not too spastic atmosphere to the proceedings, from when Kelly and Sipowicz are on the street or in the precinct.

Perhaps the most impressive technical feature of this pilot is the editing. I don’t want to presume too much, but based on cursory research and my educated guessing, I’d say that the quick cuts seen here were at least moderately new for the medium. The editing is particularly great at putting the audience into Kelly’s psyche: It’s all over the place when he’s at work or dealing with the fall-out of Sipowicz’s shooting; it’s much more controlled and well, normal, when he’s spending time with Licalsi. We tend to only recognize editing when it’s really good or really bad and thankfully NYPD Blue falls into the former category.

Despite the aforementioned technical attributes of this pilot, there’s little question that NYPD Blue succeeds because of the performances of its two leads. Dennis Franz won approximately 81 Emmys for his performance as Sipowicz and even in the short time the character is given in this pilot, the actor makes one hell of an impact. Archived reviews of the pilot kept mentioning the opening sequence, especially the part where Sipowicz delivers the “pissy bitch” line, but I thought Franz was even better in the moments leading up to his shooting. The way his Sipowicz darts into the bar, downing shots, breathing heavily and looking straight ahead (and thus away from the camera) is a glorious bit of mostly-non-verbal work from Franz and more or less tells us all we need to know about the character.

Of course, this pilot wouldn’t even work without David Caruso. Hold on, let me pick up my jaw. Caruso is a massive laughing stock in 2012, but the humor starts to fade once you watch this episode and you see just how darn good he was back then. There’s absolutely no hammy line delivery or inflexible mannerisms here; Caruso displays genuine human emotion, depth and a great bit of rugged-edged complexity. Kelly’s not really a saint either (and the pilot suggests that Sipowicz has played a big part in Kelly’s [d]evolution), but he’s trying his best to balance a difficult job, a terrible, reckless partner and whatever is going on at home. Caruso plays Kelly with the right amount of humanity and never dials up the “edginess” too much, which helps construct the character in the right space between hero and anti-hero. Caruso obviously made the wrong choice when he left Blue early in season two, but I can also see why he thought this version of himself could be a movie star: He’s that good.

What surprises me, if even just a little, about watching this pilot is how little I noticed the dialogue. David Milch’s work comes with its own brand of expectations in 2012, but the ramped-up rants or overly-expressive word choices aren’t really on display here, outside of the very powerful scene where John expresses his complicated daddy issues and his conflicted feelings over visiting the hospital. I know that Blue certainly displayed more typically Milch-ian monologues later on, but perhaps Bochco provided a more hands-on presence with the pilot, or perhaps Milch dialed it down just a bit because it was a pilot. Blue certainly features Milch-like levels of vulgarity, which, again, were new for television at the time, but the stylistic flourishes aren’t there. This is fine, though, since it allowed my focus to be almost solely on the quality performances happening on screen.

It is cliché to say it, but NYPD Blue succeeds here and succeeded for a long time because it focuses/focused on the characters. Most pilots are more focused on characters and world-building anyway, but Blue knew how to weave complex character-based stories in with its more procedural elements. This certainly wasn’t a brand-new approach in 1993, since Hill Street Blues more or less pioneered it nearly a decade earlier, but Blue’s smaller cast and Milch’s sharp mind allowed the series to dive even deeper into the damaged lives of its characters. The series, along with Homicide, brought a certain grit to the mainstream police drama that while had surely been seen before, hadn’t been seen in combination with such great writing and acting. It’s unnecessary to compare NYPD Blue and Homicide, but I think the former was more interested in exploring the sad, sometimes deranged depths of its characters, while the latter definitely had a better eye on the process of police work. Both series succeeded on both fronts, but together, they followed Hill Street Blues and shoved audiences into a new era of “cop shows.”

And yet, 20 years later, Homicide is definitely discussed more often among TV critics and internet TV types. Certainly Homicide’s connection to The Wire through David Simon helps its cause, and perhaps its ratings struggles make it a bit more of an underdog. Nevertheless, it confuses me why Blue isn’t remembered with a large amount of reverence. Is it solely because it overstayed its welcome? Is it because the series replaced Caruso and Jimmy Smits with Ricky Schroder and Mark-Paul Gosselaar? I understand if the first question is a big reason, but that definitely bugs me. NYPD Blue might have gotten old, or overstayed its welcome, but that doesn’t really undercut its strongest moments. And at its strongest, like this pilot, NYPD Blue brought something very novel and compelling to audiences. That shouldn’t be forgotten.

–CB

Conclusions on legacy: Unfortunately overlooked and (perhaps surprisingly) timeless

The world doesn’t really need three more 4,000 word opuses on Mad Men each week, so Andy Daglas, Les Chappell and I decide to combine our powers for the sake of good (and brevity). After each new episode of Mad Men’s fifth season, the three of us plan to exchange a bunch of emails about the new developments at Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce, and anything else MM-related that happens to be on our minds. Welcome to the Barker Chappell Daglas roundtable discussion. We hope to have each piece out by Tuesday, but who knows what will happen as we move forward. If you have ideas or feedback for us, please share it in the comments section or to any of the three of us on Twitter. Pour yourself a nice scotch, put on your favorite rendition of “Zou Bisou Bisou” and avoid that weird pillar in your office’s corner.

Cory: Les, Andy, welcome back to the 1960s, where tensions are boiling, and the French Canadian temptresses are even boiling-ier. We are here, of course, to discuss the long-awaited return of everyone’s favorite series with a bunch of racists and drunks, Mad Men. It has been more than 17 months since we last checked in with Don Draper, but somewhat surprisingly, it’s been less than a year in story time (we’re now at the beginning of June, 1966). Because of season four’s big quasi-cliffhanger in Don and Megan’s proposal (and Matthew Weiner’s ever-charming desire to keep a lid on, well, everything), there was a larger air of mystery hanging over the story. And yet, “A Little Kiss” shows a world that hasn’t changed as much as perhaps we might have guessed. Don and Megan did, in fact, get married and she’s now working under Peggy at the office. Joan had her baby and is struggling with what that means for her career. Pete has basically gotten everything that he wanted — major acknowledgement at work and a nice stable home life — but still pines for more, because that’s all he really knows how to do. Betty and Henry have moved in to their massive, towering house. And basically everything else is the same: Peggy’s still with Abe and still feeling unappreciated by her good work. Roger’s still mostly worthless and growing ever-aware of it. And Bert has somehow stumbled back into the office, but is even less relevant than before.

One of the things I love about Mad Men is that it strays away from introducing big, sweeping changes. Period pieces often fall victim to sudden shifts and generalizations as a way to provide “historical accuracy,” but this series is dedicated to depicting the minutia of life in such a way that we in the audience experience the cumulative effect of change without really having it forced down our throats. “A Little Kiss” hammers this home quite nicely by first showing us that very little has changed, but also by hinting out how important changes are brewing. On a macro level, the premiere is framed with a heavy dose of racial tension that critics have taken the series to task for avoiding for so long. And on a micro level, the two-hour episode’s set-piece, Don’s 40th birthday party thrown by Megan, features one beat after another reflecting the shifting footing for all the characters. Don obviously hates his birthday for reasons we can get into, but I couldn’t help but notice how out of place he looked at his own party, surrounded by Megan’s friends. The more the story progresses, the more Don and Roger become splitting images of each other: two powerful men, confused by different sexualities, annoyed by women with a certain kind of unabashed confidence.

I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself, so I’ll leave it there for now. Where you guys “surprised” at anything that happened here, or anything that has apparently happened during the break?

Les: Once I got over the initial surprise at adjusting to how little time had comparatively taken place between seasons (thanks to Weiner’s paranoia on spoilers I was expecting more) I can’t really say that I was seriously surprised by anything that had happened in the premiere, chiefly because the show got into its groove with remarkable aplomb. One of the many reasons why I love Mad Men to the degree I do is that it has a better grasp on its characters and their complications than any other show on television, and I thought that everyone’s reactions were proportionate to how much time has passed since we saw them. Megan’s idea to throw a birthday party for Don was completely in keeping with her established desire to insert into Don’s professional and personal lives, and Don’s reaction to it – a priceless “No” once he realized what was coming – was perfectly in line with the self-reticence he’s presented in four seasons. The leaner times for the firm have pushed Pete and Roger to circle each other with more active animosity than either has exhibited before, with Roger actively working to insert himself into Pete’s clientele and Pete in turn finding ways to sabotage Roger or directly challenging him in front of the partners. And Joan’s commitment to her idealized image of a personal life has always been at odds with how much she loves her job – going back to season two when she was reading scripts – and being alone with a baby and her cougar of a mother are clearly wearing that comparison to the bone.

If I was surprised by anything in the episode, it would be Don and Megan and how much of the show’s action now spins on the axis of that relationship. For someone we only met halfway through last season, she’s now incredibly centric to the vibe of the office, to the point that it’s almost distracting when the two enter as “Mr. and Mrs. Draper” and Ken and Stan freely joke about what could be keeping them from being late. Certainly enough time has passed in the show’s universe for her to have worked her way in, but seeing her making a joke about Dick Whitman’s birthday is startling, given how long Don worked to keep that from Betty and how hard it was for him to give that piece of information to Faye. I think it’ll be very interesting to see how she meshes with the more established cast as the season goes on – I feel like Peggy likes her despite core reservations on how the relationship has thrown Don off his game, Roger sees her chiefly as a method to both needle Don and bond with him after a fashion, and the jury’s still out from the rest of the office. (Except for the now epic putz Harry, who can’t keep his mouth shut on her French dance and then confusedly trades his office for political reasons he barely understands but interprets as penance).

Andy, anything in particular that stood out to you, or that took you aback when you saw it?

Andy: Do you mean besides Campbell’s blazer? Yes folks, the message that time marches on is hammered home most powerfully at Megan’s surprise soiree, with its relatively youthful guest list and their retina-searing attire. Granted, it’s only a pale shadow of the aesthetic ignominy to come in the 1970s, but it’s also a far cry from the understated elegance of the gray-flannel-suit era which dominated only five or six years (and three or four seasons) earlier. Pete’s jacket alone wins fast-track membership in the Dickie Bennett’s Hair All-Stars.

Despite Pete’s refusing to discuss it at parties, more significant change is pushing in all around our SCDPers, although for now their focus is less on the tumult of the Civil Rights movement and more on the ordinary and eternal pressures of generational displacement. Megan’s party for Don – and much of their relationship throughout these first two hours – is as much an act of power as beneficence. Peggy’s shouldering even more of the creative load (if no more of the credit) at SCDP, where these days Don turns up just long enough to receive a birthday plant and ogle some birthday cleavage. Roger’s slide into irrelevance keeps gathering steam, to productive Pete’s endless and only partially assuaged vexation.

The youngsters* are ascendant, while their predecessors refuse to either evolve or clear the stage. The line that set off bells in my head was Don telling Megan: “More people think the way I do than the way you do.” If he was ever right about that, is he still? And is it possible for anyone, let alone people at the top of the food chain, to ever believe the converse?

The friction created by this ongoing transition – both interpersonal and sociological – is resonant and timeless. We all live through a period when the shifting tectonic plates of two generations finally collide. We’re in such a period right now, if you ask me, with the Boomers on the opposite side of the equation. That gives this season of Mad Men the potential to be particularly fascinating. The times, they are…um…wait, I had something for this.

*Peggy, Pete, et al. are a shade too old to qualify as Baby Boomers, technically, but in their views on topics like race and Vietnam they’re clearly representing that cohort against the Sterlings and Coopers of the world.

Cory, Les, how do you expect the events to come – both large scale and small – will inform life in and around SCDP? Will this season carry us all the way from the summer of ’66 to the Summer of Love? And is anyone in this universe even capable of contemplating such a concept?

Les: I’ll quickly agree with you on Pete’s blazer – it’s like he shot a thrift store couch with his rifle and proudly took it to a tailor. (On a related note I was very pleased to see he still has the rifle and his secretary carries it to his new office. I love the fact Weiner remembers those little bits of continuity.)

Definitely the theme of change is one that’s clearly running through this premiere, and the season as a whole according to interviews with both Weiner and John Slattery. We’ve seen signs of society moving forward as the show’s gone on – Don’s California sojourn in season two, Peggy’s warehouse beatnik gathering in season four – but this might be the first time where the Sixties feel like they’ve started to swing. Don’s whole apartment is decorated in a more “mod” style, his wife is singing him a French pop song and his co-workers are openly smoking marijuana on the balcony, every one of which would be alien to the cast of season one. It still feels like the show we’ve tuned into for years, but it seems to now be using a different palette to paint its message of personal conflict.

Can Don roll with the way society is evolving? Normally I’d say no – the man is so married to the concepts of nostalgia and idealization that the idea he’d embrace all this change at once is ridiculous. But as you pointed out Andy, we’re seeing a different Don Draper here, one who doesn’t seem as married to the job as he once was and who would rather be happy than focused. That’s certainly an attitude that’s going to bite him if he keeps it up – Peggy’s already lost patience with it – but I think it does put him in a less rigid position than he was in before.

As to the season itself, I think that last image of African-American applicants for SCDP jobs could turn out to be one of the driving plot points of the season, should they find themselves actually hiring one of them. The issue’s been forced into their faces after being previously limited to a bright idea by Pete or Paul trying to make himself seem more cultured, and I can entirely see the comparatively more open-minded Lane hiring one if they could scrape the funds together. There’s a lot of potential there and I hope they go down that road: it would give us internal strife as Peggy, Joan and the rest deal with a daily reminder of the struggle, and potential grief for the agency if they have a client who’s more dead-set in their prejudices. (Seriously, have they ever had a client who was actually a good guy?) At the very least, it’ll hopefully give Bert Cooper* a hilarious chance to say something politically incorrect.

*I’m incredibly happy to see Robert Morse hasn’t departed the series as it looked like he would when Cooper resigned. He just adds such a wonderful doddering flavor to the show.

What do you think Cory – are we headed for a “guess who’s coming to dinner” moment, or did you pick up on something else?

Cory: I’m very curious to see how this season plays out, especially on that macro level that we’ve been discussing. Generally speaking, Weiner has strayed away from directly engaging with the big cultural or social movements/events of the series’ timeline, as to avoid turning out like Forrest Gump. Instead, the series use those big moments to frame individual episodes or power individual responses (the JFK assassination immediately comes to mind, as does the fight from “The Suitcase”). And I’ve read defenses of Men that suggest that that the series’ inability to engage with the civil rights era is actually more historically accurate, considering it’s likely hard to imagine a bunch of rich white dudes from a different generation giving a shit about the inequalities in race or gender.

And yet here we are, with a season premiere that hints that the men (and women) of SCDP cannot avoid the swirling changes of the real world. As you guys noted, the social movements were less influential in the first half of the 1960s, but by this point IRL time, it was hard for anyone to avoid them. Therefore, it makes a whole lot of sense that this season would directly tackle the civil rights era, the drugs, the anti-war rhetoric and everything else that comes with late 1960s culture. I say I’m curious about this because if Mad Men takes this path, it almost has to introduce a major African-American character. Telling the story of the civil rights era through the eyes of a bunch of middle-aged white dudes probably isn’t the best approach. However, I’m a little weary of what a larger story like the civil rights movement has on the characters we know and love (warts and all). Not that I think it’s okay for Don or Roger to have their hands in the sand, nor do I think the series should avoid the events of the time. But, using this premiere to reinforce how, sort of, apathetic Don is about, well, most things, doesn’t necessarily line-up with him suddenly and miraculously opening his eyes to the oppression of African-Americans in episode nine. So if the series does go do that road on the macro level, it’ll need to still stay focused on Don.

I’d like to shift gears a bit to focus more on the characters, most specifically Don and Megan. We’ve all, in one way or another, addressed how this Don is not the Don we remember from the series’ early years. He doesn’t care about work and he’s basically not invested in the creative process at all, and yet, he does seem supremely invested in his relationship with Megan, and the one with his kids. In the early seasons, we constantly saw Don strive to be the great dad, but mostly fail because of he was too busy working, drinking or screwing. Now, he feels…settled. He’s happy making lots of money, but he’s happier to make his kids breakfast and have sex with his hot wife (who he apparently trusts enough to drop the Dick Whitman bomb, which, holy hell, I cannot believe THAT happened). Is it possible that Don now has the happy life he always hoped he could have with Betty, but never could because the fear of being “found out” pushed him away? Or is this just a honeymoon period for he and Megan? We’ve been given the impression that Don’s marriage to Betty started out pretty great as well (and it’s not like having sex with her didn’t constitute “having sex with his hot wife”), so perhaps this is just calm before the storm. Can Don Draper just be? Can he be happy?

Moreover, I really loved this episode because it gave us so much time with Megan. The events of the season four finale were difficult to swallow for some folks because we knew so little about Megan, and because she seemed like a pretty image on a bit of a power trip, and not much else (especially in comparison to the very complex, intelligent and mature Faye). But “A Little Kiss” works hard to show us who Megan really is. Yes, she can be childish, especially in her inability to understand the fundamental lack of value in surprise birthdays parties. And yeah, she’s a bit emotional, which stands out amid the cynical and glib world of SCDP. And definitely, she has a surprising amount of sway over Don — which might play a large role in this “new” Don — and knows exactly how to cash in on that sway. But, the episode still allows us to sympathize with Megan, I think. She is, after all, a pretty young thing that basically gets treated like one at work (nice work, Harry); when her peers aren’t talking about wanting to sex her up, they’re talking about how she’s sexing the boss. Plus, I think Megan actually cares about Don. She is engaging in some weird power plays, but her hurt feelings after the birthday party fiasco made it clear that the whole thing can from a place of love and affection. Moving forward, I’m excited to see how Don deals with being “settled” and how Megan either keeps him there, or eventually buckles to the pressures.

How do you guys feel about the new Draper clan?

Andy: Can Don Draper be happy? I tend to doubt it. If you’ll allow me to dabble in some wild psychological speculation, I think that right now Don is the moon – any light you see coming off him is just reflected from another source.

Megan makes for an interesting addition to this assemblage of tortured souls. Like you said Cory, she seems to wear her emotions on her sleeve, which is all the more striking when those emotions include things like “joy” and “contentment” – typically as little-seen around the SDCP offices as faces that aren’t lily-white. She even calls Peggy out on it, exasperated by the fact that nobody in her new universe ever smiles. Not to veer things back to the socio-political, but it brings to my mind the way the characters channel the state of the contemporary American psyche. In the early 60s, we met people whose veneer of simple contentment repressed secrets and angst. Here, entering the late sixties, we’re meeting someone whose exuberance might spark disorder, but also the possibility of liberation.

Of course, that isn’t a prospect that necessarily bodes well for the future of Mr. and Mrs. Draper. But it does introduce a great deal of potential for the character apart from being the secretary who bagged the boss. I quite liked Megan in this episode, and it’s interesting to think of her becoming a friend and counterpoint to Peggy, or a whole new kind of female role model for Sally. Either of those roads would likely create tension with Don, who may not be the most solid father figure (either real or surrogate), but who does like to keep control over those closest to him.

Megan made clear in “A Little Kiss” that Don’s control is going to have to be earned, though, and even then it won’t be complete. And while Don will never win any awards for enlightened thinking, he can be awfully adaptable when he needs to be (we’ve seen how his views of racial equality, or women like Peggy, or even Sal initially upon learning he’s gay, can be tempered by pragmatism). The question is, will Don consider this new lifestyle – and all the open-air marijuana and hip modern decor that go along with it – worth adapting to?

Cory: Don’s ability — or inability — to fit into the changing world has been one of the driving questions of the series. As you suggested Andy, he can be flexible, especially in the times that we’ve seen him California when he just let it all hang out. Despite my insistence that this version of Don is becoming more and more like Roger (i.e. a dinosaur), I do think that this version of Don, the one that’s let go of many of the hang-ups that drove him early on in the series, is more likely to continue going with the flow, even if he’s skeptical about it at first. There’s no question that Don is confused by the changing world around him and I don’t picture him as one who could carry any social issue-related torch. But Don is often…curious. And when we combine that curiosity with his obvious attraction to Megan, I think that yeah, Don could learn to love the youth-oriented lifestyle that will dominate the near future. Ultimately, I think it all boils down to his relationship with Megan. If that stays strong, and she continues to drag him along into a new generation, who knows what could happen.

Les: I’d agree with both of you that Don certainly has the capacity to adapt to these changing social norms, and the curiosity to engage with them more than a Roger Sterling would. But to embrace them fully? I find myself remembering the earliest interactions with Midge and the bohemian lifestyle in season one, where he shot down their arguments with opinions like “People want to be told what to do so badly that they’ll listen to anyone.” He’s certainly willing to sample this culture and take bits and pieces when it suits him, but in the end he always goes back to the safety of being the man in the grey flannel suit.

When it comes to Don, I’ve always drawn a parallel to The Great Gatsby, in that Dick Whitman invented exactly the sort of Donald Draper that a young man of his broken upbringing would invent, and to that conception he is faithful to the end. Roger and Bert are married to the norms because it’s what they grew up in, Don’s married to the norms because it was his way out of a broken life. Certainly Megan is in a better position to bring him into this world – and he may personally be in a position to accept more of the changing culture than before – but this is still a man who ran the campaign for Nixon and bet on Sonny Liston because he was committed to the traditional way of doing things. I think if change comes his way, he’ll still fight it the same way he fights any threat to his security, and Megan may well be caught in the crossfire. 

Cory: Great point. But with Mad Men, there is always more to talk about than just Don. “A Little Kiss” gave us tons of quality Pete Campbell time, which is always cause for celebration as far as I’m concerned. I’ve always adored Pete’s stuffy and huffy journey to the top, but I’ve noticed that people have come around on him once he stopped being the primary antagonist for Don. So I’m curious how fans react to this season, because it sure feels like we’re in for a slew of great Pete vs. Roger stories, and if this episode is any indication, those stories are going to be amazing. For me, the best part about Pete’s whining and kvetching in this episode is that it’s all valid. He’s no longer trying to overcompensate for success that isn’t there, or weasel his way into something he didn’t earn. At this point, Pete is keeping the whole firm afloat and his territorial feelings over his clients or his desire to have a bigger office are thus entirely justified. On Roger’s side, I think it’s easy to view his anti-Pete actions as playful scheming, but that last scene with him getting ready at 5 a.m. to “meet Coke” was very telling: He’s terrified of being irrelevant. He sees how the firm treats Bert, he knows the path he’s on and amid all the flirting and epic dancing, and he’s scared.

Finally, I have to mention the absence of everybody’s favorite mother, Betty Francis. I hate stroking Weiner’s ego in the fear that it is much like Jeff Winger’s, ever-expanding and ready to pop, but keeping Betty out of this episode was a great decision. Not only does it allow us to focus on Megan without Betty’s shadow being explicitly in the picture, but it also, somehow, makes us miss her. We get that great shot of the Francis mansion in all its towering and depressing glory, and Don cracks a great joke, and that all feeds the fire in most of the audience while still making us wonder what the hell Betty has actually been up to. I don’t hate Betty like a lot of people do, but I sure love disliking her, and imagining her toiling away in that massive house, staring blankly at a wall is pretty awesome. But I want to see that staring! We kind of want to see her miserable, right?

How did you guys feel about these stories, or other characters’ stories?

Les: We’ll have to see how much of Betty we wind up seeing this season – in addition to the fact that she’s been moving further and further out of the show’s orbit since she and Don divorce, there’s also the real-world fact that January Jones was pregnant at the time the fifth season was shooting and Weiner’s already on record saying he couldn’t use her as much as he wanted to. And truthfully, I won’t miss her if she’s absent for a good chunk of the season. As you said Andy, Megan’s got a lot of potential for disorder and liberation, and truthfully that’s more interesting to watch in the big picture. Plus, not to bring it back to Don too much but I do think in the long run it’s healthier for him to be away from someone who was always in his mind the Stepford wife piece of the image he’d constructed for himself. But I imagine we’ll have plenty to say on Ms. Jones and her divisive nature once she actually gets some screen time.

The Roger/Pete conflict has certainly stirred up the most excitement amongst my friends and my Twitter feed of anything from the premiere. I think of the established conflicts on the show, this is the one that has the most fire: both men are terrifically insecure and territorial, neither one is possessed of great patience with those they consider their lessers, and as Cory mentioned both are entirely aware of just how much power they do or don’t possess in SCDP. Cory, I’m completely in agreement in having always liked Pete, and he’s really come into his own over the last season and a half – I’m actually rooting for him over Roger if it comes to blows, a possibility I’m not ruling out. (Perhaps a cage match in the conference room, winner take all? You know Stan and Harry would be taking bets from the secretarial pool, and I could complete see a finishing move where one man’s head is slammed into the support beam.) As of now, it seems like the agency’s on somewhat stable ground, but I could completely see this feud being as much a threat to them as a mishandling of their new “equal opportunity employer” label.

Speaking of agency stability, we should talk a bit about Joan. Cory, you asked at the start if anything shocked us, and Joan as a mother is probably one of the most jarring things I’ve ever seen on the show. Leaving aside Christina Hendricks wearing all that padding to simulate post-baby fat, she’s seemingly lost all the control she presents to the world, and seeing Joan look so beaten made me very sad. She’s exhausted, snippy, lonely, and – like so many people in that office – unwilling to let go of just how real the work makes them feel. Andy, how’d you feel about this new overly emotional version of our favorite buxom redhead?

Andy: Joan’s relationship with her mother – a tree who’s clearly in close proximity to its apple – was one of the most entertaining parts of the episode to me. But the arc of Joan as a (essentially single) parent could go in a few directions. As you mentioned, Les, balancing a child and a career is no easy feat, especially for someone who’s drawn too much self-worth from the latter to let it go without a fight. Even with Lane’s reassurances that SDCP will always need Joan, the world of 2012 is far from kind to working mothers – how much less so the world of 1966?

As for the showdown of account men, should one develop, I’d side with Pete over Roger as well…but with reservations. You’re right, Cory, that the haughty little twerp has grown a lot over the series, but in many ways his development remains profoundly arrested. I’ll save my thoughts on that character for a future installment, depending on how things progress. I’m sure the next 11 weeks will leave us with no shortage of substance to sink our teeth into. I’m looking forward to it.

Les: I am as well Andy – it’s only the start of the season and we’ve already found at least six or seven arcs that could form potentially brilliant conflicts as they go on. But I want to close my own thoughts by saying that of the many things I loved about the return of Mad Men, the one that cheered me up the most is how brutally funny the show still is. There wasn’t anything outlandish to the extent of Ida Blankenship’s tragic fall or the runaway lawn mower, but I thought the second half in particular was riddled with laugh-out-loud moments. Highlights: Roger trying to get through to Harry about what was happening with his office, the sight gag of all four partners sandwiched on Pete’s couch, the game of “follow the bouncing baby” as Joan’s son was shuttled between SCDP employees, and of course a very Sterling-esque moment to close: “Is it just me, or is the lobby full of Negroes?”

This show can be very dark and painful at times, but it can also be very light when it wants to be, and that’s just one of its many geniuses. I’m so happy it’s back and incredibly eager to keep digging into this season with you two.

Cory: Mad Men’s ability to be funny is severely underrated, and something that is apparently becoming more apparent as the series ages (season four had the most overt comedy, I think). That tends to happen once the writers and the audience grows more familiar with the character, wherein we find just about everything Roger says or Pete does funny because we know them so well. I assume that the season will eventually get darker, but I hope it continues to be consistently hilarious as well. Until next week!

Not to cherry-pick from my own Twitter feed (not that I haven’t done it before), but “Contemporary Impressionists” is just a weird episode of Community. Weird doesn’t mean “bad” or “awful,” just as it also doesn’t mean “great.” This one featured some really intriguing character development, but was undercut by tonal and balance issues throughout. Despite what your best internet friends tell you, not every episode of Community is going to be TREMENDOUS. It happens.

What is really curious about this effort is that it is full of set-up for storylines that will likely power the second half of the season. And while these stories brought forth compelling individual moments here and certainly have a great deal of promise for the future, they were often handicapped by a surprising amount of broad, 30 Rock-like wacky humor and not enough running time. Jeff and Abed’s psychological issues are great places to build the perfect Community story from: they can be funny, likely full of pop culture references, but ultimately, emotionally resonant when it matters. Chang is still Chang, but his egomaniacal dreams of controlling Greendale could, theoretically, give the study group a quality antagonist to bounce off of moving forward. But kicking off an arc about Jeff’s ego and maturity with a wonky visual representation of his ego (one that mirrored that gag with his heart last week) and a whole lot of Hulk references doesn’t feel like the best way to accomplish those goals. The same could be said for Chang’s thought bubbles and even his odd sway over children. I’m not sure where that story is going, but if it’s anything like tonight’s opening salvo, I’m fairly convinced I don’t want to know.

Oddly, where this episode fails the most is in the joke-writing. Obviously, “funny stuff” is entirely subjective, but from my perspective, this episode had a few really great concepts in Jeff’s swelling ego and the celebrity impressionist event and then failed to support those concepts with typically-great Community-like jokes. Don’t get me wrong, there were standout bits here. The opening beats of the Jeff story, from he and Britta’s discussion of aviators to Jim Rash’s epic piece of physical comedy as the Dean discovered “new Jeff” (HIS SHADOW), were fantastic, and just from a visual perspective, the celebrity impressions were pretty great.* But once the event actually began, the episode lost its footing, discarded most of the characters and only pulled it together at the end with a hefty amount of emotion.

*And you have to love Abed’s costume to the party (Jamie Lee Curtis), since it was a call-back to the time that the group was exchanging barbs around the study table and someone called him “Brown Jamie Lee Curtis.”

As I said, these stories are all about laying the groundwork. And the thought that Jeff has changed therapists and asked for an anti-depressant as a response to all the weird, kind of terrible stuff that has happened to him this school year is really twisted, but compelling. Remember, this is the guy who was terrified to take Cholesterol medication because of his assumption that all his hard work in personal care made him the perfect specimen. There’s never been any indication that Jeff is completely anti-medication so I don’t want to project things onto the text that aren’t there, but I still find it very interesting that he took this specific response, after the time he’s had at Greendale this year. It does, however, make sense that he would shield himself from any emotion-related damage and just make himself feel better, because, well, why not?

The one strength of Jeff’s story in this episode is how well the script used Britta to help Jeff navigate the waters of his newfound confidence. Not only does a story like this remind us that hey, Britta might actually be okay at this psychology thing (in her own twisted way), but it allows she and Jeff to interact as friends, without much hostility or overt sexual tension. I don’t especially care who zooms who at Greendale, but it is see that the two of them can exist in a story without lots of sarcasm, entendres or sexual tension veiled as banter (or vice versa).

Unfortunately, the good start Jeff’s story had completely disintegrated once the episode moved to the party. I totally understand what the episode was trying to do and it followed up on things Britta promised earlier on, but watching Jeff turn into the Hulk because he didn’t win Handsome Young Man was cartoonish, broad and frankly, pretty stupid. I hope that the series keeps up with this story in some fashion, but I don’t ever want to see anything like that again.

Elsewhere, I quite enjoyed the Troy and Abed story here and because of the characters’ natures, it was easier for the two of them to fit into the zany world of the impressionist party. Abed hiring second-rate celebrity impersonators to help entertain him and fall further into a fantasy world is, in a lot of ways, just as sad as Jeff taking medication to make himself feel better. It’s often hard to get a read on Abed in episodes where it doesn’t open up (so, most of them), but this episode makes it pretty clear that drama and darkness of this school year is getting to the most-closed off member of the group as well.

Moreover, I thought the way the episode worked through the short, but satisfying beats with Troy was damn good. Troy having to initially defend Abed and his “playing” when everyone else was ready for a cold wake-up call, then have to work hard at the party to keep Abed’s legs intact and then realize that sometimes, Abed needs that wake-up call created a cohesive, smart story amid all the dumb stuff. Of all the characters, Troy has grown the most over the past two seasons and I think he’s starting to recognize that this friendship with Abed cannot exist (at least in this form) forever. Troy is growing up and perhaps Abed is holding him back. But now, there’s also a sense of responsibility on Troy’s part to keep Abed tethered to something real, even if he often gets caught up in the fantasy role-playing himself. And as we see by the end of this episode, even trying to address emotions or “real” honesty with Abed can push him further into himself, which makes Troy’s choice to actually address those things even more effective.

Unfortunately, Abed’s now, apparently, seeing Darkest Timeline Abed, at least when he’s in the Dreamatorium. If I were in full conspiracy mode, I’d try to figure out how this relates back to the multiple universe nonsense I was spouting in the fall, but I’m too distracted by the fact that Abed could be experiencing a legitimate psychological break. That’s pretty damn dark, even for this series, and I cannot wait to watch it unfold.

On that note, I think “Contemporary Impressionists” is an episode full of stories that requires waiting and patience. If these stories with Jeff (and Britta) and Abed and Troy continue, I have to imagine that the series’ writers will wrangle them in a bit and avoid the broad humor we saw here. Perhaps even the Chang story could be fun. As an individual episode, this one isn’t overwhelmingly strong, but I have a feeling we’ll look back upon it a bit more fondly come the end of the season. 

Well here we are folks. After three months of agonizing, waiting, Twitter campaigns, flash mobs and a whole lot of kvetching, Community is back on our television screens in one of the deadliest timeslots around. I was supremely excited for the series’ return, just as I was fairly sad that NBC made the (fairly logical) decision to take it off the air for a while. But I have to say, it was a little freeing to get away from Community, The Thing That Everyone Obsesses Over on Twitter for a few months. I wasn’t as impressed with the Christmas episode as most and honestly, found myself a bit worn out by all things Greendale-related by the time December rolled around. I’m not ignorant enough to dislike anything because of its fans, especially when I’m a card-carrying member of that fan group, but boy, Community fans can be…exhausting.

Long story short, the hiatus was, in a lot of ways, a welcome one for me and I hope that all the discourse and buzz about Community during said hiatus ends up being as beneficial for the series as it was for me. And in the off chance that a few random millions decided to check in after hearing so  much about the series, “Urban Matrimony and the Sandwich Arts” was a damn good introduction to these characters and this world. And for those of us who are already in love, the episode was a splendid reminder of why the hell we care so damn much in the first place. “Urban Matrimony” isn’t heavily reliant on the things unknowing or hating viewers of Community assume the series, but is instead powered by the elements that are truly most important: well-shaped, charming – and sometimes, weird – characters.

The big thing that I think has gone a little bit unnoticed with this season of the series (and I know I mentioned this in my review of one of the later 2011 episodes, but it’s a new year after all) is how well Community has learned to combine the bests of seasons one and two into single episodes, oftentimes without letting either element override or dominate the other. In season two, Community tended to work better when there was a single story pulling most or all of the group into it, whereas episodes that tried traditional A/B/C sort of storytelling didn’t flow as smoothly.

This season, though, Community’s writers have figured out how use a single event (like Annie’s move or the appearance/death of Pierce’s father) as a catalyst that shoots characters or pairs of characters off into separate, but wholly related stories. This allows a few characters to go off into a random popular culture or meta riff while others stick in more grounded, character-based stories. I know the fandom is so set on discussing how season three is more like season one or more like season two, as if it’s a competition, but really, Community’s confidently combining the two to great success.

On that note, “Urban Matrimony and the Sandwich Arts” is the strongest example of this “combined” version of the series. Andre’s proposal to Shirley and their rapidly-planned wedding and her underlying desire to start a business (somehow, with Pierce of all people) work together to create a lovely center for the episode. From there, the episode finds enough room for quality stories for all the characters.

Shirley, thankfully, gets the most material as she struggles to balance the desire to be a small business owner with the desire to make her family whole again. Shirley is the character the writers have had the most trouble with, not so much that I would say she has been “mishandled,” but it is clear that Yvette Nicole Brown is just as talented as everyone else on the cast and she therefore deserves a certain amount of quality material. I like a few other of Brown’s performances better (she was really great in “Messianic Myths and Ancient Peoples” but I know you hate that episode, Earth), but this might be Shirley’s best episode. She gets to be funny (the “literally two minutes later” time-card gag was tremendous), she gets to be strong and there is real complexity to her predicament. Starting a business, and with Pierce of all people, is a scary thing and once Andre presents the possibility of running back to the safety of home (and typical gender roles, apparently), the conflict feels real, logic and important. This feels like one of Dan Harmon’s character journey circle-things (yes, I believe that’s the official designation) fully-realized.

Malcolm-Jamal Warner is a great fit as Andre and really so much of a fun fit with the whole cast that I wish he would be around more often. Anyway, Warner does fine work here and the he and Brown guide the story past that awkward mid-episode drama with the GET IN THE KITCHEN, WOMAN nonsense and into a fairly satisfying resolution. One of Shirley’s biggest strengths is her willingness to forgive, but in arguably her most important relationship, that got her in trouble. I liked how this episode allowed her to step up and take control of her life; that’s really a seminal moment for the character and yeah, it would have been even more powerful had Andre been around more or Shirley been given more material, but it still feels important.

Elsewhere the possibility of Shirley opening this sandwich shop gives us another solid Pierce story (those are happening more and more frequently) about the “young” man Hawthorne wanting to show his dad’s ghost that he can make it out there in the business world. Like Shirley, Pierce sometimes gets lost amid the shuffle (or becomes the default villain), but I enjoy the story anytime the writers put the two of them together. There’s an unspoken, awkward understanding that works well here and should be mined for more material in the future. Plus, a more confident Pierce leads to a slew of great moments from the character, from his hair dye-job to the “Call all the Ambulances” bit.  

Meanwhile, the wedding story spins everyone else off into easily consumable, sitcom-y plots that are given the typical Community coat of paint. Annie gets to do cute Annie stuff while talking about loving weddings and hugging Leonard.* Britta and Jeff find themselves planning the wedding and giving the toast respectively, and of course, unfortunately discover that their anti-wedding rhetoric is just a façade for their more complicated feelings on the subject (Britta’s a secret expert wedding planner and Jeff is, unsurprisingly, still messed up over his dad abandoning his mom). It has been said time and time again this season, but god almighty is Gillian Jacobs killing it. I think I laughed out loud at every single thing Britta said in this episode, starting with the anti-wedding rant to her description of a metaphor to her complaint about coming from a long line of wives and mothers. She and Jeff are so uncomfortable with being conventional that they just end up reinforcing the things they’re trying to cut down. They Britta’d it.

*I’m not devaluing Annie by just referring to her bits in this fashion. Annie being cute is important.

And Troy and Abed take Shirley’s hope that they’ll “just show up” to mean that they are perhaps too becoming simply too weird. While none of the other characters’ stories feature much “typical” Community meta chatter or popular culture references, Troy and Abed’s story about flushing the weird from their systems is just meta enough to satiate the fans who prefer that version of the story. I think a lot of people expected Community to be obsessed with its own possible demise and comment on the events immediately, and I guess you could argue that the Troy and Abed story fits for something like that (especially considering that no one really understood if Troy and Abed’s “normal” personas were actually sincere or just sarcastic, knowing representations of sincere, something critics of the series accuse Community of all the time), but it was neither prominent enough or direct enough to constitute much more than a winking nod – especially since the episode was likely already written before NBC pulled Community from the schedule. Nevertheless, Troy and Abed being “normal” was both very funny (Danny Pudi is really, really good when given the opportunity to be a slightly “different” version of Abed) and character-based.

Ultimately, what’s so great about this episode is that it feels confidently focused on the characters. This might not be Community firing on all its meta, inside-popular culture cylinders, but “Urban Matrimony and Sandwich Arts” proves that the series doesn’t have to be one specific thing or another to be really good. 

Test Pilot #39: Kings

Debut date: March 15, 2009

Series legacy: Yet another one of NBC’s failed late-aughts drama series

Welcome back to Test Pilot guys and gals! With that extra-special Joss Whedon Theme Week behind us, it’s time to fall back into the typical, but still lovely rhythms of the feature. Today, we continue our fun exploration of one television’s most discussed subjects: One-season wonders.

Most series crash and burn before a prospective second season, but there are some that stick in our mind many years after cancellation. There is a large fascination with television series that only manage to produce a single season (often at a short order at that) before they are chopped down by “the man.” We are compelled by the possibilities and the what could have been for programs that projected all sorts of promise and upside but were never actually able to cash in on either. This theme hopes to explore some of the most celebrated one-season wonders and consider what, exactly, made audiences latch on to them so spectacularly.

Here we are, at the end of yet another Test Pilot theme. Before we get into today’s theme, I just want to thank Josh, Jamie, Anthony and Adam for taking this little journey with me. This theme has been fun, compelling and successful, and I couldn’t have done it with them.

But enough of those platitudes! We conclude today’s theme with one of the more notable recent entries into the one-season wonder category, NBC’s Kings. It’s almost three years to the day that Kings debuted on NBC and basically three years to the day that Kings failed. Because it is still “young,” Kings has not yet garnered the sort of praise and admiration that the theme’s veterans have. Yet, the series has certainly caught on with someone, as a late 2009 article pointed out that Kings was the 33^rd most popular program on Hulu. As of today, Kings is the 144^th most popular series on Hulu, which is still quite impressive for a series that was watched by less than an average of 4 million people three years ago. There are 120 pages of 20 series a piece on Hulu’s most popular rankings, and Kings is at the top of page eight, ahead of the likes of Angel, Haven, Suburgatory and The X-Files. Some of those series’ “popularity” is impacted by their availability (so most of The X-Files is only available through Hulu Plus), but again, Kings’ prominence on Hulu tells us that audiences eventually found – and are still finding – the Michael Green-penned series, even three years later.

What is it, then, about Kings that is so appealing to viewers? And how did NBC fail to tap into those interests when the series was on the air? Today, we try to answer those questions. Join us.

With me today is Adam Wright. Adam runs the always-growing www.TVDoneWright.com and you can follow all his rage and humor on Twitter. Adam, your thoughts on Kings:

A couple of weeks ago, NBC premiered the highly-anticipated series Awake. Before it even premiered, the high-concept drama received mass critical-acclaim. However with every great review, came the same familiar disclaimer: NBC will screw this up. The mainstream broadcast network audience will find the series too complicated and it would be better off on cable.

It may seem unfair to give a new series the death-sentence before it even premiere, like many did for Awake. Despite being brilliant, many including myself didn’t think the series would last a full season, let alone a second. As unfair it may seem, we make that judgement call from NBC’s past behavior. Let’s face it, NBC has had an awful past track record when it comes to serialized dramas.

“But Adam, they had Heroes!” you may say. Heroes had the advantage of the comic-book genre thing going for them. Plus anyone who watched the show will say that after season one, Heroes fell apart. What about Journeyman? The 2007 time-travelling drama lasted one season on NBC. The 2007 series The Black Donnellys is another example of a serialized series that barely lasted a single season on NBC.  Remember when Southland was on NBC? The network cancelled the gritty cop-dramas after one season as well. Thankfully it was saved by TNT, and is still airing today.

NBC has history of failing to develop its high-concept serialize dramas. But to me, there was no bigger blunder than how the network managed to screw up the 2009 series Kings. 

Kings was loosely based off the biblical story of David. The show features a modern-day monarchy in midst of civil-war. Ian McShane (Deadwood) plays King Silas Benjamin, leader of the Kingdom of Gilboa who was hand-picked my God himself (so he tells his people). Christopher Egan plays David Shepherd, a soldier who becomes a hero after saving a hostage during battle. The hostage however ends up being Jack Benjamin, the Prince. David quickly becomes a national hero and the face of the war.

The two-hour pilot introduces the major players around King Silas. We quickly see that even though everyone seems to fear him, some have an eye on that thrown. As for David, during a party in his honor, he meets the King’s daughter Michelle. Of course, sexy time ensues. The pilot had a mix of several elements. First, it features conventions of a political-drama. The power-struggle between the King, and pretty much everyone else is quickly apparent. Kings also borrows from the war-drama, and there’s also a big dose of religion. And finally there’s a love-story involving David and Michelle.

The best part of the series is Ian McShane’s performance as King Silas. His presence on-screen is something not many leading men bring to broadcast television. When he does a speech for his people, or leads his daily meetings, he brilliantly commands the scene. The political elements of the series are also quite strong, and I believe it was something that could have appealed to a lot of people. In fact, in the pilot alone they dealt with issues we deal with today: War, the economy, health-care reform, homosexuality in politics, and more. The power struggle also reminds me of Game of Thrones where everyone seems to be eyeing that throne.  

So why did it fail? The biggest mistake NBC did with this series was how they promoted it. They simply had no clue how to do it. The first promos featured a weird obsession with butterflies and quick shots of the main building (or castle). What kind of message does that send to the audience? NBC also promoted it as “the modern-day story of David vs. Goliath”. That is half-true, however the series is so much more than that. The religious overtones of the promos could have alienated many.

What hurt the series the most is that people had no clue what Kings was supposed to be about, from the premise to even who were the stars. In fact, NBC not once mentioned “star of Deadwood Ian McShane”. I’m willing to bet that a Deadwood mention alone would have brought many viewers.

NBC president Angela Bromstad admitted that it was too hard to promote Kings in a 30-second spot. I’ll admit that the series is not an easy one to sell. But even a monkey with a typewriter could have written a better PR plan. How about one ad with a 30 second epic Ian McShane monologue? Hell, how about 30 seconds of Ian McShane just staring at the camera with that menacing look he has? Wouldn’t you want to see the shit he’s up to?

There are so many angles NBC could have used to promote the series: political, religion, family, war, love. But they used NONE of that. They used fucking butterflies. BUTTERFLIES!

Re-watching the two-part pilot for this post made me realize that Kings may be even timelier today than it was in 2009. As bold as this statement sounds, the series reminds me of Game of Thrones. It has a lot of the same elements. But as I watched the pilot again, it was a sad reminder on how bad NBC screwed up their chance at something big. The series was shipped to Saturday nights after just four episodes, and then later was cancelled. Much like Journeyman, or The Black Donnellys, I have no doubt that Kings would have been better suited for Cable.

NBC has become a shell of itself. People are now scared of committing to a new series like Awake. We don’t trust the network with high-concept series because we are reminded of the ones that fell too soon.

Long live Kings.

–AW

And now, my thoughts on the opening episode of Kings and beyond:

When you love television like I love television, watching can become a lot like a CraigsList missed connection. There is so much television out there that no matter what I do, I am going to end up not watching something that I really wanted to watch. When that happens, all I can do is watch and long from afar until the first season ends so then maybe I can catch up during the hiatus. But when things I mean to watch get canceled quickly, that longing switches to a combination of disappointment and shame. Of course I couldn’t have helped a series like Kings survive on NBC in the spring of 2009. It was always going to fail. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel bad for not watching.

By all accounts, I was all-in on Kings before it premiered. Michael Green had done quality work on a number of series I enjoyed (Smallville, Heroes, Jack and Bobby) and everything I had seen from the pilot looked very intriguing. Unfortunately, I happened to be on a trip in Korea the week Kings debuted – and debuted to poor ratings. By the time I returned to the states, the narrative on Kings had been written and I had dozens of other series I already knew I loved to catch up on and that was that. But like many of the series we’ve tackled in this theme, Kings always stuck in my mind, because I knew that I would likely love it.

After watching the pilot for Test Pilot, my assumptions were proven correct. At the pilot stage, Kings is driven by strong performances, a beautiful visual style (I guess that $10 million price tag had to go somewhere, right?) and an engaging story crafted by Green that seems sort of perfect for television narrative. The pilot succeeds in establishing a new, but still recognizable world and a handful of curious characters while constructing all sorts of parallels between this fictitious world and our real one. I ended up watching the second episode (the third hour) and while I wasn’t as impressed, I am still confident in Kings’ ability to sustain its premise across the following nine hours.

The other thing I am confident in after watching three hours of Kings? There’s no way this is a broadcast network series. Listen, I am not one of those people who think broadcast audiences cannot understand or embrace a complicated and complex serialized drama. I prefer to give viewers the benefit of the doubt and assume that they are intelligent. Lost was a big hit, The West Wing was a hit, Hill Street Blues was a hit. “Mainstream” or “typical” viewers can, at times, latch on to something that is more than a cop/lawyer/doctor solving a crime/case/medical emergency.

However, I do believe that to reach the mainstream broadcast audiences, complex or serial dramas must be specifically calibrated to rope those viewers in, almost trick them into embracing the complexity. Lost wasn’t that complex for its first few seasons, it was mostly a straight-forward character drama with tinges of mystery. The West Wing was basically a procedural, only it was built around our nation’s leaders. And Hill Street Blues told great character stories, but those stories were still about cops.

Kings isn’t calibrated like those other series. It takes place in an alternate universe, where the United States doesn’t exist (or at least isn’t mentioned) and the “home” country is ruled over by a royal court. Many of the nation’s issues might be familiar and topical (war, economic strife, health care, corruption, etc.), but those issues are still dressed up in unfamiliarity. Various speeches and monologues give the audience some indication of where this nation was and where it is going, but those contextual clues still separate the world of Kings from contemporary society (again, even if the issues are quite familiar).

Moreover, while our entry point into the world is the naïve, admirable David, the series’ stand-out character is Ian McShane’s King Silas, a complex, morally-ambiguous leader with solid intentions and a religious foundation, but a whole lot of secrets as well. This kind of character dominate the cable landscape, but are harder to sell on the broadcast networks, especially when the protagonist is such a meek blank slate (purposefully, but still) and when the story doesn’t really want the audience to view King Silas as the outright villain.

Together, these elements are the strongest that Kings have to offer, but certainly crucial reasons why the series could never quite work on broadcast television. Audiences don’t mind being thrown into the deep end of an unknown world as long as the characters are tremendously relatable or the world represents enough of their reality that the unknown parts don’t stick out as much. Kings doesn’t completely fail to accomplish these necessary goals, but it fails nonetheless. This two-hour pilot features a lot of new: A new world, then an even newer version of that world and a new political structure. It is still easy to understand on a base level, and the parallels between this world and ours are prominent, but I can see why Kings didn’t fit on the schedule next to Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.

There’s an elephant in the room that I haven’t gotten into, one that NBC’s promo department clearly tried to avoid with its marketing campaign for the series: Religion. I remember reading a few reviews and pieces on Kings that suggested the religious elements were fairly prominent. I’m guessing most of those interpretations are based on the series’ source material, because at least in the first three hours, Kings isn’t some religious-based narrative. It is obviously interested in questions of faith, fate and how leaders use faith as a way to manipulate public perspective, but it’s not as if Kings features constant scripture quoting. Religion scares people away and I’m sure that’s what NBC’s promo department was thinking when they crafted the terrible campaign that Adam addressed (and Michael Green did his fair share of complaining about as well), but religion is neither as prominent here as some suggested or remotely detrimental to the story or the characters. In fact, I think King Silas’ faith and use of it to craft his public persona makes Kings a better series. I appreciate Green’s decision to include religion and questions of faith, if only because too often television series stray away from it to avoid any controversy. As an artistic choice, it works. As a business choice? Maybe not.

As far as I’m concerned, Kings isn’t much of a failure. It last only one season, sure, and the ratings certainly didn’t justify the massive cost that NBCU sunk into the project. However, as I’ve said time and time again, I can’t be too disappointed with a strong single season, or even a strong single pilot.* Obviously Michael Green didn’t get to complete the epic story he started here, but he did get to write and produce a dozen episodes that are reportedly quite satisfying in their own right. That’s good enough for me, and I hope to continue watching Kings when I have more time to do so. And the series’ popularity on Hulu tells me that this single season is still good enough for a slew of other viewers as well (likely millions and millions more who didn’t watch the series on NBC at all).

*Here I’m obviously projecting the early quality of Kings onto the rest of the episodes, but I’ve been assured that this isn’t a wrong projection.

Nevertheless, Kings did struggle while it was on the air and it is our job to think about why that is. As Adam and I both described in detail, it is pretty clear that Kings should have never been on NBC and NBC didn’t help matters by crafting a terrible, muted advertising campaign that barely raised any awareness about the series. I’d say that NBC did more to push Awake in 2012 than it did with Kings three years prior and the network had less time to accomplish that task this year. I appreciate(d) that NBC tried to add some cultural cachet to the series by scheduling it on Sunday nights, the night for quality television, but that just meant that Kings had to sit in a previously aimless timeslot and deal with whatever was on AMC, Showtime and HBO at the time.

Therefore, it is easy to blame NBC, because, well, it is always easy to blame NBC – especially Ben Silverman-era NBC. Yet I do find it admirable that NBC keeps trying to break through with a big, complicated cable-like drama series. This year, it is Smash and Awake. Adam mentioned Journeyman, Southland and The Black Donnellys, and you could throw Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip and even The Event in there. Parenthood and Friday Night Lights survived (barely), perhaps despite NBC’s inability to market them. Anyway, the point is that NBC has tried to do something more than just cop/lawyer/doctor series. Some of the network’s attempts have been awful and most of the time, NBC doesn’t know how to market them, but I guess I would rather have this than CBS’ consistent churning out of basic, obvious procedural fare.*

*That’s my perspective as a viewer. From a business perspective? NBC might want to borrow from CBS, like a lot.

As the theme comes to a close, an idea has been reinforced in my mind: There’s not one reason why anything fails, or only lasts a single season. Sometimes, the network really does screw the pooch. Other times, a series is ahead of its time, or other times, the series features some great ideas that don’t quite come together in the way everyone would have hoped. But most of the time? Most of the time, it’s a combination of all those things, and a dozen other things as well. The great thing about the six one-season wonders we discussed in this theme is that they at least lasted one season. That length is more than so many series get, and it is thus hard to identify any of the theme’s series as all-out failures. We might want more, and maybe we “deserved” more, but 18 episodes of Freaks and Geeks is better than four episodes, and 12 episodes of Kings is better than two. And without those cancellations, we wouldn’t get to write glowing, hindsight-focused pieces like these!

–CB

Conclusions on legacy: One of the better “failed” drama series in recent memory

The accused: Smallville, “Reckoning” (Season 5, Episode 12)

The crime: Sending its lead character on an aimless, never-ending path of self-loathing

How much impact, both positive and negative, can one bad episode have on an entire series? How do long-running series continue onward in the aftermath of an episodic failure? Is it possible that individual, episodic failures of television’s most respected series tell us more than the failings of a much-hyped about pilot or series finale? And how do we really define “failure” anyway? These are just a few of the questions that I hope to answer with #TVFail, a nexus of television failure, small, large and in-between.

Welcome back to #TVFail, friends. This feature exists to examine failure (obviously), but the degree at which each episode I discuss is a “failure,” varies. Some of the episodes covered here have been pretty obviously flawed and even universally hated (I see you, season two premiere of Friday Night Lights). But most of the previously-tackled episodes have been less overtly awful, or at least less so on the surface. The last entry, the season two finale of Dexter, sucked at the time and has only proven to be indicative of the series’ overall struggles. The point is, I think, that failure comes in all sorts of shapes and sizes, and is obviously in the eye of the beholder.

Today’s entry, unsurprisingly, hammers that home pretty hard. In my humble opinion, this episode dramatically altered the course of the series for the worse. And yet, this is episode 100 of the series. There were more episodes of the series after this one than before it, and a number of those episodes near the end of that epically-long run were quite good. So, what the heck?

Honestly, “what the heck?” is a great way to describe much of Smallville’s run. The WB/CW series last a still-shocking 10 years and over 200 episodes, but failed to garner much respect from critics and awards, mostly for good reasons. When Smallville was bad, it was horribly bad. And as I’ll discuss throughout this piece, there were a lot of times when it reached those hilarious nadirs (there are at least 40 episodes I can think of that are categorically “worse” than today’s topic, for example). But amid the obvious flaws (mostly writing-related in the early years and budget-related in the later ones), Smallville churned out some episodes and even moderately-long arcs that I still think were objectively “good.” Was Smallville ever Emmy worthy? Of course not.* But seasons two through five (well, the first half, and that’s why we’re here) had a slew of quality episodes and so did seasons eight through ten.

*Well, except for Michael Rosenbaum. He probably “deserved” a Supporting Actor nomination at least once for his stellar work as Lex Luthor.

But that middle stretch? Shudder. And most of that stretch’s problems started with the series’ 100^th episode, “Reckoning.” Although I think the series eventually recovered in the aforementioned eighth season, the damage done in “Reckoning” reverberated further, really until the very, very end of Smallville’s story. The series might have improved, but the primary issue caused by this episode remained for far too long.

Let’s travel back to 2005, shall we? After an uneven fourth season* that overreacted too much to the third season’s darkness, Smallville regained traction in its fifth year. Sending the characters off to college brought new stories, but also a certain level of maturity to the characters. The introduction of Brainiac as a college professor Milton Fine worked masterfully and the election story gave Jonathan and Martha Kent and Lionel Luthor a story of their own. The ongoing tension between Clark and his Kryptonian father Jor-El evoked the series’ primary thematic interests (nature vs. nurture, parenting, rebellion, etc.). Whereas most series about high school students falter once college is introduced, Smallville seemed to be thriving.

*To give credit where credit is due, though, season four features a glut of all-time great series episodes: “Crusade,” “Run,” “Transference,” “Unsafe,” “Pariah,” “Sacred,” “Onyx,” “Blank” and “Commencement.”  Unfortunately, most of the other episodes around those were pretty bad.

Then came the series’ 100^th episode, “Reckoning.” I remember, at the time, rumors were swirling about what would happen. The producers had announced that a main character would die, which was actually a pretty big deal, considering no main character had died for three seasons (Whitney was officially a main character in season one and died in season two, but yawn). Audiences were smart enough to know it wouldn’t be Clark, Lex or Lois, because, well, you can’t kill those three. Most assumed that it wouldn’t be Lionel either because we were smart enough to know that the series was saving his death for a time when Lex was “evil” enough to kill him. Chloe was too popular, and it seemed in oddly bad taste to even think about killing Martha. So, that left Lana and Jonathan. Arguably the two most important people in Clark’s life, it stood to reason that the death of either one of those characters would shake Clark to his core.

Before we get to the bad parts of “Reckoning” I have to give the episode and its writers, Brian Peterson and Kelly Souders (who would become the series’ showrunners during its creative rival years later) a lot of credit: This episode is damn good, especially when you remove all context. Clark reveals his secret to Lana and proposes to her before the opening credits and the episode just feels massive. That’s one great thing about Smallville: It knew how to give big moments their due. Of course, mid-way through the episode, all that happiness comes to a screeching halt when a drunk Lex more or less weasels Clark’s secret out of Lana and then causes her death. It’s one of the most gruesome scenes in the series’ history, and really well-performed by Tom Welling, John Schneider and Rosenbaum. Take a look.

Clark then goes to Jor-El asking him to reverse time (a callback to the films) to save Lana, but his informed that there will be consequences to restore the balance. Time is reversed, Clark doesn’t tell Lana the secret, but she lives. Unfortunately, Jonathan isn’t so lucky. While fighting with Lionel in the barn, Jonathan succumbed to a heart attack. Cue ultimate sadness and more great work from the cast and crew.

Again, there’s no question that “Reckoning” is a good, even great, episode of the series. The emotional heft of the proceedings is substantial and everyone in the cast turns in a tremendous performances. Most importantly, this episode fits perfectly into the entire season’s and series’ narrative. Clark had been butting heads with Jor-El constantly before this episode, oftentimes about the ultimate power of their respective abilities. From the beginning, Clark struggled with choosing well, anything, over Lana, but his relationship with his father was just as important. Smashing all those things together, and creating a situation where Clark is forced to see the consequences of a decision he made, was crucial step in journey towards Superman’s cape. With Jonathan around, Clark was arguably always going to hold himself back. And Jonathan regularly dies in the Superman mythology anyway. It theory, the events of “Reckoning” all made sense, and the writers did a wonderful job of suggesting a subversion of expectations without actually following through.

Unfortunately, what should have spurred on a half-season’s worth of pain and soul-searching turned into more than a half-decade’s worth of pouting and self-loathing for Clark. Although Smallville’s version of CK was always a bit emo-y before “Reckoning,” the events of this episode sent him into a spiral of immature emotional reactions that more or less lasted until the series’ final season. I completely agree with the series’ logic for choosing to kill Jonathan and keep Lana, and I also agree with its logic that this version of Clark would be destroyed over his father’s death and his role in that death for an extended period of time. But I never expected it to stunt Clark’s growth for years.

In the episodes and seasons after “Reckoning,” Clark continuously blamed himself for Jonathan’s death, and that guilt became something like a complex. Each time something moderately bad happened to his friends, or even strangers, the pity party immediately began. Even when Lex turned completely evil and killed his own father, Clark more or less blamed himself, because, golly, he could have been a better friend, or something. In some respects, Clark’s “ability” to take on everyone else’s problems and put it all on his shoulders only further proves that he’s a great hero, willing to help in all situations. It, theoretically, solidifies his humanity. I get that. But Clark also appeared to be initially smarter than he acted for all those years when he was too busy pouting over all the people he couldn’t save.

Clark’s inability to grow up stalled Smallville’s narrative. Casual viewers or diehard Superman comic fans complained about his failure to fly or get into the suit, but I found many more problems with his immaturity and woe-is-me attitude. Not only was it repetitive and stupid, but it made Clark look like a total fool and quickly become less sympathetic or interesting. For years after this episode, Chloe or Oliver or even Lana and Lois had to save Clark just about as many times as he saved them or other people. Sure, the story would have gotten stale if Clark just “won” all the time, but at a certain point, it felt like Smallville was a story about a half-dozen other people before it was about Clark Kent, future Superman.

Again, the path set up by “Reckoning” is one that the series should have taken. It just shouldn’t have lasted as long. When the writers have to craft the series’ 200^th(!) episode around another character telling Clark that he needs to get over the guilt, I feel like there might have been a problem with the length at which Smallville would go to keep one bad character beat alive. It took ONE HUNDRED EPISODES (and really even more, considering much of the final season was still about Clark’s various father figures) for Clark to recognize that maybe, just maybe, it’s time to move on. Not to take anything away from Jonathan Kent or Clark’s relationship with him, but that’s just too long and not helpful for an ongoing television series.

Moreover, I would also argue that Jonathan’s death left a hole in Smallville that extended further than just Clark’s development. In its early seasons, Smallville made great use of the Kents and stories about family and parenting as a whole. Those stories weren’t particularly novel or complicated, but they were effective and I would argue, important, especially to create the parallels between Clark and Lex. Without Jonathan around and Clark floating around in a guilt-ridden tizzy, Smallville lost that solid core and some of those core values, just like its lead character. The writers tried to replace that core with more soapy elements in the sixth season, which only made Clark (and Lex, too*) look like an unbelievable dolt. What appeared to be a seamless transition to more adult themes in the first half of season five turned into a few years of aimless plotting and character work masquerading as “adult”: love triangles, pregnancies scares, amnesia, faux-darkness. Those stories have their place, but without rock-solid center Jonathan provided, the series was lost at sea. Again, you could argue that the series’ wayward floating for those middle seasons tied nicely to a similar lack of coherent action by its lead character, but that would require you to mistake poor writing for intentional writing, and I just don’t think that was the case (even if the series tried to make us believe that with the aforementioned 200^th episode).

To be fair, Smallville recovered in those final three seasons. The departure of Lex and Lana and the focus on Lois freed Clark from some of the weight the series had placed upon him so many years prior. And in seasons nine and ten, the series used Clark’s darkness and confusion over his guilty conscience to produce engaging, purposeful stories. But even still, there were a handful of times where the character’s issues came to the forefront in the same annoying ways that they had so many times before. Clark, and the series, couldn’t really escape his hang-ups until the very end. 

The elephant in the room with all of this, though? External forces. Yes, the writing on Smallville did get quite bad and yes, the creative team should have written better material for Clark along the way. But we cannot discount the fact that the CW kept asking for more seasons of the story, when it was clear that Smallville was never meant to last more than five years, then seven years, and then eight, well, you get the picture. The producers of the series were clearly under a lot of pressure to keep Clark at a certain point because the only real place left for him to go was Superman, so that led to a lot of stalling and a lot of internal waffling. I think they deserve some credit for at least making an attempt to diegetically explain why Clark was stuck in a rut, and there were certainly a few instances where his emotional issues worked well, but the time between what happened in the 100^th episode and what happened in the 200^th episode was simply too long. And that extended period had detrimental effects on the lead character and the series as a whole, even if there were a bunch of quality moments along the way.  

I hope everyone enjoyed the Awake pilot last night (or over the past few weeks, thanks to NBC releasing it online fairly early). If you haven’t read my review, please consider doing that. But amid all the beaming reviews and superlatives for Awake, big questions remain: Is it a series? Can the story be maintained across multiple seasons or even these first 13 episodes?

These are great questions to ask and ones that Awake more or less dares you to ask, but as I watching the pilot for the third time in two days last night, I began to think to myself about the series’ sustainability and the “larger picture.” And by the time Awake’s narrative made it to that final sequence, I realized something: I don’t actually care if Awake can work as a series. Don’t get me wrong, I would love for it to, both for selfish reasons (I love great television) and so that Kyle Killen can keep a consistent job. But if it becomes clear by episode four or seven or 13 that Awake isn’t quite going to work as a long-term story, my sadness will eventually subside because any failure that comes after the pilot doesn’t automatically negate all the successes of said pilot. For me, every single post-pilot episode of Awake could be TERRIBLE and it wouldn’t really matter. I feel that exact same way about the Lone Star pilot, though its “failure” was out of the series’ and Killen’s control.

I’m wondering how other people feel about this. I understand that Awake’s pilot quality brings all sorts of expectations, and also fears that the series cannot meet those expectations. And in a time where we’re reviewing every episode and trying to simultaneously judge how it fits in with the past and predict what it means for the future, I have to guess that most folks would ultimately discard the pilot’s successes because of the series’ failures.

The ultimate impact of one episode is something that is really curious to me. Clearly, pilot’s set the tone for a series and they have to work on some level to hook the audience into the story. I’ve written before about how the greatness of one individual episode (like a finale) cannot rectify a season’s worth of problems, but I also think the opposite is true. A season’s worth of problems does not discount an individual episode’s strength and quality. That argument might be paradoxical in some ways, yet, I think it’s also true.

Perhaps this depends on the time that we look at an individual episode. At the end of a season, a great finale can fill us with positive emotions that might evaporate some of the nasty tastes in our mouth that the season shoved in there, leaving us to project a certain level of improvement that disregards the slew of issues. But if the ending or most recent episodes are troublesome, it tends to be difficult to look back as fondly on the strong points that came before. The recency effect is a fickle bitch, I guess. If the responses to the endings of Lost, Battlestar Galactica and The Sopranos have taught us anything, it is that.

Good analysis should consider context – the pilot is hopefully part of a larger whole, after all – but it should also be able to separate individual units from context, if only a little bit. For me, a great episode of television is a great episode of television. There is no level of subsequent failure that can strip away the heights an individual episode reaches. I might ultimately be disappointed with the whole, but singular parts still remain in my mind. I would never say I like something like American Horror Story as a whole, but there were two or three episodes in that first season that I completely adore and won’t soon forget.

This seems to be truer for great pilots, which can – and really, should – play like short films. In recent years, there have been a number of quality pilots that didn’t result in sustainable, great or even good series: the aforementioned Lone Star, The Walking Dead, The Nine, Heroes, FlashForward and Twin Peaks come to mind immediately. Heck even things like A Gifted Man or Modern Family struggle to live up to the quality that the pilot suggested. It happens, for dozens of reasons. But later troubles do not negate those early successes (just as later successes don’t negate early failures or whatever).

Awake, unfortunately, is likely to join this group, either because the story isn’t sustainable or because NBC doesn’t like the ratings (though it started “fine”). If that happens, it won’t take anything away from the pilot, at least for me. How do you feel? Do ultimate failures negate the positive feelings you had for a great first episode?

There is a lot of baggage that comes with the premiere of Awake. Its creator, Kyle Killen, also guided FOX’s Lone Star to the airwaves last year. That series’ pilot is one of my favorite of all-time, so of course, Lone Star was canceled after just two episodes because of terrible ratings. I also really enjoyed The Beaver, the little-seen Mel Gibson film that Killen penned. Despite all that unfortunate failure, Killen came right back last developmental season with one of, if not the, most buzzed-about pilot script. Mix in some tremendous casting and David Slade behind the camera and Awake (previously REM) became my number one must-see pilot. So it makes perfect sense that NBC held it for midseason. Then the production took a break to figure out where the story was headed. Thanks to the failure of The Firm, Awake is finally here and despite all the baggage, I have to say: It was worth the wait.

Killen is clearly compelled by stories about characters with dueling personalities or lives and what was more of an external, obvious challenge in Lone Star becomes an internal struggle in Awake. In the aftermath of a terrible car accident, Detective Michael Britten finds himself seemingly living two lives: One where his wife Hannah (played by Terriers’ Laura Allen) has died and his son Rex (Dylan Minnette, most notably remembered as Jack’s flash-sideways son on Lost) survives and another where the opposite is true. To help Michael work through his issues, he’s been assigned shrinks in both realities (B.D. Wong in Hannah’s world, Cherry Jones in Rex’s), but as we see in the pilot, Michael’s two “worlds” begin to converge, at least as far as his detective work is concerned.

Describing Awake’s premise feels like second-nature to someone like me who’s been so obsessed with it from the beginning, but I can only imagine how it plays to the untrained and unknowing eye. NBC’s done an okay job in promoting the premise in a clear, concise way. Yet, there’s no way around this: Awake, in pilot form, is complex and perhaps too complex for the stereotypical broadcast network viewer.

However, I have to give Killen, Slade and hands-on producer Howard Gordon a heck of a lot of credit because they work with the actors to make that complex premise seem less intimidating fairly quickly. Killen made a great choice in starting the story sometime after the accident and avoiding a full-blown premise pilot and the police procedural story engine could help the story be more overtly consumable for the CSI:  fans out there. Not to mention that Killen is a strong writer: Lone Star allowed its leads to express more just with their physicality, but even though Awake is more wordy (which comes with the story complexity), very little of the dialogue comes off as clunky or stupid. Most importantly, Killen’s script keeps the focus on Britten’s emotional state and his relationships with not only Hannah and Rex, but his dueling partners (Wilmer Valderamma and Steve Harris). The police procedure story is solid, but not integral (more on this momentarily).

It’s impossible to say who had the most say in developing it, but I’m going to assume that director David Slade played a big role in creating the distinct visual palette and the separate color schemes (warm reds for Hannah’s world, cool greens for Rex’s). The color structure is not only great to look at, but it plays an integral role in developing both the atmosphere and narrative. I posed this question on Twitter after the airing, but is it possible that this pilot features the best use of color ever? I’ve obviously not seen everything, but I can’t think of anything that did it better. And even generally speaking, this pilot is beautiful. It has a wonderful texture to it that feels lived-in; it’s not overly slick. Slade likely won’t direct any more episodes and it might be difficult to keep up with this episode’s level of visual flare, but there’s surely a framework in place to make it work. Please.

The performances here are similarly tremendous. Jason Isaacs is most recognizable as a villain (thanks, Harry Potter), but he immediately sinks into Michael that all those previous feelings are gone. As I mentioned, this pilot is wordier than Lone Star, but Isaacs has no trouble delivering exposition. He has great chemistry with everyone in the cast and brings something slightly different to each scene, depending on who he’s interacting with. This is an extremely sad, dark story, but Isaac’s performance keeps it from becoming depressing. Allen is just as natural and refreshing as she was in Terriers, B.D. Wong was born to delivering lines and lines of medical dialogue, Cherry Jones is surprisingly warm and lord, even Valderamma fits well into this world.

All of these elements help create a pilot that I could gush about for days. At this stage, Awake is simply enthralling. Despite the complexity and despite the dark nature of the story, the pilot immediately sucks you into the world and gets you invested in Michael’s struggle. In these opening 43 minutes, you never really worry about how any of this is actually possible, if it is real or if there are larger questions at play – you don’t care. The only thing you care about is Michael’s emotional connection to these two people that he has lost and what sort of complications arise internally because of that. By the final 12 or so minutes, when Michael’s flimsy structure teeters over, crisis erupts and he eventually decides to ignore admitting that either world is real or fake, the catharsis is too powerful to worry about plot mechanizations. It’s nearly impossible to not be bowled over by Michael’s choice to hang on for just a little bit longer. Who wouldn’t?

This is my favorite pilot of the season, unsurprisingly joining Lone Star as one of my favorite recent pilots (on broadcast or cable). The writing, the performances, the colors, it all works to shape what is a glorious expression of emotion and identity complications. And unlike so many pilots in contemporary television, Awake’s opening salvo tells one fairly complete story, give or take any resolution to the primary “mystery,” if you can even call it that.

Of course, it is impossible to ignore what Awake could be in the future. There is an obvious challenge with sustaining this kind of difficult narrative conceit and that’s assuming that viewers tune in (fingers crossed!). Balancing the character relationships with the procedural stories is always crucial in a story with a case-of-the-week structure, but it’s going to be even more important for Awake. I’m curious (though not skeptical, at least not yet) to see how long the “one case influencing and assisting another” premise can go without seeming staid. Unfortunately, I know that many critics have seen the first four episodes and apparently there is a big reveal at the end of episode two that suggests that Michael’s situation is not just one of his own mind’s creation. And the “this season on” promo hinted at a larger conspiracy-like story.

From my perspective, this is wholly unfortunate because as I said, the pilot doesn’t even allow you to worry about how this happens, you just want to see the experience of it. I personally don’t need everything to be a conspiracy or be powered by a larger conspiracy, even though I do see why others do. The problem is that Awake is never going to be able to satiate both camps: Any larger mystery could derail the character work that buoys the pilot and alienate viewers who enjoyed that internal complexity. Meanwhile, fans looking for clues could perhaps care less about Michael’s “journey” or especially not care about any of the police work. Ultimately, adding another challenging element to the story makes me fear for Awake’s future, and that makes me very sad.

Nevertheless, as a pilot, on a broadcast network in 2012? It’s hard to get better than what Awake does in this opening episode. Watch it, savor it. Awake might not be long for this world. Though it could exist in the parallel one, I guess. (Sorry, I had to.)

As I was watching last night’s White Collar season finale, I just wanted to re-link to the piece I wrote about the series six weeks ago. “Judgment Day” embodied most of the things that make White Collar so great: The plots twists and turns didn’t exist just because it was a finale, they instead worked to pay off a season’s (and really, a series’) worth of character development. And thankfully, the finale avoided the stingy cliffhanger problem that Collar has had throughout its run. Those final few moments, while frustrating, made sense on a narrative and character level. Sure, “Judgment Day” still fell victim to a little bit of USA Network-itis in that Peter has to chase Neal yet again, but again, the reasons behind why the story is headed in the way it is headed make a lot of sense.

The back-half of season three is probably the strongest stretch in White Collar’s young history. In the series’ post-Keller world, a big, bright end-point was introduced in Neal’s hearing and every episode in this run carried the characters and the narrative closer to that conclusion. Although I really love White Collar’s ability to craft a fun standalone episode about some priceless artifact, the series really works well when its primary concerns are the characters and their relationships with one another (shocking, right?) and these episodes are further proof of that fact.

Kramer poses a threat to Neal and Peter not because he wants some treasure or because he has captured someone’s star-crossed love. Instead, his goals are pretty simple: He admires Neal’s skills so much that he wants to use him as a tool in Washington D.C., and he’ll take any measure to get Neal there. White Collar has a tendency to make all its non-Peter FBI superior characters out to be obvious villains, but these last few episodes did a nice job of keeping Kramer out of that track. He is clearly the antagonist and by the end of the episode he is manipulating circumstances too much. However, his interest in Neal only reaffirms Mr. Caffrey’s great skills and reminds us of how respectful Peter treats him.

With the hearing in mind, many characters had to consider where they stood with one another. Neal’s journey to self-discovery encountered a few bumps during season two, but it’s been pretty clear that he wants to be a “good guy.” This string of episodes presented Neal with the circumstances that showed him what could be waiting for him on the other side of freedom. He told Peter the truth, he reconnected with Sara and he found himself caring about Diana’s wedding. By the time he makes it to the hearing in “Judgment Day,” I totally believe Neal’s speech about wanting to stick around New York, working for Peter and keeping the family unit in-tact. And unlike in the past, Neal only turns to criminal activity when it is absolutely necessary to protect those close to him, like Sara or Peter.

As Neal finally confirmed that he wanted to be the guy we can see that he already is, the other characters struggled with their feelings on Neal and his freedom. Peter has been covering for Neal ever since Keller kidnapped Elizabeth and he has also grown accustomed to having Peter around cracking cases and being a friend. These recent episodes got great mileage out of Peter wrangling over what he was going to say to the committee and “Judgment Day” forces us to wait until the last minute to actually hear Peter’s decision – and it still comes after he has aided and abated Neal countless times and more or less told him to run again.

Peter is smart enough to know that Neal running again is definitely a problem, but in the moment, his emotional attachment to Neal overtook him. Just as Neal’s grown to see Peter’s perspective, Peter now sees the world less in black and white. It is telling that although Peter gave Neal the go ahead, the latter was still broken up over the possibility of having to do so. Peter ultimately chose friendship over his job and now he’ll have to sacrifice more of his straight-laced lifestyle if he wants to keep Neal safe.

One of this episode’s strengths is how it didn’t let Neal off the hook for some of the things he has done. White Collar is a story where the past keeps influencing the present and with the various interviews, characters were given the opportunity to speak about Neal and his progression as a person. I liked how the interviews (with Sara in particular) mentioned that Neal is and can still be a pain in the ass, and sometimes even worse. The characters in this story have memories and although Neal is charming as hell and extremely “good” now, Sara and Peter remember the times when he wasn’t. For a story about a con man, this episode featured a whole lot of honesty. Neal wasn’t let off the hook.

As I’ve said time and time again, White Collar tends to struggle with its cliffhangers. Either they come out of nowhere or they undercut episodes and episodes of previous character development. Thankfully, the closing minutes of “Judgment Day” don’t do that. Neal choosing to stay, only to have Peter tell him to run is a cliffhanger dictated entirely by the characters and their connections with one another – and it all makes sense. It is now confirmed that Peter and Neal are on the same side, they just have to figure out how they are going to work together to avoid major consequences (and I’m sure they will because, c’mon, this is still a USA Network series).

Moving forward, White Collar could take this story a number of different directions. Jeff Eastin has said that next season will begin out of New York, which suggests that Neal will be on the run for at least a short period of time. I would bet that he and Peter will have to work to subvert Kramer (and perhaps get him in real hot water) and tension like that could force Peter to take even more illegal action. All in all, this was a very satisfying finale and a really strong close to the season. This is how a USA Network series’ season should finish. 

Other thoughts:

• The mystery regarding Neal’s parents is very intriguing. It is curious to me that the series has waited this long to get into its lead character’s past in any substantial detail (not that Collar has avoided it completely, of course). I hope that A.) Season four spends some time focusing on Neal’s parents but B.) Doesn’t have his father be some surprising villain. No thanks there. 
• Despite some very shoddy green-screen work, the Roosevelt Island sequence was really fun. White Collar makes great use of its NYC setting. 

Test Pilot #38: The Adventures of Brisco County Jr.

Debut date: August 27, 1993

Series legacy: One of the more beloved one-season wonders, mostly for its curious mix of genres, styles and imagery

Welcome back to Test Pilot guys and gals! With that extra-special Joss Whedon Theme Week behind us, it’s time to fall back into the typical, but still lovely rhythms of the feature. Today, we continue our fun exploration of one television’s most discussed subjects: One-season wonders.

Most series crash and burn before a prospective second season, but there are some that stick in our mind many years after cancellation. There is a large fascination with television series that only manage to produce a single season (often at a short order at that) before they are chopped down by “the man.” We are compelled by the possibilities and the what could have been for programs that projected all sorts of promise and upside but were never actually able to cash in on either. This theme hopes to explore some of the most celebrated one-season wonders and consider what, exactly, made audiences latch on to them so spectacularly.

Welcome back to Test Pilot everyone! I am happy to be with you on this glorious Leap Day and I hope that despite some obstacles (more on that in moment), today’s entry will be just as good as all those that came before it. But before we get into it, an important note: Today’s exploration of The Adventure of Brisco County Jr. will feature no co-writer. My planned contributor had to drop out at the last minute and there was not too much interest on Twitter, so I just thought I would tackle this one on my own. I wish this did not have to happen, but sometimes it is nice to mix up the formula, if even a little bit. The good news for you, dear readers, is that there will be less for you to have to take in. Which could be a good thing. Maybe. I do not know. ANYWAY.

I started Test Pilot some 18 months ago because I wanted to have an excuse to go back through television’s history and watch just a little of so many series I missed when I was not paying attention to television or not even alive. In this era, where people are talking about television all the time online, there are certain series that carry weight, for a number of reasons. Obviously, series like The Sopranos or The Wire are looked at as part of the unofficial “canon” of television and we are all urged to watch them to experience the apex of quality television. But other series, like today’s topic of discussion, The Adventures of Brisco County Jr., evoke different, but still interesting reactions from fans.

Of all the “one-season wonders” folks like to discuss, Brisco County has always seemed the most compelling to me. From an uneducated distance, the early 1990s FOX series looked like the perfect representative of a cool idea that could not quite fit within the constraints of broadcast television of the time and therefore, it fascinated me. Basically, I have been waiting for a good theme to build Brisco County into since Test Pilot’s inception and am damn happy I could finally make that happen.

And after watching Brisco County’s two-hour pilot episode that aired all the way back in 1993, I more or less have my confirmation about the series’ place amid the pantheon of one-season wonders.

Of the five pilots that we have covered in this theme so far, Brisco County is probably the “weirdest” on paper. Freaks and Geeks and Undeclared feature totally self-explanatory concepts (which makes their lack of success even more disheartening), Profit is mostly a victim of its own darkness and awkward pilot execution and Cupid, despite a certain level of “high-concept”-ness, makes complete sense on the screen.

But a western mashed together with a science-fiction serial, with a dash of anachronistic contemporary dialogue and behavior? That premise is a bit more difficult to swallow, even today, and probably resulted in lots of challenges for the FOX marketing department back in 1993 (although it appears their answer might just have been, “Well, it’s on Fridays.”). And unlike Cupid, which has very little issue executing its high-concept premise, Brisco County struggles somewhat to find the right rhythms and that is not even considering the genre mash-up underlying the pilot’s events.

Most of Brisco County’s pilot issues can be traced back to its length. Two-hour pilots sound like a great idea in theory, but oftentimes the execution ends up being less successful. The Lost pilot is one of the few two-hour openers I think really works and even then ABC was smart enough to break it up across two weeks. There are a few stretches in Brisco County’s pilot that plod along, where there is an obvious end-point in mind but the episode takes an extra few minutes to get there. This pilot has a solid atmosphere and it is likely smart to let the audience marinate in a world that is both in the past and not quite like the past they may have read about in a textbook.

However, establishing a world does not give a pilot free reign to let the characters catch up to things the audience already knows. There is an extended sequence where Brisco is posing as a random guy from Kansas as to get closer to John Bly and Big Smith and while Bruce Campbell has a ball giving that kind of winking and knowing performance, that part of the episode drags substantially. And even though the world itself is slightly unnatural, there are not so many characters introduced here to completely justify the two-hour running time. This is basically a premise pilot, albeit one with a shade of “high concept,” that is, from the beginning, building to a singular moment that eventually comes at the end where Brisco Jr. finally visits (and apologizes) to his recently-murdered father. Campbell does fine work in that final scene, the episode treats it with a certain level of gravitas and it feels like the story is really beginning right there. But again, there is a bit of fat in the middle that was not necessary.

Nevertheless, those last few paragraphs suggest I disliked Brisco County more than I actually did. Concept-wise, this is the kind of thing that is directly in my wheel-house. I am not the biggest western fan in the world, nor do I really consider myself a diehard sci-fi guy. However, the combination of the two genres, plus the underlying sense of the heightened fantastical, works on me, if solely because I find any series that tries something different or tries to smash a few different big elements together so compelling. Brisco County’s script, penned by Jeffrey Boam and Lost’s Carlton Cuse, does a nice job of underplaying the sci-fi elements in these opening two hours. Most of that material detailing the mystery of The Orb is dealt with right out front and then late in the episode.

The pilot whets the palate with a sufficient amount of information about The Orb (making it clear that Cuse had a little experience with this sort of thing by the time he made it to Lost) and the other anachronistic material like the rocket fits into the series’ somewhat goofy vibe anyway. Boam (and apparently, Cuse, though he’s uncredited) worked on an Indiana Jones film and clearly, Brisco County fits right alongside that film series. Both integrate more contemporary technologies and dialogue into a historical setting and really, this pilot is just as successful at that as any of the Indy films.

The one adjective I would use to describe this pilot is simply “fun.” Campbell is clearly comfortable in the lead role and the script gets the tone mostly-right throughout the two hours. Brisco County’s pilot isn’t completely self-reflexive, but it is certainly not afraid to toy with many of the western genre’s conventions without turning into some sort of hackneyed parody. And the aside from the aforementioned bloat issues, there is really nothing else to complain about here. The plot is not as complex as the generic mash-up might believe you to think and the basic structure is sound (which makes the bloat so frustrating).

By taking that approach, Brisco County initially unspools with most of the conventions of a western in place. Amid the sci-fi, the heightened reality or the anachronistic clashing of time periods, the pilot is most dominantly and obviously a western. In theory, that would make it much easier for random audiences to jump in and enjoy and therefore make the series more successful. In my research, I found that the Brisco County pilot was fairly well-received by critics and audiences alike (though I couldn’t find any particular rating figures), but as the story went along in the first season and sci-fi elements became more prominent, audiences tuned out. Again, the series aired on Fridays at 8 p.m., which isn’t the world’s greatest timeslot. However, we have to remember that this series aired right in front of The X-Files during both series’ first season, so clearly audiences were willing to stay home to watch something.

With that in mind, it is somewhat difficult to postulate why The Adventures of Brisco County Jr. failed to garner a second season. FOX is the network that fans like to complain about because it cancels the internet’s favorite series, but as I (and others) always say: Chances are, the only way something like Brisco County was getting on the air, especially in 1993, was through FOX. Putting it on Fridays certainly didn’t help matters, but again, I’ve poked holes in that as well.

There is definitely something to the series’ failure to walk the perfect generic tightrope that it pulls off quite well in the pilot. In an interview from the middle of Brisco’s sole season on the air, Cuse told USA Today, “We were biting off more than we could chew… we were trying to do a comedic action adventure Western, with tongue-in-cheek humor, genuine drama, plus science fiction. All these things added too many elements to serve simultaneously.” And apparently, by the end of the first season, a lot of the sci-fi portions of the story had been toned down. It is very likely that the genre mash-up didn’t appeal to viewers, especially those staying home to watch television on Friday nights in 1993. For all its complications, The X-Files was very straightforward in that first season.

However, I am curious about Brisco County’s primary genre center and how that actually led to its cancellation. There is no question that the western genre has had success on the small screen. The western was one of, if not the most popular genre on television in the 1950s and 1960s. In 1959, eight of the top 10 series on the air were westerns. Bonanza and Gunsmoke ran, seemingly, forever and there were dozens and dozens of other westerns that did well on television during that era.

But ever since the “rural purge,” where the networks (especially CBS) axed all their rural-themed programming in the late 1960s and early 1970s, the western has had difficulty finding success again on television. Clearly, series like Little House on The Prairie or even Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, were set in a familiar time period and displayed a lot of the western’s conventions. But pure westerns? Little seen in the 50 years since the rural purge ended. Even HBO’s Deadwood didn’t last as long as it was supposed to (though that’s obviously no comment on its quality).*

*And similar genre mash-ups like Firefly obviously didn’t work either. 

Therefore, it is perhaps just as possible that Brisco County failed because it was so clearly a western as it is that the series failed because it featured an odd mix of western and sci-fi conventions. The western genre has had issues taking recapturing its former glory in film as well, as Hollywood has figured out how to reproduce certain western tropes (outlaw heroes, vigilante justice, the fears about culture’s development) in other contexts.

It is likely that Brisco County failed for all these reasons. Its compelling premise wasn’t the most consumable for general viewers. Maybe people just didn’t – and don’t – care about westerns. Obviously, the timeslot didn’t improve the series’ chances. And perhaps, as Cuse’s comments suggest, the series couldn’t live up to the quirky potential it presented in this two-hour pilot. Those things happen on television, and ultimately, experiments like this one are what make television so great. The Adventures of Brisco County Jr. didn’t work, for a number of reasons, as a long-term series. But based on this pilot, I’m guessing the 27 hours audiences did get were likely pretty intriguing, probably for some of the same reasons it eventually failed. Now we get to enjoy it on DVD and wish what could have been.

–CB

Conclusions on legacy: Entertaining pilot with a great premise, but it is not surprising it failed in the long run

I talk television with a lot of people. Friends, family, other critics on Twitter, vagrants on the street. I just love talking about TV. Because I don’t have the time and resources to do a podcast like I used to in college, I’m going to sort of replicate that experience in textual form in a new recurring feature. Basically, I’ll just exchange a few emails with someone on a particular topic. You’ve seen this kind of thing done tons of other places, but it’s something I enjoy doing so expect more of it here on TVS.

Hiya, folks! As you may or may not know, I am current in the midst of a period that necessitates I keep my television criticism to a minimum. But although I do not really have the time to fit much in, I cannot stay away. There are too many interesting things to discuss. That is where a feature like Chitchat comes in handy. This week, I exchanged emails with two TVS favorites at once (I know, cray), Andy Daglas and Wes Ambrecht. The three of us discussed the last few controversial episodes of How I Met Your Mother, Robin and Ted’s relationship and how we’ve grown to accept that Craig Thomas and Carter Bays are just screwing with us.

Cory: Mr. Daglas, when we did our Best/Worst podcasts back in December, I distinctly remember you expressing a lot of disenfranchised feelings towards How I Met Your Mother. We are now a few months later and the series has burned through a few pretty big plots and twists in the last few episodes. I just had to get your take on what’s been happening on HIMYM recently. How do you feel about the series returning to the Ted-Robin well? And how do you feel about the series quickly backing away from that story with a half-cocked promised quasi-”ending” to their relationship? 

Andy: Thanks for checking in, because it’s true that I have an unusually strong bond to How I Met Your Mother and its characters. The return of the Ted/Robin pairing, however sclerotic, does feel like a long-running franchise evoking its roots, like Buffy‘s seventh season reopening Sunnydale High, or Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade delving into the Third Reich. Not to compare Mosbatzky to Hellmouths and Nazis, of course, but there’s definitely a “let’s recapture the magic” sense to it.

In a vacuum, I’m okay with this story for these characters – falling back into familiar ruts from your past, especially ones you have fond memories of, is totally sensible for people in the places Ted and Robin find themselves in. But this story isn’t being told in a vacuum, and I’m less satisfied with why the context that precipitates it exists.

The fact is Ted has been in a pretty miserable place for several years now. He’s not where he wants to be in life (seven years since he decided to settle down, and no closer to his goal), and he’s been through every level of heartbreak you can conjure up, on both sides of the equation. As for Robin, she could be in a comfortable place that fits her character – pursuing her career and not spending a lot of time thinking about romantic roads not taken – but Carter Bays and Craig Thomas have decided that everyone on this show deserves/desires a relationship above all else, and so Robin is contorted into these circumstances.

Meanwhile, the ability to tell the smaller, slice-of-life stories that HIMYM mastered in its early seasons has faded (Marshall and Lily’s uneasy morph into domesticity being an exception). Maybe it’s because they’ve just been on the air for so long and they’ve run out of material. Or maybe they’re burning through so many plots this year because they’ve lost the confidence in telling those simpler stories. Friends experienced a similar shift in its last two or three seasons, becoming much more heavily serialized and often counting on momentum to fill in for nuance. Is it a paradox of the sitcom story engine, one that most shows never face because they don’t make it to seven seasons and beyond?

Cory: Your point about the story in and out of a vacuum really hits home with me. I wrote earlier this season that HIMYM has become, for me, a series that’s basically all about the vacuum. This season has had a slew of legitimately great, moving and powerful moments, but viewing them together as part of a larger, coherent narrative that means something for Ted, Robin or even Barney makes way less sense. I totally see the value in returning to the Ted and Robin relationship; Frankly, I’m fine with the series eventually flipping the audience the bird and making Robin Ted’s wife (whether that means she’s the first one and not The Mother, or actually The Mother). And I’m particularly intrigued by a Ted-Robin-Barney love triangle, if only because it would put interesting tension on Ted and Barney’s relationship in a way that we’ve really never seen.

But because the season tried to reach this point by using Kevin as the primary obstacle, with Ted floating around on the periphery until it was time for him to do something important, it felt slightly out of the blue once Ted proclaimed his love. Then to simply burn through more Ted and Robin, Robin and Barney and Barney and Ted stories in 21 minutes seemed severely misguided to me. And of course, the series couldn’t resist smacking the audience in the face with the possibility that it will just return to it again because, as you suggest, the romance card is the only one HIMYM has left in the deck. 

Watching HIMYM is an especially odd experience because of all the extratextual stuff — We know about The Mother, but we also know that this is all part of a two-season story and we often have Bays and Thomas’ bullshit rhetoric in our minds as well. I’m constantly intrigued by how often Bays/Thomas actively screw with the audience, so I’m not surprised when something like this happens. Yet, while I can still feel the emotion in the moment (mostly because of the performances, and oh by the way, it’s nice to be reminded that Josh Radnor can do a little acting), it’s hard to ultimately care about, well, anything. Wes, let me bring you in here. What’s your relationship with HIMYM at this point and how do you feel about the last few episodes in particular?

Wes: HIMYM is a show that I sort of stumbled upon midway through its first season, after FOX pulled Kitchen Confidential from the schedule, leaving me with a 30 minute window between Arrested Development and Everwood. The show hooked me pretty quickly with its fun character dynamics and blatantly romantic stories. And, by the end of season 1, I was fairly invested in Ted’s quest for love.

Since then, my love of the show has waxed and waned. Like most people I adored the Ted/Robin pairing that season 2 gave us. Unlike most, I was also fond of the Ted/Stella pairing from seasons 3 and 4. Even the show’s 5th season had enough individual moments like “The Window” to keep me sated. But, last year’s misguided Zoey arc left a bitter taste in my mouth and made me question whether Bays and Thomas were just as directionless as their protagonist.

The answer so far this season seems to be a resounding “Yes!” Ted has been adrift for some time now, which I can empathize with. But, he’s also done very little to change that. Personally, I was hoping Victoria would help straighten him out, but her reappearance has served little purpose outside of “Ducky Tie” itself. Instead, Ted’s love life has become an afterthought this season. 

Excluding the awful “The Slutty Pumpkin Returns,” the writers have rarely addressed Ted’s quest this year. In lieu of Ted stories, Bays and Thomas have given us the Nora/Barney/Robin/Kevin quadrangle to chew on. That had variable returns for me. I liked most all of the Nora/Barney stuff, was largely apathetic towards the Robin/Kevin material, and cringed at all of the Barney/Robin stories. 

All of this brings me to last week’s rather abysmal “The Drunk Train.” Other than Becki Newton, nothing about “The Drunk Train” worked for me. The emotional reveals were sloppily handled. The drunk train gag was too broad. Robin came out of her relationship with Kevin looking like an indecisive train-wreck; and, Ted’s sudden reveal felt like the writers pandering to shippers. That said, I quite liked the fallout from his reveal and just about everything else the show did in “No Pressure.” In fact, my only real grievance with “No Pressure” is the final scene, which felt like Bays and Thomas attempting to leave open a door that Ted himself had just closed. In other words, I don’t ever want to see a Robin/Ted story again. They both need to move on, sooner rather than later.

Cory: You both hit on something that is curious to me. I know that HIMYM, at its core, is a romantic comedy, but in recent seasons, it feels like the series has almost solely relied on “coupling” as a story engine. Whether it is Robin and Barney, Ted and Robin, Ted and Zoey or Robin and Kevin, those stories dominate the narrative. Worst of all, the series constantly tells us that these relationships don’t even matter that much. We know that all of Ted’s relationships are part of larger wheel-spinning, but Robin and Barney’s various entanglements are also sort of weightless despite their prominence in the narrative. The three single people just find other single people (or each other), cycle through typical beats and then the series writes it off as “part of the journey.” Why, Andy, should we care about any of these relationships when we know the series has another one around the corner, or worse, explicitly tells us it’s not going anywhere? Doesn’t that automatically remove our investment? Can’t they come up with anything else?

Andy: I think the problem is less about a philosophical divide between journey and destination than about a journey that has been traveled too many times by now. HIMYM has often evoked comparisons to another popular series that built up a surfeit of mystery (something about an island, I think), and in both cases, the endpoints are never as interesting as the character moments along the way. But HIMYM has examined 20- and 30-something relationships from every conceivable angle by this point – long-term but doomed, short-term but enriching, amicable break-ups, virulent heartache, irresistible singlehood, immovable monogamy. The romance vein is tapped. 

And beyond exhausting the writers, that hurts the lead character as well. This isn’t just a romantic comedy, but a comedy about a romantic – a guy, Ted Mosby, who’s developing ideas about love and commitment but retains a doe-eyed optimism. Well, after seven unfulfilled years that optimism either gets beaten out of you or starts to ring hollow. HIMYM has struggled with both.

In my opinion, the only way out of the spiral is to do what Bays & Thomas are adamant they won’t do – introduce the mother, integrate her into the gang (better than any of the recent guest-star paramours, hopefully), and settle into new kinds of stories about the endless transition to adulthood. Do any of these people still have careers, by the way? (Except for Marshall and his string of wacky bosses.)

What do you gentlemen think: Can fulfilling the show’s premise restore its promise, at least for one or two last seasons?

Wes: First off, I don’t think it’s fair to say that recent seasons of HIMYM have been powered almost exclusively by coupling stories. Last season gave us the search for Barney’s father, the death of Marshall’s and the build-up to Lily’s pregnancy. The latter of those three was only successful some of the time, but the other two were arguably the best arcs Neil Patrick Harris and Jason Segal have been given, respectively. 

Still, at its heart, HIMYM is a romantic comedy. Thus, season long romantic entanglements are somewhat necessary. As I mentioned earlier, I am a staunch defender of Nora and the chemistry NPH had with Nazanin Boniadi. But, for every Nora, we’ve also gotten a Don.

This season we’ve spent a great deal of time on the Kevin/Robin relationship, enough that I could have been fooled into thinking they had a future together. Last week, Kal Penn signed on to a pilot for ABC, indicating that he is ready for series regular work again. Had HIMYM decided that Kevin was the man for Robin and locked Penn up for next season, I would have been more than OK with that. That they chose not to speaks to Bays and Thomas’ unwillingness to close certain doors. They love having the Barney/Robin well to go back to. They love teasing fans who think Robin could still somehow become the mother (whether by magic or science). They love having options. Unfortunately, those options have become a crutch for the show. 

Andrew makes several good points about Ted as a character. After seven unfulfilled years, he should feel like a wayward soldier of love. That’s a story I’d love to see mined. Instead, Bays and Thomas have decided to have Ted come to terms with the notion that he’s simply not ready to get married later this season. I don’t know about you guys, but that strikes me as offensive to the audience.

If given the reins to HIMYM, I would quickly introduce the mother. We know Ted meets her at Barney’s wedding, so marrying Barney off would instantly become my top priority. I’ve never been a fan of Barney and Robin as a couple, but it seems like a foregone conclusion that it’s their wedding we’ve seen clips of, especially now that Becki Newton has taken a pilot at FOX. So, make the Barney/Robin union the season finale and spend next season integrating the wife into the clique.

On a side note, many of the show’s fans have decided that Ted’s wife is Barney’s half-sister. Should the show travel down that path, how would y’all feel about it?

Cory: Wes, you make a solid point about the series’ other stories and I quite liked both Barney and Marshall’s father-related issues. But it does feel like the series has completely run out of things to do with Ted, whether romantic or not. Maybe I’m the only one, but I’ve always been in Ted’s professional life and I think the series has completely dropped the ball in showing us much of Ted, the architect, or Ted, the college lecturer. What, exactly is Ted even doing right now? Heck, that could be a story right there. If Ted isn’t given any professional stories and really any other romantic stories other than the occasional mention of how static he feels, the character lacks all purpose. Unfortunately, this is has been the problem with Ted since his relationship with Stella (more or less) and after so many years, it is hard for me to get invested in anything Ted does, let alone pay attention to all the clues about The Mother. 

It is so odd to me how Bays and Thomas actively antagonize the audience, apparently because they can. It seems obvious to the three of us — and many others — which the series needs to make moves in regard to The Mother, but Bays/Thomas refuse to do so and therefore, Ted remains stuck. And while they’ve given constantly good material to at least two of the other supporting characters, it’s confounding to me that they haven’t figured out how to write any quality Ted stories. Based on this conversation, it appears that we would all prefer that the series just introduce The Mother and move forward from there. If that person is Barney’s half-sister, fine. If it’s a stranger, fine. Frankly, for me, if it’s Robin, whatever, fine. I don’t need to see The Mother in like I need to know the answer to a question. I’ve never watched HIMYM for the identity of The Mother and all the possible clues. I just want them to stop stalling. Andy, your thoughts? Is there any way that the series can improve its handling of Ted without introducing The Mother?

Andy: Cory, you brought up something I was thinking about during my last reply – what happened to these people’s jobs? Ted and Robin both got some strong early season material out of their chosen career paths, and navigating the divide between their dreams and the day-to-day reality. It both complemented the romantic quests and gave the characters vital shading that made them more fully relatable. As Future Ted has often informed his by-now-fully-grown kids, this isn’t just the story of how he met his wife – it’s the story of how he became the man he had to be in order to meet her. That growth entails more than a scattered and scarred romantic history, a fact it seems HIMYM‘s lost sight of.

My answer to your question of whether the show can improve sans Mother is both yes and no. On one hand, it can improve by returning to stories about other, non-coupling aspects of their lives (like Barney’s and Marshall’s arcs, as Wes mentioned). On the other hand, I’m convinced that such a shift (at least with respect to Ted) won’t happen so long as Bays and Thomas have Mother Tunnel Vision.

At the very least, is it too much to hope for one more solid Ted Mosby: Architect story that sees the return of Bryan Cranston as Hammond Druthers?

Wes: I’ve already insulted the Zoey arc, and I don’t want to harp on it because I love Jennifer Morrison like nobody’s business, but it’s important that we remember her arc was a work adjacent one. She and Ted met and came into conflict over the erection of the new GNB building. That was a season long story that involved Professor Mosby and Architect Mosby. It wasn’t a good story, and was vastly overshadowed by the material NPH and Jason Segal were given, but it was a work-related story nonetheless.

In “Challenged Accepted,” Ted finally demolished the Arcadian and started work on the GNB building. And yet, we’ve barely addressed the actual construction of said building at all this season. Ted’s sudden success was briefly touched on in “The Naked Truth,” but we never saw him at the build site. Are we really expected to believe that a project riddled with problems in the planning stage is being built without any complications? 

I can forgive HIMYM for shying away from Robin’s work stuff, because we know she doesn’t really flourish as a reporter until being sent to cover foreign news stories; and, they can’t write Cobie Smulders out. “Tailgate” did a good job showing us Robin coming into her own, and this week they sent her to Russia. Baby-steps but acceptable ones, for now. Similarly, I can forgive the lack of Lily work stories, as she is very likely on maternity leave. That doesn’t, however, excuse them for telling the rather terrible Marshall work stories we’ve seen this year. I’ve never been a Martin Short fan, but the material they’ve written for him is particularly grating.

Since neither of you bit on my question about Ted’s future wife being Barney’s half-sister, I’d like to briefly address my issues with it. Before casting Jennifer Morrison last fall, Bays and Thomas also met with Minka Kelly and Jacinda Barrett. As with Morrison, both Kelly and Barrett are in their 30s, and therefore of a comparable age to Ted. Barney’s half-sister is supposed to be a traditional undergraduate college student, which means that she is all of 21. At 21, I’m an entirely comfortable with the idea of marriage, but I know almost no one else my age that is. That paired with the age disparity between her and Ted creates a litany of problems for me.

Cory: The idea of Ted dating a 21-year old makes me shiver in fear. That sounds awful. Like I said in my last response, I really don’t care who The Mother is or how we meet here, but that option is certainly not the most appealing. It’s possible that a younger woman could spark certain traits within Ted that aren’t so pretentious or annoying and obviously, age ain’t nothin’ but a number. I’m skeptical, though. 

Ultimately, I think the fact that we’re talking about a possible Mother candidate, one that’s dominating speculation among fans, is telling. Bays and Thomas want the audience to be speculating and theorizing about the identity of The Mother. And I get it, that is the basic hook of the premise. But there is an odd disconnect between that hook and the kind of things Bays and Thomas blow off about in interviews or the kind of things the series puts forth. Everything on HIMYM is supposedly about the journey, the road to maturation and true love or whatever. I’m fine with that. However, because of Bays/Thomas’ unwillingness to pull the trigger on well, anything, related to The Mother (and, of course, the series’ runaway success), that journey is stalled; it’s more frustration than maturation, for both Ted and us.

The series, not unlike Lost, is trying to serve two masters and it’s becoming ever-cumbersome. Whereas Lost‘s showrunners Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse (basically) never wavered from their assertion that the story was about the people and the journey and audiences sort of refused to listen, Bays and Thomas have the opposite problem: They won’t listen to their audience. As we get to the end of our conversation here, I’m wondering: Is there anything that could turn you away completely from HIMYM, and how do you think this season ends? Will we, in fact, meet The Mother?

Wes: At the point, I’m in too deep. Nothing could really drive me away from HIMYM completely. So, congratulations to Bays and Thomas! They can continue telling mediocre stories and know they’ll always have at least 1 guy who sticks with them.

As for how they season ends, your guess is as good as mine. With Becki Newton expected to recur through the remainder of this season, there won’t be a great deal of time to work on the Barney/Robin romance. That means the season either ends with Newton’s character leaving Barney at the altar or no wedding at all. And, as aforementioned, no wedding means no mother.

Andrew: As we’ve discussed before, Cory, I too am stuck with HIMYM for the long haul. The characters got their hooks in me in such a way that bailing out isn’t really an option, short of Ryan Murphy somehow seizing control of the show as part of a bloody campaign across the writers’ rooms of Los Angeles.
At this point, I tend to doubt that the future Mrs. Mosby will appear until the final arc of the final season, and we know this isn’t the final season. So I agree that the last few episodes this year will rekindle Barney & Robin one way or another, culminating in 1) A cliffhanger and 2) A whiplashing misdirect. That’s how the game is played.

But in spite of all that, I won’t give up hope that the show can hit (or approach) its heights again, even intermittently. “The Ducky Tie” and “Tailgate” are fantastic examples of that this season. And while they’ve had story problems, the last several episodes have demonstrated that Bays, Thomas, and Pamela Fryman are still willing to experiment with structure in interesting ways – this isn’t a creative team that’s just going to mail it in 22 times a year and coast on strong ratings. Hey, if you’re going to be a HIMYM fan, you’ve gotta have a little naive optimism in your DNA, right?

Cory: Now that I think about it, I am convinced that this season ends with Barney being left at the altar. I’m not up on all the clues, but have we been told that Ted meets The Mother when Barney gets married or just “at Barney’s wedding?” If it’s the latter (which feels like a Bays/Thomas hoodwink-type move), then I’d imagine that Barney somehow decides to marry Becki Newton’s character and is ultimately let down. That sets up big things for Barney and Robin into the next (and hopefully last) season and also hopefully puts Ted on the path towards something substantial as well. Rushing a Barney-Robin wedding doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me based on what we’ve seen over the last half-dozen episodes and I think this production team would love to pull out some wedding shenanigans again (it is their thing, I guess). I am still convinced that next year will be the end, if only because the cast’s profiles have outgrown television. Like you, Andy, I’m optimistic that Bays and Thomas will actually listen to the loud cries to move forward without taking two steps back. But I’m definitely expecting to be jabbed with a dumb twist just the same. 

The accused: Dexter, “The British Invasion” (Season 2, Episode 12)

The crime: Allowing its lead character to avoid major consequences and therefore damaging the narrative forever

How much impact, both positive and negative, can one bad episode have on an entire series? How do long-running series continue onward in the aftermath of an episodic failure? Is it possible that individual, episodic failures of television’s most respected series tell us more than the failings of a much-hyped about pilot or series finale? And how do we really define “failure” anyway? These are just a few of the questions that I hope to answer with #TVFail, a nexus of television failure, small, large and in-between.

Welcome back, failure fans. Sorry about the delay between entries, it’s been a stressful, busy time in Casa de Surveillance. Hopefully there will be no more unscheduled breaks any time soon.

I have covered all kinds of failure here with #TVFail, from loudly-scorned efforts to somewhat-secret stumbles, but the episode central to today’s entry is perhaps the most influential on its full series. Maybe the Heroes season one finale is reflective of larger problems that the series could never, ever overcome and perhaps an early season six episode of 24 was a point of no return for that series’ use of “shocking” moments. Yet, neither of those episodes touches the ultimate impact of today’s focus. The second season finale of Dexter substantially altered the trajectory of its lead character and the series as whole. Planning the “what if” game is rarely productive, but it is hard for me to not think about what kind of story Dexter could have been had things gone differently with this episode, and the conclusion of the season’s story.

The other thing that makes “The British Invasion” a different representative of television failure is that for the most part, Dexter had few major issues before this episode aired. The first season sometimes dragged and the supporting characters were a bit flimsy, but overall, it was a success (mostly because of Michael C. Hall’s performance, but still). And the second season? It is very, very good. Doakes is not the most interesting character as an individual person, but as an antagonistic, threatening force breathing down Dexter’s neck, he is perfect. Despite her annoying tendencies, Lila initially appeared to serve a purpose for Dexter, giving him an out to tap into the animalistic and passionate portions of his personality.

Generally speaking, if the story is about a vigilante “savior” who stops criminals by murdering them, it is smart to pressure that character with the possibility of revealing his identity and all his secrets. And doing it sooner, rather than later, is even smarter. As a result, the first 11 episodes of Dexter season two are tremendous (typical supporting character nonsense aside). The story kept moving forward at a nice clip, the stakes felt real and Dexter looked to be boxed into circumstances that he couldn’t weasel out of, at least without major consequences.

In most of my cases thus far at #TVFail, the context for the failure makes a lot of sense. We could see Heroes struggles coming. Many elements of 24’s premise were already strained once season six came around (despite the quality of season five). Even something like the struggles of Friday Night Lights during season two made sense immediately because we could bet NBC wanted them to “spice” it up and we knew that Jason Katims was working on multiple projects at once. But the events of “The British Invasion” made little sense in 2007 and even though they make a certain modicum of sense in 2012, they only do so for all the wrong reasons.

Therefore, I do not want to flat-out say that this episode ruined the series, because there have a number of satisfying episodes and individual moments in the subsequent four years of Dexter. Nevertheless, I will say that “The British Invasion” severely damaged Dexter the character and Dexter the series and although there have been times where it seems like both are on their way to coming out of their respective ruts, the issues that started here work their way to the surface yet again. The events of this episode are the root for most of the problems Dexter has had throughout the rest of its run, and choices made as to how to end season two’s story robbed audiences of what could have been one of television’s truly great cable dramas.

Dexter is, obviously, a morally ambiguous character. He is the protagonist character of Dexter the series and his work keeping the proverbial streets safe can be read as somewhat heroic. But all of the character’s heroic tendencies are canceled out by his selfish desires and psychological damage. Sure, he kills “bad” people (most of the time), but he does so for himself more so than for the citizens of Miami. He is chasing a feeling and trying to suppress certain urges at the same time. This is all obvious and Dexter’s ambiguity is more or less the hook of the entire story.

However, season two is really the only season to truly interrogate Dexter’s reasoning in any great detail. In the first season and later years, the writers found ways to address why Dexter kills and what kind of impact that has on everyone around him, but I never got/get the sense that the series was actively challenging Dexter’s process or his beliefs. But in season two, things are different. Dexter himself questions the logic and value of The Code and considers turning himself in multiple times. He agrees to go to Narcotics Anonymous when Rita suspects he has a drug problem and finds some value in the lessons. And most importantly, Dexter loses control and starts treating people like crap (while bedding the appealingly crazy Lila), just as one of the few other sympathetic characters on the series starts to suspect his actions.

It is one thing for Dexter to cunningly plot to avoid being caught by the police. The audience expects the anti-hero to take sketchy actions to save his/her own skin. It is something else entirely (but not “bad,” more on that in a second) for Dexter to purposefully plot against Doakes, an officer of the law who is simply trying to do the right thing and catch a criminal. Obviously, the audience knows more about Dexter’s reasons for taking certain actions and that makes him more sympathetic, but it is hard to identify Dexter’s actions in season two as anything other than “sufficiently evil.” He works overtime to cover his own tracks, but those selfish actions in the name of self-preservation lead Dexter to attempt to pin all of the Bay Harbor Butcher murders on Doakes. Doakes isn’t the most appealing or lovable character ever, but he doesn’t especially deserve the things that happen to him throughout season two either.

Amid his plotting against Doakes, Dexter’s personal life spirals as well. His relationship with Rita is fractured once he succumbs to Lila’s advances. He commits small, typical sins like lying, but also starts to give in to his more fundamentally vicious urges – urges that certainly have an impact on his treatment of Doakes.

In the first season, Dexter’s primary foe is someone who is obviously more villainous than he is. Even the weekly easy kills are described in such a way that it’s fairly easy for the series to justify Dexter dispatching of them. But in season two, the primary foe (Doakes) is not more villainous than Dexter, far from it. That shift in antagonist, combined with Dexter’s personal descent into more overtly “bad” behavior, makes the character dramatically less admirable throughout the season.

And don’t get me wrong, this is not a bad thing, at all. A series like Breaking Bad succeeds because it is not afraid to let its lead character(s) make terrible decisions that hurt people, both good and bad, and keep moving down a path of evil. The more complicated the actions by the “antihero” character, the more compelling, and arguably, better, the story is. Challenging the audience to identify with someone who does just as many horrible, selfish things to good people as he does to bad people is, again, a good thing.

Dexter should have taken this route, as it appeared it was truly on its way to doing. The way I see it, the whole arc of the second season is leading to a moment where Dexter turns into something more complicated (read: evil) than he (or the audience) initially thought. At worst, the story is leading to a moment where Dexter has to make a choice about the kind of monster he wants to be: Does he kill Doakes? And if not, how does he keep him alive? Relatedly: Does The Code matter, or when do the ends justify the means? You could add a number of similar questions here.

Unfortunately, “The British Invasion” not only fails to accomplish the first feat, it somehow also strips Dexter of even having to make a choice at all. Lila discovers the abandoned cabin that Dexter is using to hold Doakes, and convinced that she is Dexter’s soul-mate, sets the house ablaze. Doakes dies; Dexter is relieved, freed from having to make the hard decision. And of course, by the end of the episode, Dexter also travels abroad and takes care of Lila, just for good measure. After all that tension, all those questions, everything is resolved neatly and conveniently.

Erik King, the actor who played Doakes, said in an interview that “Dexter could not kill Doakes because he is an innocent man.” The implication from King’s statement is that Dexter is too good to kill an innocent man and that as the antihero protagonist of a popular television series there are certain lines the character apparently cannot cross. And of course, I understand some of the realities and necessities of television, wherein certain events or changes cannot occur because this is a business, the series have to go on as long as possible, etc.

However, what King’s statement disregards and where the realities of the business do not matter, is how the story developed up to “The British Invasion.” If Doakes had to die – and the producers insisted that he did – then fine. But perhaps do not build the season’s narrative around Dexter’s declining morality and increased state of unhinged-ness or ask big, important questions about the character’s modus operandi. Because if Doakes does die and his death completely undercuts everything that came before for the lead character (who will still be alive and have to deal with all this in future seasons), the whole story breaks down and ultimately, the resolution feels like a massive cop-out. That is, of course, exactly what happened here.

The majority of season two is about Dexter not caring about his already-muddled versions of right and wrong and to allow him to slip out of a final beat in that regard is staggering. To not even put Dexter in a situation where he’s forced, even begrudgingly, to frame Doakes for all the Bay Harbor Butcher nonsense is staggering. To not even put Dexter within miles of event where Doakes does die and to take everything out of his hands is STAGGERING.

“The British Invasion” should have actively engaged with moral ambiguity, and at worst, should have maintained its pre-established gray area. But instead, the finale runs away from any hard choices so it can keep the series’ lead character at a certain level of comfortability. Somehow, after a season dedicated to showing the audience how much of a hero Dexter is not, the finale ends with him positioned as heroic for taking out the admittedly-annoying Lila, the woman who actually had the gall to do what Dexter could not.

Oddly, in the aftermath of “The British Invasion” various Dexter writers and produced talked about killing Doakes to avoid repeating storylines or staying stagnant. The problem with those statements is Dexter almost immediately became repetitive and stagnant because of the choices made for “The British Invasion.” With Doakes out of the picture, there were no police characters around to truly pose a threat for Dexter. Instead, he has appeared to be unbelievably more intelligent than everyone around him, every week for four years. The only time Dexter gets into hot water these days is when he slips up, not when really anyone else does something right. As a result, there have been few instances where Dexter has been able to touch the tension of those great season two episodes, at least in regard to Dexter being “discovered.” The stakes feel less important because the series has proven time and time again, starting with “The British Invasion,” that Dexter will get out of whatever jam he is in by the end.

And arguably more importantly, all of Dexter’s primary foes in season three through six have been obviously more “evil” than him. That approach to antagonist construction makes the story immediately less interesting because it allows Dexter to be positioned in the moral high ground (relatively speaking, of course). Clearly, Dexter’s relationship with Trinity had some compelling moments and connected nicely with Dexter’s inner turmoil over his family life. Nevertheless, there was still never any question about who was “more evil” between Trinity and Dexter and the way Rita’s murder was used to evoke sympathy for the latter proves that even more. Trinity was the villain taking something away from the hero. There was not enough in the series, either before or after, that addressed how Dexter caused Rita’s death by being an awful monster himself.*

*To be fair, the season five premiere does a great job with this. But it was forgotten too quickly so the story could move on to its typical rhythms.

Every season, Dexter’s way of life is reinforced and justified. It does not matter what he does in that year’s 12 episodes. The story basically ends up at the same place. The series’ one big card left to play is Deb finding out that Dexter is this monster, but to get there, the writers decided it would be wise to make Deb A.) Agree with a certain level of vigilante justice (in season five) and B.) Fall in love with Dexter. So even though she walked in on him murdering Travis at the end of season six, she’s already predisposed to make excuses – and this doesn’t even include the fact that she already knows Travis was a terrible murderer, so Dexter killing him is kind of okay anyway.  

Dexter has stopped asking the compelling questions it was asking before “The British Invasion.” It has stopped forcing its lead character into circumstances where the audience is forced to question their sympathy for him. I see the logic behind “softening” Dexter over time as part of some kind of character development, but the man hasn’t changed. The series allows him to do the same awful things he has always done, it just keeps making excuses for him. The worldview of Dexter the series always reinforces the worldview of Dexter the character. Not challenging them is such a mistake.

Maybe Dexter did not have to be as ambitious as something like Breaking Bad. But it could have taken a real risk every once and a while.* But it did not, and as a result, the series and the character have become exactly what the writers did not want at the end of season two: repetitive (see also: borderline terrible).

*I’m not sure if I would call killing Rita as a real “risk.” That choice was certainly shocking and provided the series a great cliffhanger. But removing her from the equation only allowed the writers to avoid establishing much real tension for Dexter even more. Now he has no one to answer to but his son and the moral pull of a baby apparently isn’t enough (and certainly isn’t compelling enough narratively).  

If you follow me on Twitter, you likely know that I love professional wrestling. I get crap for it all the time, but I am not here to discuss why wrestling is unfairly disregarded as a cultural artifact or get into those obvious taste arguments. Instead, I am going to pretend that wrestling is as respected as it should be and then spend the next hundreds and hundreds of words talking about how unfortunate certain events are and how interesting other, related events are. For those of you who like reading my stuff but are not familiar with wrestling or current-era WWE, I will do my best to either explain the details or link you to places where you can fill in the blanks quickly.

Wrestling has an unfortunate history with its treatment of women. It also has an unfortunate history with its treatment of people of other races, people with alternative lifestyles, people with certain political ideologies, etc. Basically, if you are not a white male, wrestling has and likely continues to do you wrong pretty handily. Chances are, even if you do not watch a second of wrestling each week, you know this. It is an unfortunate truth.*

*To be fair, the independent wrestling scene does a much better job with female performers and really anything with subtlety. But for better or for worse, WWE dominates the pro wrestling (or as they call it, the sports entertainment) landscape and it is impossible to say that Vince McMahon’s company doesn’t define mainstream culture’s assumptions about the “sport.”

Throughout my time as a pro wrestling fan (which dates back more than 15 years), female performers get to fall into two roles: overly-sexualized prop or hateful bitch. That’s basically it. During the so-called heyday of pro wrestling (1997-2001), the most visible females were WCW’s “Nitro Girls,” a group that basically functioned as more provocative cheerleaders, a bunch of WWF/E “Divas” who looked like this, this and this and served as a feeder system for the yearly Playboy cover and Mae Young, an elderly former women’s champion who sporadically appeared to have sex with random male superstars and give birth to a hand.*

*I wish I was making that up. Actually, no I don’t.

That era, also known as the “Attitude Era,” featured dozens of pillow fights, lingerie matches, swimsuit competitions and god knows what else. Stacey Keibler, George Clooney’s current love-of-the-moment, became popular because she did this. Over the last 10 years, major WWE Divas (even those who were legitimately good wrestlers) have been forced to get on their knees and bark like a dog in front of CEO McMahon. They have been at the center of stories primarily making fun of their weight. They have been part of “live sex celebrations.” And fairly constantly, they have heard the “WWE Universe” yell “Slut! Slut! Slut!” at them.

Obviously, pro wrestling is a super-weird world where typical or progressive representations of gender (or race or class or sexuality or again anything that’s not big muscular white dude) are few and far between. WWE’s representations of masculinity are just as heightened and stereotypical as its representations of femininity, though those are typically not as offensive. And arguably, the fans, excuse me, the Universe, is as much to blame for this as anyone. WWE creates characters or storylines solely to get a reaction out of the audience. Wrestling fans (who are, shockingly, mostly white males) have responded to a certain construction of femininity and female characters the same way for decades, only now it tends to stand out more because the rest of society has moved on a bit more (though not completely, obviously).

I bring all this up to contextualize what has been a really odd week for the WWE and its relationship to women, a relationship that points out the weird place pro wrestling/sports entertainment finds itself in with the rise of social media.

This all started, as most things do, on Monday Night Raw. Well, let me back-track and explain some of the convoluted portions of the story that came to a head on this week’s Raw. Over the past few months, WWE’s primary hero John Cena has been battling with the ridiculous character Kane. I won’t spend too much time explaining Kane’s muddled backstory (check Wikipedia for it all), but just know that in canon, Kane can control fire, appear wherever he wants at any time and may or may not have a set of keys for hell. In any event, Kane returned to WWE action in December and randomly decided to set his sights on Cena, in hopes of getting the ever-positive and milqtoast Cena to “embrace the hate” (which is of course fitting since Cena’s new T-shirt says “Rise Above Hate”).

In any event, getting Cena to embrace the hate meant that Kane had to torment Cena’s best friend, the up and coming Zack Ryder, the Jersey Shore-aping “Long Island Iced-Z.” And to get to Ryder to get to Cena (I think I mentioned this was convoluted), Kane had to torment Ryder’s mega-crush, Eve. After weeks of thinly-veiled language that suggested he would rape and murder (or vice versa, because he has the history of doing so) Eve, Kane attacked Ryder and left him with a broken back that was, a day later, upgraded to something much less severe because apparently WWE doctors are not good at their jobs. ANYWAY, with Ryder out of the way, Kane tried to put Eve in ambulance (because he and Cena were about to have an ambulance match, duh) and take her somewhere (probably hell). Of course, Cena prevented this and saved Eve, who returned the favor by planting an in-the-moment kiss on him (which Ryder saw, in one of the legitimately great moments in WWE history). Cena, who I think is married in canon, definitely didn’t stop the kiss, at least at first.

CUT TO: This week’s Raw. One night earlier, Cena defeated Kane in said ambulance match and although he lost his friendship with Ryder, he was ready to move on to his hyped showdown with The Rock at April 1’s Wrestlemania. Unfortunately, the WWE needed a way to get out of the storyline outside of just telling the audience the truth, which was that the writers needed to give Cena something to do for two months before Wrestlemania. So, instead of using the story to actually force Cena to even remotely embrace the proverbial hate (something much of the audience has been waiting on for years), everything basically boiled down to “SuperCena” triumphing again while pointing to his shirt and saying, “I told you.”

The solution for the story’s resolution? Turning Eve heel and subsequently slut-shaming her to death. This past Monday’s Raw opened with Eve backstage, discussing how her “relationship” with the still-wheelchair-bound Ryder was all about raising her profile. Eve claimed she used Ryder to raise her profile and that she hoped to use Cena even more to do the same. Of course, Cena just happened to be standing right behind her. He made his way to the ring with Eve following, crying her eyes out for being caught.

The next six or seven minutes were some of the most uncomfortable and disparaging that I can remember in recent WWE history. Cena, the guy wearing the Rise Above Hate T-shirt, the company’s hero, and the man who has literally cashed in more Make-A-Wish wishes than any other person on the planet, called Eve a “Hoeski,” a play on Ryder’s “Broski” gimmick.* He noted that Eve had been “sipping the skank juice” and called her a “scandalous bitch.” Eve then got on her knees, weeping, and asking for forgiveness.** Well, until she tried to kiss Cena again, just for good measure. Sometime later, I recall Cena saying something about Eve being diseased.

*Of course, the WWE Universe immediately chanted “Hoeski” in response. You’re welcome.

**At this point, the Universe booed heavily and continued to chant, you guessed it, “Hoeski.” Seriously, you’re welcome.

It is 2012. The WWE is a publicly-traded company. It and its superstars, most notably Cena, have hands in all sorts of media properties. Raw airs on USA Network, basic cable’s highest rated network. Wrestling isn’t just some backwards performance for people in various small territories around the United States (and the world, to be fair). Vince McMahon wants the WWE to be a global entertainment entity and brand. Not to mention, he has guided WWE into what’s referred to as the “PG Era,” where the blood and sex and controversy of the halcyon late 1990s are gone. This is supposed to be entertainment for youths, and Cena is supposed to be their hero.

There is absolutely no excuse for this sort of story. There is no context where this okay. It is sexist and degrading. Everyone involved, from Cena to Eve to the writing staff, should be embarrassed (and hopefully they are). It is moments like this that prevent people from ever taking pro wrestling seriously as a cultural artifact or as an art form. Unfortunately, it is hard to see a world where mainstream wrestling, guided by the WWE, allows women to do anything other than crap like this. In recent weeks, female superstar Natalya, a member of the famous Hart wrestling family and a fantastic performer, has been caught up in a story where she cannot stop farting. Seriously. Every week, she ruins a situation because she can’t keep her bowels in check. This is a thing that’s happening.

What is especially interesting about WWE’s treatment of Eve or Natalya (or all the women before them) is how it rubs up against the other big reason the company is in the news this week. The current WWE Champion is the outspoken (both on-screen and in real life) CM Punk, a sarcastic, straight edge performer who came up through the indie ranks and raised all sorts of hell this summer when he considered leaving the company amid a battle over the title with Cena. Punk delivered a “worked shoot” promo taking down McMahon, Cena and other WWE hypocrisies that set the internet wrestling community on fire. Although he eventually re-signed with the company and lost a bit of that spark, Punk still set off what he and Grantland’s David Shoemaker have dubbed wrestling’s new “Reality Era.” The Punk fans see on-screen each week is more or less the Punk his family presumably loves and that sense of “real”-ness is what makes Punk such an appealing hero (and alternative to Cena’s somewhat strained larger-than-life persona).

Punk’s identity is, like so many of us, on display on Twitter. This past weekend, Punk caused a bit of a stir when he took to Twitter to criticize the deserving Chris Brown for his treatment of women. Brown, as he is wont to do lately, responded in an immature and ridiculously misguided fashion by accusing Punk (who, again his straight edge) of using steroids. The Twitter fight continued through Monday and Tuesday, with the two exchanging barbs and Punk eventually publishing a two-minute TwitVid discussing how he never meant to start a controversy, but he certainly didn’t back down. The Punk-Brown issues have been covered by all the major entertainment publications, from TMZ to E! It is now officially “a thing” in current popular culture.  

To me, the weirdest thing about all of this is how the WWE is actively directing its viewers to the Punk-Brown nonsense. The company “discovered” Twitter this summer, right around the same time that Punk became a super-duper star, and so anything Twitter-related is going to get at least a mention on WWE TV, but I was a bit surprised to see how many times it was mentioned on Tuesday’s live episode of Syfy’s Smackdown and how detailed it has been covered on the WWE’s official web site. Well, I shouldn’t say I was surprised per se, because the WWE loves mainstream media attention more than anything else, but I was compelled and perplexed by this.

On Monday night, the WWE opens its programming with a contemporary version of The Scarlet Letter, with the constant use of the word “Hoeski” to refer to one of its most visible female performers and the most visible male star degrading her ad-nauseum. On Tuesday night, the WWE constantly refers to a story about one of its biggest male superstars defending the treatment of women and addresses the most visible case of harmful action towards women in popular culture. I don’t know about you, but that’s a heck of a 24-hour period with a boat-load of dissonance.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I admire Punk for standing up against Chris Brown because let’s face it, Chris Brown is a son of a bitch. I would pay money to watch Punk beat the living hell out of Brown for real. And I sort of, in some way, appreciate that the WWE is pointing their feud out, if only because it implicitly celebrates a better treatment of women. Nevertheless, Punk’s actions as an individual who certainly controls his own Twitter account and would never agree to get into it with Chris Brown for some backwards publicity stunt (even the WWE is smarter than that, I think) doesn’t negate all the horrible things the company let happen the night before. There is something very uncomfortable with how the WWE presents women in these two contexts.

Ultimately though, these two events reflect another complex issue pro wrestling is facing in contemporary culture. Punk started all this with social media. And as I said, he decided to suggest he would like to stomp on Chris Brown because, well, that’s what he believes as a man, not just because he is a performer. Obviously, the WWE is capitalizing on this because the publicity is astronomical (though, I’m guessing if Punk knew it would cause a storm like this, he would have avoided it altogether), but this event still shows us how challenging it is for something like wrestling to fold in social media.

“Real” actions can become part of the less-real WWE presentation, which both reinforces and subverts the façade of pro wrestling’s existence and presentation. Punk’s actions and his hope for a Reality Era overtly challenge wrestling’s outdated mode of thinking in a lot of ways, and this is just another instance of that. I’m not sure if Punk’s stance on women is going to have much of an overall impact on the WWE’s handling of the gender, but at least he (unintentionally) shook things up in a way that was actually progressive in a larger sense, and not just in a wrestling sense. 

For quality writing about the Eve-Cena events of this week’s Raw, check out the work of Brandon Stroud, K Sawyer Paul and Razor. All those folks write about wrestling much more often and much better than I do.  

Watching and writing about television is a pretty painless experience in the grand scheme of things. But disregarding the world’s real problems for a moment, watching and writing about Glee can be fairly traumatic, you guys. Every time I think the series has lost its way for good, it pulls me back in with a scene, sequence or even full act that’s full of life (and often despair, but hey, I like my Glee sad). And then, just when I think maybe the writers stumbled into a quality premise or, shockingly, a completely good episode, that goodwill is quickly squandered, often by awkward white guy rapping.

“On My Way” exemplifies the Glee experience about as well as any episode in recent memory. There are 12-18 minutes of legitimately FANTASTIC television within this episode’s running time. But the problem is those minutes are followed up by a half-hour of typical Glee crap: disregarded stories from five minutes ago, poorly-conceived musical selections, random personality transplants for characters, lots of “telling” instead of showing and of course, awkward white guy rapping. I can deal with Glee when it operates within its typical rhythms of unreality full of overstuffed plotting and overheated, preaching themes. But when the series ropes me in with 15 minutes of real, powerful emotion and then jumps right back into that unreality, I want to punch myself in the face for deciding to watch that damn pilot in May 2009 in the first place.

Seriously, if someone ever questions Glee’s ability to create powerful moments, I’ll show them the opening minutes of this episode. This season has been especially adept at using the musical performances in a montage-like sequence to tell multiple stories or evoke multiple, related emotions at once and Karofsky’s suicide attempt set to Blaine’s performance of “Cough Syrup” is the best of them all. Sure, the sequence would have had even more impact had Karofsky been in more than three episodes this season, but even those short moments we’ve spent with him (especially in last week’s episodes), Glee has done a solid job of building up his inability to achieve peace with his identity. And of course it was completely manipulative of the series to use Karofsky’s issues to cast a shadow over the Regionals proceedings, but this is Glee and sometimes its manipulation can be quite effective.

But like so many stories this season, Karofsky’s suicide attempt was quickly disregarded as an A-plot so that the episode could turn its focus to the typical performance episode nonsense and its already-established mediocre plot-lines. My assumption was that Regionals would be the big showdown between New Directions and the now-evil Warblers, but moments after the Karofsky news, Sebastian is completely apologetic about all his actions, mostly because he was also an awful human being to Karofsky as well.

Instead of moving forward with the already-established tension, “On My Way” decides to add a new layer of tension, one that evokes powerful emotions in the moment but completely erases everything that was in-place beforehand. Thus, after one (admittedly heartfelt) apology from Sebastian, his legitimately insane actions over the last month are completely forgiven. I understand that in light of an attempted suicide, attempted blinding by rock salt slushie loses its meaning, but I find it a bit hard to believe that either group of kids was that attached to Karofsky that they’d drop the previous beef so quickly. This is only exacerbated further by the actual dreaded performance part of the episode, which sinks back into the same exact pattern the series established two and a half years ago: Weird judges, poorly-planned performances and a whole lot of friendly competition. Finn and Mike Chang dance along to the Warbler’s performances. Sam blows them a kiss, he thinks they are so good. And the Warblers are similarly enthused by the New Directions truly miserable and uninspired performances.

The episode makes some half-hearted attempt to make Regionals about Karofsky’s problems, but the performances never give the impression that they’re about him, in his honor or about anything, really. The groups just sing because this is a series about singing and this is the episode where they sing even more than normal. Much like Santana’s slapping of Finn earlier in the season, Glee uses Karofsky’s suicide attempt as a way to evoke extremely moving emotions in the moment, but fails to capitalize on them or contextualize them so they matter in the long-run.

And by the time all the typical Regionals nonsense is out of the way, all the emotion and power is sucked out of the episode, replaced by empty victories and uninspired clichés about the future. In a world where Glee isn’t the series it has become, there is a great story to be told about how Karofsky’s suicide attempt coalesces with the graduating seniors’ final Regionals performance and what that means for that ambiguous thing known as the future. And to be fair, the episode tried to do that with the group scene in the auditorium where Will’s almost-suicide. Matthew Morrison did a tremendous job with that kind of hackneyed dialogue and the whole atmosphere of the moment was given a certain amount of reverence and weight that aligned well with what happened to Karofsky. But outside of that short moment and the one conversation between Kurt and Karofsky, “On My Way” uses the tragedy surrounding Karofsky when it wants to and then disregards it when it is perhaps too difficult to actually engage with the issues and tension the event could, in theory, create.

Of course, this analysis disregards the stupidity of the episode’s final five minutes. Only Glee can start the episode with a “It Gets Better” Public Service Announcement, transition to a predictable glut of mediocrity and then finish with a DON’T TEXT WHILE DRIVING PSA. Listen, I agree. We probably shouldn’t text while driving. But Glee is a series where the lead protagonist sending a foe to a crack house was basically disregarded as “oh well, it happens” and where teen drinking is overlooked as “kids, they are cray.” And to use Quinn, a character who has already experienced a stupid amount of tragedy and character assassination, as a way to teach this lesson is even more stupefying. I get the desire to have a big cliffhanger for the extended break, but after the opening 15 minutes of the episode and all that was squandered in the following 20, I can’t even begin to understand why anyone thought this was a good idea, story-wise.

But…this is Glee. Reasons aren’t needed, apparently.

Other thoughts:

• I didn’t even get to mention Sue’s pregnancy. I’ll say this: Jane Lynch is doing very fine work as this reborn version of Sue and I actually kind of like the character. But A) It’s unfortunate that the writers are making hormones the cause of all her horrible previous actions and B.) We know that they will pull the rug out from under us eventually anyway.
• Mid-way through New Direction’s Regionals performance, the extra girls from the TroubleTones showed up to sing with Santana and Brittany. I assumed that was supposed to be some sort of culmination of a story about Will valuing everyone’s talent, but, LOL.
• There were so many fantastic reaction shots during the Regionals performances: The aforementioned Sam Evans kiss-blowing, Will’s awkward white guy dancing and everything that Jeff Goldblum was doing. 

When you run in certain circles online or follow a bunch of people in the same field on Twitter, certain events or pieces become “things.” Over the last 36 hours, the “thing” has been Ryan McGee’s piece about The Sopranos and the HBO model’s impact on television narrative. McGee’s well-reasoned and detailed piece created a bit of a stir among TVitterati and spurred Time’s James Poniewozik and scholar Jason Mittell to concoct similarly well-reasoned and detailed responses. Although the three thinkers had different perspectives on that matter, their respective points were logical, diverse and intelligent, an discursive environment I think most of us have grown accustomed to over the last few years.

Which is why it is so disappointing for me that the conversation has now turned to something else. Today, Atlantic writer Richard Lawson suggested that McGee, Poniewozik and any other “TV nerds” “need to stop taking TV so damn seriously.”

I don’t want to spend much time discussing the tone of Lawson’s piece, which I (and many others, based on today’s Twitter chatter) find as snarky and a bit demeaning, but the tonal issues I have happen to further impact an argument I don’t particularly agree with either. Lawson makes a fantastic point about the sheer amount of television and television “criticism” (however you want to define the term is up to you) out there on the internet. No, we likely don’t need 981 3,000-word reviews of Breaking Bad or worse, 541 recaps of The Bachelor that simply tell the reader exactly what happened with no analysis or opinion whatsoever. I also think that Lawson does an okay job of positioning his argument as light-hearted and letting the reader know that he isn’t one of those people who continues to disregard television as an “important” artistic medium. And I especially agree that we need to consider writing about things like Unforgettable or The Finder.

But amid his handful of great points, Lawson’s primary thesis remains troublesome, and ultimately, undercuts any of those solid arguments. From my perspective, the idea that we (critics, quasi-critics, those who love criticism, whomever) are talking about television too much or thinking about it too much is ridiculous. Again, in his opening sentence, Lawson refers to McGee and Poniewozik, gentlemen who are more or less his peers, as “nerds.” I’m guessing that Lawson never intended to be malicious with that usage, but the connotation of the word, combined with his general tone and the argument itself all evoke a certain level of disregard for the medium, the field of criticism and those writers.

We know that the internet is the catalyst in the explosion of television criticism on the internet. You could argue that the internet criticism era just happens to coincide with a certain “golden age” of television quality. However, you could also argue that the way television criticism has shifted online has gone a long way in helping legitimize television as an art form in ways the medium wasn’t thought of 20 years ago. There are certainly other issues at play in why television and television criticism have both been “legitimized,” but it’s hard to ignore the connections between the rise of the cable drama and the rise of The A.V. Club’s TV Club or Sepinwall’s Blogspot.

To suggest that well-reasoned pieces of media criticism like those from McGee and Poniewozik are “ruining” television makes me sad. We should always be thinking about the media, no matter how much it is shifting, and we should always want to make observations about the media’s influence/impact/reflection on audiences, industries or what have you.* 10 years ago, a piece like McGee’s or responses like those from Poniewozik and Mittell wouldn’t have been published in places that a sizable audience could see. While Lawson might see those kinds of conversations as “taking television too seriously,” I see them as part of a larger discussion that provokes, stimulates and interrogates deeper thinking about a medium that has – and will continue to – struggle with its place as the supposed “idiot box.” The amount of discussions being had about television might “rage on and on for weeks” and sometimes certain points feel like they are getting beat into the ground a bit. However, I would much rather be in a situation where some think critics are talking about television too much than not enough.

* For me, talking about television is so interesting because of its constant presence. Being able to evaluate immediately, then re-evaluate and then re-re-evaluate is something that makes the internet great, right?

Perhaps the connection between the prestige cable drama and internet criticism is too entrenched. And maybe the field of television criticism still tends to ignore traditionally popular and middlebrow content. However, the intense focus on a certain “type” of programming doesn’t necessarily mean that focus is useless and/or misguided. Discussing only cable dramas reinforces cultural hierarchies and tastes, but assumptions about networks, series or any cultural text for that matter exist for some reason. Critics put a lot of value and think quite a bit about HBO dramas because HBO has more or less earned that reputation. The reason we bicker over The Walking Dead and The Killing is because we thought AMC had similarly gained that cultural clout. The fact that most of us were wrong or surprised or continue to argue over it doesn’t mean that the function of those discussions is meaningless. Those networks and those series want to be taken seriously. Critics aren’t wrong for obliging and it’s not as if they are reading into things that aren’t there at all.

Lawson wants to move away from cultural assumptions about HBO, FX, Showtime and AMC prestige dramas and focus on something like Holmes on Holmes. That’s my dream! But shifting the focus to non-prestige cable dramas doesn’t mean not talking about television, it just means talking about a different kind of television, but still in a serious manner. I would love nothing more than to see Todd VanDerWerff or Noel Murray write 4,000 words about Holmes. But if they did, wouldn’t they still be taking it seriously? Would it still be starting a discourse about a still-in-progress cultural artifact that could change within the week? Would those essays over-analyze Holmes on Holmes? What even dictates over-analysis? Maybe the field of television criticism relies too much on HBO or other cable networks for much of its content, but even if the focus changes, I’m not sure the approach would. *

*Plus, Lawson’s suggestion omits the fact that places like AVC have tried to rectify that with drop-in coverage and sometimes weekly coverage of fairly straight-forward procedurals.

Ultimately, I see “talking” about television as one of the best things to ever happen to television. And wanting to do so shouldn’t make you a nerd, or shouldn’t mean that you take something too seriously or belabor a point too often. We need to be smarter. We need to discuss more. Even suggesting otherwise makes me feel as if we’re returning to a mode of thinking that asks us to simply shut our brains off and enjoy the idiot box. Television deserves better than that. 

I talk television with a lot of people. Friends, family, other critics on Twitter, vagrants on the street. I just love talking about TV. Because I don’t have the time and resources to do a podcast like I used to in college, I’m going to sort of replicate that experience in textual form in a new recurring feature. Basically, I’ll just exchange a few emails with someone on a particular topic. You’ve seen this kind of thing done tons of other places, but it’s something I enjoy doing so expect more of it here on TVS.

Hiya, folks! As you may or may not know, I am current in the midst of a period that necessitates I keep my television criticism to a minimum. But although I do not really have the time to fit much in, I cannot stay away. There are too many interesting things to discuss. That is where a feature like Chitchat comes in handy. Today, my buddy Brad Sanders joins me to discuss an important question: Why are The Office’s Jim and Pam kind of the worst?

Cory: Brad, you and I exchanged a few emails about the new season of The Office back in the fall when the series was first ramping up the post-Steve Carell era, but I wanted to check in with you on a slightly different Dunder-Mifflin-related topic (although we can address the series’ overall quality later): The Halperts. There has been a lot of discussion about the series’ treatment of their once adored couple for a lot of years now, but it’s something that seems to be bubbling back up in recent weeks, spurred on by their actions in “Jury Duty.” Sepinwall touched on it in his review and my buddy Myles McNutt addressed it a little bit in his piece on last week’s episode. There’s no question in my mind that the series has struggled to find real stories for Jim or Pam or really for them as a couple for a while now (whether you believe the problem started once they got together or sometime later, say after they got married, is up to you). But eight years in, how do you feel about the way the series represents the golden romantic couple of the aughts? Do you, like Sepinwall, hate Jim and Pam? Why or why not?

Brad: Cory, I think hate is probably too strong a word for how I feel about Jim and Pam at this point. In moments like Jim’s charade in “Jury Duty” or that cold open from earlier this season where Pam constantly faked labor to get out of meetings, what I saw was a desperate writer’s room trying to find ways to make this couple stop boring us. If Jim and Pam finally getting together sucked a lot of the excitement out of their dynamic, their wedding was the death blow. That was a great episode, but its subtext was pretty clearly “This relationship will never be interesting again, so you’d might as well cry it up now.” Now we’re trapped in a glut of episodes that are a reaction to the stasis. What do you think? Are a despicable Jim and Pam like what we’ve seen this season better than a boring Jim and Pam?

Cory: I’ve long been a proponent of post-coupled or post-marriage Jim and Pam. While I totally agree that putting the two of them together suck a substantial amount of life and narrative drive out of the series, I think that it was ultimately the right move and arguably, has led to some really intriguing stories. If you look at Jim and Pam’s lives as a whole, based on what we’ve seen from The Office, I think it’s actually kind of wonderful how the writers have handled them. The early-season versions of Halpert and Beasley were both so full of life, optimism and hope that eventually, one day, they’ll get away from Dunder-Mifflin. Everyone points to that talking head segment with Jim from the pilot where he talks about DM not being his career and we all remember how much time the series spent on Pam’s dreams. For a young series and for a romantic couple, Jim and Pam’s brazen desire to improve their lives and to escape made perfect sense. It connected perfectly to their position as the will-they-or-won’t-they Unresolved Sexual Tension Couple because not only did we want them to JUST KISS ALREADY, we wanted them to find a better, happier life. We rooted for Jim and Pam. As a couple, both also as individuals. We saw ourselves in them, both in a romantic context but in a professional context as well. They were us. That absolutely powered the series in the first three seasons, maybe into the fourth and fifth (though I’d argue that it began to focus more on Michael and sort of Dwight at that point). 

In the series’ later years, however, Jim and Pam can be defined by one word: Complacency. Or settling, whichever you prefer. Pam went to New York, realized that she missed Jim (also: the writers were TERRIFIED to even hint at breaking them up, even if it meant Pam might kiss Mad Men‘s Harry Crane). Jim considered being manager, realized that he was somewhat bad at it and ultimately decided that he was too busy being the cool guy to really make the changes necessary to be the boss (also: again, the writers were TERRIFIED to take Jim away from his camera glances). Jim awkwardly bought his parents his as a gift to Pam, she sort of underwhelmingly accepted. They accidentally got pregnant. Twice. They stopped having friends outside of the office and allowed people like Ryan Howard come to their Christening. Some of these events happened because of writer stupidity or fear, but the point remains: Jim and Pam settled. They ultimately decided that their heart-stopping love was the most important thing in the world to them, but along the way, that love also consumed whatever ambition they had to do other things. When you’re young and maybe in love, you displace all sorts of meaning. “One day, I’m going to marry that girl and I’m going to get the hell out of here.” Well, you can marry that girl (and get her pregnant), but that doesn’t solve your other problem and if you’re too wrapped up in finally marrying that girl, you probably don’t have time — or even care to find time — to solve said problem.

This complacency, I think, rubs people the wrong way. Although this version of The Office is, at its core, much more optimistic and uplifting when compared to the original, it has always found a way to solidly represent contemporary American workplace culture quite well. This is definitely less true in later seasons, but where I think it is most true is with Jim and Pam. The Halperts embody the lifespan of someone working in an office in the 21st century. They come in, full of piss and vinegar, with hopes, dreams and ambition and maybe even some real talent. But once the system sucks you in and you start getting that steady paycheck and those benefits, it’s hard to drop everything and move to Philadelphia and become a sports writer, or whatever the hell it is Jim pretended he wanted to do in 2005 — especially when you have a family. Why risk it? Why not just be happy with what you have and who you are? Now, I think there are some issues with who, exactly, Jim and Pam are at this point and we’ll get to that, but I think people don’t give the series enough credit in this regard. I hate to be the person that tells everyone they are wrong, but is it possible that we just wanted more for Jim and Pam and their ultimate decision to settle (or avoid real challenges) therefore rubs us the wrong way? What do you think?

Brad: It’s definitely valid that they’ve settled, but in the context of what the show has become, does it really make any sense that they settled? In a universe where Dwight Schrute has an Ahab-like obsession with managing a small branch of a paper company in addition to owning a beet farm, where Michael Scott shows that he should be fired on a weekly basis for eight years before eloping, and where Robert California exists, are people going to take away that Jim and Pam are the part of the show that’s supposed to be rooted in cold, hard reality? I’m doubtful. It’s practically irrelevant that their lives are following a realistic trajectory when they exist in such an unrealistic world.

I say practically irrelevant because, of course, it isn’t. The writers have made a conscious effort to show that these are post-dreams Jim and Pam, and that their bitterness that occasionally manifests in machinations like those we saw in “Jury Duty” because they’ve given up on their dreams. That really doesn’t make them likeable, though. Relatable, maybe, though I’m still too young to say “Yeah, settling!” But certainly not likeable. And what does The Office need more than likeable characters right now? Desperate plot lines in the past few seasons have ruined almost everyone in the entire company at this point. You’re right. We wanted Jim and Pam to find a better life. They didn’t, and now we have to deal with the consequences of that. But would it kill the writers to make them worth rooting for? Why can’t Jim want to be a corporate suit in Florida? Why can’t we get scenes of Pam being an awesome mother? When do we get to live vicariously through these people again, and if the answer is never, who the hell are we supposed to live through? Sometimes I feel like I’m the one who’s settling by continuing to watch this show.

Cory: Your point about the balance between “reality” and “unreality” is a great one. Perhaps in that regard, Jim and Pam’s “real-ness” only serves to remind the audience further how “unreal” everything else around them is. And I think it is ever-important to remember that we wouldn’t be having this conversation if the writers made a substantial effort with the characters over time. It’s possible that I am too naive and simply choose to view the creative team’s inabilities as purposeful character change, just as I accuse the rest of the audience for naively hoping they’d be more than this in 2012. 

However, let’s pretend I’m not naive for a few minutes longer. You briefly addressed the character’s lack of likability, and I think that is a perfect place to move next. I almost entirely agree that the two of them aren’t likable anymore, at least not consistently, yet, again, I find that interesting. In a lot ways, this extends from what I was already talking about previously: If Jim and Pam are the quintessential representation of lost potential and complacency, it stands to reason that they would, in fact, kind of suck. Their biggest problem (or at least the biggest problem in how the series represents them) is that they still act like they did six years ago. They still think they’re cute. They still think they’re funny. The problem is that all the energy that was narratively behind that initial cuteness is gone and so our investment in seeing them act that way is similarly gone. So, if you follow my quasi-warped logic here, it also stands to reason that not only would Jim and Pam suck, they would also lack the self-awareness to know they suck. Perhaps their immaturity in the office is part of some attempt on their part to connect back to the people they once were, or perhaps they’re just immature. I’m not sure. But their journey from office Most Likely to just another one of the sheep is an arc, just not the one we assumed it would be. 

On a related note, I think their declining Q score could also be interpreted as a backhanded comment on what happens to that flirty underdog couple that television always wants you to root for. As viewers, we are trained to expect these sort of relationships to either avoid resolution until the very end, where we can ultimately fill in the blanks of happy endings, 2.5 kids, picket fences, etc. or progress like a live-action checklist of engagement, wedding and baby. But in both cases, we’re also trained to assume that the happy endings and the sparks last forever. With Jim and Pam, The Office again brings us all back to reality and the reality is that people who are supposedly in TRUE LOVE are pretty annoying to be around, especially when you’re a middle-aged dude just trying to punch a clock so your kid can go to community college. Jim and Pam’s “love story” makes for great television, but it probably makes Stanley want to stab his eyes out with his crossword pencil (but he can’t do that, because he has to watch Burn Notice).*

*You could say the same thing for new parents. God. Those people. Yes, I “definitely” want to see more pictures of your newborn.  

So perhaps Jim and Pam’s lack of motivation to reach their dreams makes them unlikable. Or their true love is annoying. Or it’s a combination of both and their complacency crashes up against the figure of what they thought their true love would be, I don’t know. What I do know, though, is that I think they lack any self-awareness at all, which is again sort of painfully fitting for the only two characters who presumed to have self-awareness when this story began. However, where I do think my argument trails off and yours makes more sense is thinking about the purposefulness of all this. It’s easy for me to sit in my Critic Ivory Tower (not my mom’s basement, but you can imagine) and project or interpret all these different readings onto The Office. 

The more likely answer is that the writers have failed to tell stories that would give Jim and Pam a certain level of self-awareness or at least provide a rationale for why they’ve lost it. As you mentioned, scenes at home would help tenfold in this regard. It’s never made sense to me why the story goes outside of the office for some things — like Michael’s love life, various nonsense with Dwight and Andy — but fails to even try to account for other things, like Jim and Pam’s home life. Theoretically, I get keeping everything “in office.” Babies don’t go in the office (and when they do, they suck the life out of proceedings, as we saw). But doesn’t mean that Jim and Pam’s babies don’t have an impact on the versions of them we see inside Dunder-Mifflin or wherever gimmick location the series goes. That’s why I actually really liked “Jury Duty and even Jim’s little story in the house-party episode a few weeks ago. Making an effort to show an “out of office” element impact an “in office” element isn’t that hard, especially when it’s associated with your lead characters. Are the writers solely to blame here? And am I wrong to interpret versions of the story or characters that might not be purposefully, diegetically present?

Brad: I think the fact that The Office has been on for so long is why we like to read non-diegetic elements into its characters’ lives. There was a time before the writing spiraled out of control that these were the characters in our TV lives that felt the most like people in our actual lives, and when things started to unravel, it was only natural to put our own emotions into the way we wish the characters were being presented. So no, I don’t think you’re wrong to interpret your version of the story in that way, mostly because I don’t think you can help it – and the writers have absolutely failed because of the fact that we’re forced to do this.

But I also don’t think it’s such an easy fix that the writers could show us more reasons for Jim and Pam’s general awfulness in the office, at least from a viewer’s perspective. It’s sort of immaterial why Jim and Pam are the way that they are if viewers don’t perceive them as protagonists. Listen, I “get it.” This is exactly how two people would act if their lives had gone exactly this way, and the verisimilitude is commendable, but somehow pouring our hopes and dreams into Darryl and Andy doesn’t feel like what we’ve bargained for. There’s dozens of reasons why it feels like The Office has simply been on the air for too long, but maybe none is more compelling than the fact that the people we once fancied ourselves spiritually kin to have just given up. 

I know I’ve said it already, but Jim could really stand to commit to this job already. The fact that when Dwight was assembling a task force for Florida and Robert California wanted him to come down to hit the links with him shows feet-dragging immaturity. I was not sympathetic because he is a father. I was angry because he’s been working at Dunder-Mifflin for close to a decade and he won’t put himself in a position to succeed. I think you nailed it when you mentioned that Jim and Pam still think they can act like they did at the beginning of the series. They can’t, but it’s more than just unfunny. It’s frustrating. I’m kind of just impotently raging against the idea of 2012 Jim & Pam within the context of 2012 The Office at this point, so direct my rage. What’s the solution?

Cory: The problem Jim and Pam were always going to have, in some way, is that they are fictional characters in a popular television series. That’s obvious, but let me explain. Jim and Pam can’t leave the office because The Office (meaning the TV series) is NBC’s most popular series and not too long ago, it was one of the most popular series on all of television. So, for better or for worse, The Office‘s popularity was always going to restrict characters to stay somewhat the same because that’s basically how mainstream sitcoms on a broadcast network operate. Either you leave the series entirely (Steve Carell is one smart son of a bitch) or you moderately “shift” within the constraints the series has already established. The series has presented the appearance of change with Jim taking the promotion to co-manager or Pam pushing her way into a better job and honestly, those are interesting little shifts that could have reflected the changes within the characters.  

So not only are the characters, as real as they once seemed, unable to truly grow or change based on how we assumed they would, but even when the series kind of allows them to, the writers quickly de-commit to any idea. I thought Jim as co-manager was a GREAT idea. Pam in her new job (whatever the hell it is) could have led to some interesting stories. But no, the writers used those shifts as episodic plots to create tension for 22 or maybe 44 minutes and then just moved on. Few “great” series are afraid of change and ultimately, The Office‘s inability to change will keep it from being remembered as great. Look at Parks and Recreation. Schur and Daniels shift the narrative every season. And again, we could interpret all this lack of change as purposeful, but even I can’t go that far. It’s just laziness and honestly, a bit of fear. 

You’re right though, the only way this improves (if you follow most people’s logic that Jim and Pam suck and that’s bad, unlike my “they suck and that’s good” theory) is if Jim quits his job. There’s been lots of scuttlebutt about a possible spin-off starring Rainn Wilson’s Dwight. Why not have the Halperts quit their jobs and move somewhere far away from Scranton? Isn’t that, a romantic-leaning family sitcom about one television’s all-time best couples, a better idea for a spin-off than Schrute Farms? What else would you do, and do you think Jim and Pam leaving The Office actually makes the mothership series better? I think it might. 

Brad: Let me say quickly that while I’m more closely aligned with “they suck and that’s bad” than “they suck and that’s good,” I do find your point of view fascinating. It feels a bit strange that I’m more likely to defend the show itself at this point than its handling of Jim and Pam, but that’s where we are. I couldn’t agree more with your point that The Office‘s safeness will be what ultimately prevents it from attaining canonical greatness. Maybe you could have convinced me during the third season that I’d someday remember The Office as one of TV’s best-ever comedies, but now, it’s laughable that we ever considered that.
That brings us to Jim and Pam’s hypothetical departure that you’ve proposed here. On one level, it works. Their spinoff could actually have some heart, whereas Schrute Farms would undoubtedly just be cynicism piled onto ridiculousness with three minutes of pathos every five episodes to keep us watching. I like it on paper, so yeah, let’s cross our fingers for a pilot of The Halperts as an alternative to the Dwight spin-off. Where I might differ from you is where you say it would make the mothership series better. It would as a television show, I suppose, but the departure of Jim and Pam would be the definition of a death knell for The Office. No one wanted it to come back after Carell left, but it did, and it’s been watchable but far from necessary. If the next-best-known characters head for the hills, you’re looking at an absolutely gutted program that has no business existing. I’d watch it, of course, but its massive audience might finally bail at that point, and neither The Halperts nor Schrute Farms could make the flagship franchise succeed in that state.

I feel like we’re getting to the point in any Office conversation where we realize that what we would really like is for the once-beloved show to hang it up for good, what we have is a mediocre but generally worthwhile shadow of the version we loved, and what we suggest will never actually happen. When a show gets as huge as The Office has, all this critical finger-wagging is mostly moot. Since that’s true, let’s tell it like it is: you and I should write Season Nine ourselves. Hope you’re ready for some weltschmerz, America!

Test Pilot #37: Cupid

Debut date: September 26, 1998

Series legacy: Intriguing high-concept (but not too high-concept) premise cut down not once, but twice in a decade

Welcome back to Test Pilot guys and gals! With that extra-special Joss Whedon Theme Week behind us, it’s time to fall back into the typical, but still lovely rhythms of the feature. Today, we continue our fun exploration of one television’s most discussed subjects: One-season wonders.

Most series crash and burn before a prospective second season, but there are some that stick in our mind many years after cancellation. There is a large fascination with television series that only manage to produce a single season (often at a short order at that) before they are chopped down by “the man.” We are compelled by the possibilities and the what could have been for programs that projected all sorts of promise and upside but were never actually able to cash in on either. This theme hopes to explore some of the most celebrated one-season wonders and consider what, exactly, made audiences latch on to them so spectacularly.

I know I often say that “today’s case is very interesting” or whatever, but guys, today’s case is pretty interesting. In 1998, Rob Thomas brought Cupid to ABC and it lasted 15 episodes.* Like all the series we are talking about in this theme, fans grew attached to it, especially as the years passed and Thomas gained more exposure for his work on another series gone-too-soon, Veronica Mars. Then, 10 years after the first series ended, Thomas brought Cupid back to ABC, starting over with basically the same characters and the same premise. All that changed (more or less) were the actors and the location (from Chicago to New York). Cupid 2.0 lasted just seven episodes and really never got much of a push from ABC in the first place. It was dead. Again.

*Here’s an insane tidbit: The 1998 version of the series aired on SATURDAYS at 10 p.m. It wasn’t moved there after a poor start. It started there. I can’t even begin to process that. The business has changed dramatically in a decade-plus.

It’s very, very rare that something like this happens in the television industry. The only other example I can think of right now is Parenthood, which started as a film and then was turned into a television series soon after the film’s release, but the series failed and then NBC decided to try again a decade later. But theoretically, Parenthood had some name-brand recognition behind it (or at least that’s what I’m assuming NBC thought at the time). Cupid did not. It was a series with a small following from the beginning and yet, it made it back to life. Why? That’s what I hope we can discuss a little bit today as we journey through Cupid 1.0 and also consider 2.0 as well.

Joining me today is Anthony Strand. Anthony is here for his second go-around with Test Pilot after helping out with The Comeback in November. For those of you that don’t remember, Anthony is a North Dakota native, but now makes a living doing archival and map-related work at the University of Missouri. Anthony’s also a contributor to ToughPigs.com, and used to have a blog that he hasn’t updated in three years.” He often thinks about getting back in that habit, but life keeps getting in the way. You can, and should, follow him on Twitter. Anthony, tell us how you feel about Rob Thomas’ Cupid 1.0:

Man, what happened to Jeremy Piven? He used to be so likeable!

Watching the Cupid pilot in 2012, it’s impossible for me to avoid wondering that. Like most humans, years of Entourage-adjacent interviews and appearances have left me with a strong resentment towards the sight of Jeremy Piven’s stupid face* (and make no mistake – I am talking about appearances, not the series itself. I’ve seen two episodes of Entourage total. It’s Jeremy Piven the interview subject I can’t stand these days, never mind the actor.) I watched all of The Larry Sanders Show over the past year or so, and that intense, burning dislike actually helped my enjoyment of his character there – like so many people on that series, Jerry’s a terrible person and the audience is encouraged to despise him.

*Also, Piven seems to be in a transitional hair phase here. He’s not quite as bald as he was on Larry Sanders, but balder than he is now. The man just keeps getting younger and younger.

Going into this episode, I was worried I’d feel the same way about Trevor, who claims he’s Cupid and needs to unite one hundred couples before he’ll be allowed back on Olympus. That’s a great hook for a series, and I was a big Veronica Mars fan, so I wanted to trust creator Rob Thomas’s instincts in casting Piven. I also saw and enjoyed a couple of episodes of ABC back in 1998. But I was just a 13-year-old kid back then – what did I know?

Initially I did find him off-putting. There’s a moment towards the beginning when Dr. Claire Allen (Paula Marshall, aka “Not Carla Gugino”) reminds him that they’re “Doctor/Patient” and he replies “Yes, and it’s one of my favorite games to play. I’ve got hernia!” At that point, I was worried Cupid was going to be nothing more than the Smug Jerk Show, but I warmed up to him pretty fast. By the time he started talking about the personality quirks of the various gods on Olympus, Trevor had completely won me over.

It helps that Piven has a terrific partner to play off of in Paula Marshall. Claire is designed to be unlikeable at first. She’s uptight, by-the-book, and – when they first meet – 100% certain that Trevor’s completely crazy. She shouldn’t be much fun to watch, and she wouldn’t be with just about any other actress in the role. But Marshall brings a warmth and sweetness to her performance from the very beginning. And even when she’s loudly protesting that Trevor’s being crazy, you can see that she’s amused by him underneath it all. Basically, she’s Cary Grant in Bringing Up Baby, and Trevor is Katharine Hepburn.

The series feels very much like a classic Hollywood romantic comedy in general, and it has a lot of fun playing with the expectations of the genre. For example, about ten minutes into the pilot, a judge declares that Trevor has been cured of his delusion and he’s free to go. Now, obviously he isn’t actually cured at that point. Claire and Trevor exit the courtroom, and then Trevor shrugs and immediately starts talking about his assignment again. She feigns surprise for a moment, but moves on pretty quickly to tolerating him. The viewer knows it’s a technicality, and so does the series. She’s going to be putting up with his shenanigans for years, hopefully.

Of course, they can’t come to a complete understanding by the end of the pilot, but the closing scene nicely sets up their points of view for the rest of the series – he’s trying to “cure his homesickness,” and she’s gathering material for her book. This allows them to keep their respective beliefs about Trevor’s identity. I suppose Thomas planned to eventually solve the issue of whether Trevor was crazy or not, but here I like that we don’t know. For now, at least, Trevor reminds me a lot of Kris Kringle in Miracle on 34^th Street. It doesn’t matter if he’s Cupid or not. All that matters is that he believes he is.

Well, to be really convincing, Trevor also needs to be able to actually match people with their true loves. Fortunately, the series sets him up with a number of venues for future stories – During the pilot, Trevor becomes a regular in Claire’s singles therapy group, he gets a job in a bar, and he moves in with an aspiring actor named Champ* (Jeffrey D. Sams, later of Veronica Mars), whose acting gigs might provide story fodder as well.

*Champ doesn’t get much to do in the pilot, but in his one big scene, he gets a speech about how “I don’t want to play the black actor game,” which sets him up as a character with a lot of potential.

The pilot also offers Trevor’s first successfully matched couple – some guy named Dave (George Newbern) and some woman named Madeline (Connie Britton). The pilot is mostly focused on setting up the Trevor/Claire dynamic, so Madeline and Dave’s courtship isn’t very well-developed. In fact, it’s based mostly on exchanging favorite items in obscure categories such as “comic book ad” and “conquistador.” Whatever affection I have for those characters comes from the casting – those actors grew up to be Tami Taylor on Friday Night Lights and Superman on the animated Justice League, respectively. Of course I’m happy to see them! (That said, it took me a while to accept that Britton’s dream guy could possibly be anything other than a level-headed high school football coach.)

We’ll never know how Cupid would have played out if it had reached its 100^th couple and been forced to resolve the issue of Trevor’s divinity. But as it stands, there are fourteen episodes, the first of which is terrific and features a guy in a bear suit holding a boom box. I definitely plan to watch the rest in the near future.

–AS

And now, my quasi-veteran thoughts on Cupid:

When series get canceled, we have a lot of different reactions. If we are emotionally invested in the characters or we’ve changed our Twitter avatars in support, chances are the cancellation evokes some anger and sadness (as it should). But as someone who at least tries to think about these things differently or put them in a larger context, cancellations often make me ask a lot of questions. My first question is almost always “What went wrong?” as in, “Why did people not watch this series?” Obviously, those are good questions to start with in light of cancellations, but they often lead to solid explanations. Timeslot problems. Bad pilot. Horrible casting. Premise too gimmicky (or not gimmicky enough). Not a good fit for the network.

Most of the time, series probably deserve to be canceled or end up being canceled for one of those reasons and although I might be upset with a specific case or outcome, I get it. I understand why the audience didn’t come or why the network didn’t want to play ball anymore. Television is a business, blah blah blah.

But re-watching the Cupid 1.0 pilot (I checked out a lot of the series before the second version hit airwaves a few years ago), I’m reminded of how frustrating this business can be. Taking all emotional investment or taste out of it, I think I will forever be confused as to why Cupid wasn’t a more popular series. The premise is great, and not in an obnoxious TV nerd kind of way. This is a supremely consumable premise with a built-in structure, mystery, Unresolved Sexual Tension couple and even a bit of name recognition. This is the kind of story that could only really work this well on television and its one that Entertainment Weekly cover stories are made for.

I get why audiences didn’t latch on to something dark and weird like Profit. Hell, I even understand why they didn’t snuggle up to Freaks and Geeks or Undeclared. But this? Perfect middlebrow television. Rock-solid, fun and infectious.

We love to admire pilots with overly-complex character work or similarly-deep “mythology,” but there is a lot of value in a pilot like Cupid. Its premise is both simple and engaging, where you are immediately invested in the mystery that is Trevor Hale. Is he Cupid? Is he crazy? Does it matter? Those are all simple, but effective questions to power a hundred episodes of television. And as Anthony touched on in its portion, this is a fantastic Jeremy Piven performance. I’ve seen every episode of Entourage and seen many of Piven’s film roles in this era, and I think he’s been better than we now give him credit for since he’s so clearly a douche and reveling in his douche-dom. But still, this is his definitely his best work.

As Trevor, he brings the now-typical Piven smarm and acerbic tongue, but it’s the quieter moments, like when Trevor honestly engages with Dave at the bar or when he pours his heart out to Claire on the phone, where he actually shines. Rob Thomas’ script is very good and it provides Piven multiple opportunities to create a very complex character from the outset, but still, the success of this pilot is almost entirely on Piven’s shoulders and he nails it. Trevor is simply a great television character. He is engaging and funny, but caring, and has this personal baggage that could be real or part of a possibly even more compelling façade.

The pilot has other strengths, though. Thomas’ script finds a really solid balance between cynicism and romanticism amid the constant conversations about how love does or does not exist in contemporary society. Paula Marshall’s Claire could come off as a major wet blanket (especially when paired with Piven’s Trevor) and the monologues about divorce rates and broken homes could grate, but they don’t. Most writers have the tendency to make the will-they-or-won’t-they couple overly antagonistic towards one another at the beginning, which leads to a whole lot of bickering that’s supposed to codify television’s version of foreplay. Cupid avoids that for the most part. Claire is obviously skeptical of Trevor and his intentions, but she’s also immediately intrigued by him in a way that doesn’t manifest in constant arguing. They banter, sure, but it’s not hostile at all.

And finally, the story engine allows Cupid to be a fun little anthology series about love and coupling (in the way that Love Bites tried to be, I guess). The pilot couple, Madeline and Dave, aren’t as interesting as some of the later pairings, but they have some solid moments together (most notably when Dave realizes that Madeline also loves the Chicago White Sox and basically immediately falls in love). Later, this becomes even more prominent, as many of the couple stories are legitimately great and moving.

Cupid is everything you want from a broadcast network pilot. Why, then, did the series fail? I hate to go this route, but I think this one has to be on the network. In the late 1990s, ABC was a mess. The network had no real brand identity and certainly didn’t have a quality development strategy. The first few years of the Disney era did not go well, and this was even before ABC scored bit with Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? And then immediately ran it into the ground. But you know why ABC ran it into the ground: the network had nothing else. When you combine a network in dire straits with a seriously laughable timeslot or two (I believe the series was moved around a couple of times), you get 15 episodes and out. That’s what happens.

And although it is just as misguided as it is easy to blame the network for a series failure, the fact that ABC asked Thomas to take another run at Cupid a decade later plays like an admission of failure to me. When ABC came to Thomas again, it was in much, much better shape, riding the waves of success that Lost, Desperate Housewives and Grey’s Anatomy brought to them, and just as important, the network had an identity. Cupid made perfect sense for ABC’s target demographic of young, but not super-young women (the Trevor-Claire banter was tailor-made for ABC’s jaunty THIS IS FUNNY music) and so, Thomas went to bat again.

The quality and simplicity of Thomas’ idea is only further reinforced in Cupid 2.0 because he barely changed a thing. The premise is exactly the same. The 100 couple rule is still in effect. The unresolved sexual tension is still there. The anthology feel is still there. Even the no-look dart shots are still there. Unfortunately, the spark of the original is not there. Bobby Cannavale is often fun as Trevor, but doesn’t bring the same kind of depth that Piven did (I know, I can’t believe I typed that either) and even though Sarah Paulson is actually better than Marshall as Claire, things just aren’t the same. Cupid 2.0 seems to focus both more on the couple of the week who are unfortunately even more boring than their first iteration and more on the witty, wacky humor. 1.0 had a certain grasp on emotion and depth, and 2.0 plays more like a gimmicky sitcom.

I’m not sure who is to blame for Cupid 2.0’s failure. It lasted only a half-dozen episodes and clearly wasn’t as compelling as the original, but ABC never seemed totally invested in making it work anyway. Whereas the original’s slightly more-serious tone would have fit well on ABC in 2009, it appears the network asked Thomas to “make it funnier and wackier” so it could fit alongside something like Ugly Betty.

Ultimately, ABC knew that Thomas’ idea was fantastic. He wouldn’t have gotten to trot it out twice otherwise. But perhaps what makes a great idea doesn’t make a great or appealing series, no matter how obvious it seems to me. It’s rare that you get two times to screw up one of the better premises in recent television history, but ABC made it happen with Cupid.

–CB

Series legacy: Great idea with all sorts of potential, but for whatever reason, it just didn’t work

By now, you know that my schedule/workload/life changes keep me from writing as much as I would like here at TV Surveillance. Of all series I miss writing about, Glee someone still tops the list (well, since Community is still trapped out there in the ether). I don’t even understand how that’s really true, but it is. I haven’t written about the series in a long time (that of course doesn’t keep me from burning up the Twitter highway with the rest of the TVitterati) and that makes me sad. Not because Glee has any good in 2012, of course. “Yes/No” was a minor disaster, “Michael” was a legitimate disaster and somehow “The Spanish Teacher” bordered offensive but still managed to be the most moving of the three. What can I say, I’m a sucker for sad Will Schuester stories.

No matter what though, I knew I was writing about tonight’s episode. Last year’s Valentine’s Day episode, “Silly Love Songs,” is one of my favorite Glee episodes ever and one of two episodes I’d ever just sit down to watch randomly (the other is obviously “Duets,” y’all). Despite all its madness, Glee still knows how to tell stories about characters in love, characters out of love, characters in between love and all variations on that theme. I’ve said this time and again, but those are the kinds of stories where the stupid, heightened emotions still work, no matter the context. With that said, I actually had really high expectations for “Heart.” And although the episode is basically Ali Adler’s attempt to do “Silly Love Songs,” only it happens to be grafted onto the series’ terrible season three EVERYTHING AT ONCE formula, “Heart” still worked more often than not. I think. Let’s not think these things through too much.

I just mentioned it, but the biggest problem this season of Glee has had is one of excess. We expect the series to be over-the-top and have a lot of songs, but this season, it has been especially jam-packed with around an average of six storylines an episode, many of them concocted on the spot (a problem the series is simply never going to overcome or even try to, frankly) and so it seems like every week, we’re left wondering about a somewhat engaging thread that was introduced in the second act that doesn’t get mentioned until a throwaway resolution in the final three minutes. Not only does that leave you wanting to see good versions of those stories play out in a theoretically better Glee, but it creates a severely jumbled, disjointed “whole” where nothing was given enough attention to be substantial and so ultimately it’s all just there.

“Heart,” unsurprisingly suffers from this problem. Let’s quickly go through the number of “plots” that this episode tackles: Reactions to Finn and Rachel’s engagement; Mercedes and Sam further dealing with the consequences of their feelings; Kurt’s secret valentine; Santana and Brittany kissing and the stir it causes; the introduction of the “God Squad” and Joe Hart, the previously-homeschooled naïve Christian boy that Quinn’s definitely to ruin (played by Sam of The Glee Project, or as I know him, the guy who pretended to love God once the guy who actually loved God quit and Ryan Murphy still just really wanted a kid who loved God [see: this character]); a brand-new love triangle between Sugar, Artie and Rory; and somewhere in there, the group was supposed to belt out music’s greatest love songs.

Depending how you count those various elements, that’s at least a half-dozen stories.  I would absolutely love to watch an episode of Glee that was basically the choir-room discussion between Finn and Rachel and the rest of the group. It is nice that the series at least recognizes the stupidity of the characters’ decision instead of glamorizing and romanticizing it, but the more of that, the better, even if it means Quinn gets to espouse mega-wise advice like the World’s Greatest Guidance Counselor because YALE YALE YALE. Relatedly, I would love nothing more than to watch a serious episode about how homosexual teens deal with Valentine’s Day in a public school setting, where we follow Santana and Brittany and Kurt and Blaine (and Karofsky). That sounds awesome and I have no doubt that Ryan Murphy or Ian Brennan could kill that. I’d even watch another episode about religion, since “Grilled Cheesus” somehow worked in spite of itself.

But as part of one episode, where there are 12 other things happening at the same time? There’s simply not enough time. Certain stories get more time than others, so Finn and Rachel’s stupidity gets played out at home as well with the introduction of Rachel’s parents (Jeff Goldblum and Brian Stoke Mitchell are pretty great in their roles), but even then, Adler’s script gives the characters an out. The plan to convince Rachel and Finn of their errors by letting them have a sleepover is so dumb (even the characters admitting so doesn’t salvage it) and then to make matters worse, the two of them argue about where Finn can and cannot take a dump but ultimately get over it because, well, I don’t know, it happened during the commercial break, where the two of them also checked with FOX to make sure it was okay they got married during May sweeps.

The other two appealing plotlines aren’t even given that much burn. Santana and Brittany’s relationship is unbelievably cute (why isn’t this entire series built around them again?) and again, that conflict with religion and high school decorum could be engaging as hell, but the whole story plays out across three short scenes. Tension is introduced, Santana complains, new Jesus guy Joe considers their feelings and ultimately decides, you know what, God says it is okay for me to sing you a bad love song on Valentine’s Day, Lucifer’s children. And while I think Samuel Larsen is going to fit in pretty well on Glee because he’s a solid performer and he can sing, his introduction didn’t overwhelm me.

Sam and Mercedes’ relationship is sort of an interesting beast to me. Obviously, it’s entirely stupid that the relationship is built entirely on telling instead of showing and so we’re working backwards here as the series now tries to convince us that they have this epic love story when we didn’t see any of it (wonder why they didn’t even try flashbacks?) all the while they quasi-break up even though they weren’t together in the first place. And yet, it more or less works for me and at this point, we have to appreciate it when the series can sustain a story across multiple episodes that isn’t Finn and Rachel-related. Thus, I liked the Sam-Mercedes stuff in the last two episodes and I liked it here just the same. Sure, it’s ridiculous to hear them talk about how much they love each other as if they’re the most star-crossed lovers in high school glee club history, but those are the kind of heightened emotions I can buy because high school kids are stupid and ignorant and blissfully so. Glee is built to tell stories where characters just sing their feelings to one another week in and week out and these two have done that for four weeks. Amber Riley nailed “I Will Always Love You” about as well as she could have (weird timing there) and Chord Overstreet yet again proved that he can actually act a little bit when the series asks him to do more than take his shirt off and have weird parts in his hair.

To be fair, none of this was bad, or even really mediocre. Most of it was just all so rushed. Speaking of rushed, the plot of the episode that came completely out of nowhere (as opposed to only moderately out of nowhere), was similarly burned-through with little meditation – and yet, devoid of context, many of the individual moments worked quite wonderfully.

The Sugar-Artie-Rory triangle is likely one of the most random love-shapes of all-time and no one cares about two-thirds of the people in it, but the scenes with the two men plotting and then dueling for Sugar’s affection were actually well-executed. The montage sequence (intercut with Tina and Mike lovingly singing to one another because lest we forget they’re in love and always awesome the three minutes every four episodes we get to spend time with them) right before the first commercial break was solid, fun Glee. And I thought Rory pulling a Barney Stinson and claiming his visa couldn’t be renewed (and getting EVERYONE TO CRY ABOUT IT for some reason) just so he could maybe kiss crazy Sugar was a hilarious beat that the series could do all sorts of obnoxiously ridiculous stuff with in the future. Rory should immediately pull out that sympathy card anytime something even bordering on uncomfortable happens to him. Now, do we care about Sugar, Rory or even Artie? Absolutely not. But as a little minor story about three random single characters in the Valentine’s Day episode, sure, I’ll go with it.

If “Heart” stripped away the fluff and focused on some of the things I discussed, it could have been a perfect companion to “Silly Love Songs.” But, it didn’t, because that’s just not how Glee operates at this point. Nevertheless, the episode was still entertaining, amiable and not offensively stupid. For Glee season three, especially after a few really poor episodes in the last batch, that’s a fine accomplishment.

 Other thoughts:

• Tonight didn’t make much use of the music narratively, in that after Will said find the best love songs people just performed whatever, but the song choices were both solid and well-performed. 
• I know Glee loves its formulas, but ending this episode on a big Breadstix number was perhaps too obvious for me to not immediately think of “Silly Love Songs.” I get that they might not have the money to build another set, but come on. 
• As always, I’m sad when the series gives us some really interesting (not necessarily “good”) Will material one week and then turns him into the human episode theme generator the next. Why couldn’t we see him and Emma spend Valentine’s Day together? Why couldn’t we see him ruin it by belittling her about a gift? Why didn’t he dress up as Cupid and kiss a student? HIS LIFE IS AWFUL. Don’t let us forget it. 

Welcome back to the Showrunner Series, an occasional TVS feature where I discuss the work of one or more major television voice(s).

When a great, popular television series says goodbye, members of that series’ writing staff are going to be hot commodities. They’re going to be asked to run their own series, pitch their own pilots, move into film, whatever. Relatedly, those writers are going to be under something of a microscope, as critics will be looking to see if individual staff writers or producers can swing it without the safety net of a major series. For example, Richard Rusfield wrote a really great piece not too long ago chronicling the systematic failure of the dozens of former Friends writers who have been given – and continue to be given – opportunities to run other series. For those of interested in television so deeply, we know about the great writers rooms – Hill Street Blues, Buffy, The X-Files, you name it.

Lost and its writers room is an interesting case (partially because the series has only been off the air for a short period of time). Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse had a major handle on that series’ narrative and were given a lot of the credit (and blame) for what happened on-screen. Some of the best writers to work on Lost didn’t stay very long. David Fury didn’t last past the first half of season one, Javier Grillo-Marxuach was gone by season two and the glut of great writers that were part of the season three staff (odd that the season most-derided by fans had the best room) like Jeff Pinker, Drew Goddard and Brian K. Vaughn moved on to other, bigger and depending on your opinion of how Lost turned out, better things relatively quickly. In the final few seasons, the writing staff turnover was minimal. Lindelof and Cuse ran the ship, while Adam Horowitz and Eddie Kitsis top-lined a group that also included Elizabeth Sarnoff, Melinda Tsu Taylor and script coordinator Greggory Nations. Taylor now works on Falling Skies, Nations apparently doesn’t work anywhere (according to IMDb) and Sarnoff was booted from Alcatraz late last year.

This leaves us with Horowitz and Kitsis, who wrote the script for Tron: Legacy and then quickly brought Once Upon a Time to ABC (under the general guise of Lindelof, though I have to assume he’s working in the same kind of capacity J.J. Abrams did after a few episodes of Lost and by that I mean basically not at all). After watching the first dozen episodes of Once Upon a Time* (and seeing Tron: Legacy in theaters, although that won’t be a primary focus here), I started to really think about Horowitz and Kitsis’ approach to storytelling and how it is related to their time on Lost.

*Again, this is the part of this feature where I point out that obviously, not one person or duo singlehandedly creates the script, or even the quality and direction of a television series. Horowitz and Kitsis are the creators and showrunners of Once and they are credited writers on four episodes of the series. But for the purposes of argument, we can at least assume that they have some sort of final say as to how each episode comes out. Well, sort of, just follow my argument.

There are a lot of things that Lost is going to be remembered for as time passes (and if you angry people on Twitter have your way, those “things” are going to lean more and more towards the negative side, unfortunately). It was an once-in-a-lifetime kind of television program that will likely never be replicated for so many different reasons. But one of the things that I thought would be forgotten amid the sea of discussion about Smoke Monsters, mishandled resolutions and not-purgatory purgatories is the series’ structure, specifically the flashback structure.

Although they could sometimes be boring depending on the character they focused on and eventually drew tiresome and needed to be swapped out for something else, Lost’s use of flashbacks in each episode made a heck of an impact on its narrative and character development. Flashbacks obviously worked to fill in important (or sometimes not-so-important) blanks in the lives of the survivors of Oceanic Flight 815 and to sketch a larger picture of the series’ fascinating world. But they also did a really fine job of evoking thematic and emotional symmetry between the on- and off-island lives of the survivors. The combination of scavenger hunt and emotional punch resonated with audiences from the get-go.

I was afraid this was going to be forgotten. However, it is now apparent than Horowitz and Kitsis will never let the Lost flashback structure be forgotten because they are over-reliant on it to power the narrative of Once Upon a Time. Instead of running away from the central conceit of their former series, the duo have embraced it tighter and in the process, stripped away many of the elements that it made it so effective in the first place. Once Upon a Time takes short-cuts. It, like Lost, is a scavenger hunt; it just happens to exist almost solely as a scavenger hunt. It, like Lost, tries to use the symmetry of between its two worlds to evoke emotionally powerful moments; it just happens to not really earn any of those moments.

During their time on Lost, Horowitz and Kitsis were known for the series’ lighter, but not-so-secretly emotionally satisfying episodes. They wrote a number of great Hurley-related episodes, including “Everybody Hates Hugo,” “Dave,” “Tricia Tanaka Is Dead,” “The Lie” and “Everybody Loves Hugo.” So, actually, they wrote all the Hurley-centric episodes from season two on except season four’s “The Beginning of The End.” They also penned the lovely “Exposé” and one of the series’ all-time best efforts that no one talks about enough “Greatest Hits” (I dare you not to cry).

Lost used the flashback structure, especially in the first season, to constantly surprise the audience and subvert their expectations. We all remember the flashbacks in “Walkabout,” or even “Tabula Rasa.” The flashback device was built to induce shock and create dramatic ironies or inversions as much as it was built to point out symmetry. In that regard, it is no surprise to see some of the writing choices Horowitz and Kitsis have made while working on Once. But what is curious about many of the episodes I just listed is that they rely on characters who were self-aware and who recognized the symmetry of their circumstances.

Despite the initial mystery surrounding his pre-island life, Hurley often directly discussed how he wanted to change things or how a certain island situation reminded him of a certain “real world” situation. And in “Greatest Hits,” Charlie’s diegetic experience of the scenes we experience as his flashback isn’t that different from our own. As he thinks back on the best moments of his life, we see them. He is engaging with the series’ narrative device without being meta in an Abed-like way.* You could argue that Hurley and Charlie’s “awareness” made them easier to love, but also made it easier to build an episode around more light-hearted symmetry. The emotional payoffs of a Locke or Juliet or Desmond episode might have been more wrenching, but the sense of temporary fulfillment for Hurley or presumed-final calm for Charlie had a different impact.

*”Exposé” is, of course, the series Abed-like moment.

On Once Upon a Time, Horowitz and Kitsis use the flashback device in basically the same way, structurally. But the purpose of the flashbacks and how they relate to the series’ overall narrative and perhaps most importantly, the characters, is not the same and it is in these differences that the issues with Once start to manifest.* On the new series, Horowitz and Kitsis’ characters lack the self-awareness that Hurley or Charlie had on Lost – outside of Henry, but since he’s not part of both worlds he often becomes an afterthought anyway – and when combined with the inherent reason for the flashback structure to exist in the first place, the resulting series is odd to say the least.

*There’s no question that Once has a lot of problems. The characterization is random and the visuals are sometimes hard to stomach, but I think what I’m talking about today reflect the biggest problems. And despite all this, I still kind of like it. I don’t understand myself, at all.

In theory, it is fine for characters to lack self-awareness. Most of the characters on Lost seemed to lack self-awareness at all times (Jack and Kate were particularly stubborn) and perhaps that’s part of what made Hurley and Charlie so charming in the first place. But even though characters like Jack sometimes failed to see that off-island lessons could be re-learned on the island, he was still aware of both “timelines” that we saw, at least when Lost used flashbacks (flash-forwards and flash-sideways are completely different animals). He lived his flashback life.

So although the experiences were new to us and helped us learn more about Jack or Kate or Sawyer, the characters themselves were aware, in some way, of the things that had already happened to them. The mystery appeal of the flashback structure of Lost was appealing for us, not for the characters. Sure, they kept secrets from one another, but those secrets were part of typical on-island tensions. Knowing that Sawyer hung out with Jack’s dad or that Boone and Shannon hooked up didn’t fundamentally alter what was happening on the first 45 days on the island. Being self-aware like Hurley helped, but it wasn’t necessary.

Once Upon a Time, however, is devoid of self-awareness (in so many ways). In fact, the narrative is defined by the characters not knowing the connections between the two worlds that we see every Sunday night. The ultimate payoff is supposed to be that Henry convinces Emma who convinces Mary-Margaret and so on and they do know, but getting there, especially in the way that the series is trying to get there, is more than a chore. In the interim, the audience is left to point out the dramatic ironies in the lives of Snow White and Mary-Margaret or David and Prince Charming. While there is some value in that and Lost certainly took a similar approach, the lack of “real” connection between the two worlds creates a situation where we in the audience know that something is ironic or symmetrical or whatever, but the characters themselves do not – and might not ever because the series has done such a bad job of really explaining what could happen if they “wake up.”

At its core, Once Upon a Time is a story defined by one large mystery device that the audience already knows. We know, more or less, what the Evil Queen did, we know why she did it and we know that the characters themselves are going to take a long time to catch up with us. Lost was a series built around a certain air of mystery, but the characters, despite their ignorance, were actively trying to solve those mysteries. Locke wanted to know what was in the hatch. Charlie asked “Where are we?” Those characters were active participants in the mystery, Once’s characters are not.

Horowitz and Kitsis use the flashback structure to conjure symmetry and emotional responses from the audience, but don’t really do anything to earn it. The two sets of characters are only “the same” because the series inelegantly tells us they are through obvious, sometimes sloppy storytelling. Henry tells Emma about how this person is actually that fairy tale character and then, golly, wouldn’t you know it, he’s right. Mary-Margaret and David are together now? Well here is how they got together the first time! Instead of methodically using subtext and theme to draw parallels and feelings together, Once just throws it all out there and expects you to care. And to make matters worse, Horowitz and Kitsis have the full use of recognizable characters, which makes their approach even “easier.”  Therefore, when MM and David kiss, you’re supposed to care because duh, that’s Snow White and Prince Charming. The series doesn’t earn it, though.

It is no surprise, then, that one of the series’ strongest episodes is “The Heart is a Lonely Hunter.” In that episode, Graham gained an awareness of his place in both worlds and acted accordingly. It created a certain level of dramatic tension, but also made the character relationships more intriguing. The schism between the two worlds brought on by the narrative device wasn’t as pronounced in that episode and it felt like Once could tell stories where characters learn from past experiences to change the present. I don’t think the series earned whatever relationship they were trying to establish between Graham and Emma, but there were some individually powerful moments within “Lonely Hunter.” So of course, Graham had to die and the series had to go back to its basic structure and exploration.

Again, I understand that the series is fundamentally built around the characters not knowing the things that the audience knows and the flashbacks exist to point out how tragic or moving or funny that lack of knowledge really is. And it is readily apparent that Horowitz and Kitsis keep broadening the scope and bringing in new characters so that they can keep playing with this flawed structure (and keep hooking in people who have random allegiances to Belle or Cinderella or whomever). However, if that is how the series is built at a fundamental level, then it is simply fundamentally flawed. The characters cannot be that devoid of awareness and the flashbacks can’t keep just pointing out just how devoid of said awareness they actually are. It is inarticulate, but it also sucks the emotional punch of the series, at least until characters actively embrace the possibility that the two worlds we get to see might be related.

If the emotional payoffs aren’t there and the character depth is there, what’s left? A scavenger hunt. In Lost, the scavenger hunt was about finding out how the people were connected as well as answering the larger, mythology-like questions. In Once Upon a Time, we already know how these people are connected and there isn’t really much of a larger question outside of “When will these people wake up?” Like there is no real emotional punch, there is no true grand mystery to Once and yet, the flashbacks present new information as if it were part of some impressive unknown.

What remains is a scavenger hunt on a smaller scale, wherein Horowitz, Kitsis and the rest of the staff change the traits of or the relationships between characters that the audience already has a familiarity with in the first place. I’m sure the duo would argue that there is a purpose behind why they crafted a love story between Belle and Rumpelstiltskin this week, but in the short term, it sure feels like they did so because it subverted expectations about Beauty and the Beast. Undercutting audience assumptions is fine and can often be fun for a series like this one, but only when there’s also more of substance going on as well. Thus far on Once Upon a Time, there isn’t.

Horowitz and Kitsis might not live in the shadow of their work on Lost forever, if only because people don’t automatically remember them in the first place (no offense to their work, we just remember Lindelof, Cuse and unfortunately still, Abrams, despite is lack of real involvement for the duration of the series’ run). However, their reliance on the flashback structure* exemplifies the kind of approach we expect writers in their position to take: They borrow from the great series they worked on before, but don’t quite know how to make the things they borrow matter in the same way in the new context.

*Oddly, the one project they’ve worked on recently that didn’t include tons of flash-somethings is Tron: Legacy (which had a few flashbacks, but wasn’t powered by them) and arguably, that’s the story that could have used them the most. The flashbacks to what happened on the grid were much better than the horrible scenes of characters just didactically explaining what happened. I don’t want to suggest that Horowitz and Kitsis don’t have skills because I think they do, but if Tron fails because they can’t craft a good story with flashbacks and Once struggles because its over-reliant on flashbacks, I’m not sure what that says about their abilities. 

I talk television with a lot of people. Friends, family, other critics on Twitter, vagrants on the street. I just love talking about TV. Because I don’t have the time and resources to do a podcast like I used to in college, I’m going to sort of replicate that experience in textual form in a new recurring feature. Basically, I’ll just exchange a few emails with someone on a particular topic. You’ve seen this kind of thing done tons of other places, but it’s something I enjoy doing so expect more of it here on TVS.

Hiya, folks! As you may or may not know, I am current in the midst of a period that necessitates I keep my television criticism to a minimum. But although I do not really have the time to fit much in, I cannot stay away. There are too many interesting things to discuss. That is where a feature like Chitchat comes in handy. After his minor Twitter rant about Parks and Recreation’s Leslie Knope over the weekend (and a few negative pieces from other folks), I had to contact Les Chappell and pick his brain on all things Citizen Knope.

Cory: Les, if Twitter is to believed, something is bothering you. Well, many things might be bothering you, but one thing in particular sticks out to me. You seem frustrated with the way Parks and Recreation is currently handling its beloved lead character, Leslie Knope. In fact, on the Twitters, you called her “insufferable.” I know there’s been some discussion about the shift in Leslie’s character here in season four, most notably an American Prospect piece that caused a sizable amount of hubbub in criticism circles at the tail-end of last week. My hope is that we’ll get into that piece as we move along here, but tell me Les, what’s bugging you in regard to Leslie? Are you, like Amanda Marcotte, concerned that Leslie’s shifted from feminist superstar to a cliché representative of her gender? Or is it something else?

Les: The particular issue I have with Leslie’s character isn’t that she’s been sabotaged as a feminist icon – one of many complaints I have about the American Prospect article, which I’m sure we’ll get to – but rather, I feel the show has been leaning too heavily on the negative side of Leslie’s focus. When I was getting caught up on the show last night I watched the episode “Bowling for Votes,” and not for the first time this season I found myself irritated at the way Leslie was going about her affairs. As opposed to trying to win over everyone and do the best thing for her town, she fixated obsessively on winning over one guy who made a comment anyone else would dismiss. She didn’t listen to a thing Ben said to her and essentially marginalized him to get the voter’s attention, and when she couldn’t get him on her side she turned ultra-competitive and set out to bully him into submission. She says at one point in the episode “I’ve never been very good at letting things go,” and while that’s led to some great moments for the character (i.e. chaining herself to a mansion gate to save a gazebo) it’s starting to feel petty as opposed to endearing. Am I alone in this? 

Cory: I don’t mean to over-analyze your prose, but your word choice interests me: You note that Leslie’s obsessive stubbornness is “starting” to feel petty. I’m curious if you think that Leslie has somehow changed this season or if you’re just personally reached a point where that behavior grates on you. As I see it, Leslie’s always been obsessive, stubborn and obsessively stubborn. Chaining herself to the mansion gate is a great example, but you could point to countless others, from refusing to acknowledge the government shut-down and the cancellation of Freddy Spaghetti to disregarding medical care while substantially sick so she could pitch local businesses on the benefits of the Harvest Festival. Leslie has, and I think always be, obsessive and stubborn. Right?

Les: Certainly that’s always been part of who she is – as she herself said in season two “I care a lot. it’s kind of my thing.” But I think there is a core difference here, and it’s one that finally distills some of the lingering concerns I’ve had over this campaign story arc. All of those other examples you mentioned, when Leslie went crazy she was doing it for her coworkers, her boyfriend or for Pawnee; now, she’s doing it for herself. She wasn’t thinking about helping anyone when she tried to win Derrick over, or even if she could help him by getting his vote, she was thinking about her wounded pride.

And there’s been a lot of moments like that this season: she essentially declared war on Peru when Ben tried to move on from her, exaggerated the smallest park project to purposely stretch out their time together, and basically tuned out Ann every time she tried to express concerns about being the campaign manager. She is, as you mention, a passionate and driven person, but I think it’s easier to accept when she’s working for a good cause. And regardless of how you personally feel about Knope 2012, it hasn’t felt like as much of a good cause as when she’s building a time capsule or community garden. 

Also, as some evidence for this theory (and to reassure people I do still love Parks) I watched the “Operation Ann” episode right after “Bowling for Votes,” and I thought it was a much stronger outing – possibly because it was virtually free of campaign talk. Leslie still had her schemes – finding Ann a boyfriend, giving Ben a scavenger hunt – but were much more endearing in their obsessive attention to detail, because it was about making them feel happy. (And possibly to make them appreciate having Leslie in their lives more, but that’s usually goal #2 or #3 when she does things like this.) 

Cory: You make some really interesting points about the series’ shift amid the campaign story. As a whole, I think that arc has been more challenging than say something like the Harvest Festival because it puts Leslie into positions and roles that she isn’t used to. Planning the Harvest Festival is the perfect arena for Ms. Knope. There, her obsessiveness becomes dedication (again, as you mention, for a larger cause) and she can motivate her team, local business owners and basically the whole town on sheer force of personality alone. But the underlying point of all that hard work for the Harvest Festival is that Leslie is good at this. She knows how to plan events. She knows how to present ideas to those business owners. She can cash in favors with the police department because she’s so damn likable. When Leslie is in her element, she’s unbelievably charming, but also intelligent and effective. She’s great at her job. 

But Leslie isn’t a great politician, at least in the traditional, admittedly-flawed contemporary idea of what a “politician” is. Ideology aside, she’s not the prototypical candidate (especially in an insane town like Pawnee). She’s seemingly not self-interested, she’s seemingly idealistic in a good way, etc. However, no matter if Leslie would make a great city councilwoman (and there’s no doubt that she would and I’m guessing the series will ultimately argue that her difference is what will make her great, just as does in her current position), she’s not experienced or really fit to run a campaign. I think the season has done a very nice job of showing us this, as most of the campaign-related stories have been full of temporary failure and schadenfreude. This is clearly part of crafting this underdog narrative built around Leslie. Yet, it does present its challenges in the interim. We’ve grown accustom to seeing Leslie succeed because of her stubbornness and her idealism, but perhaps those things don’t mix well when she’s already out of her element in the first place. 

I think there is a lot of value in showing Leslie struggle with this campaign and perhaps struggle with some truths about her personality tics that could hold her back. But, with that comes a slight re-calibration in the character that could be problematic. You’re right, when she’s more overtly self-interested, she’s less like the Leslie we’ve come to love in seasons two and three and more like the short-sighted Leslie we disliked in season one. You mentioned “lingering concerns” over the campaign arc. Are there other things with this story that you think negatively impact Leslie? 

Les: To touch on some of your points above, I do agree that as a whole the show has done a good job of showing how this challenges some of Leslie’s worldviews and idealized versions of running a campaign, and I’m sure we’ll see more of that as it gets more into the swing of things and we get to see her debate Bobby Newport. (Bobby Newport. Bobby… Newport.) And I do agree that it’s not a bad thing to try to break Leslie out of her comfort zone, my issue is more that when they do they make me wish at least one person would shake her for a few minutes until she starts being reasonable. I’d rather see a frazzled, distracted to incoherent Leslie than a borderline selfish one, because a) incoherent Leslie is the most hilarious Leslie, and b) we know Leslie’s a fundamentally good person. When it moves away from that, it raises the specter of that painful first season, and I want to shake my head and go “No. That’s not our Leslie Knope.” (Hmm… maybe my concern over the show this season is more possessive than anything else.)

In terms of other parts of the story impacting Leslie, I think the main one is tied to something ThinkProgress‘s Alyssa Rosenberg wrote earlier this year when she asked the question “Is Leslie Knope Corrupt?” There were a few small issues early on related to Leslie having an assistant on both office and campaign work, but it’s really come into the forefront now when you see the entire department is willing to volunteer every free moment they have to assist on her campaign. Again, Leslie is awesome enough that I completely buy they’d all be willing to help, and they’ve inserted details that they can’t talk about campaign work in the office, but for an entire government agency to volunteer for this and no one to raise an eyebrow seems a little outside of even the heightened reality that is Pawnee. It’s certainly great for comedy when we see how disastrous their first efforts are, but you have to ask how long they can keep this going or when the lines are going to get crossed. 

Again, it hasn’t yet bothered me seriously, but I can easily see them get to a point where it would. Does it bother you?

Cory: I see your point, I guess I just think it’s really compelling (not to mention, funny) to see Leslie struggle. She cannot be the best all the time and putting her into circumstances where she implicitly has to face that causes the slightly unlikable Leslie to come out. Having Ben around to be the voice of reason supports that, because there’s someone around to guide her away from the selfish qualities. But I agree, “Bowling for Votes” stumbled a bit because Leslie was so stubborn and Ben eventually gave in instead of holding his ground like he should have. I think the series wanted to play the punch for laughs and as a slightly romantic moment, but you’re right, that at least moderately undercuts both characters. 

As for Leslie and corruption, I think the series is in an interesting place. While I don’t necessarily think Leslie is corrupt (as both you and Alyssa point out, there are little notes here and there that have allowed the series “outs” if you will), I think Parks has shifted away from Parks Department-related stories in such a way that suggests Leslie isn’t paying attention to her current job. Clearly, the campaign is the dominant story arc of the season and therefore deserves a substantial amount of time in most episodes. However, it is curious that there have been few stories this season about Leslie doing something primarily because it’s her job. “Smallest Park” comes to mind, but even then, that was a story more about her relationship with Ben. So with the campaign story and the similar attention devoted to their courtship, the Parks Department appears to be far from Leslie’s mind. In that regard, I guess you could say she is being a bit selfish, but I don’t know if we can blame her for what the series chooses to show or not show us, story-wise. 

On that note, how do you feel about Leslie and Ben? I return now to the American Prospect piece. Has Leslie lost her spark and feminine power because of her relationship with Ben?

Les: I said at the start of our chat I had a lot of problems with the American Prospect piece (not least of which its statement that Community is going to die on the bench, but we talked about that at length already), and the biggest is that I consider its thesis fundamentally flawed. Saying Leslie’s lost her feminist spark and power this season? She wrote a book about her town’s history, spearheaded an all-female scouting group and became the head of a citizen action committee. Leslie Knope gets shit done.

Regarding her relationship, Amanda’s statement that Parks and Recreation is sticking to “sexist romantic comedy tropes” sets my teeth on edge the most, because this show has so much heart and affection for its characters I can never assign it that category. And more to the point, I don’t think it applies here. Leslie’s circumstances weren’t a woman having to choose between being a housewife or a spinster, it was a case where she knew that this specific relationship was going against her beloved rules and political ambitions. Not only that, she knew this when she was first going into the relationship.

I certainly indicated that I’ve had problems with some of Leslie’s choices this season, but I don’t for a second call it a “downward spiral of political incompetence” as Amanda wrote. As we’ve both discussed already, this is something that’s always been part of Leslie, and her darker competitive tunnel-vision side tends to come out more in the pressures of campaigning and relationships. I don’t see Ben’s decisions as campaign manager making him her “white knight” or “natural caretaker,” he’s just doing the same thing Ann and Ron have done at various points of the series by giving her a much-needed anchor. He didn’t save her by ending the relationship or quitting his job, he did that because he didn’t want her to make that choice – I think it was as much about protecting himself as it was about protecting her. Which, if I’m not mistaken, is something that happens a lot with real, adult relationships.

I think a large part of this is that I never had the problem several critics did in how the writers kept Ben and Leslie apart, because I believed Chris’s rationale (and by extension Mike Schur’s) that this is a real rule that exists in government for very valid reasons, and both Leslie and Ben cared enough about their commitment to public service that they’d have to deal with it. As far as contrived reasons to keep couples apart, I had more problem with Ann kissing Andy at the end of season two.

Cory: I think we’re on the same wave-length here. Leslie and Ben’s relationship is obviously a more traditional “will they or won’t they” type that the series avoided with April and Andy and I think that relationship construction comes with its own baggage that can’t always been grafted onto a series’ typical rhythms. I do think there is some validity to the frustrations over Ben being the one to initially break it off and to take the bullet once Chris found out. Perhaps that does suggest that Leslie’s a typical girl, being saved by a typical guy. I get that, and you could make a compelling argument by noting that making Ben the “White Knight” romantic hero does limit Leslie’s self-reliance and strength. 

However, I can’t help but return to some of the things I’ve said previously. Just like the campaign, this long-term, lovey-dovey-type or relationship is a brand-new experience for Leslie. She’s not been too successful in the dating game over the years and so it’s hard to fault her for getting swept up in this moderately epic romance with Ben. I think the series has done a solid enough job of suggesting that both she and Ben are competent enough people that any sort of irrational behavior they do in the name of love only proves how much they care about one another, not how incompetent they are becoming. Perhaps all the issues we’ve discussed related to Leslie are purposeful and part of a larger story about how she reacts to lots of new life experiences all at once. 

One more thing: It’s interesting to me that both your issues and Amanda’s issues with Leslie stem from this glorious view of Leslie Knope. I’m not saying that Leslie doesn’t deserve it. She is, without a doubt, one of the best characters on television and the series has done a tremendous job of making her skilled and likable. But is it possible that we’ve displaced too much expectations onto her? She’s a burgeoning feminist icon and she’s beloved by millions (OK, like 4 million). I’d guess that a lot of people had really high hopes for this campaign story and perhaps thought it would continue proving how novel of a character Leslie can be at times. And while I think Parks eventually gets there, I’m much more interested in a story that features more bumps in the road than just straight-up Leslie Knope victories. Not only does the former approach lead to the cultivation of this underdog status, but it (again) forces Leslie to face some of her biggest issues. Many people thought Parks was a series about an intelligent woman having it all and they’re right, but there have to be challenges on the path to glory. 

Les: I didn’t even realize that when I first picked the article apart, but now that you say it it makes perfect sense. I completely agree that we’ve put her on the pedestal – partially because Amy Poehler’s so terrific in the role, partly because Parks and Rec‘s low-rated status inspires an obsessive devotion, and partly because Leslie is one of the most fundamentally decent people on television today. In this era of cynical characters on our sitcoms and disillusionment with the political process, to see a devoted public servant who not only believes that government should help people but practices what she preaches, it’s something unique and almost inspiring. And when that’s jeopardized, we get agitated – Meredith Blake asked in her A.V. Club review of “The Treaty” if success could spoil Leslie, and I think that’s a more legitimate concern than her suddenly becoming a charmless anti-feminist.

I’m in agreement with you though that the show is much better when it challenges characters – Schur’s made the point on at least one occasion that if people like Leslie or Tom keep dreaming big but don’t act on it, it starts to make the show sadder. This show should absolutely be about her growth and development as a person, and as much of a whipped cream-powered perpetual motion machine as she is, even she can’t do it all right the first time. And would we honestly expect her to, even in the heightened reality that is Pawnee? This show needs its dramatic stakes as much as it does the punchlines.

And if one thing does comfort me going forward into the season, I have faith that the writers will find some better ways to harness that as opposed to playing with “dark side” Leslie. Going back to our discussion of juggling the Parks department with running a campaign, Schur’s given an interview where he said as the episodes progress, it’ll start to show that Leslie’s doing her job far past the point where she should have resigned to focus on campaigning, and eventually it wears even her past the breaking point. I have faith that journey will produce some better results, if only because Poehler plays exhaustion to the point of mania better than anyone else on TV.

And on the topic of bumps in the road, there’s one more question that’s been discussed quite a bit on Twitter as we analyze the campaign story arc. We all assume the season finale is going to close with Election Day: do you want Leslie to win? Should she win? And what do you think it means for the character and the story, either way it turns out?

Cory: Parks and Recreation is such a positive series that I struggle to picture a world where Leslie doesn’t win that City Council seat. And in a lot of ways, that’s probably the right move, story-wise. As you mention, Leslie’s big dreams need to materialize in some way and while I think most viewers would likely be fine with 100 more episodes of Leslie doing fun Parks Department-related things, this is a series (and a showrunner) with real ambition. Putting Leslie in a City Council seat should open up the writers to explore Pawnee, its government and its various other institutions in all sorts of new ways. I’m already picturing a bottle episode where Leslie basically forces all the City Council members to sit in a room for 24 hours to figure out how to fix some community-related problem. I know that Schur loves The Wire and I think he wants to explore some of those government-related stories on a slightly larger scale. And watching Leslie’s optimistic attitude clash with a governing body full of about as much ambition as Ron would be tremendous.  In theory, winning not only changes the series’ status quo, but it also teaches Leslie something about herself, how she treats people and what she has to do be successful moving forward. 

However, I have to admit that I’d also really, really love to see how the series would deal with Leslie losing. Not only would it be a bit of a shock amid the series’ disposition, but it would reflect a Wire-esque view of the failure of society’s institutions and force Leslie to do some real soul searching. In that case, she’s acted on her dreams, she’s put herself out there and now she’s failed. What does that mean? Is she OK with being #2 for a department that’s literally the lowest on the local government food chain? Is that enough? Or does she try again? As I’m typing this, I’m growing ever connected to this second option, but I have no doubt the series could make the first work just fine. What about you, is Leslie a winner?

Les: I still haven’t chosen my answer, to tell you the truth. On one hand, I agree with you that the show’s positivity and Leslie’s general awesomeness add up to a win, plus I’m pretty sure Paul Rudd’s not ready to stop doing movies and move to Pawnee. I think it would make for a terrific season if Leslie got elected and started trying to check off her ridiculously long list of issues, almost turning it into a local government procedural – off the top of my head I can see her recruiting Andy to apprehend Gabe the toucan for the Pawnee Zoo, going to war with Ron over the abolishment of underground shooting ranges and spearheading the city-wide effort to relocate all of Pawnee’s raccoons to Eagleton. On the other hand, a season premiere where Leslie’s completely shattered by her loss and becomes even more apathetic than Ron and April about her job would be quite hilarious (I could see her reducing Chris to tears, or becoming friends with Orrin) and her trying to put herself back together and realize how much she loves running a parks department could also drive the season. 

And the fact that I can’t decide which of the two would be better and can sell both easily gets to why despite some little concerns about Leslie, I really find it hard to worry about the show itself as a whole. Parks and Recreation has had so many wins in its lifetime that it’s earned a lot of my good will, and my concerns about some episodes have been offset by how many unequivocally solid ones it’s had. The show’s already proven it can have characters follow their dreams and fail without being ruined – Entertainment 720 being the obvious example – and I don’t think a Knope 2012 win or loss would seal the show’s fate in either direction. I’d obviously feel good about a win, but that’s because of affection for the character more than wanting to steer the story.

To go back to where we started this discussion: we have ten episodes left in the season, and I’m sure that after at least one I’ll still be saying that she can be insufferable. I’m sure she’ll have a plot is such that I’d rather they shift focus to Ron or April, because (as we’ve said) she’s such an extreme character and one who’s being put in unfamiliar situations. But at the end of the day, I think it’ll be okay, because for all her flaws? She’s still Leslie Effing Knope. 

It is difficult to think or talk about Smash without considering the context of its much-awaited arrival to television. Despite what still-new NBC honcho Robert Greenblatt says about the series’ ultimate impact on the fate of the Peacock network, Smash is a supremely important property. In fact, I would say that this is the most important series premiere of the season (sorry, X Factor) and probably one of the more important premieres in recent memory. NBC is desperate for any kind of substantial success and since critics got ahold of Smash’s pilot back in the spring, there’s been an unbelievable amount of talk about how the series could alter the trajectory of a network that’s in a truly terrible state (perhaps the worst ever for a broadcast network, right?).

And even though NBC’s continued failure gives me a whole lot of fodder for sarcastic tweets and long pieces here on TVS, I want NBC to succeed. And even though I’m smart enough to know that good ratings for one series cannot single-handedly reanimate a basically-dead network, I want Smash to succeed. Ultimately, I think the series will succeed from a ratings stand-point, at least in the first season. But after watching the pilot episode twice now, I’m still not entirely convinced Smash is going to be as creatively successful.

Don’t get me wrong: This is the kind of pilot NBC needs to be airing. Move the Glee comparisons aside for a minute because there’s not quite like Smash on broadcast television right now. This is so obviously an adult program, for adult audiences. I don’t mean that in a pay cable context where “adult” means all sorts of boobs and sexposition. Instead, Smash feels like the kind of property you would expect NBC to steward onto the airwaves, the kind of property NBC likes to talk about when they’re going on and on about their history and the prestige of the 10 p.m. drama slot and the kind of property that 30 Rock makes fun of them for not having over the last decade.*

*As I’ve said before, NBC had two great dramas they didn’t quite know what to do with in Friday Night Lights and Southland, but the point remains the same.

The phrase that keeps coming to mind when I think about the Smash pilot is well-produced. Steven Spielberg apparently had some real interest and thus impact on the development of the property, but even if he didn’t do squat, Smash still exudes professionalism. Michael Mayer’s direction is rock-solid and all the performances seem, to a person with no real interest in theater, quite good. The cast is filled with recognizable performers from television, film, theater and music and they’re all generally doing fine work in the pilot.

My only real issue with the pilot is the writing. Theresa Rebeck has had a great deal of success in her career and she is clearly a great choice to be the lead writer for a series like this. Most of the pilot affirms Rebeck’s abilities. The story is clear, concise and always propulsive. Every single one of the characters is a basic-level archetype with little meat, but A.) This is a pilot and B.) The story works well when reinforcing the traditional beats of those archetypes anyway. By the end of the pilot, Rebeck’s script has done its job: We’ve been introduced to the characters, gotten enough indication of what their basic motivations are and the structure of the story is in place. Too many pilots today fail to accomplish even these goals and the script is well-supported by solid direction, performances and music.

However, when Rebeck’s script moves away from the character “types” and tries to flesh out the personal lives of the characters, Smash stalls out. Debra Messing’s Julia is trying to adopt a kid but she doesn’t seem remotely interested in it – or her teenage son – and Brian d’Arcy James is stuck in the thankless role of the nagging husband. Moreover, the tension between Julia and her partner Tom’s assist Ellis is really pretty dumb. The Ellis character is at first too dumb and then later perhaps just purposefully calculating and although I understand the desire in adding as much drama to the production as possible, the character (and the performance) feels like an unnecessary addition to a story that already has all sorts of in-fighting and competition. The preview clips at the end of the free version of the pilot suggests that Ellis isn’t going anywhere, nor is the baby storyline and well, that’s just unfortunate.

This is where Smash has a challenging road ahead. Pilots work just fine with archetypal characters, especially when their portrayed by great actors like Messing, Anjelica Huston and Jack Davenport or supported with well-picked music like Katharine McPhee and Megan Hilty are (though Hilty’s good on her own, to be fair). But to succeed creatively in the long-term, the series needs to move beyond typical behind the scenes drama and avoid poorly-written stories with characters that aren’t exactly necessary. From the pilot, the audience isn’t given the same kind of choice that the producers of the Marilyn production are. We’re basically told that McPhee’s Karen is a diamond in the rough and that this is going to be her journey to the top. That’s fine, I’ll watch that story, but Smash seems so dedicated to telling that obvious story about the green, Midwestern ingénue “making it big” amid sleazy directors, snotty writers and disapproving parents. Television gives you the opportunity to step outside those obvious stories or those typical character constructions and with this cast, it seems misguided to cling to the obvious or the typical.

Of course, there are moments in the pilot where I think Smash and Theresa Rebeck are capable of more compelling storytelling, most notably the scenes where the two competing women are on-screen with some sort of parallel in mind. I know people really love the last performance number and for good reason, but I think my favorite scene was the quick beat with Karen and Ivy discussing the call-back with their families. Those moments go a long way in getting the audience invested in characters and it is intriguing that the series is avoiding making Ivy a straight-up villain (at least so far). Honestly, Ivy seems more interesting, which is byproduct of both the writing and disparity between the two actress’ performances.

Ultimately, Smash isn’t the best pilot of the new season and I don’t think it has a substantial upside for out and out greatness.* However, it is a very good, solid pilot and even if the character issues don’t get worked out for a while, I can’t imagine the series falling that far either. Smash is a populist, mainstream program in a good way. NBC needs more of these.

*Oddly, I think this series will be more consistent than Glee, but lack the kind of epic highs Ryan Murphy’s scatterbrained series can reach. That is ultimately probably better for an older audience and I’m pretty sure as long as Smash never does a Rocky Horror Tribute or has Ivy send Karen to a crack house to avoid an audition, it will be OK.

I’ve said this a few times this season, but House has few good ideas left. Don’t get me wrong, I still like the series quite a bit, and I think this season has been mostly solid because the writers finally realized that the few remaining strengths of House are twofold: Hugh Laurie and moderately amusing workplace stories. That’s pretty much it. As a longtime die-hard fan of the series, that’s enough for me. Your mileage may vary and I’ve seen a number of folks online discuss their disappointment of the series’ presumed lack of “arc” this season. I can understand that frustration, but I also believe that House is better off without trying to shoe-horn in a substantial, long story at this point.

With all those things in mind, you can imagine that I was very skeptical coming into “Nobody’s Fault.” House has always had an overreliance on big gimmick episodes, not only in that the series has used them too often, but also because the heightened drama almost always feels forced and manufactured for little reason. This is gotten worse as the series has gotten older, wherein I basically dread every sweeps period because I know House is coming at me with a bad stunt. House screwing around with remains earlier this season immediately comes to mind.

Oddly though, “Nobody’s Fault” only moderately misleads the audience and constructs false drama, which I guess we could call an improvement. The episode starts by leading us to believe A HORRIBLE EVENT HAPPENED and to make matters worse employs a Usual Suspects-Rashomon mash-up framework that suggests House could be fired and likely then sent back to prison. There’s even a dramatic title card, which is House semiology for sweeps stunt.

And, of course, these gimmick narrative devices don’t inject much life into what I think the episode wants to believe is a major mystery. There’s an indication that something horrible happened and Jeffrey Wright’s Dr. Coefield is there to see if House is directly responsible or at worst, caused this horrible event through laziness, hostility, pure evil or a combination of all three.

But while Wright is a fine performer and he and Hugh Laurie have a number of solid scenes together, the series has been down this road time and time again. Outside force or quasi-authority figure comes in, questions House’s practices and suggests that, hey, maybe he has issues. Plus, Coefield’s interviews with Taub, Park and Adams only points out how lifeless and flat they are as characters. They’re doormats. They have no real gall of their own. Their dissent with House is a false reality and even when Coefield pokes and prods, they best they can muster up is shrugging animosity.

Mid-way through the episode, however, “Nobody’s Fault” gives those Taub, Park and Adams a bit of an out by showing us why they are so detached: The patient, in the midst of a psychotic break, stabbed Chase in the heart, causing him to nearly die, only to survive with temporarily paralysis. The shock is real, but it doesn’t negate my problems with the three other team members. And unfortunately, the episode limits the lasting impact of Chase’s injuries in so many ways. Not only did it use gimmicky conceits as a way to create a minor misdirect away from an event the audience might actually care about (in fact, I think the stabbing would have had much greater impact had it just come out of nowhere in the middle of a typical House episode), but then Chase goes from basically dead to barely alive and paralyzed to promising rehab in the span of 15 minutes.

I’m not saying that House should have spent the rest of the season on his injuries, but it’s sort of dizzying when Coefield is telling House (and us) he should more because he’s known Chase for so long just as the character whose recovery we’re supposed to care about happens over an act-and-a-half. There’s no distance between the initial shock and the “miraculous” recovery, which only serves to reinforce that House writers love to simply do crazy things because they’re crazy (and it is sweeps).

Somehow things then get worse. After all this mess and after all his threats, Coefield folds in the end, finding that no one is at fault for Chase’s injuries. This decision is so dumb that House himself snaps and tries to bully Coefield into standing up for himself and all the talking he did in the first 40 minutes of the episode. When the lead character is overtly pointing out stupid and pointless the exercise you built your episode around is, there’s likely a problem. Again, Coefield, the interviews, most all of it lacks much purpose.

Nevertheless, amid the dumb, gimmicky-nature of the proceedings, the character work here intrigues me. Although the series goes to the well too often (with Foreman especially), I’ve always been interested in how House portrays his impact on his team. Clearly, he’s a terror to work for, his decision-making is suspect and by the end of it all, you quit (Cameron, Foreman, like three times), kill yourself (Kutner), kill someone else (Chase), become completely miserable (Taub) or get famous and flee the sinking ship (Thirteen). House is, without a doubt, toxic and there is often a sense that characters stick around PPT because it’s a television program and well, they are characters on that TV program so they have to be here.

And yet, when the series actually makes an effort to discuss what working for House does to people and how he responds to seeing the changes in his team, good things can happen. Although the series likes to paint the parallels with House and Foreman with big brushes, Chase has always been the most loyal and the most willing to shrug off any of the insanity House has brought into his life. Foreman, perhaps because he’s like House, resists and rebels, Cameron and Thirteen put up false fronts and the rest were door-mats, but Chase has this odd acceptance with everything that’s happened to him over the last eight years. I don’t think Chase particularly likes House, but he’s gone from being desperate for positive reinforcement to amiable calm (you know, despite the fact he killed a guy).

Because of this, House and Chase have an interesting relationship. House knows he can screw with Chase because Chase will make an effort to screw with House right back. He probably admire Chase as a doctor, but House knows he is competent and he likes having him around. That’s all unspoken, though. Therefore, when Chase gets stabbed and everyone’s looking to pass the buck onto House, mostly without saying so (except for Adams, who apparently blames herself because she sucks), Chase defends House and defends House’s workplace culture of insanity, fear and distrust.

Weirdly then, House messes it all up when he goes to apologize to Chase at the end of the episode. Their unspoken bond, one that you can’t really call friendship but is certainly more than workplace connection, becomes spoken and I’m not sure Chase knows how to deal with it. He’s been trained to appreciate House’s methods and to see beyond the madness no matter what. But when House apologizes, it serves as an admission of failure and I think Chase realized that maybe he shouldn’t just accept everything House-related. Being amiable and calm doesn’t work once you’ve been stabbed in the heart. I wish the series would have gone down this route more when Chase MURDERED A GUY, but I’m very intrigued to see how the writers (mis)handle this story moving forward. Jesse Spencer and Chase deserve more time in the supporting character limelight and I think House would be well-served by having its lead character to face the influence he’s had on his long-time employees.

But who knows, by next week, Chase could be walking again (maybe with a cane, or something) and nothing here will have mattered. But that’s House.

In the first new episode of the year, I’m joined by Wes Ambrecht for an extended conversation about all things Chuck, from the final season and the finale to what went wrong along the way. Don’t forget, you can subscribe to the podcast on iTunes, if that’s your kind of thing.

Boy, did I pick a great episode to check in with The Vampire Diaries. After what I thought was a fairly weak midseason finale by typical TVD standards, the series bounced around a little bit in its first three episodes of 2012. That’s not to say I didn’t like them or that they didn’t include a slew of effective moments, especially for Stefan, but they also suggested that the series wasn’t entirely sure what to do.

Initially, Stefan’s plan to take revenge on Klaus sounded like a tremendous idea and there were instances, especially in “Our Town” when Stefan viciously tormented Elena, that temporarily confirmed the story’s upside. But Stefan’s proactive maneuvering left Klaus in this odd spot where he kept talking about doing threating things, but not actually doing a whole lot of anything. I know some fans don’t like Klaus at all, and while I’m not one of those people, I did grow a bit weary of his lack of action. Mix in the mysterious all-powerful unopened casket or its relationship to Bonnie’s boring mother and for the first time in, well, ever, it felt like the series was aimless.

Thankfully though, “Bringing Out The Dead” washed away many of my concerns with recent events and pushed the story forward in typically-wild fashion. In one fell swoop, this episode opened that damn casket, solved its Klaus problem and re-formatted the season’s landscape yet again. And somehow, it also found time to work in some intriguing mystery and a number of powerful emotional moments not really associated with Klaus, the Salvatores or a casket.

Of course, the stuff with Klaus, the Salvatores and that damn casket was pretty awesome. The return of Elijah couldn’t come any sooner for many of us and despite my general appreciation of Klaus, there’s just no question that Elijah is a cooler, arguably more engaging presence (I think partially because the series didn’t try so hard to make him unbelievably damaged). His return throws a wrench into the seemingly-endless circling Klaus and Stefan have been doing and the episode did a really nice job of keeping Elijah’s true allegiances up in the air until the last second.

Bringing the four men together at the dinner table provided a whole lot of great material for everyone, but I especially liked how Turi Meyer and Al Septien’s script worked to draw allusions between the pairs. Klaus and Stefan are both frustrated, emotional wrecks really, while Damon and Elijah buoy their brothers with a somewhat calming influence (relatively speaking). The story about Klaus and Elijah falling for a former Petrova doppelganger was a nice touch. That kind of storytelling can get cumbersome when done too much (see: Supernatural’s fifth season where they REPEATEDLY told us that Lucifer and Michael were just like Sam and Dean), but it works in small doses.

Moreover, bringing the men together caused Klaus to actually be proactive in a substantial way for the first time in about three episodes. Grabbing Stefan and threatening to kill him unless Damon does what he says is a smart move, and honestly one that logically, Klaus should have known to do first. He knows just about as well as anyone that brotherly bonds are the most important things in the world.

Speaking of brotherly bonds, the Originals are back together! I think it was pretty clear very quickly that Klaus’ mother was what was in the casket, but “Dead” built to the reveal quite well, particularly by allowing Elijah to turn on Klaus, revive all his brothers and sisters and then quickly become shell-shocked once their mother returned with hopes for future togetherness. Based on this series’ track record I have to think that the mother isn’t 100 percent honest in her assertions, but even if she is, bringing the whole family together opens up the story to all sorts of new avenues. What, other than a family reunion, would she want? And how does this impact Elena? These are better questions than “What’s in the casket?” and “Why is Klaus focused more on interior decorating than evil villainy?” so it feels like the series is back on the absolute best track again.

I’ve said this before, but one of the strengths of the series that I think gets overlooked amid all the WTFs and exclamation points (oh don’t get me wrong, I’m guilty there), is how well The Vampire Diaries knows how to drop in fairly powerful emotional moments right between said WTFs. “Bringing Out The Dead” gives us two of those in the Elena and Caroline stories.

In recent episodes, the series has been really interested in exploring the lack of normalcy for the characters who used to be pretty normal, starting with the faux-funerals/birthdays a few weeks ago. Tonight, those issues arise again when Caroline’s father is stabbed soon after digesting vampire blood and is thus of course on the path to transition. Unsurprisingly, he refuses to consume blood and ultimately, Caroline is forced to deal with the reality that her father is going to die, and soon. Although I wish the series would have done more with Jack Coleman and his character (who I thought was quite interesting), I loved how this episode handled his death. His ideological differences with his daughter didn’t stop him from loving her or hoping she lives a full life.

Lesser series would have certainly made Bill a villain from the get-go, but TVD smartly used him to force Caroline to grow up, if even a little bit. Her stubbornness has gotten her into some trouble since being turned and I think it was important for her to feel a bit powerless, as it helped her recognized that there is still value in humanity and that even though she isn’t normal, she should still be able to connect to her father in his time of dying without any sort of outrageous supernatural movement. The final scene between the two of them was very well performed by Coleman and Candice Accola, which again sort of makes me wish he had more to do on the series before he died, but it makes sense for Caroline’s journey.

As for Elena, well, things just keep getting worse. This episode helped crystallize some of the things I have been thinking about in regard to her journey this season. Last season, I think, was very much about Elena grabbing hold of her own destiny, having real agency in a seriously admirable way and eventually, being willing to sacrifice herself time and time again. She gained a lot of strength because of it. But this season, it seems like the story is about breaking Elena down, particularly on an emotional level. She has consistently lost people she trusts and loves, whether through death (Jenna, the tail end of last season, but the reverberations are still being felt), brother-saving deals (Stefan) or her own protective nature (Jeremy).

Last year, partially because she was so in love and partially because she knew people were in danger, Elena embraced the world around her. But now, she has lost so many people and continues to be in these awful circumstances that it sure feels like the breaking point is coming. Sure, she has Damon, but he alone cannot replace* Jenna, Stefan, Jeremy or even her parents (remember, it’s still only been like a two years since their death). Characters on series like this often go through hell and it all bounces off of them, but I think TVD is legitimately interested in watching Elena react to being put the ringer. Her toughness can only go so far, I think.

*I’m guessing most of you Damon-Elena shippers out there would suggest otherwise. That’s fine. I wrote that just for you.

And I say all of this because tonight’s story pushed her further into uncomfortable territory. She comes home to discover that Alaric’s been fatally wounded by the mysterious stabber who took down Bill (more on that momentarily) and really, the house is just a horror movie set. No power. Weird noises. Blood. It’s bad. And to top it all off, she’s forced to subsequently stab Alaric in the heart since her supernatural-ness as the doppleganger will stop any possible death from a non-supernatural entity. Oh, and her best friend’s dad just died. IT IS NOT A GOOD DAY, PART 982.

What makes this particularly interesting is that Matt is there with her and she asks him to stay. We see that she calls Damon and he doesn’t answer, but this isn’t the first big moment that Elena and Matt have shared lately. While I’m not necessarily saying that I’m looking for a Matt-Elena romantic reconciliation or that the series even going to go that route, I do find it curious that their interactions are becoming more prevalent. Perhaps, by the end of the season, Elena realizes she needs a break from all this, Stefan and Damon included? Something to think about.

Finally, I am very intrigued by this mystery person with the stabby tendencies. Dr. Fell was obviously a misdirect from the beginning and although the fingerprint nonsense immediately makes me think Katherine is involved (because you know, shits and giggles), I am more interested in this story because it is somewhat different than the series’ modus operandi. Sure, people get stabbed all the time on this series. Yet, we often, if not always, get to see who does the stabbing. While The Vampire Diaries uses mystery when it introduces various McGuffins such as the casket, we are typically keyed in the various assaults, batteries and attempted murders. Therefore, I am basically solely excited for this story because it is something different, and that’s a good thing. It also has me thinking that our mystery assailant could be a ghost. That has to come back, right?

Anyway, really great stuff from TVD this week. After a slight lull (and again, we’re talking like two B-level episodes), the series has been reenergized with a new, promising direction and the character work continues to be very strong.

Test Pilot #36: Profit