"Len, you're a conundrum."

21st October 2010

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Mad Men: Season Four in Twitter-sized bites

Mad Men’s wrapped for another year, which means I get my Sunday nights back. The fourth season saw a little dip in quality, forsaking the wonderful, large cast in favour of training season-long spotlights on Don Draper’s severe alcoholic depression and Peggy Olsen’s heartening growth. Fair enough: they’ve been the top-billed characters from the start. But MM’s rebranding relegated January Jones, Vincent Kartheiser and Christina Hendricks to a year of marginalized roles, something I hope Matt Weiner addresses in the off-season. They’re all too damn good at what they do to bury them again.

Via my Twitter account (@thegoldenyear), here’s a quick review of the fourth season of television’s best show, in 140-character bites:

• So…home from cottage. And now *my* new season of #MadMen begins. Yet to see an episode in its first-run time slot. 0-for-40 there.
• It feels as though I missed a whack of episodes. This feels like a re-boot so far. HAHA, HARRY CRANE’S SUNBURN! #MadMen S04.01 
• Rat-faced Henry Francis looks like that kid nobody remembers from high school who made good while no one was watching. #MadMen S04.01
• Ballsy season opener, Matt Weiner. Uneasy and queasy. Boxes not yet unpacked from the move. #MadMen S04.01
• Wondering whether we’ll see Cosgrove or Kinsey this week. #MadMen S04.02
• Freddy Rumsen! Drinkin’ buddies FTW. #MadMen S04.02
• This is the first time I’ve watched a first-run #MadMen ep. I’ve reached for the rewind button three times. It’s like a phantom limb. S04.02
• Roger’s right. Joanie looks like a Christmas present. #MadMen S04.02
• I bet Lee Garner Jr. was one of the hillbillies in ‘Deliverance.’ #MadMen S04.02
• About time! #MadMen plays Jan And Dean. Second-best surf pop band ever. S04.03
• Are you KIDDING me? Lane Pryce gets shit-faced at Godzilla? #MadMen S04.03
• Don Draper or Tiger Woods: which master of high infidelity is currently further off his game? #MadMen #PGA S04.03
• I don’t think we’ll see Lane Pryce this giddy again until the ‘66 World Cup. #MadMen S04.03
• Lane Pryce & Don Draper: best man-date ever. Somewhere, Pete Campbell is weeping. #MadMen S04.03
• #MadMen last night: direction by John Slattery - Pete and Peggy’s lingering look, supercharged with what-mighta-been regret. Nice. S04.04
• Peggy’s character rocks. She can match Don’s lack of saccharine sentiment. She’s also the one pulling the show into the mid-sixties. #MadMen S04.04
• And it’s been very pleasant not seeing that awful Betty Francis woman for a few weeks. #MadMen S04.04
• Wow. <smack> She isn’t onscreen for 30 seconds and I’m reminded of how much I hate Betty Francis. #MadMen S04.05
• “How does she not fall over?” Hahahahahahahaha #MadMen S04.05
• THAT was a great hour of television. Season four’s hitting stride. AND MISS BLANKENSHIP IS THE BEST. #MadMen S04.05
• Draper’s competitor cleverly references “Help Me, Rhonda,” but it’s a minor continuity gaffe. In March ‘65 “Rhonda” is unfamiliar. #MadMen S04.05
• Never really seen anyone from #MadMen exercising, sex aside. Well, Miss Farrell jogged. Didn’t these people even golf? S04.05
• Victory kiss from Joan makes up for losing the actor Emmy, Don/Jon. #MadMen S04.06
• Watch it with the blackouts, Don. You’re sloppy. #MadMen S04.06
• This season’s positioning Pete and Peggy as modern, more efficient versions of Roger and Don. So far so good. #MadMen S04.06
• It’s 10:30 p.m. #MadMen’s fourth season is statistically half over. Is January Jones getting paid for a full season of work? S04.07
• When the hell is Elizabeth Moss getting her Emmy. She’s worn about six emotions tonight. #MadMen S04.07
• Ah, I liked Anna Draper. “He has no people.” #MadMen S04.07
• Where do I line up for the Peggy Olsen’s Boyfriend competition? #MadMen S04.07
• BTW, props to Hamm: a masterclass in both grief and relief when Don realizes Peggy’s been watching through the Anna phone call. #MadMen S04.07
• @lindsaylynch @optimuscrimeTO It should’ve begun with one of those old Will Arnett WB voiceovers: “Tonight, on a VERY SPECIAL #MadMen…” S04.07
• Re-watching that staggering #MadMen ep S04.07. Freed from Sunday night’s worry of @_DonDraper being dickish to Peggy, this is so, SO great.

• Something tells me you Matt Long-Joey fans mightn’t be fans much longer. #MadMen S04.08
• Roger D-D-Daltrey’s in the b-b-boardroom and Sally Draper’s on the lam! #MadMen S04.09
• I really hope Dexter goes after Betty Francis in the season finale. #MadMen S04.09
• Sorry, @MissB_SCDP! Miss you much. #MadMen S04.09
• This was the #MadMen ep shooting during the ‘Rolling Stone’ cover story. And I gather Lane’s favourite Rolling Stones tune is “Brown Sugar.” S04.10
• I guess we’re finally getting to the point of this #MadMen season. But I’m flummoxed: does Pete know the entire Draper backstory? S04.10
• Lane’s dad wields that walking stick like Obi-Wan Kenobi. #MadMen S04.10
• My parents saw The Beatles at Maple Leaf Gardens on this same August ‘65 tour. #MadMen S04.10
• Ray Wise! The Devil! Leland Palmer! What’s not to like? #MadMen S04.11
• Awww. This is sad. #MadMen S04.11
• Call Sal Romano! Lucky Strike’s gone! #MadMen S04.11
• Insider trading. That’s why this episode’s called “Chinese Wall.” And this scene might free Don up to chase Megan. #MadMen S04.11
• Boy or girl, I hope Pete Campbell’s named his kid Don Jr. #MadMen S04.11
• Wow Midge, you’ve turned out GREAT! #MadMen S04.12
• Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers! Hey @_DonDraper, try this one: “The sixth sick sheikh’s sixth sheep’s sick.” #MadMen S04.12
• “Well, I gotta go learn a bunch of people’s names before I fire them.” #MadMen S04.12
• Wondering if Matt Weiner will pull the trigger on Roger Sterling. That man looks about ready to jump. #MadMen S04.13
• Bertram to Roger: “Lee Garner Jr. never took you seriously because you never took yourself seriously.” That line’s a killer. #MadMen S04.13
• Also, could Harry Crane pull some (shark-jumping) California-based T.V. deal out of his mysterious hat? Something’s going on there. #MadMen S04.13
• And isn’t it time for the Conrad Hilton cavalry? They’ve already unearthed Midge. #MadMen S04.13
• Weiner hasn’t written either of the last 2 eps, but I’m willing to bet he pulls a “very special Buffy” Joss Whedon & writes/directs. #MadMen S04.13
• “Did you get cancer?” Don’t ask that, Roger. I thought Don’s smoker’s cough was catching up with him after that LOL dialogue. #MadMen S04.13
• Megan’s teeth are smaller when her hair’s done up. #MadMen S04.13
• Betty’s a c*nt. #MadMen  #Carla S04.13
• I kind of expect Bobby Ewing to pop up in the shower. #Megan #MadMen S04.13

• Women who know men’s secrets are dangerous. #Don #Faye #MadMen S04.13
• And, scene. -30- #MadMen. S04.13
• Got 39 weeks to wonder whether that was an impulse purchase, Don. #MadMen S04.13

Tagged: Television.Mad men.

24th July 2010

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Mad Men: Season Three in Twitter-sized bites

I made this last stretch of July busier than necessary by settling in to watch the third season of Mad Men in nine nights. Via my Twitter account (@thegoldenyear), here’s a quick review of an excellent, moody season of dystopian 1960s America, in 140-character bites:

• How long ‘til Sterling Cooper’s principals chafe under British rule? Bet Kinsey takes to their expanded vocabulary, though. #MadMen ep S3.01
• Wonder whether Sal first thought that was a fire alarm going off in his pants. #MadMen ep S3.01
• BTW, I dig the theme playing during the Maypole Dance scene in which Draper first sees Miss Farrell. Lovely tune. #MadMen ep S3.02 
• “I’m Peggy Olsen, and I want to smoke some marijuana.” Har har. #MadMen ep. S3.03 
• For all its glacial pacing, #MadMen eps are stuffed to the brim! Peggy smokes up, Don meets Connie Hilton, Joan plays accordion in < 25 mins. #MadMen ep. S3.03
• Kiernan Shipka was terrific last year as Sally Draper. Apparently she’s been promoted to series regular this year. #MadMen ep S3.04
• Joan’s No Dull Moments speech! Don’s Jai-Alai mis-toss into Hooker’s ant farm! #MadMen ep S3.04
• Betty Draper is 31 as she gives birth to Eugene on June 21, 1963. Four days before George Michael (Wham!) is born, btw. #MadMen ep S3.05
• Lois cuts the British down a peg! Rare Joan-Don moment, post-bloodbath! Sally gets Barbie, Betty gets sullen! It’s all in #MadMen ep S3.06!
• The only thing funnier than a Roger Sterling one-liner is that zippy Who’s On First? interplay between Pete and Peggy. LOLz #MadMen ep S3.07
• Don gets pwned. Hilton backs him into a contract and then he walks into a motel room shakedown. #MadMen ep S3.07 
• Bad as Hilton and those teens beat Draper, it’s Bert Cooper who buried him. This show has the best damned monologues. #MadMen ep S3.07
• Betty and Don in Rome: our lone glimpse of what they presumably were before #MadMen “began.” Young, fetching, beautifully rendered. ep S3.08
• Sal Romano is just about the most star-crossed lover, ever. Brutal truths, from 1963 America. #MadMen ep S3.09
• Henry Francis has a rat face. Peggy Olsen has a duck face. What casting: Henry *is* a rat; Peggy’s sleeping with a Duck! #MadMen ep S3.10
• Christ, Betty finds the desk key and the world goes to hell. This show is a series of furious, hateful explosions. #MadMen ep S3.10
• 3 episodes of last year’s #MadMen to go. IIRC, they were astonishing. Past and present decimated; the future laid wide open in 3 T.V. hours.
• Hamm is incredible in the big Don-Betty showdown scene. Three years waiting for this, and it’s note-perfect. #MadMen ep S3.11
• Amazing. Don’s been such a brazen turd since day one, but I feel terribly sorry for him once his house of cards falls down. #MadMen ep S3.11
• I mean, that’s acting. Writing. Directing. Whatever, the whole kielbasa. Friggin’ great episode. Hamm better get his Emmy. #MadMen ep S3.11
• Bless you, Duck. A booty call beats watching Cronkite’s Kennedy announcement. #MadMen ep S3.12 
• “I want to work! I want to build something of my own!” - Don to Bert. And the ball’s set in motion. #MadMen ep S3.13 
• Betty became a churlish, world-class dick, even allowing for Don being Don. January Jones did fantastic work all year long. #MadMen ep S3.13 
• Isn’t the last 30 minutes about as supercharged as T.V. gets? Once Pryce fires Don, Rog and Bert, it’s a mad sprint. #MadMen ep S3.13 
• And Joanie is the icing on the cake. Second she walks into Sterling Cooper? It’s on. IT’S ON. #MadMen ep S3.13 

Wow. That finale was a total mindfuck. Matt Weiner’s blown his baby to pieces.  I have no idea where they’re headed, but it’s apparently around Thanksgiving 1964, or about 10 months later. Paul Kinsey and Sal Romano aren’t featured in any promotional materials, so we’ve presumably lost a few familiar faces. Dudes, I’m pumped for the Season Four premiere tomorrow night.

Tagged: Television.Mad men.

2nd October 2009

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15 minutes for Letterman’s penis

Man, now I’m thinking about David Letterman’s penis. I didn’t even know he had one. Given that I don’t often find myself thinking of other men’s members, it came as a shock to me, much in the way Mike Tyson’s and Bill Clinton’s little guys crept into my subconscious a number of years ago.

Thursday night, over ten stupefying minutes, we learned that Letterman’s been sleeping with an undisclosed number of female staff members over an indeterminate length of time…and that some dirtbag tried to blackmail him for $2 million. Letterman took legal recourse, had the dirtbag arrested, and tackled this hugely discomforting issue head-on, in front of a live audience, five million late-night television viewers and certain viral video infamy. It was great, if gruesome, theatre.

Longtime Letterman watchers likely found his on-screen confession startling. Through the years – and especially during his long run on NBC (1982-1993) – Letterman famously shied away from both personal life stories and frank sex talk. We were aware he’d been married before fame came knocking, and there was that issue with the woman stalker, but he otherwise kept a tight lid on things. He was amusingly chastened whenever a guest brought sex into the conversation too, a figurative finger tugging at his shirt collar while he quickly, forcibly changed the subject.

At CBS (1993-present), he’s loosened up considerably. Sometimes it’s been forced upon him: Drew Barrymore’s table dance, Madonna’s purple interview, Demi Moore’s bikini flash, etc. And he’s invited Dr. Ruth on the show to do her thing, with bashful sufferance. Nonetheless, Letterman’s personal life has stayed off-limits, aside from running gags featuring his mother Dorothy, and a well-documented quintuple-bypass operation in 2000.

But the game’s changed. Jesus, Dave is a sexual being. Who knew? First, there was son Harry’s 2003 birth. And earlier this year, he married his girlfriend of 23 years, Regina Lasko. This is hardly Hugh Hefner-level debauchery, but the thought Letterman did regular guy-type stuff never really occurred to me.

And I kind of liked it that way.

Letterman, much like his role model Johnny Carson, kept his private shit private. It’s always lent him an air of detachment, from the brilliantly snarky salad days on NBC to his current status as éminence grise of late-night American T.V. That’s all shot to hell now.

As suddenly as he flung open the door to his off-camera life, Letterman sought to shut it. 

“I don’t plan to say much more about this, on this particular topic, so thank you for letting me bend your ears.”

And with that, he threw to a commercial break.

I believe him when he says he doesn’t wish to publicly address it again. Bully for him. But I can’t see how he can avoid the rubberneckers, especially when CBS starts fielding the inevitable calls from skittish sponsors looking to distance their brand from the tarnished icon.

Extramarital shenanigans have gone on for like forever, and it’s always surprised me how much press this stuff gets. The American public was titillated, and then disgusted, 60 years ago when Frank Sinatra left his first wife Nancy for Ava Gardner. It nearly skewered his career, and helped birth the breathless tabloid approach to entertainment journalism.

I hate to ask this, because I’m not sure there’s a proper answer, but does it matter in 2009 that David Letterman may be an adulterer? Adultery is run-of-the-mill news in Hollywood. It’s not uncommon in our off-Broadway lives, either. But extortion! With the admission delivered live on national television? Now that’s movie-of-the-week material!

A private life, exploded into public theatre. Letterman, master ironist, would surely recognize the paradox.

Tagged: Television.David letterman.

29th June 2009

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Golden years: thoughts on McMahon, Fawcett and Jackson

Celebrity deaths.

Last week, I was on holiday as each of Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson died. All three were American performers who benefitted from the most expansive star-making system in the world, finding their profile boosted to stratospheric heights somewhat at odds with their talent, to varying degrees. To be fair this group had, between them, great comic timing, a radio announcer’s overtones, captivating hair, a flawless smile, fancy footwork and a superb singing voice, so it’s not surprising they floated to the front of the pack.

None of these deaths can be termed as shocking. McMahon was aged and infirm, Fawcett had terminal cancer, and Jackson, though younger, was a ticking time bomb of calamity and chemical enhancement. But each was an icon, a signifier of a more innocent time when television and music were the dominant entertainment mediums, and their deaths are cause for reflection.

McMahon worked best as second-banana to Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show, and was therefore a late-night television fixture for 31 years in a period in which T.V. programming was a much simpler beast. A glance through old TV Guide listings reveals only a few dozen channels, many of which signed off after midnight, so Carson’s legendary gabfest was often the only show in town, so to speak. In an era when tabloid magazines provided the only source of celebrity gawking away from the red carpet or the auditorium, Carson and McMahon - and sundry short-lived competition - played gatekeepers into the semi-unscripted throughts and mannerisms of the day’s stars and flashes-in-the-pan.

Initially, I didn’t care for The Tonight Show. My humour was reflected in the sourly ironic style of the undeniably brilliant David Letterman, and Carson was the providence of older generations. It took me years to develop an appreciation for Carson and his looming sidekick, but surely it came. Carson’s was a rare talent, and McMahon earned some residual sparkle as his chosen ally.

Carson famously said he hosted a talk show because he couldn’t sing, dance or act, which logically means Ed could do even less. And once Garry Shandling’s brilliant satire The Larry Sanders Show began airing in 1992, replete with the show host’s own buffoonish sidekick figure (Jeffrey Tambor’s Hank Kingsley), we were led to imagine this was a takeoff on McMahon’s own extracurricular activities. Even Phil Hartman got into the act on Saturday Night Live, rocking his own McMahon parody. Always with the booming voice, the genial dunderheadedness.

McMahon was a beloved figure, in part due to the parodies, and so we were - are - free to remember him as the last living link to Carson’s implaceable legacy. A gentler time, then. A-List stars openly talked about alcohol-fueled mishaps and lobbed good-natured grenades at fellow stars, all without fear of reprisal and lawsuits, and everyone had a good time. The Tonight Show played like the tag-end of Hollywood’s golden years through the 1960s, ’70s and ’80s, and McMahon was part of the ride. Famous for being there. Not bad. And I hear he got a lot of tail.

Farrah Fawcett. Whoa. What can a boy say that hasn’t already been said?

I actually find both Jaclyn Smith and Cheryl Ladd more alluring, but in 1976, when I was too young to understand any of the hubbub surrounding ABC’s new hit cop drama, Charlie’s Angels, Fawcett-Majors, as she was known then, was the embodiment of the perfect sporty California blonde. Easy, breezy, summertime lovin’, sex-on-a-stick. Unimaginably awesome hair that never suffered a subpar day. Great eyes. Textbook-perfect smile.

And she fulfilled all of this rampant hormonal male fantasy schtick with impressive chasteness. Fawcett never did Playboy in her prime. There were no quickie nude roles in low-budget films to be uncovered after she’d made the big time. Fawcett made it on what you saw on broadcast T.V. and in mainstream magazines. She was, by all accounts, personable and approachable. And she was a shot of old-style pinup glamour at the dawn of the disco era, smack dab in the midst of feminism and minority empowerment.

The twist was that she owned it: Fawcett’s T.V. character was a kick-ass detective, and Fawcett the Actor quit the show after one year when she couldn’t renegotiate her role to her specifications. It took her a few years (and a highly publicized marriage meltdown) to overcome industry blacklisting, but eventually she seemed to locate a happy medium between being a celebrity and talented performer. Much has been written this week about her dramatic turns in various mid-1980s T.V. movies, playing abused women who gradually regain some control over their lives. These were bold roles for an actor to undertake during a time of extreme pigeonholing, and she earned every plaudit that came her way.

Fawcett’s lone full season on Charlie’s Angels is highly enjoyable fluff, aging better than expected. As a period piece, the program demands some suspension of belief, whether it’s for different social mores or dated bad guy dialogue or the teased hairstyles. What survives - nay, thrives - is the charming chemistry between Fawcett and fellow detectives Kate Jackson and Jaclyn Smith. Sure, these are beautiful women in dramatically cheesy situations, often required to use their considerable sex appeal to trick their male aggressors into gaffes and admissions of wrongdoing. But what makes Angels watchable on DVD isn’t the plotline (hint: there isn’t much…what’s there is some decent-to-good exposition) so much as the interplay between the leads.

Fawcett’s later years were a curious example of someone slowly chipping away at the goodwill she earned in her immediate post-Angels years. She eventually did succumb to the lure of Playboy (again, her terms). She made that goofy appearance on Letterman’s show in 1997 (removed from YouTube in the wake of her death). And the quality of her acting was variable. But still she was Farrah Fawcett, and that’s got to count for something. Cancer took away her health, but not her dignity or fighting spirit, and the series of clips from Barbara Walters’ June 25th 20/20 tribute do a good enough job of summing up her final stand against anal cancer.

People magazine’s most fascinating person of 1976 is no longer with us. That’s not so long ago as to not seem like she left us too soon. Look homeward, angel.

I know all about Michael Jackson; I’ve been inundated with Jackson imagery since childhood, and most of the concurrent evidence of his artistry left me cold: Michael was overhyped if not overrated. A supreme song-and-dance man, Jackson was best suited as a blank canvas for superior creative talents to channel their works.

Starting chronologically, the Jackson 5 were a moderately gifted singing group who received tremendous support and top-grade grooming assists from the Motown empire before bolting to Philadelphia International Records in 1975. From there, like so many R&B artists, their artistic impact wavered as did the calibre of the songs they were given to sing: you’re only as good as your material, and even Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff - the men behind “Love Train,” ”For The Love Of Money” and “Don’t Leave Me This Way” - couldn’t give them more than a handful of decent radio hits (“Enjoy Yourself” being the best-remembered of the bunch).

Jackson as a solo artist was initially an exciting revelation. Large chunks of 1979’s “Off The Wall” and 1982’s “Thriller” work really well, and Jackson even wrote several of the best numbers. As a singer of upbeat dancefloor fare, his chalky, androgenous tenor was perfectly suited to disco: each of “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough,” “Workin’ Day And Night,” “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” and “Billie Jean” were perfect pop songs that rode the zeitgeist and imbued his career with a jaw-dropping momentum that hadn’t been seen since The Beatles’ heyday.

(If anything, the Thriller album stands as a testament to how poor current-day pop songwriting is: Quincy Jones’ arrangements are incredibly clean and spacious, allowing each of Thriller’s record-setting seven Top Ten singles to breathe with perfectly memorable, hummable choruses and melodic verses. You just don’t hear much of that these days, and in the mid-1980s, the charts were chock-full of great examples of songcraft. But I digress.)

The rot quickly set in for Jackson, though. “We Are The World” was an excrutiating listening experience, but it was created as a superstar vehicle for the USA For Africa charity single, so it can be excused as a one-off. But 1987’s Bad and 1991’s Dangerous albums are failures of convoluted arrangements and forced attempts at catchiness, and nothing he recorded after that was worth the time and money invested. Even Jackson seemed to lose interest in doing anything to further his recording career, and indeed, by the mid-1990s, it was hard to ever picture him at the mic in a recording studio, perspiring from effort.

And of course, there’s his unfortunate non-performing life to consider. I’d call it a “personal life,” but I don’t think he really had one. Jackson merely existed in his pathetic later years, a sad testament to a mind, soul and body irrevocably compromised by inability to deal with the pernicious trapdoor of fame. Far better for his legacy that he’d died young and beautiful, which once he was, rather than carry on as this potentially dangerous grotesquerie.

But that’s not how it happened. Too much damage has been done to ever rehabilitate the Jackson brand now. John Mayer gave a nice quote last week, saying “We don’t have to reconcile the Michael Jackson we love with another Michael Jackson. In a way, he has returned to pristine condition in death. We can be free now for the rest of our lives to love the Michael Jackson we used to love.” I think that’s a rose-coloured opinion from another popular performer, but it makes for telling copy: ultimately, Jackson is a great disappointment to us all precisely because he forced us to look the other way, and seems set to continue to do so in death. I think he was a monster talent who flared briefly in the early ’70s as a child singer, and again a decade later as a young man. His import cannot be overstated, primarily as a force for racial fairness in art and music. But the last two decades of Jackson are a blight on the popular art landscape, and it’s no tragedy at all that he has finally passed on. The tragedy is that no one ever helped him, because he didn’t deserve this extended dance with madness.

It’s been a bumper crop week for the tabloids, the blogosphere, and the likes of Larry King and other gossip hounds. But it’s a hell of a lot of sound and vision for the rest of us to absorb in such a short time.

Tagged: Television.Music.Ed mcmahon.Farrah fawcett.Michael jackson.