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Jun. 22nd, 2007 12:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dexfarkinBored. Burnt out. Vaguely depressed… I hate the post-insanity crash, where everything that you’ve had cranked up, wound tight and on full burn goes *splork* once you’re done and you’re back to normal operating procedures, which ends up feeling too slow. Takes forever to get moving again.
As a way of compensating, I will talk about television, since I haven’t for a while, and have found new things to watch. Yes, this is what I am currently reduced to.
A BBC series about a cop named Sam Tyler who, during an investigation, is clipped by a car. Wakes up to find himself back in the early 70s, still working as a cop, but with the lack of technology and the police interrogations using the old desk drawer trick.
The two seasons are very well done, mixing hallucinations with music to create an oddly disjointed effect in the storytelling. You know that Sam has been hit by a car, and you assume he’s in a coma, however, the show’s writing infers that he could simply be a man of that time, suffering from delusions as the result of a head injury.
John Simm (who is apparently the new Master for Doctor Who) is excellent, portraying the uncomfortableness and disconnected horror of a man pulled back in time. His relationships with people are constantly raw against mindsets thirty-five years out of date. Simm is particularly effective because he can get under the surface of Tyler, expressing his unconscious acceptance of some of the actions. Much of his discomfort comes from his ability to empathize with some of the tactics of the day, nicely detailing that his morals are more of a product of his time, as opposed to a superiour respect for rules and people that he publicly espouses.
However, the true joy in this series is Philip Glenister, who plays The Sweeney influenced DCI Gene Hunt. Hunt is every inch the classic television tough cop of the 70’s, with his various bits of dosh coming in, deals with criminals, and brutality at the forefront of his investigations. Glenister always appears to be having way too much fun, gleefully diving into the role, embracing every stereotype and apocryphal cop tale he can find. The chemistry between him and Simm is especially good, as their personalities clash on so many levels, and yet manage a strong connection.
Of course, the main draw is the music. The production utilizes the current music of 1973, with gloriously loud and bassy songs from the Who, Bowie and others. It sounds like Johnny’s set list out at the Griffin.
There is something fundamentality wrong with Eddie Izzard in a suit and using an American accent. Especially as married to Minnie Driver, with an even deeper Southern trash lilt. The Riches is based around a family of con-artists, attached to a gypsy like rover community, who end up stealing money from the group boss, and escaping, only to witness a violent car crash and assuming the lives of the people who have been killed.
Yeah, how that kind of endlessly contrived plot ever got through is beyond me. However, if you can swallow the utter implausibility of the situation (kids who have never been to school doing fine in private school classes, a man with no knowledge of the law working in a highly technical legal position), the show is unalloyed fun.
It’s surprisingly dark in many points, with Minnie Driver’s brittle portrayal of Dahlia, who is grappling with a meth addiction, feelings of rage and betrayal by her husband, a fear of returning to jail, and almost sick worry about her children. There’s always been a strong element of the broken in most of Driver’s roles, and with Dahlia, she really gets a chance to play a woman who is walking on the edge, and the only thing keeping her going right now is momentum.
Izzard supplies most of the truly comedic moments, as the fast talking conman, Wayne Mallory. In many ways, the dialogue closely resembles a lot of Izzard’s stand-up, with repetitions and disjointed associations. He plays charming very well, without the normal edge of smarm that usually comes hand in hand with such a character.
Between them, they carry the show. The younger actors are adequate, but nothing immensely distinguishing, and the writing of the show varies from scene to scene as it finds its feet. One exception is Gregg Henry, famous for his character of Val in Payback and the hard luck sheriff in Firefly’s The Train Job. Playing an endlessly corrupt and vulgar real estate developer named Hugh Pannetta. Gregg is slimy, vicious, arrogant, and yet, oddly likeable for the utter lack of conscience about his actions. The conman, Izzard, often is left serving as the moral voice, which is a fantastic reversal and statement on the differences between big business and thievery.
There’s an element of satire which the writers seem to be building on more and more, as the Riches become more enmeshed in the suburban community, the more they find their lives of fraud and thievery to be no worse than the intrigues and plots of ‘respectable’ people who make up their victims.
Season three of House was an interesting ride. The first six episodes were so bad as to almost be unwatchable. The next ten finally provided some decent writing, but kept picking up and dropping elements as if trying to figure out what else to do. Only the subplot with David Morse really had the kind of legs of the first two seasons, and much of that was thanks to Morse’s own brilliant portrayal of the pissed off Michael Tritter.
Part of the problem was also wildly inconsistent characterizations. Cameron’s first season discussion about the dangers of sex and an obvious respect for the power of it, with both Chase and Wilson, get tossed aside for a sex kitten romp in the third season. Foreman switches from contentious to admiring to aggressive in the span of a sentence, and Chase rapidly fades into little more than the occasional jester role. The effectiveness in breaking down the team during second season seems to have led to no idea how to re-integrate them in the third. As opposed to working the dynamics, they kick tossing out old clichés to see which ones fit best, like the Chase-Cameron relationship.
However, the final third of the season finally hits some decent writing (if of bad ideas, but still) and carries off some very intriguing elements. Unfortunately, a lot of the impact is wasted due to a slow and stumbling start. Unlike the first and second season, the third had no real sense of itself, and tried to transition between too many elements without a real purpose, leaving the show very disjointed.
The key to the success of House, even when badly written, is Hugh Laurie. Despite terrible ideas and lines, Laurie is good enough to transcend his material. Where other characters flounder, House has enough strength in the performance to still be entertaining, or at the very least, still watchable. Robert Sean Leonard is a close second, as his Wilson, and the dynamic with Laurie seems to improve with every single episode. The cast itself is very solid, and at times brilliant, Epps especially, but unlike Laurie and Leonard, they can’t seem to work the poorer material effectively, leaving them bound to the quality of the scripts for their performance.
As a way of compensating, I will talk about television, since I haven’t for a while, and have found new things to watch. Yes, this is what I am currently reduced to.
A BBC series about a cop named Sam Tyler who, during an investigation, is clipped by a car. Wakes up to find himself back in the early 70s, still working as a cop, but with the lack of technology and the police interrogations using the old desk drawer trick.
The two seasons are very well done, mixing hallucinations with music to create an oddly disjointed effect in the storytelling. You know that Sam has been hit by a car, and you assume he’s in a coma, however, the show’s writing infers that he could simply be a man of that time, suffering from delusions as the result of a head injury.
John Simm (who is apparently the new Master for Doctor Who) is excellent, portraying the uncomfortableness and disconnected horror of a man pulled back in time. His relationships with people are constantly raw against mindsets thirty-five years out of date. Simm is particularly effective because he can get under the surface of Tyler, expressing his unconscious acceptance of some of the actions. Much of his discomfort comes from his ability to empathize with some of the tactics of the day, nicely detailing that his morals are more of a product of his time, as opposed to a superiour respect for rules and people that he publicly espouses.
However, the true joy in this series is Philip Glenister, who plays The Sweeney influenced DCI Gene Hunt. Hunt is every inch the classic television tough cop of the 70’s, with his various bits of dosh coming in, deals with criminals, and brutality at the forefront of his investigations. Glenister always appears to be having way too much fun, gleefully diving into the role, embracing every stereotype and apocryphal cop tale he can find. The chemistry between him and Simm is especially good, as their personalities clash on so many levels, and yet manage a strong connection.
Of course, the main draw is the music. The production utilizes the current music of 1973, with gloriously loud and bassy songs from the Who, Bowie and others. It sounds like Johnny’s set list out at the Griffin.
There is something fundamentality wrong with Eddie Izzard in a suit and using an American accent. Especially as married to Minnie Driver, with an even deeper Southern trash lilt. The Riches is based around a family of con-artists, attached to a gypsy like rover community, who end up stealing money from the group boss, and escaping, only to witness a violent car crash and assuming the lives of the people who have been killed.
Yeah, how that kind of endlessly contrived plot ever got through is beyond me. However, if you can swallow the utter implausibility of the situation (kids who have never been to school doing fine in private school classes, a man with no knowledge of the law working in a highly technical legal position), the show is unalloyed fun.
It’s surprisingly dark in many points, with Minnie Driver’s brittle portrayal of Dahlia, who is grappling with a meth addiction, feelings of rage and betrayal by her husband, a fear of returning to jail, and almost sick worry about her children. There’s always been a strong element of the broken in most of Driver’s roles, and with Dahlia, she really gets a chance to play a woman who is walking on the edge, and the only thing keeping her going right now is momentum.
Izzard supplies most of the truly comedic moments, as the fast talking conman, Wayne Mallory. In many ways, the dialogue closely resembles a lot of Izzard’s stand-up, with repetitions and disjointed associations. He plays charming very well, without the normal edge of smarm that usually comes hand in hand with such a character.
Between them, they carry the show. The younger actors are adequate, but nothing immensely distinguishing, and the writing of the show varies from scene to scene as it finds its feet. One exception is Gregg Henry, famous for his character of Val in Payback and the hard luck sheriff in Firefly’s The Train Job. Playing an endlessly corrupt and vulgar real estate developer named Hugh Pannetta. Gregg is slimy, vicious, arrogant, and yet, oddly likeable for the utter lack of conscience about his actions. The conman, Izzard, often is left serving as the moral voice, which is a fantastic reversal and statement on the differences between big business and thievery.
There’s an element of satire which the writers seem to be building on more and more, as the Riches become more enmeshed in the suburban community, the more they find their lives of fraud and thievery to be no worse than the intrigues and plots of ‘respectable’ people who make up their victims.
Season three of House was an interesting ride. The first six episodes were so bad as to almost be unwatchable. The next ten finally provided some decent writing, but kept picking up and dropping elements as if trying to figure out what else to do. Only the subplot with David Morse really had the kind of legs of the first two seasons, and much of that was thanks to Morse’s own brilliant portrayal of the pissed off Michael Tritter.
Part of the problem was also wildly inconsistent characterizations. Cameron’s first season discussion about the dangers of sex and an obvious respect for the power of it, with both Chase and Wilson, get tossed aside for a sex kitten romp in the third season. Foreman switches from contentious to admiring to aggressive in the span of a sentence, and Chase rapidly fades into little more than the occasional jester role. The effectiveness in breaking down the team during second season seems to have led to no idea how to re-integrate them in the third. As opposed to working the dynamics, they kick tossing out old clichés to see which ones fit best, like the Chase-Cameron relationship.
However, the final third of the season finally hits some decent writing (if of bad ideas, but still) and carries off some very intriguing elements. Unfortunately, a lot of the impact is wasted due to a slow and stumbling start. Unlike the first and second season, the third had no real sense of itself, and tried to transition between too many elements without a real purpose, leaving the show very disjointed.
The key to the success of House, even when badly written, is Hugh Laurie. Despite terrible ideas and lines, Laurie is good enough to transcend his material. Where other characters flounder, House has enough strength in the performance to still be entertaining, or at the very least, still watchable. Robert Sean Leonard is a close second, as his Wilson, and the dynamic with Laurie seems to improve with every single episode. The cast itself is very solid, and at times brilliant, Epps especially, but unlike Laurie and Leonard, they can’t seem to work the poorer material effectively, leaving them bound to the quality of the scripts for their performance.
