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Media Whore
Wherein your resident gayboy critic extracts queer entertainment value from an insufferably straight world. This month, Media Whore acknowledges that he is powerless over television.
Just when I think that I have a handle on television, someone or something changes the rules and I have to redefine my relationship to the hellmouth all over again. (Yes, astute readers, "hellmouth" is a reference to Sunnydale, the magnet of demonic chaos in Buffy the Vampire Slayer.) At the end of last season, I was ready to renounce my viewing habits altogether, knowing that I would be far better served if I dedicated my television-watching hours to writing a novel, reading a novel, walking my dog, maintaining a home page for my cat, knitting, developing psychic abilities, learning to play the French horn, or engaging in just about any other activity, really.
But my resolve lasted mere weeks as the summer brought a tsunami of "reality" television and I was sucked into the unscripted void. Tethered between the darling puppy allure of Danny on The Real World New Orleans, the nefarious machinations of Richard Hatch, de facto king of Survivor's Palau Tiga, and the mock-dramatic media nougat of Making The Band, I frittered away my summer months without so much as darkening the door of the gym that automatically debits my account every month (mercifully sparing me the guilt of writing them an actual check).
The desire to curtail my television viewing is renewed yearly. When the fall season arrives I resist sampling new shows, thinking that I can't miss something I've never experienced. But last year, my lesbian roommate went absolutely apeshit over Once & Again and later The West Wing. As I have noted in a previous column, we share a television set and, alas, both shows were too good to ignore for long and have joined my weekly lineup.
This year I'm far more worried about my own weaknesses than my roommate's. Divas are arriving in droves to establish permanent addresses on television. I have seen the sacred visions. Here's what they had to say.
We all know by now that Bette is a bit of a disappointment. OK, so far it's a big, big disappointment. How could it be? When I first heard Bette Midler was coming to television to star in a sitcom about her life, I thought it couldn't miss. I remember musing to my roommate that if she had even a tiny amount of creative control and one or two marginally good writers, she would be unstoppable. But evidently that's where things break down.
The writing stinks. Unable to come up with the kind of clever dialogue that showcases her great comic timing, the writers rely on sight gags, forcing Bette to mug her way through embarrassing stretches of physical comedy that are completely unmoored from reality. Not only does this schtick not resonate with our conception of the life of a famous entertainer--it doesn't resonate with life at all. This was reportedly the most expensive pilot in television history, but all the money in the world won't bring quality to the screen without some heart and humanity behind it. Bright spot: Joanna Gleason as Connie, Bette's assistant. Love that woman!
Following Bette's time slot is Welcome To New York. Intended as a vehicle for comedian Jim Gaffigan (playing the Midwestern transplant of the same name) Welcome To New York inevitably becomes costar Christine Baranski's show. Baranski plays Marsha Bickner, a television producer who hires Gaffigan in hopes of gaining an ally in her ongoing war with network executives. On Cybill, Baranski had to compete with the quite capable Miss Shepherd, but now that she's the only belle at the ball, she has a lock on our attention.
That's not to say that there isn't any other talent on this show. Gaffigan is very capable, as is Rocky Carroll and last-minute cast addition Sara Gilbert. But Baranski manages to be unbelievably bitchy and human at the same time, and watching her pull it off brings a rush of fresh air to what might otherwise be another stale sitcom. This is a dialogue-driven show, and so far the writers seem up to the task.
The Geena Davis Show sported some of the most entertaining trailers throughout the summer. So far, the teleplays pale in comparison to the spunk of the thirty-second spots, but I suppose it isn't too tough to be charming and witty for half a minute at a time. I'm willing to give this show five or six episodes before I'm officially disappointed in it. Geena Davis is too watchable to be written off just yet, and her loyal gal friends, Mimi Rogers and Kim Coles (In Living Color, Living Single), are bright spots in the show. The Davis-Rogers-Coles triumverate has been compared to the foursome in Sex and the City, and that's not an unhelpful reference. The talent is there if the writers can step up and give them some really meaty dialogue. Thus far, Rogers gets all the good lines.
I don't suppose we can discount Peter Horton's contribution to this show--he's a talented actor and director and an affable kind of guy. But there's a really strange gendered division swirling around Horton. Women love him, but he hardly registers with most men. All of my female friends, straight and lesbian, find Horton eminently soothing. If they don't think he's outright dreamy, they at least identify strongly with his sensitivity and grace. My roommate "cried for hours" when Horton's thirtysomething character, Gary, was killed in a car accident.
I don't find Horton disagreeable, but I don't relate much to him. My male friends, straight and gay, echo my sentiments. And I find it mildly amusing that the new shows I'm most excited about this season feature male characters who span the short gamut from milquetoast to invisibility.
So let's talk about the men. Where are they? Well, many of them are holed up in a show called Ed, another entry from David Letterman's Worldwide Pants production company. I thought Ed was going to be an almost painfully charming and endlessly heterosexual show. I was only half wrong. Ed is predicated on the notion that small-town life is wacky. Wacky, wacky, wacky. But it has some heart as well, and the notion that less is more definitely works for this show.
Tom Cavanagh shows some nice subtlety in his portrayal of Ed Stevens, the poor sap who loses his wife and his job the same day. He decides to go for broke and move back to his hometown of Stuckeyville, Ohio to pursue his high school crush.
The love angle hasn't gelled for me yet. Carol Vessey (Julie Bowen) is pert, but really ordinary looking, and she exhibits remarkably poor character judgment. I know that we're supposed to think that she has made untenable choices in male companionship, and that Ed is therefore that much more likable, but this aspect of the show is a little too black and white for my taste.
Ultimately, the love angle doesn't matter, because what's fun about this show is the bowling alley that Ed invests in. I presume that Stuckey Bowl will reopen upon completion of its remodeling and that the life of the show will dutifully swirl around it. Since I like to tell my closest friends that I was born in a bowling alley, I'm pleased that the institution is finally receiving its due in the popular media. Besides which, a swishy character named Phil (Michael Ian Black) is employed by Stuckey Bowl and he's a hoot. Watching Phil drove me crazy with vague recognition until I finally pinned him down. He was "Johnny Bluejeans" on the short-lived Comedy Central series, Viva Variety, the goofy send-up of European variety shows that starred the brilliantly over-the-top Kerri Kenney. Black is worth watching--I hope they give him a little more screen time.
Also on this season's docket, Titans premiered to a strong Wednesday-night audience only to dip miserably the following week when it went head to head with the pilot of Bette. Titans is meant to be silly, though I'm afraid it's not silly enough for its own good.
In a nutshell, Chandler Williams (Caspar Van Dien--yum) is a Navy pilot who returns to his family's estate to work in the family corporation. There he finds that his father Richard (Perry King) has become engaged to Heather Lane (Yasmine Bleeth), a vixen with whom he has enjoyed a naughty past. Meanwhile, Richard's ex-wife Gwen (Victoria Principal) lives in a smaller house across the street from the family's palatial estate. Fireworks will fly in classic Aaron Spelling fashion.
It doesn't matter whether or not Titans is any good at all. Van Dien is cheesecake. I'm hooked.
I am, frankly, worried about Normal, Ohio, the long-promised series starring John Goodman as a gay father. Since the original pilot, the producers have changed the premise, the setting, and most of the characters, creating something reportedly very different than the initial conception. Really, all that remains is Goodman and the producers. How does a pilot get sold in the first place if it is so far from what the network (or one of those blasted "focus" groups) wants to see?
Nevertheless, the show seems intent on taking some risks and the cast is amazing. Besides Goodman, you're going to see Joely Fisher (Ellen), Orson Bean (Being John Malkovich), and Mo Gaffney (Kathy & Mo). We'll get our first taste November 1 at 8:30 p.m. It premieres opposite Welcome to New York, so you'll have to tape one show or the other. We'll certainly be discussing it further here, so be sure to take notes.
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