buhdge television

Well, maybe now I can get a little work done.

Oh, how absolutely liberating it is to blame one's lack of production on the lure of the tube. Would that I could and feel good enough about myself to sleep soundly with nary a nightmare about the things I should have been doing these past few months. Looking in the mirror, I tell myself television is more important than nearly anything else; I look back at myself and say "What a crock of shit."

Well, it's good to be the king. Now that the 2005-2006 television season is finally done, I can turn my attention to other, more pressing things... like, is Locke alive, and how can Sydney and Vaughn afford that gorgeous pad on the beach in ex-CIA heaven?

As to the former, well duh, and as to the latter, well, Sydney's obviously been saving her S&H Green Stamps. Being thrifty, after all, has its advantages.

8th Season's the Charm(ed)

So does being able to bounce back from giving birth. Thank God the bad guys didn't want Sydney's baby like the demons on Charmed. Speaking of which, although I've been addicted to the repeats on TNT, I didn't keep up with the episodes than ran this past, final season, owing more to lack of opportunity than anything else. Now that the show is over, I would like to thank whoever is responsible for bringing Rose McGowan to this show. She changed the tone for the better, much like Harry Morgan did when he replaced McLean Stevenson on M*A*S*H, although Rose is certainly prettier than Harry is sweet.

I was not, you should forgive the pun if you have even the slightest bit of compassion about you, charmed with the last episode, which brought just about every character who has ever been on the show back for at least a line or two--except, of course, Shannen Doherty, who I don't think would have been allowed to use the phone to call AAA if her car stalled in front of the stage door. Once again, the story involved saving the future, but this time the plot was seriously convoluted, with too much story and detail being crammed into 40-something minutes of actual show. But everyone looked to be having fun, and it was cool to see future Chris and future Wyatt back, and no one got hurt, so thanks for eight seasons of pure joy, skimpy outfits, and innocents in distress.

Gonna miss the tight blue number

Over at Alias, the skimpy, body-hugging outfits were packed neatly away in the cancelled series' Don't-Need-'em-Anymore costume trunk, thanks to star Jennifer Garner's pregnancy. Not that she still wasn't able to kick some evil ass, but that tight-as-in-a-vise blue number from a few seasons back wasn't coming out of the closet again for this last, seasonal go-around, which amplified both what was great about this show, and what was not.

The great? Garner, for one; what a find she was when the series began, and what a grand action-adventuress she came to be in very short order. Also great: the Rambaldi mythos, although that came to be a big, honking dose of saltpeter for creator J.J. Abrams and his writing staff. There was no way the conclusion of that storyline was ever going to live up to its promise. I mean, what could the whole Rambaldi thing mean, and what could the repercussions be? Turned out it was eternal damnation or some such nonsense. In any case, everybody lived to see another day, to nobody's surprise.

Speaking of great, big cheers all around for the great cast that helped sail the good ship Alias for five great years, like the invaluable Victor Garber, who, with great aplomb, essayed the father who had to choose between work and family, the latter of which often came to bite him in the ass in the form of ex-wife and wannabe world leader wacko Irina Derevko; the equally invaluable Ron Rifkin, whose tortured Arvin Sloane, when torn between evil and a skewed sense of good, always erred on the side of evil; and the wonderful Kevin Weisman, whose electronics genius Marshall Flinkman was as much a source of comic relief as he was the real heart and soul of the show, perhaps its most grounded character.

Special mention should be made of Alias' crack special effects crew, whose presto change-o magic wand was able to transform workaday Burbank into Mongolia and other, more scenic climes with seemingly nothing more than guts and several million dollars of high-end computer equipment, not to mention a whole lot of heavy-duty creativity and lifting.

Of the most recent additions to the cast, special mention should be made of the beautiful and talented Rachel Nichols (used to much better effect on this show than on Fox's The Inside), and Amy Acker, who has effectively turned her Angel Fred persona on its pretty little head with her twisted essay of evil-lady-in-waiting Kelly Peyton.

As to the final episode, no more need be said about Rambaldi. What else did we learn? Sloan was evil all along. How did we miss that? Jack gave his life in order to ensure that Sloan spent his death in hell--did anyone buy that bit of miscalculated contrivance? And Irina is still alive? How could that be?! Is she like those birthday candles your Uncle Kooky put on your cake every year? At least Sydney's baby was cute, if only to take attention away from Dixon's dreadlocks. And Vaughn... well, bless his little Canadian heart for coming back to the fold.

The producers had the class to thank the audience, just before the credits, for sticking with Alias through five great years of shows. Good show, and we'll miss ya.

Lost cause?

But will we miss Lost over the long summer hiatus? It seems than fewer folks will, as the show has been steadily losing audience this past season. Could it be because people are getting of tired of being strung along on what most of the time seems to be a wild goose chase with no crossing of the finish line in sight?

I think that about says it. Don't get me wrong--I admire the show and how it does what it has set out to do--but each episode is only as good as the quality of its flashbacks and the amount of information being doled out. In the case of the former, some of the flashbacks--Eko's, for a glaring example--were dead useless. And as for doling out information... It is simply not enough to spill a few paltry beans in the season closer.

Let's see... What did we learn at the end of Lost's second season? The plane may or may not have been brought down by the magnetic force being managed, for lack of a better word, by the original hatch. Desmond and his rich-Daddy's-little-rich-girl paramour may have a whole lot to do with the island and why the plane crashed. The Others turn out to be led by none other than our old friend evil, despicable Henry, who apparently let himself be captured and taken prisoner in the hatch to get dirt on Jack and his crew, which is easy to do as not many of the crew take showers.

The whole enterprise is one long tease. I don't mind being teased, per se, but this show takes the act to a whole new, unsatisfying level. I understand the producers want to keep the show on the air as long as possible, but I maintain that the whole idea of artificially stretching out a show so it can generate dollars for the mother ship (in this case ABC) is fundamentally wrongheaded. There is a reason that Patrick McGoohan kept The Prisoner to 17 episodes. Even that might have been stretching things. The idea over in merry old England was to not overstay the show's welcome. I think Lost's producers are coming very close to the ultimate stretch.

The T-Bag Simmers

Lost would have worked better as a mini-series, or at the outermost, as a year-long, self-contained storyline. FOX's Prison Break, I fear, may also have benefited from a finite length, especially considering the events which transpired in this season's finale.

As the incessant FOX commercials told us over and over again, "it" was all leading up to "this," "this" being the escape. I read an interview with one of the cast members--I think it was Robert Knepper, aka T-bag--who said that the show was called Prison Break for a reason. I mean, could you stand to watch a drama with cons trying not to break out?

I don't know about you, but I never expected the turn of events that brought this show's first season to a close. Instead of some savvy, albeit slightly misguided, prisoners, the crew acted more like the Three Stooges and friends as they made their escape. Riding in that car, I was waiting for Moe to slap the lot of them to get them to shut up. Michael Scofield, ostensibly the ring leader, spoke to his obviously stressed compatriots like he was a pissed-off camp counselor. Lovely Dr. Sara Tancredi, opting at the last minute to leave the door to the prison clinic open, thereby helping the crew to escape, couldn't live with her decision and offed herself with an overdose of heroin.

And what of T-Bag? Well, T-Bag, Southern Con of the Year and the man voted having the most useful pants pockets of any prisoner since Al Capone, got his hand cut off, screamed and cried like kid getting sent to bed without his supper, yet managed to keep going. No great loss of blood is going to keep our Theodore down, no sir! Hey Beav, keep on keepin' on!

This show, which I loved all season, got stupid in a hurry. And no, seeing Stacy Keach tied up in a closet didn't do it for me. Killing the doc was nothing more than a ploy to make this an all-guys show. Apparently, the gang is going to break up and try to make it on the streets, fending off the authorities as long as they can. This can't possibly work.

Or maybe it can. I don't know. I just hope they don't have T-Bag have Michael's cell mate Sucre sew his hand back on. I've heard that guy can't even thread a needle for the life of him.

"Ma, they made the pants too long!"

Either that, or when Tony was in the hospital, Janice tried to heal his gaping wound with some kooky technique she picked up back in her hippie days, because there is not much else that could possibly explain the lousy, extremely unsatisfying ending to what was, up until then, the best Sopranos season yet.

In short, nothing happened. At least not much of significance, and nothing anywhere near the slam-bang nabbing of professional smoker Johnny Sack by the Feds in last season's closer. And let's not forget the sight of Tony, reduced to the fortitude of a bowl of banana Jell-O, lumbering through the woods, trying to escape unnoticed to his version of home, sweet home. Priceless.

In this season's finale, the worst that happened was that Phil Leotardo, the man voted most likely to smile and maim in Made Man High School, had a heart attack...but didn't die. The Soprano clan got together for Thanksgiving and in a compression of time that can only happen on TV, gathered for Christmas cheer in the next breath. Screen goes black. Credits roll. Nothing happened.

Oh, I almost forgot--guest star Juliana "Don't Call Me Carol Hathaway and Dig My Babealicious Body" Margulies got her funk on with Christupha. And, feeling guilty or just plain stupid, Christupha, the man who has serious issues with being faithful to women, copped to his Hathaway addiction by telling Tony--to his face, yet--even though Tony had aspirations in that general regard. And what did Tony say? He just sloughed it off and moved on. Christupha should have gotten whacked right then and there. What is David Chase waiting for? The 26th season? For hell to freeze over? For Silvio's wig to flip?

No, he's waiting for the last eight "bonus" episodes, as they're being called, which begin airing in January, 2007. This season's closer has met with some pretty strong negative reaction from fans. I feel for them--I even agree with them. While whacking is certainly a part of the Sopranos, it really is a small thing. This show is about family--albeit a Mob family, and the juxtaposition between their two lives...the one with their blood relatives and the other one that involves an oath, a swishing of blood and supervising the pre-season fittings of Silvio' aforementioned piece.

I think Chase is trying to say that even this reprehensible family of miscreants is entitled to a personal life, and that life goes on amidst the whackings and bleeding-dry of merchants and the public and private humiliations of elected officials who don't want to play ball. Also, there are only seven short months until the final eight episodes, and--

Nah. The last episode sucked. But the ones that came before it, especially the season opener, in which Uncle Junior shot Tony, and the ones that followed in which James Gandolfini gave the performances of his career as the dreaming Tony's alter ego, Kevin Finity, were simply brilliant. It was a great season until the end. So, all things being equal and a whack being a whack, the season, overall, was whacking good. So stop yer sulking, will ya?

The best 24 hours ever

Jack Bauer and company rocked like nobody's business in the explosive, brilliant fifth season of one the best-ever TV shows of its kind. The producers even managed to get through the entire season with only one slow spot... the return of Jack's empty-headed daughter, Kim, who mercifully disappeared mere seconds after she showed up for her first return appearance. It seems that the producers, although they love the Kim character, couldn't figure out how to keep Kim around in a legitimate way, so they, and we, said buh-bye to Kim, hopefully for the last time.

Otherwise, between the gas canisters, the fallout from Jack's secret life, played out off-camera between the end of the fourth and the beginning of the recently-concluded season, the momentary uncertainty as to the loyalties of Kim Raver's Audrey, and, let us not forget, the shocking death of David Palmer in the very first fifth-season episode (let us also not forget the deaths of Michelle Dressler, Tony Almeda, and everybody's favorite troll, Sean Astin, as a temporary, hard-nosed pencil pusher in charge of CTU). When we last left Jack at the end of this season's final episode, he was in the middle of having the living shit beat out of him in the hold of a dirty, dank freighter on its way to Shanghai. Remember that guy from the Chinese embassy, who said he would not forget that Jack killed one of his guys? Neither did I, which made the last scene that much more effective and memorable. Shocking, even.

The show's reward for such great storytelling was somewhere in the neighborhood of a 14 percent jump in viewership, 24's best ratings numbers ever. Hat's off to the producers, writers and actors (especially Gregory Itzin as the wickedly evil president), who are working at the absolute top of their collective game. I'm looking forward to next season in a big way.

You want more?

I could keep going all night long (or all day long, if you so desire), but this is getting a might longwinded, so here are some thoughts on some of the other shows I followed this past season:

House. A show that keeps getting better, this is the consistent bomb, week after week. There wasn't a bad show in the season bunch. I'll call out one of the highlights: In the season closer, "No Reason," co-written by show creator David Shore, House gets shot by a disturbed man who claims to be one of the doc's patients. As the hour plays out in a just-this-much, off-kilter way, House talks with the man and various situations occur that play with the viewers' perception of reality. Reminds me of the first season's Emmy-winning, Shore-penned episode, "Three Stories." In the end, we find out, rather surprisingly, that House was indeed shot, but that all that had gone on during the show was in House's mind; only the final short scene, with a wounded House being wheeled into the emergency room, was real. As usual, superb storytelling, a cast worth a bucketful of Emmys, and the incredible Hugh Lawrie as House, were the ongoing draws for this left-of-center medical show.

Grey's Anatomy. Speaking of medical shows that are a bit left-of-center, this wonderful creation continued its ratings dominance, notching record-setting numbers all season. And for good reason, although it is quite possible that this show could jump the shark if it continues pummeling the Meredith-McDreamy-Mrs. McDreamy love triangle into the ground. Will Meredith choose McDreamy over veterinarian Chris O'Donnell? That, and other questions, closed out the season. Kudos for the lovely, touching romance between Izzy and doomed heart patient Denny, and the seriously dangerous lengths Izzy went to to save him. Shame about George's new haircut, though.

NCIS. The stories of the team of Navy investigators headed by Mark Harmon are basically routine procedurals, although extremely well-told and played out. What makes this show great and a must-watch every week is the cast, made that much stronger by the addition of Chilean actress Cote de Pablo as Israeli agent Ziva David. Yup, we all miss dear departed Kate, but de Pablo is a better foil for Michael Weatherly's sarcastic special agent Anthony DiNozzo. And Pauley Perrette is invaluable (and very funny) as Abby Sciuto, keeper of all secrets scientific. And hat's off to any show that features the talents of David McCallum. Stay around forever Ilya, will ya?

The West Wing. Watching this formerly great show's last two seasons was rather like watching a beloved family member slowly die a painful, needless death. Producer John Wells, in the post-Aaron Sorkin days, brought the same level of haphazard thinking to the show that he still applies to the hardly-necessary ER. After mopping up Sorkin's farewell story line--Zoey's French boyfriend slips her a mickey, Zoey gets kidnapped, Bartlett temporarily resigns the presidency and makes way for President John Goodman and his annoying dog to take over, Zoey is found and President Goodman and his dog run for the hills--the man who dropped a helicopter on ER's Rocket Romano--the quintessential villain you love to hate--began charting a course for the candidate to supercede Bartlett in the White House.

Those shows, which made up nearly every moment of the last season of this once formidable show, were more boring than anything else, a tiresome textbook-on-the-small-screen for budding politico wannabes. Moreover, Wells and company forgot the characters and what made them seem so real, pretty much washing away any ounce of humanity any of them had. So C.J., promoted to Chief of Staff when Leo had a heart attack, morphed into a mean, nasty, seemingly-unfeeling slave driver who spoke to her staff as if they were dirt under her feet--even Charlie, whose post-Bartlett "body man" employ with C.J. was C.J.'s idea.

Even worse, the ongoing Josh and Donna maybe-romance continued to bubble under the surface and, in the process, Josh turned into one of the dumbest men on two feet. In one episode, Donna left her key on a table in the bar of the hotel they were staying in, gave Josh the I'll-meet-you-under-the-sheets-in-five eye, and was rewarded by Josh acting seemingly bewildered when a Santos staffer picked up the key when Josh didn't act fast enough. And then... the storyline was dropped for a few weeks. Finally, the happy couple became a happy couple, but, jeez, did it have to take so long?

The writing, especially in the last season, became extremely uninspired, rather like the text within a term paper on an unfamiliar subject. The actors tried to bring the stories to life, but the stories were pretty much DOA And what about Bartlett? He barely made any appearances during the season, which was just as well; he didn't have the chance to become a blithering idiot and therefore preserved his dignity. Perhaps Wells figured there was no point in charting the course of a departing president.

Sorkin fans await his new show on NBC, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, which will function as an adjunct West Wing, what with Bradley Whitford co-starring, Thomas Schlamme and Sorkin executive producing, everybody's friend Matthew Perry (who had a recurring role on Wing) the other co-star, Timothy Busfield producing and directing, and Sorkin writing, writing, writing those wonderful words. RIP Leo, and God speed.

The end?

Not by a longshot. I haven't covered a few cable series, and yes, Monk is one of them. Stay tuned to buhdge for more.

Happy viewing (and stay away from those reality shows, will ya? :o))

Alan Haber
June 8, 2006

hot buhdge | pop buhdge | remember buhdge | audio buhdge | workshop buhdge
television buhdge | film buhdge | books buhdge | video buhdge | pure pop buhdge
contact

(c) 2004, 2005 buhdge et Alan Haber