My fling with "Ugly Betty" was fairly quick. I was rooming with a "Betty" fan during the second season, and it was the only show she watched on a regular basis. I got sucked in by the brightly colored decor and girl-power spunk of the premise. America Ferrera, who played Betty Suarez, was a welcome break from the norm in her braces and disastrously uncoordinated outfits. Also, I was struck by the resemblance between Eric Mabius, who plays Betty's boss Daniel Meade, and my own supervisor at work at the time.
Aside from a very brief "General Hospital" phase in high school, I was never much for soaps. And that's what "Ugly Betty" was - a primetime soap. More specifically, it was an adaptation of the Colombian telenovela, "Betty La Fea," one of several international versions that have been hits around the globe. The American version encapsulated several rising trends of the time - "The Devil Wears Prada" fashionistas, Latino and openly gay characters emerging in the popular culture, and a nice little backlash against increasingly emaciated female body images.
During the first season, it was hard to escape "Betty-mania." The critics loved it, and the show collected heaps of awards at the Golden Globes and the Emmys. It attracted a respectable number of viewers, enough to help ABC put up some real competition on Thursday nights against "Survivor." America Ferrera and Vanessa Williams, who played the deliciously evil magazine editor Wilhelmina Slater, were everywhere. But then the love disappeared just as quick. The show's subsequent seasons steadily lost viewers and went through several different timeslots until its was finally canceled this year.
For my part, I appreciated the show more than I enjoyed it. After a season of watching Betty juggle potential love interests, foil Wilhelmina's plots against the Meade family, and bail loved ones out trouble, my interest petered out. My roommate and I split ways, and I quickly lost track of the show. I had the same peeves about "Betty" that I had with most soap operas - lack of resolution, repetitiveness, and very slow plot progression. I watched the finale last night and was caught up in about two minutes. But credit where credit is due - it was by far the most entertaining soap I'd watched in recent memory.
I got a real kick out of seeing successful career women at the forefront of many storylines, battling each other over work as well as men. I loved that everyone had some ambition, from Betty's sister Hilda trying to become a hair stylist to Wilhelmina's catty minion Marc turning up in the same editors-in-training program as Betty. And best of all, the writers weren't scared of going for laughs. The humor was always spot-on, often playfully winking at the show's ridiculous plot twists and oddball logic. And it helped to enliven the obvious messages of tolerance and diversity that were always at the heart of "Betty."
It's only been four short years, but "Ugly Betty" already feels like it was made for a different era, when print publications weren't being downsized left and right, and the recession hadn't upended every twenty-something's job expectations and career prospects. Nor is it the only multi-culti comedy on the air anymore, with ABC's "Modern Family" and FOX's "Glee" featuring similarly varied casts of characters. Though the creators of "Betty" apparently had a five-year plan for the series, it feels right that it's ending now, closing out the cultural moment that spawned it.
I watched the finale last night and was glad to see Betty got a proper sendoff, finally achieving closure for several of its storylines and letting most of the characters find their happy endings. Rumors are already floating about a feature film follow up. As an alternative, I'd love to see a new series about Betty's adventures in London. For now, though, I'm happy to know "Ugly Betty" made good on its premise. The braces came off and the wardrobe got an upgrade, but the biggest change to Betty Suarez after four years was her attitude and confidence. All grown up, with her own editing gig, and calling her own shots, Betty is an ugly duckling no more.
And in the show's final shot the title card followed suit, with the "Ugly" fading away at long last to leave "Betty," ready to take on the world.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
My "Golden Palace" Epiphany
I once had an epiphany while watching a bad sitcom - I'm not sure how relevant this is to media, or to anything really, but it's one of those little things that's stuck out in my mind for about twenty years now, so I thought I should write it down.
This needs a little context. I was a pretty sheltered kid, kind of a homebody, and very close to my family. Nonetheless, we didn't talk about certain subjects, sex being the one most relevant to this little trip down memory lane. I'm one of those poor, tragic souls who had to look up sex in the dictionary, and didn't figure out the actual mechanics of being in flagrante delicto until college. To prove the point, my usual Saturday night ritual in junior high was watching "The Golden Girls" with my mother. It was the raciest program that I was regularly exposed to. I'm dead serious. Upon reflection, I'm pretty sure it's where I learned what an affair was, plus about two dozen charming euphemisms for intercourse. And it was on the spinoff, "Golden Palace" that I finally figured out what being gay meant.
"Golden Palace" was a terrible show, a bald act of desperation to keep the audience of "Golden Girls" after Bea Arthur quit. The remaining ladies, along with Cheech Marin and Don Cheadle, were placed in charge of a ramshackle hotel and subjected to painfully contrived sitcom shenanigans over the course of the show's first and only season. It was a low point in the careers of everyone involved. Why a simpler change in scenery couldn't have sufficed for a follow-up show I will never understand. Have Blanche, Rose, and Sophia move to New York! To San Antonio! Just because a premise worked for Bob Newhart doesn't mean it works for anybody!
Anyway, you get the point. I watched "Golden Palace" because it was on in the same timeslot as "Golden Girls," and the characters were familiar. I couldn't tell you what happened on any single episode. However, I do remember the subplot of one episode, where Rose, played by Betty White, was running the front desk. After noticing several couples checking in as Mr. and Mrs. Smith, she finally caught on that people were meeting at the hotel to conduct affairs, and spent the rest of the episode tying herself in disapproving knots with each new arrival.
All of this built up to the big joke at the end of the episode. Rose, finding yet another guest signing in as "Mr. Smith," asked wearily if there was a "Mrs. Smith" with him. No, there wasn't but there was a "Mr. Jones" sharing the room. And as Rose brightened up in obvious relief, she completely missed the sight of Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones merrily walking off to their room, hand in hand. You couldn't have a better visual representation of love in bloom.
Keep in mind that I didn't have more than a vague understanding of what sex actually was at this point, but I understood all the business of serious and casual relationships that went on around them. Until that second, I didn't realize that there was such a thing as a homosexual relationship in the romantic sense. I didn't know they could do that. I knew gay meant different, and gay was about men liking men. I just never equated it with the same feelings that there were between heterosexual men and women. This was the early 90s, so anything more than a vague reference to homosexuality was still pretty rare on television. If it did come up, the AIDS scare was almost sure to follow in the next breath.
The joke on "Golden Palace" was so simple, it was almost sweet, and there weren't any tawdry or negative connotation attached to the pair at all – it was just met with a burst from the laugh track and then went to credits. My mother was watching with me and didn't say anything to explain. I think she acknowledged that they were gay, but her reaction was neutral. I didn't learn until years later that she had spent a lot of time in San Francisco in her twenties in the hippie days and was used to people with alternative lifestyles, though she's fairly conservative otherwise. It wasn't the sort of thing we talked about.
Media can be a powerful thing, even in its most seemingly innocuous moments. "Golden Palace" might be remembered by most as an embarrassing mistake. But I learned something important from it, even though I don't think that anybody meant for me to. But as someone with a pretty blank slate as far as attitudes toward sexuality then, having no real religious upbringing and parents who did not acknowledge such things in the presence of their teenage daughter, it stuck. To this day I can remember that joke crystal clear, and that moment where suddenly I understood years of innuendoes and offhand remarks. And it was strangely thrilling – like discovering a new continent populated by people I didn't know existed.
I turned out to be straight, but I'm glad that from fairly early on, I knew it would have been okay if I wasn't. And I have a bad sitcom to thank for that.
This needs a little context. I was a pretty sheltered kid, kind of a homebody, and very close to my family. Nonetheless, we didn't talk about certain subjects, sex being the one most relevant to this little trip down memory lane. I'm one of those poor, tragic souls who had to look up sex in the dictionary, and didn't figure out the actual mechanics of being in flagrante delicto until college. To prove the point, my usual Saturday night ritual in junior high was watching "The Golden Girls" with my mother. It was the raciest program that I was regularly exposed to. I'm dead serious. Upon reflection, I'm pretty sure it's where I learned what an affair was, plus about two dozen charming euphemisms for intercourse. And it was on the spinoff, "Golden Palace" that I finally figured out what being gay meant.
"Golden Palace" was a terrible show, a bald act of desperation to keep the audience of "Golden Girls" after Bea Arthur quit. The remaining ladies, along with Cheech Marin and Don Cheadle, were placed in charge of a ramshackle hotel and subjected to painfully contrived sitcom shenanigans over the course of the show's first and only season. It was a low point in the careers of everyone involved. Why a simpler change in scenery couldn't have sufficed for a follow-up show I will never understand. Have Blanche, Rose, and Sophia move to New York! To San Antonio! Just because a premise worked for Bob Newhart doesn't mean it works for anybody!
Anyway, you get the point. I watched "Golden Palace" because it was on in the same timeslot as "Golden Girls," and the characters were familiar. I couldn't tell you what happened on any single episode. However, I do remember the subplot of one episode, where Rose, played by Betty White, was running the front desk. After noticing several couples checking in as Mr. and Mrs. Smith, she finally caught on that people were meeting at the hotel to conduct affairs, and spent the rest of the episode tying herself in disapproving knots with each new arrival.
All of this built up to the big joke at the end of the episode. Rose, finding yet another guest signing in as "Mr. Smith," asked wearily if there was a "Mrs. Smith" with him. No, there wasn't but there was a "Mr. Jones" sharing the room. And as Rose brightened up in obvious relief, she completely missed the sight of Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones merrily walking off to their room, hand in hand. You couldn't have a better visual representation of love in bloom.
Keep in mind that I didn't have more than a vague understanding of what sex actually was at this point, but I understood all the business of serious and casual relationships that went on around them. Until that second, I didn't realize that there was such a thing as a homosexual relationship in the romantic sense. I didn't know they could do that. I knew gay meant different, and gay was about men liking men. I just never equated it with the same feelings that there were between heterosexual men and women. This was the early 90s, so anything more than a vague reference to homosexuality was still pretty rare on television. If it did come up, the AIDS scare was almost sure to follow in the next breath.
The joke on "Golden Palace" was so simple, it was almost sweet, and there weren't any tawdry or negative connotation attached to the pair at all – it was just met with a burst from the laugh track and then went to credits. My mother was watching with me and didn't say anything to explain. I think she acknowledged that they were gay, but her reaction was neutral. I didn't learn until years later that she had spent a lot of time in San Francisco in her twenties in the hippie days and was used to people with alternative lifestyles, though she's fairly conservative otherwise. It wasn't the sort of thing we talked about.
Media can be a powerful thing, even in its most seemingly innocuous moments. "Golden Palace" might be remembered by most as an embarrassing mistake. But I learned something important from it, even though I don't think that anybody meant for me to. But as someone with a pretty blank slate as far as attitudes toward sexuality then, having no real religious upbringing and parents who did not acknowledge such things in the presence of their teenage daughter, it stuck. To this day I can remember that joke crystal clear, and that moment where suddenly I understood years of innuendoes and offhand remarks. And it was strangely thrilling – like discovering a new continent populated by people I didn't know existed.
I turned out to be straight, but I'm glad that from fairly early on, I knew it would have been okay if I wasn't. And I have a bad sitcom to thank for that.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
"Preacher" - Gone to Hollywood
I'd say I qualify as a comic-book fan, meaning someone who reads comic books independent of any film or television influences, if just barely. In college I picked up a couple of volumes of "Sandman" and my roommate tracked down all the issues of "Johnny the Homicidal Maniac," and I found myself sporadically leafing through graphic novels like "Creature Tech" and "From Hell" ever since. I never collected and I never invested, but I've read a fair amount of the big titles and know who most of the big names in the industry are. And the knowledge has proved very helpful for being a film buff, as Hollywood's been snapping up more and more comics properties for development over the last decade.
I mentioned in yesterday's post that darker material from the comic book realm has been in ascendancy, as embodied by the runaway success of "The Dark Knight," and the willingness of a major studio to put some serious money into Zack Snyder's adaptation of the very adult "Watchmen." Though "Watchmen" didn't do well, it hasn't stopped filmmakers from continuing to push the boundaries with edgier comic properties like the upcoming "Kick-Ass." There's still a reluctance, though, to produce truly adult films based on comics for fear of alienating the younger demographic that most action films are geared towards. Of course, nobody seems to want to makes films for grown-ups these days in any genre, but it's interesting to look at some of the higher profile comic-based projects that are struggling with this barrier.
One title that's been percolating for a while now is "Preacher," based on the popular Garth Ennis comic that was published by DC's Vertigo imprint for mature readers in the 90s. I've read the entire run, all 66 issues, five specials, and the four-part miniseries collected into nine trade paperbacks. Centered around the adventures of a young Texan preacher who acquires supernatural powers akin to the literal Word of God, and declares war against the Almighty, it neatly straddles the line between Western and horror genres with a little passion play thrown in for good measure. In the right hands, I'm sure the material could spawn a good action film trilogy, or better yet a miniseries.
And over the last ten years, it's nearly been both, with the adaptation rights bouncing from the Weinsteins at Miramax to HBO to Columbia Pictures. James Marsden was attached to star. Then he wasn't. Sam Mendes was attached to direct. Then he wasn't. The latest word from producer Neal Moritz at the Collider yesterday was that they have a script (not one of the three drafts written by Garth Ennis), and are looking for a director. From what I can tell, the biggest holdup with "Preacher" has been the comic's reputation. It is one of the most influential titles to come out of the 90s, near the top of many a comic fanboy's list of most desired film adaptations. Kevin Smith and Stephen King are fans. Nobody wants to get this one wrong.
But on the other hand, faithfulness to the original comic would result in a film or TV series with a pretty narrow audience. The "Preacher" comic is a fun, pulpy read, but touches on all sorts of hot-button issues, revels in graphic content, and has an extraordinarily sick sense of humor. One of the major recurring characters is a young man who calls himself Arseface, a Nirvana fan who was so distressed at the suicide of Kurt Cobain, he tried to follow suit and blew half his face off with a shotgun. And survived. Arseface goes through the comic with features so disfigured people retch at his presence, and his speech is so garbled it requires additional translation in subscripts. To add insult to injury, these horrors are constantly played for laughs.
I don't have any issues with films like "Preacher" and "Kick-Ass" being made. But when we're talking about content that's practically in the realm of John Waters and Harmony Korine, is it any wonder the studios have had second thoughts? If audiences were cringing at the plight of Precious Jones, how are they going to react to Arseface, who's just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the carnival grotesques of the "Preacher" comic? In this case, the more determined the filmmakers are to be faithful, the less viable making the film becomes, but cutting anything would only alienate the existing die-hard fans. At least one version was scuttled because the studio wasn't willing to risk putting up a fairly modest figure for the film's budget. The fact that "Preacher" has actually come so close to being made is more surprising than anything else.
If we ever do get a "Preacher" movie, it won't be another big budget, frame-for-frame geek love letter like "Watchmen." That ship has sailed. I expect we'll either get something drastically watered down and mainstream friendly or else a low-budget cult film with the content intact. The current film-making system isn't capable of dealing with anything else.
I mentioned in yesterday's post that darker material from the comic book realm has been in ascendancy, as embodied by the runaway success of "The Dark Knight," and the willingness of a major studio to put some serious money into Zack Snyder's adaptation of the very adult "Watchmen." Though "Watchmen" didn't do well, it hasn't stopped filmmakers from continuing to push the boundaries with edgier comic properties like the upcoming "Kick-Ass." There's still a reluctance, though, to produce truly adult films based on comics for fear of alienating the younger demographic that most action films are geared towards. Of course, nobody seems to want to makes films for grown-ups these days in any genre, but it's interesting to look at some of the higher profile comic-based projects that are struggling with this barrier.
One title that's been percolating for a while now is "Preacher," based on the popular Garth Ennis comic that was published by DC's Vertigo imprint for mature readers in the 90s. I've read the entire run, all 66 issues, five specials, and the four-part miniseries collected into nine trade paperbacks. Centered around the adventures of a young Texan preacher who acquires supernatural powers akin to the literal Word of God, and declares war against the Almighty, it neatly straddles the line between Western and horror genres with a little passion play thrown in for good measure. In the right hands, I'm sure the material could spawn a good action film trilogy, or better yet a miniseries.
And over the last ten years, it's nearly been both, with the adaptation rights bouncing from the Weinsteins at Miramax to HBO to Columbia Pictures. James Marsden was attached to star. Then he wasn't. Sam Mendes was attached to direct. Then he wasn't. The latest word from producer Neal Moritz at the Collider yesterday was that they have a script (not one of the three drafts written by Garth Ennis), and are looking for a director. From what I can tell, the biggest holdup with "Preacher" has been the comic's reputation. It is one of the most influential titles to come out of the 90s, near the top of many a comic fanboy's list of most desired film adaptations. Kevin Smith and Stephen King are fans. Nobody wants to get this one wrong.
But on the other hand, faithfulness to the original comic would result in a film or TV series with a pretty narrow audience. The "Preacher" comic is a fun, pulpy read, but touches on all sorts of hot-button issues, revels in graphic content, and has an extraordinarily sick sense of humor. One of the major recurring characters is a young man who calls himself Arseface, a Nirvana fan who was so distressed at the suicide of Kurt Cobain, he tried to follow suit and blew half his face off with a shotgun. And survived. Arseface goes through the comic with features so disfigured people retch at his presence, and his speech is so garbled it requires additional translation in subscripts. To add insult to injury, these horrors are constantly played for laughs.
I don't have any issues with films like "Preacher" and "Kick-Ass" being made. But when we're talking about content that's practically in the realm of John Waters and Harmony Korine, is it any wonder the studios have had second thoughts? If audiences were cringing at the plight of Precious Jones, how are they going to react to Arseface, who's just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the carnival grotesques of the "Preacher" comic? In this case, the more determined the filmmakers are to be faithful, the less viable making the film becomes, but cutting anything would only alienate the existing die-hard fans. At least one version was scuttled because the studio wasn't willing to risk putting up a fairly modest figure for the film's budget. The fact that "Preacher" has actually come so close to being made is more surprising than anything else.
If we ever do get a "Preacher" movie, it won't be another big budget, frame-for-frame geek love letter like "Watchmen." That ship has sailed. I expect we'll either get something drastically watered down and mainstream friendly or else a low-budget cult film with the content intact. The current film-making system isn't capable of dealing with anything else.
Monday, April 12, 2010
The "Kick Ass" Conundrum
Friday will see the release of "Kick-Ass," which its Wikipedia article describes as "the story of teenage Dave Lizewski who sets out to become a real life superhero only to get caught up in a bigger fight. He meets Big Daddy, a former cop who, in his quest to bring down an evil drug lord Frank D'Amico, has trained his eleven-year-old daughter to be the ruthless vigilante Hit-Girl." Based off the comic book of the same name, and generating some serious controversy for its profanity-heavy red band trailers featuring little Chloe Moretz cursing like a sailor, "Kick-Ass" has had the geekier fan sites like AICN buzzing for a while now. But from where I'm sitting, this thing isn't going to do much business.
To put it bluntly, I suspect that this is going to be "Watchmen" all over again. We've got another title that's hotly anticipated by a core group of comic-loving geeks, who have been singing the praises of the film's graphic content, completely heedless of the fact that even the title of "Kick-Ass" is giving a good chunk of theater owners heart palpitations and leaving mainstream audiences cold. The film is being listed as "Kick A" in some venues, with theater workers being coached to refer to the film as such. The last time this happened was Kevin Smith's "Zack and Miri Make a Porno," which had its posters censored and its DVDs sold in Wal-Mart as "Zack and Miri." That one didn't do so well either.
Fanboys may scoff at the prudish leanings of the corporate purveyors of our entertainment, but the awkward truth of the matter is that though everyone in Hollywood wants to make films that cater to the young adult male these days, they're only willing to go so far. The attitude that explicit sex and violence are always good, and the more extreme the better, is a common assumption among the young male audience. And it's the sort of attitude that gets films like "Kick-Ass" made. What these same fans don't seem to realize is that strong content tends to alienate everybody else, especially families and female viewers.
Everyone points to "The Dark Knight" as a darker superhero film that cleaned up at the box office, but "The Dark Knight" was also a PG-13 Batman film that played to all four quadrants of the general audience and couldn't have broken all those box-office records without all the non-geek viewers. Now compare the performance of "Dark Knight" with "Watchmen," a highly anticipated, heavily marketed, and very expensive R-rated superhero epic that garnered enthusiastic response from its target audience – and only its target audience. Niche audience films have been strong performers before, notably the "Twilight" films aimed at teenage girls, but the difference is that the "Twilight" films know they're niche and are made and marketed to scale. "Watchmen" was built up to be a blockbuster and fell on its face.
To the credit of director Matthew Vaughn and the film's other producers, "Kick-Ass" was made with a modest indie budget, so it has a good chance of making its money back. However, I am worried about how the film is being sold to appeal to broader audiences. The promotion has been mum on the film's adult content, which is probably going to cause headaches down the line. With a cast of superheroes wearing brightly colored costumes, and an eleven-year-old playing one of the leads, this has all the hallmarks of a general-audiences action comedy. Too much misleading advertising will undoubtedly lead to backlash from angry parents once they hear what's coming out of Hit-Girl's mouth – the red band trailer issue already has the MPAA looking at potential new rules for online content.
To put it bluntly, "Kick-Ass" is not going to be the breakout hit that the geeks are breathlessly anticipating. Geeks may be Hollywood darlings these days, but their values aren't the same as those of the mainstream audience. I don't envy Lionsgate, which has to be light on the cuts make the geeks happy while keeping angry parents at bay. But I wouldn't push too hard in either direction, because this one has the potential to blow up in everyone's faces.
To put it bluntly, I suspect that this is going to be "Watchmen" all over again. We've got another title that's hotly anticipated by a core group of comic-loving geeks, who have been singing the praises of the film's graphic content, completely heedless of the fact that even the title of "Kick-Ass" is giving a good chunk of theater owners heart palpitations and leaving mainstream audiences cold. The film is being listed as "Kick A" in some venues, with theater workers being coached to refer to the film as such. The last time this happened was Kevin Smith's "Zack and Miri Make a Porno," which had its posters censored and its DVDs sold in Wal-Mart as "Zack and Miri." That one didn't do so well either.
Fanboys may scoff at the prudish leanings of the corporate purveyors of our entertainment, but the awkward truth of the matter is that though everyone in Hollywood wants to make films that cater to the young adult male these days, they're only willing to go so far. The attitude that explicit sex and violence are always good, and the more extreme the better, is a common assumption among the young male audience. And it's the sort of attitude that gets films like "Kick-Ass" made. What these same fans don't seem to realize is that strong content tends to alienate everybody else, especially families and female viewers.
Everyone points to "The Dark Knight" as a darker superhero film that cleaned up at the box office, but "The Dark Knight" was also a PG-13 Batman film that played to all four quadrants of the general audience and couldn't have broken all those box-office records without all the non-geek viewers. Now compare the performance of "Dark Knight" with "Watchmen," a highly anticipated, heavily marketed, and very expensive R-rated superhero epic that garnered enthusiastic response from its target audience – and only its target audience. Niche audience films have been strong performers before, notably the "Twilight" films aimed at teenage girls, but the difference is that the "Twilight" films know they're niche and are made and marketed to scale. "Watchmen" was built up to be a blockbuster and fell on its face.
To the credit of director Matthew Vaughn and the film's other producers, "Kick-Ass" was made with a modest indie budget, so it has a good chance of making its money back. However, I am worried about how the film is being sold to appeal to broader audiences. The promotion has been mum on the film's adult content, which is probably going to cause headaches down the line. With a cast of superheroes wearing brightly colored costumes, and an eleven-year-old playing one of the leads, this has all the hallmarks of a general-audiences action comedy. Too much misleading advertising will undoubtedly lead to backlash from angry parents once they hear what's coming out of Hit-Girl's mouth – the red band trailer issue already has the MPAA looking at potential new rules for online content.
To put it bluntly, "Kick-Ass" is not going to be the breakout hit that the geeks are breathlessly anticipating. Geeks may be Hollywood darlings these days, but their values aren't the same as those of the mainstream audience. I don't envy Lionsgate, which has to be light on the cuts make the geeks happy while keeping angry parents at bay. But I wouldn't push too hard in either direction, because this one has the potential to blow up in everyone's faces.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
On the "Runway"
Another season of "Project Runway" is drawing to a close. It's my favorite reality show despite my disinterest in fashion generally. I love shows about people making things, as I've mentioned before. I love seeing creative, skilled professionals at work. I have a special fondness for movies about artists and composers, and I find any depictions of the creative process fascinating. So it's no wonder I like watching the "Project Runway" designers turn out dozens of garments, with the cameras following every step in the process from initial sketching to the final catwalk twirl. On the other hand, there are a lot of other elements at play that help to make it work.
"Runway" is now in its seventh season, the second to be broadcast on Lifetime. I've followed all of them since the beginning. There have been good and bad years, and it's been fascinating to see how delicate the show's alchemy for success really is. Last season was set in Los Angeles instead of New York, featured guest judges for most of the early rounds of competition instead of regulars Michael Kors and Nina Garcia, and most of the contestants were already established professionals. It was a lousy season, full of pedestrian personalities and pedestrian clothing. The entire atmosphere was different, from tamer challenges to milder critiques in the judging sessions to a bevy of finalists who looked like they belonged on the modeling side of the show.
The current season, by contrast, is back to its old tricks and much more fun to watch. The past week saw one designer and one model drop out of the competition by their own choice, the return of another designer to fill in the empty slot, a celebrity judge whose comments led to the declaration of two winners instead of one, and finally this week's eliminated designer going home after constructing three different dresses that never quite came together. There's enough going on in one good episode of "Project Runway" to fill a whole season of a lesser program, and the best part is that the tension is focused around the creative process rather than interpersonal drama.
"Runway" doesn't engage in the same amount of manipulative editing as you see on other shows – there is some to accentuate the wilder personalities and build up tension in the elimination segments – and the drama that does result tends to be born out of the extremes of the competition where the designers are essentially working around the clock for days on end. From clips that have surfaced in retrospective programs and from unedited segments online, it's surprising to realize how little most of the footage has been touched. It certainly comes through in the show itself, where you get a very genuine vibe from what's going on onscreen.
And I suspect that this is one of the major draws of the show – it's pulling back the curtain on an industry that is obsessed with appearances, to let us see a little of the rough-edged reality behind those million-dollar dresses worn by anorexic twenty-year olds. The lack of perfection - the quirkiness and volatility of the participants, the chaos and pandemonium before every runway show, and the occasional catastrophe – bring the world of high fashion back to the realm of mortals and turn the spotlight on the designers. It's still plenty pretentious and elitist, one of the few places on television where this is a plus, but now it's also more accessible and we get to see more of the players involved.
The show's hosts are iconic precisely because they're so pleasantly off kilter and go against expectations. Host and model Heidi Klum seems to be perpetually pregnant, yet still always looks fabulous, speaks in a thick Germanic accent, and bids each departing competitor "Auf wiedersehen." She's also one of the tougher critics on the show's judging panel. Tim Gunn, the indispensable mentor figure, shepherds the designers through the competition and provides early critique. He's equal parts wry, British sophisticate and den mother, and has proven so popular he briefly had his own show in 2007, "Tim Gunn's Guide to Style." He's an unlikely icon of American fashion, yet also a long overdue one.
The New York Times ran a piece last year noting that young women who want to work in fashion these days no longer want to be models exclusively, but have shifted their aims toward being designers and fashion editors too. The trend was directly attributed to the popularity of shows like "Project Runway" and "Ugly Betty" and their portrayals of the fashion industry. And no surprise. The contestants on "Project Runway," harried and stressed as they are, always look like they're having way more fun than the poor girls on "America's Next Top Model." Sometimes you have to peek behind the glitz and glamor to find the people who are really worth talking about, and as the age of the supermodel declines, I look forward to the rise of the "Project Runway" generation.
"Runway" is now in its seventh season, the second to be broadcast on Lifetime. I've followed all of them since the beginning. There have been good and bad years, and it's been fascinating to see how delicate the show's alchemy for success really is. Last season was set in Los Angeles instead of New York, featured guest judges for most of the early rounds of competition instead of regulars Michael Kors and Nina Garcia, and most of the contestants were already established professionals. It was a lousy season, full of pedestrian personalities and pedestrian clothing. The entire atmosphere was different, from tamer challenges to milder critiques in the judging sessions to a bevy of finalists who looked like they belonged on the modeling side of the show.
The current season, by contrast, is back to its old tricks and much more fun to watch. The past week saw one designer and one model drop out of the competition by their own choice, the return of another designer to fill in the empty slot, a celebrity judge whose comments led to the declaration of two winners instead of one, and finally this week's eliminated designer going home after constructing three different dresses that never quite came together. There's enough going on in one good episode of "Project Runway" to fill a whole season of a lesser program, and the best part is that the tension is focused around the creative process rather than interpersonal drama.
"Runway" doesn't engage in the same amount of manipulative editing as you see on other shows – there is some to accentuate the wilder personalities and build up tension in the elimination segments – and the drama that does result tends to be born out of the extremes of the competition where the designers are essentially working around the clock for days on end. From clips that have surfaced in retrospective programs and from unedited segments online, it's surprising to realize how little most of the footage has been touched. It certainly comes through in the show itself, where you get a very genuine vibe from what's going on onscreen.
And I suspect that this is one of the major draws of the show – it's pulling back the curtain on an industry that is obsessed with appearances, to let us see a little of the rough-edged reality behind those million-dollar dresses worn by anorexic twenty-year olds. The lack of perfection - the quirkiness and volatility of the participants, the chaos and pandemonium before every runway show, and the occasional catastrophe – bring the world of high fashion back to the realm of mortals and turn the spotlight on the designers. It's still plenty pretentious and elitist, one of the few places on television where this is a plus, but now it's also more accessible and we get to see more of the players involved.
The show's hosts are iconic precisely because they're so pleasantly off kilter and go against expectations. Host and model Heidi Klum seems to be perpetually pregnant, yet still always looks fabulous, speaks in a thick Germanic accent, and bids each departing competitor "Auf wiedersehen." She's also one of the tougher critics on the show's judging panel. Tim Gunn, the indispensable mentor figure, shepherds the designers through the competition and provides early critique. He's equal parts wry, British sophisticate and den mother, and has proven so popular he briefly had his own show in 2007, "Tim Gunn's Guide to Style." He's an unlikely icon of American fashion, yet also a long overdue one.
The New York Times ran a piece last year noting that young women who want to work in fashion these days no longer want to be models exclusively, but have shifted their aims toward being designers and fashion editors too. The trend was directly attributed to the popularity of shows like "Project Runway" and "Ugly Betty" and their portrayals of the fashion industry. And no surprise. The contestants on "Project Runway," harried and stressed as they are, always look like they're having way more fun than the poor girls on "America's Next Top Model." Sometimes you have to peek behind the glitz and glamor to find the people who are really worth talking about, and as the age of the supermodel declines, I look forward to the rise of the "Project Runway" generation.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Why is "Merlin" on at 10PM?
I caught a couple of episodes of the BBC "Merlin" series during its summer run on NBC last year. It's a fun show, a reimagining of the Arthur mythology to fit a sort of "Smallville" prequel template, set in the years before Arthur became king. All the familiar characters are teenagers or young adults, including a version of the wizard Merlin who is actually younger than the Arthur that he's charged with protecting. NBC ran it an episode or two at a time in 8-10PM Sunday night slots, but it didn't do well enough for them to pick up the second season. So the Syfy (formerly ScFi) Channel stepped in to pick up the rights - and scheduled new episodes for Fridays at 10PM.
This is some pretty bizarre scheduling. "Merlin" was explicitly made to be accessible to younger viewers. The BBC airs it on Saturdays, usually as early evening "tea time" programming. NBC ran it in prime time, starting at 9PM, but edging up to the more family-friendly 8PM timeslot by the end of its run. Even taking into account that more kids might be up late on Friday nights because of the weekend, 10PM is traditionally reserved for more adult programming like police procedurals and dramatic serials. With its CGI dragons and occasional slapstick, "Merlin" has absolutely no content that would require it to air on the cusp of late night. I wouldn't be surprised if the encore broadcasts in the 7PM hour end up outperforming the premieres.
The 8PM and 9PM slots preceding "Merlin" are filled by episodes of "Stargate Universe," the third incarnation of the "Stargate" franchise for those keeping track, and one of the Syfy network's original programs. Understandably they want to give their own show the benefit of more exposure through earlier, more accessible timeslots. However, the audience for "Stargate" skews older and its content is a bit racier. There's nothing on the level of "Battlestar Galactica," but it's not exactly all-ages viewing either. Having this kind of lead-in plus the counterintuitive scheduling is going to make it all but impossible for "Merlin" to attract a good chunk of its intended audience.
Syfy has programmed several British genre shows before, including ITV's "Primeval," the resurrected "Doctor Who," and its spinoff for younger viewers, "The Sarah Jane Adventures." "Doctor Who" was the only one that lasted longer than a year, occupying a comfortable 9PM berth between "Stargate" and "Battlestar Galactica" on the Friday schedule for several years. "Merlin" was probably picked up to appeal to the same viewers, but the show has the potential to play to a much broader audience than "Doctor Who" or any of the others, and it's an awful shame to see it buried so far out of sight. Surely Syfy could swap "Merlin" over into an earlier timeslot somewhere else on its schedule where the kids could find it? There's no reason why all their British acquisitions have to air on Friday night.
There's such a lack of decent kid-friendly genre programming these days, I can't help but think "Merlin" could do so much better with the CW or ABC Family or other networks with more experience with younger viewers. NBC did a pretty dismal job of marketing the show when they had it, playing up the geeky Arthurian elements instead of the photogenic, multiracial young cast that sets it apart from similar shows. Even the eye-catch screens were godawful looking. Syfy isn't doing much better so far, though they're getting a lot of mileage out of marathoning the older episodes.
If "Merlin" was a US production it probably wouldn't have lasted beyond the first season. Fortunately for fans, it’s doing well enough on the BBC and in other countries to ensure that more series will be produced. But I don't see it lasting on American television for much longer – at least, not where anybody not looking for it I will find it.
This is some pretty bizarre scheduling. "Merlin" was explicitly made to be accessible to younger viewers. The BBC airs it on Saturdays, usually as early evening "tea time" programming. NBC ran it in prime time, starting at 9PM, but edging up to the more family-friendly 8PM timeslot by the end of its run. Even taking into account that more kids might be up late on Friday nights because of the weekend, 10PM is traditionally reserved for more adult programming like police procedurals and dramatic serials. With its CGI dragons and occasional slapstick, "Merlin" has absolutely no content that would require it to air on the cusp of late night. I wouldn't be surprised if the encore broadcasts in the 7PM hour end up outperforming the premieres.
The 8PM and 9PM slots preceding "Merlin" are filled by episodes of "Stargate Universe," the third incarnation of the "Stargate" franchise for those keeping track, and one of the Syfy network's original programs. Understandably they want to give their own show the benefit of more exposure through earlier, more accessible timeslots. However, the audience for "Stargate" skews older and its content is a bit racier. There's nothing on the level of "Battlestar Galactica," but it's not exactly all-ages viewing either. Having this kind of lead-in plus the counterintuitive scheduling is going to make it all but impossible for "Merlin" to attract a good chunk of its intended audience.
Syfy has programmed several British genre shows before, including ITV's "Primeval," the resurrected "Doctor Who," and its spinoff for younger viewers, "The Sarah Jane Adventures." "Doctor Who" was the only one that lasted longer than a year, occupying a comfortable 9PM berth between "Stargate" and "Battlestar Galactica" on the Friday schedule for several years. "Merlin" was probably picked up to appeal to the same viewers, but the show has the potential to play to a much broader audience than "Doctor Who" or any of the others, and it's an awful shame to see it buried so far out of sight. Surely Syfy could swap "Merlin" over into an earlier timeslot somewhere else on its schedule where the kids could find it? There's no reason why all their British acquisitions have to air on Friday night.
There's such a lack of decent kid-friendly genre programming these days, I can't help but think "Merlin" could do so much better with the CW or ABC Family or other networks with more experience with younger viewers. NBC did a pretty dismal job of marketing the show when they had it, playing up the geeky Arthurian elements instead of the photogenic, multiracial young cast that sets it apart from similar shows. Even the eye-catch screens were godawful looking. Syfy isn't doing much better so far, though they're getting a lot of mileage out of marathoning the older episodes.
If "Merlin" was a US production it probably wouldn't have lasted beyond the first season. Fortunately for fans, it’s doing well enough on the BBC and in other countries to ensure that more series will be produced. But I don't see it lasting on American television for much longer – at least, not where anybody not looking for it I will find it.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
TV Reality
Reality shows are a funny sort of category, as they can cover everything from dating programs like "The Bachelor" to talent competitions like "American Idol" to documentary/informational hybrids like "Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution" and "Undercover Boss," to celebrity profiles like "The Simple Life" to trumped-up game shows like "Survivor." It's a popular sentiment to hate reality shows wholesale, and I can certainly sympathize, but the truth is that they're hard to dismiss because they cover such a huge spectrum of programming that can otherwise be difficult to categorize. Wikipedia lists ten subgenres, including "Social Experiments," "Talk Shows" and "Hoaxes," but several popular programs don't seem to fit any of them. Is "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" really a home improvement show? Is "Jersey Shore" a social experiment, a documentary, or just an elaborate farce? And where do we put "Candid Camera"?
When trying to draw distinctions, it's easy to get confused very quickly. The Academy of Television Arts and Sciences, the organization behind the Emmy Awards, splits the field between competitive and non-competitive reality shows. I think a better distinction would be grouping the shows by their participants: the talented people, the real people, and the celebrities. By "talented people" I mean those people who are chosen to participate in a reality program because of talents that relate to the show's premise: singers chosen for "American Idol," cake decorators being profiled on "Ace of Cakes," and pretty much anyone speaking to the subject of their expertise on programs like "Antiques Roadshow," or "Dirty Jobs." Celebrities should need no explanation, save that I'll qualify that hosts and judges shouldn't count, since they're part of a program's infrastructure rather than participants, or in the case of documentary shows, their subject matter.
"Real people," by contrast, are people who are chosen to participate in a show because of their apparent normality, people who are meant to represent the common man or woman. Many are unlucky or have daunting personal challenges to overcome, like the participants on "The Biggest Loser," "Supernanny," or "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy." If they do have exceptional talents, these make for a more colorful contestant profile when they appear on "Deal or No Deal," "Minute to Win It," or non-celebrity versions of "The Apprentice," but such talents do not generally provide any advantage in competitions. And finally, real people are meant to provide that oft elusive quality of verisimilitude to social experiment and documentary shows like "The Real Housewives of Orange County."
Though all categories of reality show have their good and bad entries, most of my problems with reality programming involve those shows that purport to follow or involve real people, especially the ones that resort to manipulative tactics to sell a picture of reality that is obviously not true to life. The simpler competition and game shows are usually all right, since they're dependably structured to place focus on the contestant's performance, not their personal attributes or backstory. Also, the amount of coaching and prompting of the contestants involved is usually constrained by concerns of partiality and fairness. "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" and "The Amazing Race" are a little stagey, but you don't get the sense that there's heavy behind-the-scenes manipulation going on.
The problems really come the the forefront when you look at the competitions with more arbitrary judging schemes, like "The Bachelor" or "The Apprentice," or the social experiment shows like "Wife Swap." The producers of these reality programs clearly cherry pick footage, coach the participants, and can invent dramatic moments and even whole narrative arcs out practically nothing with a little judicious editing. Reports of supposedly spontaneous reactions being filmed multiple times or presented out of context are common. And of course, the casting for these shows is heavily biased toward photogenic young people, many of them aspiring actors who are often heavily prepped on how to act "genuine" for the cameras.
Of course the talent and celebrity shows are guilty of many of the same tactics, but the people involved are not being billed as your average Joe or Jane, and their shows are not heavily dependent on the reality aspect. The "Project Runway" designers may endure manufactured personal tensions, but the competition is still about designing clothing. And when Kathy Griffin is prancing about town for "My Life on the D-List," it's no secret that most of the events on her show have been specifically set up to give her a chance to react in outrageous ways. She's a performer performing, and there's always a certain degree of self-awareness to the situation. But when real people are involved, it feels exploitative and disingenuous.
Reality shows do not reflect reality, but the ones that pretend to do so never come off well. I don't want to write off the entire category since there have been some honestly ambitious, complicated programs that have used the social experiment angle to tackle social ills, including "30 Days" and "Food Revolution," but these are very few and far between. Rather, when the camera lens looks at real people in most of these shows, it tends to push even the most innocuous personalities to extremes, magnify minor faults to hideous proportions, and present a terribly warped picture even when the portrayals are positive. There's a growing collection of follow-up news stories about former "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" families who ran into financial and legal troubles after getting their new houses, or dating show contestants whose TV-blessed relationships disintegrated once the spotlight was gone.
Look at what happens to the real people whose reality program stints lead to fame. The talented people who are chosen for their talents, tend to become famous for their talents. Real people who become "reality stars," on the other hand, tend to gain notoriety rather than lasting acclaim. Consider the career prospects of "Survivor" winner Richard Hatch or "Apprentice" headliner Omarosa, compared to any of the runners-up on "American Idol" or "Top Chef" or even "America's Next Top Model." Jon and Kate Gosselin may make for good tabloid fodder, but their appeal seems limited to the rubberneckers these days, following the melodrama of their falling out. The only reality star I can think of who has successfully cashed in has been Elizabeth Hasselbeck, also formerly of "Survivor," who transitioned into a conservative commentator on "The View."
In the end, I don't mind the reality shows. It's the real people that are co-opted and transmogrified by them - the "reality" people that I can't stand.
When trying to draw distinctions, it's easy to get confused very quickly. The Academy of Television Arts and Sciences, the organization behind the Emmy Awards, splits the field between competitive and non-competitive reality shows. I think a better distinction would be grouping the shows by their participants: the talented people, the real people, and the celebrities. By "talented people" I mean those people who are chosen to participate in a reality program because of talents that relate to the show's premise: singers chosen for "American Idol," cake decorators being profiled on "Ace of Cakes," and pretty much anyone speaking to the subject of their expertise on programs like "Antiques Roadshow," or "Dirty Jobs." Celebrities should need no explanation, save that I'll qualify that hosts and judges shouldn't count, since they're part of a program's infrastructure rather than participants, or in the case of documentary shows, their subject matter.
"Real people," by contrast, are people who are chosen to participate in a show because of their apparent normality, people who are meant to represent the common man or woman. Many are unlucky or have daunting personal challenges to overcome, like the participants on "The Biggest Loser," "Supernanny," or "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy." If they do have exceptional talents, these make for a more colorful contestant profile when they appear on "Deal or No Deal," "Minute to Win It," or non-celebrity versions of "The Apprentice," but such talents do not generally provide any advantage in competitions. And finally, real people are meant to provide that oft elusive quality of verisimilitude to social experiment and documentary shows like "The Real Housewives of Orange County."
Though all categories of reality show have their good and bad entries, most of my problems with reality programming involve those shows that purport to follow or involve real people, especially the ones that resort to manipulative tactics to sell a picture of reality that is obviously not true to life. The simpler competition and game shows are usually all right, since they're dependably structured to place focus on the contestant's performance, not their personal attributes or backstory. Also, the amount of coaching and prompting of the contestants involved is usually constrained by concerns of partiality and fairness. "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" and "The Amazing Race" are a little stagey, but you don't get the sense that there's heavy behind-the-scenes manipulation going on.
The problems really come the the forefront when you look at the competitions with more arbitrary judging schemes, like "The Bachelor" or "The Apprentice," or the social experiment shows like "Wife Swap." The producers of these reality programs clearly cherry pick footage, coach the participants, and can invent dramatic moments and even whole narrative arcs out practically nothing with a little judicious editing. Reports of supposedly spontaneous reactions being filmed multiple times or presented out of context are common. And of course, the casting for these shows is heavily biased toward photogenic young people, many of them aspiring actors who are often heavily prepped on how to act "genuine" for the cameras.
Of course the talent and celebrity shows are guilty of many of the same tactics, but the people involved are not being billed as your average Joe or Jane, and their shows are not heavily dependent on the reality aspect. The "Project Runway" designers may endure manufactured personal tensions, but the competition is still about designing clothing. And when Kathy Griffin is prancing about town for "My Life on the D-List," it's no secret that most of the events on her show have been specifically set up to give her a chance to react in outrageous ways. She's a performer performing, and there's always a certain degree of self-awareness to the situation. But when real people are involved, it feels exploitative and disingenuous.
Reality shows do not reflect reality, but the ones that pretend to do so never come off well. I don't want to write off the entire category since there have been some honestly ambitious, complicated programs that have used the social experiment angle to tackle social ills, including "30 Days" and "Food Revolution," but these are very few and far between. Rather, when the camera lens looks at real people in most of these shows, it tends to push even the most innocuous personalities to extremes, magnify minor faults to hideous proportions, and present a terribly warped picture even when the portrayals are positive. There's a growing collection of follow-up news stories about former "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" families who ran into financial and legal troubles after getting their new houses, or dating show contestants whose TV-blessed relationships disintegrated once the spotlight was gone.
Look at what happens to the real people whose reality program stints lead to fame. The talented people who are chosen for their talents, tend to become famous for their talents. Real people who become "reality stars," on the other hand, tend to gain notoriety rather than lasting acclaim. Consider the career prospects of "Survivor" winner Richard Hatch or "Apprentice" headliner Omarosa, compared to any of the runners-up on "American Idol" or "Top Chef" or even "America's Next Top Model." Jon and Kate Gosselin may make for good tabloid fodder, but their appeal seems limited to the rubberneckers these days, following the melodrama of their falling out. The only reality star I can think of who has successfully cashed in has been Elizabeth Hasselbeck, also formerly of "Survivor," who transitioned into a conservative commentator on "The View."
In the end, I don't mind the reality shows. It's the real people that are co-opted and transmogrified by them - the "reality" people that I can't stand.
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