September, 2006 »

For Your Emmy Consideration

May 22, 2006

It’s Emmy screener season. All the networks are sending out screeners of the shows they want you to vote for. It’s kind of fun on the pure postal level – every day you get a pile of envelopes and boxes.

This year it’s gone completely to DVDs. But in years gone by the tapes used to come in until you had a pile the size of a small coffin. Which was oddly appropriate. Because here’s the dirty secret about Emmy screeners: Nobody watches them. When it comes right down to it, why should you? If it wasn’t important enough to watch when it’s on, then why should you give it an award? It seems like the ultimate hypocrisy. Why give it an award for excellence if you didn’t care enough to watch it in the first place?

Then there’s the stuff that falls into the “what were they thinking?” category. I’ve actually enjoyed seasons of "The Amazing Race." But you’d have to be some kind of Monk character to actually sit down and watch episodes 907 & 908 on DVD. And Conan? Sure, I know Conan. It’s great. It’s on every night. So why do I need a screener?

There are exceptions. PBS – sometimes their stuff is incredible, but you’re just too tired to watch it on a normal night. And then, of course, HBO. It’s that HBO one-two punch. Their content is great, and their packaging is always the best of the lot. Often I’ll keep the HBO box long after I’ve thrown the rest away. And still not watch it.

Then it’s time to vote. Eventually one night my wife and I sit in bed and vote for our favorites (the ones we actually watched when they were on). And a few others that have really good buzz (like maybe "24," which is great but we just didn’t want to make the commitment). And we rip through the whole thing in half an hour and send it off.

Strange thing is, I still have faith in this incredibly flawed system. Somehow the really good stuff still bubbles up. Usually, through some arcane alchemy of media buzz and critical praise and word of mouth, good shows get recognized. Usually. At least by the second or third year they’ve been around. If they make it that long.

--A Voter

Island Jams

May 19, 2006

That annoying jingle I can’t stop humming is coming from a soundstage in Hawaii.

Season Two of “Lost” is over and I vote we skip summer — and get on with the new fall episodes. I’ll trade a few days in the sun and sand, a lot of air conditioning, and some crappy “beach reads” in exchange for another few hours with Hurley and the gang. Because, let’s face it, they’re family.

I remember the last time I felt this way about a TV show. It was “Twin Peaks” and I was, well, a lot younger. And I remember reading about how this crazy-brilliant show was coming on, and so I watched. David Lynch scared the hell out of me. The veritable movie of a show opener was better than most flicks playing in the Cineplex. I was hooked. Within the year I was hosting “Twin Peaks” parties with friends. And I loved it ‘til the bitter end.

“Sex and the City” almost crawled under my skin in an unhealthy way. But — maybe because it’s a comedy — I didn’t lose my mind completely. And the darn thing ran for years, changing as I changed. Sometimes short is sweet. No time to jump the shark.

And that’s where “Lost” lives for me. It hovers in the neat longer-than-a-movie, shorter-than-a-TV-show zone. I am with the characters. I’m on the island. I’m dying to stop pushing the button. My boyfriend thinks I’m crazy. But he watches it, too.

So who deserves credit? The writers. All of them, and I know there must be several or a dozen or maybe only a few. Whoever and wherever they are: kudos! Because it is a get-off-the-island show, but for the 21st Century. There are issues here that are so prescient and timely. For example: faith versus effort. Should the castaways believe they were destined for this mess of tropical paradise? Or should they work and build a boat and try to get away? We’ve seen what happened with the raft. But we’ve also seen what happened with the radio Sayid built. Effort works, sometimes.

Faith does, too. Witness Locke’s magical healing. And Rose’s cure from cancer. But faith drives them crazy—and us viewers, too. Eko is driving me nuts with his belief in dreams and apparitions. Locke drives me cuckoo with his button pushing. And Jack makes me wince every time he plays the good guy and runs into the woods and save the day -- believing that, like in his previous role as a doctor, skill and science and rationality will always win out.

But here we are, post-Season Two. Dead people, and The Others. No nearer to resolution are we slaves to the show. And that’s exactly as it should be. The show is a too-obvious, too-perfect metaphor for life. We don’t know how it will end? It can’t end badly. It can’t end easily. It must merely end. Until then, we can enjoy it. Our hearts can race whenever it starts raining because we know that trouble is coming. Our loins can rumble every time a couple gets trapped “in a net” because it’s sexy. And we can smile every time we see Hurley and realize that without much food, he hasn’t lost any weight.