Karen Cartwright imagines herself in a shimmering white dress, center stage, belting out that ultimate dreamer’s song, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” She stretches her hands above her head, ever so dramatically, because she’s really into this performance – she isn’t just singing these words, she’s feeling them. She closes her eyes. Oh, yeah. She’s all up inside this song and we immediately understand the subtext here: these lyrics have been etched into her heart since she was a small girl, head already full of big city hopes and dreams about makin’ it. A cell phone rings, jolting Karen back to reality. She’s in a small room – far from the spotlight- auditioning for some jaded folks who somehow can’t see that she’s from Iowa and that she has aspirations! How wide-eyed does a girl have to be before someone gives her a leading role in a Broadway musical, yo?

American Idol is all about regular people with unexpected talent, yearning for stardom. (Well, it used to be. Now, according to the most recent promos, it’s all about kids falling off of stages.) Katherine McPhee is an American Idol runner-up, so I guess she’s suited for this Karen part on Smash, NBC’s much-hyped drama about the creation of a musical based on the life of Marilyn Monroe. McPhee’s Karen has a fresh-faced charm about her, the kind of girl you’d maybe instinctively root for, and the character’s Midwestern origins are, I believe, supposed to make her that much more appealing. The people in that region of the U.S. dream harder than the rest of us, right?

So much about Smash works: creator Theresa Rebeck knows how to write for an ensemble (unlike Glee’s Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk, and Ian Brennan); the original songs give me the chills (“Let Me Be Your Star,” specifically); there’s a fun, believable tension between Jack Davenport who plays the Marilyn musical’s surly director and actual Broadway actor Christian Borle, here, playing one of the musical’s writers. But this “small town girl tackles The Big Apple” thread is just too easy. Really, it’s so predictable and tropey that I’m forced to assume that Karen who, in the pilot episode, auditions for the role of Marilyn and gets a callback after an appropriately beautiful rendition of Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful,” isn’t going to wind up with the part. Otherwise the character is just horribly conceived. Right now, everything about her, from her unassuming origins, to her too-perfect boyfriend, to her parents who don’t totally support her, to her gumption in the face of repeated rejection, seems ripped straight from some “Idiot’s Guide to Emotionally Manipulating Audiences with Stock Characters” or, I don’t know, The Devil Wears Prada. It’s still early days for Smash, but starting off so prosaic seems an odd choice when you consider that musical TV shows are so polarizing – corniness being one of the usual criticisms.

More interesting than Karen, but still not totally original for anyone who has seen A Chorus Line, is Ivy Lynn (Megan Hilty), a curvy, blonde, seasoned actress, desperate for a lead part and Karen’s main competition for the Marilyn role. Ivy is brassy, her singing voice is stout, she’s sexy where Karen is cute. She’s a villain, if only because she poses a threat to the lovely, small town girl and her dreams. But what about Ivy’s dreams? When she phones home, excited about her Marilyn callback, her mother doesn’t seem to give a crap and steers the conversation to news about a relative who’s attending night school. All the exuberance in Ivy’s body drains as she feigns interest in whatever the hell her mom is talking about. Ivy’s had some success and Karen hasn’t, but Ivy’s the tragic figure, the one we should care about.

Rebeck has created this complex character in Ivy – the character’s confidence is a mask for her true frailty – and it seems like she’s being presented as someone we should see as a viable contender, not just for the role of Marilyn but for our affections. Yet, we’re never really able to root for her because Karen, her competitor, doesn’t have any faults. When womanizing director Derek summons Karen to his apartment and tells her to show him that she can be Marilyn (wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more), she puts on one of his button-down shirts, sings “Happy Birthday, Mr. President,” but, of course, doesn’t sleep with him. It isn’t that I’d prefer her to succumb to this kind of casting couch situation (especially since her boyfriend is a total dream) but it’s simply one more example of why, as a viewer, you can’t help but want her to win. Things shouldn’t be so clean-cut, they can’t be.

If we’re talking symbolism, then Karen is supposed to represent Marilyn Monroe during her dark-haired, relatively innocent Norma Jeane days, while Ivy Lynn, who’s name is somewhat reminiscent of the icon’s, is Marilyn in her “candle in the wind” period. But even the young Marilyn wasn’t the unabashed, one-note Pollyanna that Karen is. How is she the real underdog?

Man, of all the bowls, the Super Bowl is probably the most egotistical. Super Bowl? Pshaw. More like the Not-Super Bowl. Yeah, I said it. First played in 1967, the Super Bowl was the brainchild of some guys who loved football almost as much as they loved Roman numerals (Super Bowl XL was the year that it was at its t-shirt-sizey-ist). The “big game” marks the end of the NFL season and this is apparently a “big deal” – Super Bowl XLV was the most watched television broadcast in America last year.

But if you ask me – and maybe you aren’t asking me, but let’s just pretend you are  the only bowl worth watching this weekend is the Puppy Bowl VII – Animal Planet’s annual Yule Log-esque special, featuring roughly (or, ahem, ruffly) two hours of adorable puppies playing on a model football stadium replete with chew toys and water bowls. Yep, water bowls. So that’s two bowls you’re getting for the price of one. Already, I think you’re starting to see why the Puppy Bowl is better than whatever’s happening in Indianapolis this Sunday.

1. Puppies play for the love of the game, not for the money.

Do you know how much money New England Patriots wide receiver Wes Welker makes annually? I don’t. But I’m guessing it’s a lot. Do you know how much Baskin the 15-week-old Jack Russell/Pug mix will be paid this weekend for running up and down the Animal Planet Stadium gridiron? Nothing. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. There aren’t any signing bonuses or workout bonuses or contract negotiations in the National Puppy League. The Puppy Bowl is pure – it’s all about fun.

2. You don’t have to worry about missing the play of the game.

Inevitably, while watching the Super Bowl, you’ll have to step away from the TV for a second to go to the bathroom or grab a drink or work on your taxes and in doing this, you risk missing whichever moment eventually becomes synonymous with this year’s game. Yeah, they’ll replay it, but that just isn’t the same as watching it in real time. Leave during the commercial break, and you risk missing some great ad that everyone will be discussing for the rest of the evening. Check Hulu to watch the ad online, and once again, you risk missing that astounding play. With the Puppy Bowl, there’s a nice equilibrium – no one minute of the game is more or less important than the next because it’s just puppies running around, barking at each other, and gnawing on chew toys. This is stress-free viewing, people. There’s absolutely no reason for you to pull a Tycho Brahe (you can go pee whenever you want) or a Willie Nelson (you can do your taxes whenever you want).

3. There’s no kicking game.

Everyone hates the kicker, right? Well, there are no kickers in the Puppy Bowl, only lickers. Get it? ‘Cause they’re dogs…and they lick things…including their junk.

4. The half-time show.

This year Madonna will be performing during the Super Bowl half-time show. Do you know what’s more entertaining than Madonna? At this point, almost everything but kittens in particular. Puppy Bowl’s half-time show is a bunch of kittens standing on a play structure, looking sort of terrified but also very adorable.

5. The puppies are adoptable.

All Puppy Bowl participants are shelter dogs and can be adopted, while you aren’t usually allowed to adopt professional football players.

6. Puppies don’t wear helmets so you can actually see what they look like and what they look like is freakin’ cute.

Does anyone really know what Tom Brady looks like? Sure, we’re occasionally shown footage or photos of a blond man who is allegedly the Patriots’ quarterback, but with that helmet on during the game, who can be certain. Puppy Bowl participants don’t wear helmets because the whole affair is a lot less dangerous and tons fluffier than football (a full contact sport reported to cause brain injury) so there’s no questioning their identities. And, most importantly, the lack of face obstructing headgear allows us all to totally drink in the preciousness of these little dogs. We can see those big ol’ glassy eyes, those floppy ears, those teeny wet noses. Does Eli Manning have a wet nose? Probably. But it isn’t nearly as cute as the one on 10-week-old Rat Terrier Joni.

Extra Point: Sometimes the puppies pee on the AstroTurf.

And because you don’t have to clean it up, it’s funny.

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In the soaringly earnest but effective Touch, Kiefer Sutherland barks so many of his lines with the strained desperation of an exhausted man who’s just barely keeping it together. He’s shouldering a tremendous weight and no one around him is sensitive to his plight. But then, he doesn’t really expect them to be. Best known as badass Jack Bauer, here, a more vulnerable Sutherland is Martin Bohm, widowed father of a mute, emotionally challenged boy and the nucleus of this ambitious Fox drama by Heroes creator Tim Kring.

Jake (David Mazouz), Martin’s son, won’t allow anyone to touch him and spends his days obsessively scribbling numbers in a notebook or fiddling with discarded cell phones, while his father spends the majority of his time trying to find a way—any way at all—to communicate with him. When a social worker decides that Jake should be placed in a facility (he’s been climbing cell phone towers), Martin becomes so fiercely determined to understand his son, that he googles “mutism + cell phones.” (Is this really the first time that he’s done this?) His “research” brings him to Arthur Teller (Danny Glover), an expert on kids who have the ability to perceive seemingly hidden patterns in numbers.

Apparently, Jake can see all of the ratios and numerical strings that tether every life on the planet together. He understands the link between the past, present, and future, essentially giving him the ability to predict events. Teller tells Martin that Jake is trying to connect people and that, as the boy’s father, it’s his job, “his fate, his destiny” to help. In the first episode, or “preview event” as it was dubbed by the hype men over at Fox (the show’s first season won’t actually begin until March), the lives of a Londoner, a young boy from Baghdad, an Irish singer, and a Japanese woman all become entwined.

Touch is like Alejandro González Iñárritu’s Babel but without any of the subtlety. The show’s message—we’re all interconnected and can impact each other’s lives in powerful ways—is right there on the surface. In fact, it’s explicitly stated several times. Touch’s most glaring fault is that it isn’t as imaginative as it should be. Kring is so concerned with the scope of the series—developing this poignant, wide-reaching narrative—that he seems to have forgotten to create believable, multi-dimensional characters. Obviously the disparate people from around the globe being brought together by Jake’s beautiful mind, aren’t supposed to be totally fleshed out but, at least in this first episode, their stories aren’t just abridged, they’re oversimplified and stereotypical. Yup, the Japanese woman, a prostitute, does wear a school girl outfit. Even Teller, who will be a recurring character, is flat. He walks around his cluttered house in a robe, he has a cat and an unkempt yard, he says things like “Fibonacci sequence.” He’s one of those eccentric guys, operating on the fringes of academia, that we, as people who watch movies and TV, instinctively know have all the answers. When Martin goes to see him he says, “let me guess, your kid keeps climbing a cell tower,” and really drives home that trope.

Fortunately, Touch works better when it focuses on Martin and Jake. We are supposed to be touched by the way that this boy who doesn’t like to be touched is touching the lives of people who need to be touched (and I will admit that that drama did stir up some emotions for me, albeit in a superficial, Hallmark greeting card commercial way), but what’s actually touch— err…moving about this series is the relationship between its two protagonists. When Martin, who has clearly devoted his entire life to his son, is forced to temporarily relinquish custody of Jake, his desperation, his helplessness is palpable—this is the core of the show and what makes it worth watching.

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The premise of the new CBS sitcom ¡Rob! is only interesting if you’ve never heard of Fools Rush In or Guess Who or the Meet the Parents trilogy or perhaps if these are the only movies that you’ve ever truly enjoyed. After a six-week courtship, Rob (Rob Schneider) has eloped with Maggie (Claudia Bassols), having never met her mother and father. Being introduced to the in-laws under these circumstances would probably be distressing for most people but it is particularly so here because Maggie is Mexican-American and Rob…isn’t. Awk-ward! What’s worse, Rob is apparently unable to have a normal conversation with someone whose ethnic background is different than his. “I’m a huge fan of Mexican culture,” he says, trying to endear himself to his father-in-law Fernando (Cheech Marin). He continues: “This dip is excellent. I believe it’s called guacamole.” Was this the kind of woo he was pitching when he first met Maggie?

Unlike so many people, I’m not predisposed to thinking that everything with Rob Schneider’s name attached to it is bound to be crap. My sense of humor was formed while watching mid-‘90s Saturday Night Live—I was that weird 10-year-old, entertaining (aka annoying) everyone with her Richmeister “makin’ copies” routine—and, as a result, I have an odd kind of allegiance to Schneider who got his start on the show. (Yeah, I did actually pay actual money to see both Deuce Bigalow movies in the theater, so if you’re looking for someone to blame for the longevity of Schneider’s career, I’m perfectly comfortable with you looking this way. But then, of course, you should  look over at Adam Sandler because he probably played a much larger role.) I’m incapable of simply dismissing him or his work—I give everything he does a chance—and despite its inane punctuation, ¡Rob! (which, I’ll just be referring to as Rob, from here on out, if that’s OK with you) was no exception.

Here’s the thing: Rob isn’t horrible. Or at least it’s no worse than Rules of Engagement, which is on hiatus until Rob finishes its 8-episode order. But it isn’t great either. It’s the kind of uninspired, middle-of-the road fare that it isn’t uncommon to see on CBS. If Schneider didn’t have such a questionable record and high profile, Rob would have immediately been on track to follow in the barely perceptible footsteps of past CBS comedies like Yes, Dear and Still Standing—you know, somehow lasting for years without anyone noticing. This show’s biggest problem, then, is that its producers are apparently content with it being not un-entertaining—that is to say, they’re fine with easy laughs and forced jokes.

Fish out of water Rob has only been in his in-laws’ house mere minutes before he finds himself in a compromising position with his wife’s abuelita. Him: pants around his ankles. Her: bent provocatively over a bed and wailing. (Ah, so this is the sort of cross-cultural, exclamatory situation that the show’s title alluded to.) The pair wound up this way after a bit of slapstick resembling a Rube Goldberg machine in its complexity and involving toppled votive candles. “There’s a simple explanation,” Rob (or I suppose now unequivocally ¡Rob!) says after his wife and her parents run to investigate the commotion. “I poured hot wax on my genitals.” This is hysterical, the laugh track assures us.

Rob is all premise and no character development. There’s no substance. I can’t for the life of me figure out why Maggie would want to marry Rob, especially after only six weeks, when his defining traits seem to be his knack for always saying or doing the wrong thing and total befuddlement when faced with a culture that is not his own. “So, Selena. That was sad huh?” Rob says, struggling for conversation with his in-laws. I get the humor and would be willing to accept it if this man had indeed never had any real contact with Mexican-Americans or if he was just a jerk, but that doesn’t seem to be the case, so his lack of social grace makes no sense. HBO’s Curb Your Enthusiasm, like Rob, revolves around its protagonist’s constant faux pas. But Larry David’s character has been clearly delineated from episode one. The situations on that show are contrived (as really any situation in any comedy is) but as a viewer you can understand how someone as contrary as David would alienate almost everyone he comes in contact with. What’s Rob’s excuse? If this series does continue beyond its 8-episode order—and that does seem likely since its ratings are fairly solid, so far—the goal should be to achieve some kind of depth. Rob doesn’t have to be super deep or poignant or anything—this is Schneider we’re talking about—but it should be more than just a parade of caricatures.

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When we first see our frowzy anti-hero, he’s alone, smoking, pacing back and forth in the men’s room of an upscale New York restaurant, rehearsing…something.  “You’re amazing, a goddess, a gift from on high.” Is it a poem? A marriage proposal? Has he finally found a love so powerful and true that it’s remedied his hitherto cankered existence? No, of course not. Later, face-to-face with the delusional woman who somehow didn’t see this coming, he finishes the thought. “You deserve the white dress and the happy ending. I’m just not the guy to give it to you.”  Hank Moody is the same man he’s been since day one—insincere, kind of a jerk, closetful of black clothes.

Season five of Californication picks up two years after the events of season four (hey, I guess the world doesn’t end in 2012). Karen (Natasha McElhone) is now married and apparently happy about it; Charlie (Evan Handler) and Marcy (Pamela Aldon) still aren’t together but have a two-year-old son (the kid hasn’t started talking yet which may or may not have something to do with the fact that both of his parents are apt to have sex in places where it’s quite easy to stumble upon them); Becca (Madeleine Martin) is in college, dating an arrogantly suave, younger version of her dad (who didn’t see that coming?); and Hank still hasn’t shaved.

After breaking up with his New York girlfriend, Hank gets news of a business opportunity back in California and decides to lay low for a while and return to L.A.—the ex-girlfriend has a key to his apartment and hell hath no fury like a 110 lb. woman scorned. But before he hops on the plane, he snaps a picture of himself in front of a bookstore display of his novel. Both Hank and this bookstore that somehow still exists are anachronisms—defiantly unaffected by the changing world.

For the past four seasons Hank’s stasis, his inability to grow or simply have some kind of significant realization that might even just slightly alter the way he saw the world, seemed more like a plot device than a character trait—if Hank is always this radical, chain smoking, commitment-phobe then this series about a radical, chain-smoking, commitment-phobe is able to continue. (Could we call the show “Californication” if Hank and Karen married and moved back to New York for good? Where’s the Cali? Where’s the fornication?) But this season, everyone else is moving forward without Hank and that contrast—inert Hank vs. the transforming collective—is actually kind of tragic and interesting.

Unfortunately, series creator Tom Kapinos has taken Hank’s “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks” mantra to heart and seems to be using the adage to justify writing that isn’t as imaginative as it should be. When Hank arrives in L.A., he meets up with a rap mogul, Samurai Apocalypse (RZA). The rapper wants to act and asks Hank to write a screenplay for him. In a twist that surely surprised no one, Samurai Apocalypse’s girlfriend Kali (get it? ‘Cause this show takes place in California?), played by Meagan Good, just happens to be the same woman Hank was smooching on the plane ride back to L.A. Doesn’t this feel a lot like season one where Hank sleeps with Mia and later finds out that she just happens to be the 16-year-old daughter of Karen’s fiancé?

David Duchovny is Californication’s saving grace. Even when you can spot a plot twist a mile a way (though it made absolutely no sense, didn’t you just know that Hank’s ex was going to burn down his apartment?), Duchovny—the man, the myth, the monotone—is at least fun to watch. Hank Moody wrote a book called God Hates Us All, he says things like “thanks, homes, much appreesh,” his last name is Moody. Duchovny’s perfect, acerbic delivery makes all of this seem ironic and therefore bearable.

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This year, the Dexter writing staff chucked subtlety out of the window and decided instead to pound us all over the head with their theme: religion. Baby Harrison begins attending a Catholic preschool, prompting Dexter to compare “The Code” to the precepts of Christianity. Meanwhile, criminal turned minister Brother Sam (Mos Def) befriends Dexter, introducing a light into his life that temporarily neutralizes his “Dark Passenger.” And then, of course, there’s this season’s main baddie(s), the Doomsday Killer(s)—whose deceased victims are placed into elaborate tableaus that allude to passages from the Book of Revelation. At some point Dexter, who believes that he’s justified in killing killers, was probably going to have to contemplate religion but the way that Christianity was interwoven throughout this season just felt oppressive and contrived—how fortuitous it was that Harrison should be enrolled in Catholic school right when the DDK murders start.

But maybe I’m just being nitpicky. The theme was definitely overwrought, but perhaps can be forgiven because without it, we may have never known how truly creepy Colin Hanks is. In a Shyamalanian twist, we learn that the DDK murders are being carried out by Travis Marshall (Hanks) alone. Marshall’s mentor, Professor Gellar (Edward James Olmos), who we are initially led to believe is pushing Marshall to kill against his will, was dead the whole time—Gellar, like Dexter’s dad Harry, was only a subconscious projection. This role gave Hanks the opportunity to showcase his talents, I think, for the first time. Hanks begins the season timid and ends it with the kind of loony self-assuredness of a true sociopath. His transformation is so seamless that from here on out, he will no longer be known simply as Tom Hanks’ son. He’ll be Tom Hanks’ son who played that crazy guy on that season of Dexter where Deb fell in love with her brother.

Oh yeah, Deb is in love with her brother. Ugh. Yes, I understand that Dexter is adopted, so they aren’t related by blood, but still, ugh. I don’t want to get into all of the minutiae of incest—what constitutes incest, what doesn’t—but Deb’s romantic feelings for her brother are disturbing. At the same time, this development is far more shocking and compelling than the final minute of the season where Deb witnesses Dexter killing Marshall because that was always going to happen—the series has been pointing toward that moment since it began. Yeah, I gasped while watching Deb watch Dexter but who really believes that she’s going to turn in her brother? I can’t say that I’m a fan of the direction that Deb’s character has taken but I more interested to find out how her feelings for Dexter are going to play out next year than I am to see how she deals with learning that he’s a killer—though, I suppose the two things will develop concurrently.

In general, this season wasn’t horrible—Dexter dancing at his high school reunion was pretty great and Marshall’s “I see dead people” moment genuinely caught me off guard—but it wasn’t the best. My biggest gripe was that the writers tried to cover too much territory—there were callbacks to seasons 1 and 4, all the DDK and Brother Sam stuff, Quinn was spiraling out of control, interns were stealing prosthetic limbs, Deb was having wet dreams about her brother. Even though season 5 didn’t end with some exciting cliffhanger, I appreciate how focused it was in comparison to this season.

 Stray Thoughts

• Did you notice how quickly Hanks’ character painted that extremely detailed mural? You know the one with Dexter’s perfectly rendered face right in the center of it?
• I’ve never really cared for LaGuerta but I didn’t think that she was evil until this season.
• I still don’t understand what was up with Louis, Masuka’s second intern. I can appreciate the mystery surrounding him and what he drew on that prosthetic, but I wish that we could have gotten just a little bit more information about him.
• Man, there are a ton of serial killers in Miami.

Napoleon Dynamite

Though the film no longer stirs up the kind of powerful emotions it once did – I seldom draw ligers in the margins of my notebook paper these days – I’m intrigued by this animated series based on the 2004 cult hit. Launching on January 15 as part of Fox’s animation domination line-up, Napoleon Dynamite will no doubt give us some insight into everything left unanswered by the film. Does Deb’s mom really go to college? Exactly how deep does Kip’s love for technology run? What’s life like under the Pedro administration? We’ve passed the point of Napoleon Dynamite oversaturation (the incessant quoting has stopped, Hot Topic has removed their Nessie shirts from the shelves), so this is probably the ideal time for this show to air – we can be nostalgic about these characters at this point (well, sort of). Husband-and-wife filmmakers Jared and Jerusha Hess haven’t had much critical success since their Sundance debut, but their brand of oddball humor is perfectly suited for animation.

Key & Peele

Since Chappelle’s Show’s odd, abrupt end in 2006, Comedy Central has been unable to find another sketch show as audacious or beloved – the astoundingly unfunny Mind of Mencia was their earliest, most feeble, and totally transparent attempt to replicate the success they’d had with Dave Chappelle. But Key & Peele, set to start January 31, may just turn things around. MADtv alums Keegan-Michael Key and Jordon Peele, both trained at the Second City, obviously know how to work and thrive within this format. Whenever I think about the possibilities here, my mind immediately flashes to this great MADtv sketch where Peele angrily picks apart a little kid’s YouTube video for its inaccurate description of the Star Wars saga. After watching that sketch, all I could say to myself was, “Yes! Someone finally has the guts to take 6-year-olds to task on all of their B.S.” It’s going to be fun to see what the two comedians produce given the freedom that comes with having their own show.

Smash

What impresses me most when it comes to this series about makin’ it on Broadway is that a five-minute preview clip featuring former American Idol contestant Katherine McPhee belting out Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful” nearly brought me to tears (damn you, Aguilera and the unholy grasp that that inspirational song has on my heart). Originally touted as “Glee for adults,” the only thing this series appears to have in common with that increasingly boring Fox comedy is that there’s music in both of them – though, even in that regard the two shows differ, as Smash will include original songs by the Tony and Grammy Award-winning composers of Hairspray. The series, which begins airing on NBC starting February 12, chronicles the creation of a musical about Marilyn Monroe. McPhee and Broadway actress Megan Hilty play the two young actresses vying for the lead role. I’m a fierce musical theater fan and am obviously excited about this show on that level but I’m an even fiercer Anjelica Huston fan – she plays one of the Marilyn musical’s producers. Huston could star in a Mind of Mencia reboot and I’d watch it.

Angry Boys

Many people would be quick to compare Australian comedian Chris Lilley to Christopher Guest since both men (a) have the same first name, and (b) are pathologically devoted to the improvisational mockumentary. But the most impressive aspect of Lilley’s previous work has been his incredible knack for playing multiple roles in the same series – each character exaggerated yet believably human- and so I’ve always felt that he has more in common with the great Peter Sellers. We Can Be Heroes and Summer Heights High both demonstrated that Lilley is a brilliant, bold satirist and, since hearing about Angry Boys back in May when it aired in Australia, I’ve been anxiously awaiting its arrival stateside. Premiering on HBO January 1, Lilley’s latest mockumentary finds the comedian playing an African-American rapper from Los Angeles and an overbearing Japanese mother, among other characters. Will the social critique be strong enough to justify blackface? I don’t know, but I’m more than willing to find out.

Alcatraz

With better-than-ever Fringe inching closer and closer to cancellation, it’s comforting to know that another J.J. Abrams-produced drama will be premiering on Fox this January. Alcatraz, starring Sam Neill and Lost’s Jorge Garcia, gives the history of America’s most infamous prison a supernatural rewrite. The show’s premise: inmates thought to have been transferred from the prison when it closed actually vanished mysteriously and have now, just as mysteriously, returned almost 50 years later. Alcatraz looks promising and not only because of Abrams’ involvement. The pilot episode (which I saw at San Diego Comic-Con this past July) is elusive enough to keep viewers interested and invested in the story but also makes it seem as though satisfying chunks of the overarching puzzle will be answered each week. Sure, Alcatraz is similar to Fringe – both have a tough, blonde female lead (in this case, Sarah Jones) and both are crime procedural-sci-fi hybrids – but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. (You can look at the two shows in the same way that you look at the catalogue of ’90s Swedish pop group Ace of Base – every one of the group’s songs may sound identical but every one of their songs is also awesome.) Hopefully though, unlike Fringe, this show garners the kind of solid ratings that will keep it off the chopping block.

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Mad Men

The Big Bang Theory

In the 10^th grade I used to walk around feeling super satisfied with who I was, not because I was particularly popular or smart or cute, but because I knew all of the words to Barenaked Ladies’ pseudo-rap, tongue twister “One Week.” Nowadays, I feel a similar sort of satisfaction whenever I rattle off the lyrics to the band’s “Big Bang Theory Theme.” Since the song chronicles the entire history of Earth in less than 30 seconds, it can be seen as the ultimate expository theme and probably deserves to be grouped with the greats for that fact alone. It’s also really alienating to creationists—something that I’m sure brings a tremendous amount of joy to Stephen Hawking. Any theme that includes the word “autotrophs” is destined to be remembered—it’s easy to imagine a future where this song is used by science and history teachers as a learning tool.

New Girl

Zooey Deschanel’s “Hey Girl” is so deliberately perky that it simultaneously seems to be lampooning the inherent goofiness of sitcom themes and celebrating that semi-ironic love that today’s 20-somethings have for things that are inherently goofy. The song is sweet, the lyrics aren’t at all complicated, and by simply substituting your name for “Jess” (and changing “girl” to “boy” if you happen to be male) you can co-opt it. And isn’t that the dream? Your own personal theme song! The tune is as quirky and light as the series, consciously referencing the bubbly themes from classic working gal sitcoms like The Mary Tyler Moore Show, That Girl, and Laverne & Shirley. The extended version of “Hey Girl” is an actual, bona fide song that can be enjoyed now and forever by fans of Deschanel’s warm, velvety voice even if they don’t appreciate her warm velvety acting on the show.

Two and a Half Men

Whether it’s Ashton Kutcher or Carlos Estevez in the lead role, this show is mediocre. But do you want to know what isn’t mediocre? Yep, you guessed it, barbershop quartet music (or I suppose in this case, barbershop trio music). That sounds really sarcastic but I’m being serious. This so-dumb-it’s-clever homophonic ditty only has two words (I don’t know that woo-ha-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hooooo counts as a word, technically) and it’s that simplicity that gives it legs. Years from now (or maybe even a year from now, fingers crossed), when Two and a Half Men is no longer on the air, people will continue singing this song whenever they reminisce about the series or see a group of men-men-men-men-manly-men doing…something. This most masculine of theme songs was co-written by producer Chuck Lorre who is a paragon when it comes to this stuff: he’s also responsible for the theme to the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles animated series.

Psych

“I Know You Know” by series creator Steve Franks’ band The Friendly Indians sounds a bit like a bad ‘90s era Hootie and the Blowfish song. Save for the “I know, you know” chorus,” the melody isn’t especially memorable and the lyrics are a mouthful. “In between the lines there’s a lot of obscurity, I’m not inclined to resign to maturity. If it’s all right, then you’re all wrong, why bounce around to the same damn song?” What does any of that even mean? It’s like a riddle or something. Franks deserves some credit, though, for making the decision to give Psych a theme at all and for including semi-poetic verses like, “you’d rather run when you can’t crawl.” While “I Know You Know” doesn’t have much appeal for anyone who isn’t a part of the show’s pineapple-loving fanbase, what distinguishes it from the other themes on the list is that several pretty great variations of the song have opened the show throughout its six-season run. There was an a cappella version performed by Boyz II Men, the haunting, slow-paced version by Julee Cruise (who sang “Falling” from Twin Peaks), and a Bollywood version, which is my personal favorite. Franks clearly understands the value of a theme song even if this one isn’t the catchiest.

The Cleveland Show

While the jury is still out when it comes to the merits of this series, the title music is undeniably fun. Composer Walter Murphy (who is famous for his ‘70s disco adaptation of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, “A Fifth of Beethoven”) also created the music for American Dad and Family Guy—Fox’s two other Seth MacFarlane produced animated comedies. I’ve singled out The Cleveland Show theme, though, because I think that it—more than the other two—has the ability to really lodge itself in your skull. After hearing it once, you could wind up absentmindedly singing it for days, which speaks to the sort of love-hate relationship that we have with most of the greatest TV themes.

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Episode 7, “Chardee MacDennis: The Game of Games,” is like a microcosm of what’s gone wrong with the series. Following that basic Always Sunny story arc, Charlie, Mac, Dennis, Dee, and Frank decide to play Chardee MacDennis, a mashup of their favorite board games. But with arbitrary rules that find various members of the gang collecting grapes in their mouths Hungry Hungry Hippos style and eating the unmixed ingredients of a cake while locked in a dog crate, everything is confusing and joyless—both for the characters and the viewer. The episode is so self-consciously wacky and disjointed that it’s difficult to care about what’s going on. Ultimately, the plot feels as haphazardly pieced together as the titular game. The gang resort to playing Chardee Mac Dennis because they’ve run out of ideas—they don’t know what to do with themselves—and this aimlessness mirrors what appears to be going on behind the scenes of the show—the writers don’t know what to do with these characters anymore. Instead of striving to top benchmarks like “The Nightman Cometh”—the amazing musical episode that has practically become synonymous with the series—the writers and cast are coasting. The show’s beloved formula now seems formulaic and most of this season has been like a poor imitation of what Always Sunny used to be.

Last season only managed to sporadically match the energy and lowbrow genius of previous years but I completely dismissed this past mediocrity and approached the September premiere with renewed hope and enthusiasm after learning that star and creator Rob McElhenney had gained more than 50 lbs. in preparation for his character’s season 7 flirtation with obesity. McElhenney’s peculiar choice to go semi-Method and not, say, wear a fat suit, was fascinating and certainly pointed to an odd yet commendable level of commitment on his part—this stunt was sure to shake things up and resuscitate the series. Sadly, with the season now winding down, it looks as though that weight gain was nothing more than a smoke screen (or a fat screen, as it were). With the possible exception of “Frank’s Pretty Woman,” the first episode of the season, which features McElhenney carrying garbage bags full of chimichangas around with him and recklessly injecting insulin, this season has been dull and uninspired. If an actor goes to such drastic lengths to push his character in a completely new and exciting direction and it fails, you have to begin to wonder if the show is something that’s worth continuing.

Once a formidable stallion, has Always Sunny’s body quit? Has its bird quit? Is it, unfortunately, no longer legit?

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The inbred, redneck Heartshe clan is the family at the center of the show. The first episode opens with recently deceased “Boss” Hoss Heartshe—patriarch of Heartshe Holler—bequeathing the town and his fortune to his secret son Hurlan (Oswalt) via video will. Hoss’ “only child,” Hurshe (Schaal), and his “other only child,” Hambrosia (Heather Lawless), are none too thrilled by this slight and will do anything to gain control of the Holler. From here, things get weird. Really weird. Amongst the weirdness: a penis transplant, a pretty explicit brother-sister dalliance that results in a 10-year pregnancy, and a wedding between a man and a glory hole. What elevates these moments from offensive or just plain dumb to hilarious is obviously execution. The writing is droll, boasting memorable tidbits like, “you have always been more than just a henchman to me, you are more like a hench-son” and the performances, all over-the-top, are tempered by the immense amount comedic skill that all of these actors have. (I don’t know if they give out Emmys to actors who star in shows that are less than 12 minutes long, but if they do, Jonathan Hadary deserves a nomination, at the very least, for his portrayal of Hoss. The rise and fall of his voice, his eerie smirk and laugh. The man is beyond talented.)

This being said, I have to confess that I was a bit horrified by this show when I first saw it and very literally stared at the TV screen in disbelief. Strangely though, I wasn’t as horrified by the content as I was by my involuntary reaction to it: I giggled. Somehow the outlandish subject matter, as unsettling as it tends to be, is riveting. Sure, you might need to devote some time to deep introspection when you find yourself chuckling after an incest reference but this show is funny, particularly during its most insane moments, and its writers almost seem to be daring you not to laugh.

So many of Adult Swim’s other live-action series—comedies like Childrens Hospital or NTSF: SD: SUV— are stalled at absurd. That is to say, the writers of these shows seem to be satisfied with jokes that are strange or nonsensical or slightly off kilter for the sake of being strange, nonsensical, and slightly off kilter. There actually isn’t anything wrong with this kind of humor but it also isn’t terribly engaging. What I appreciate most about The Heart, She Holler is that even though it is absurd, it’s almost impossible to have a passive response to it. The show challenges you. I think it’s brilliant but could easily see someone else finding it utterly repulsive (jokes about Bible sex, yes, that’s sex with a Bible, aren’t for everyone). Whether it’s your cup of tea or not, there’s something admirable about a show that refuses to water down its humor, totally disregarding quaintness or accessibility.

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The title is super cryptic so I’ll explain the premise of Ghost Hunters for anyone who has somehow managed to escape its hypnotic appeal: Ghost Hunters is a reality show in which some dudes (Roto-Rooter plumbers turned paranormal experts) hunt ghosts. Really, though, saying that The Atlantic Paranormal Society (or TAPS) “hunt ghosts” makes the series sound a lot more thrilling than it actually is.

The paranormal investigators on Ghost Hunters, just like the paranormal investigators on the Travel Channel’s Ghost Adventures or A&E’s Paranormal State, visit purportedly haunted locations with an arsenal of scientific sounding gizmos (Electromagnetic Field detectors, thermal imaging cameras); the technology lends an air of objectivity to the proceedings. Flying in the face of this objectivity: a typical episode basically just consists of people walking around in the dark, bumping into stuff, flipping out at the slightest little sounds, talking about how they just got the chills, and whispering, “did you hear that?” repeatedly (add a game of “light as a feather, stiff as a board” and you have every sleep-over that I went to in middle school).

There aren’t any ghosts on these shows. There have never been any ghosts on these shows. There will never be any ghosts on these shows. There is absolutely no rational reason why anyone should be watching these shows. Yet, we are watching them. In fact, we’re watching the hell out of them. Ghost Hunters has been airing on the SyFy channel for an astounding seven years.

So, why is a paranormal investigation series in which, arguably, nothing ever happens cancellation-proof? How do we explain our attraction to this genre? On Halloween night while flipping between Ghost Hunters Live on SyFy and the Ghost Adventures movie on the Travel Channel, I arrived at three possible answers to these questions.

1. I know they’re never going to find a ghost but they might find a ghost.

First of all, no they won’t. At least they’ll never be able to collect any evidence that definitively proves the existence of ghosts. (Wouldn’t we have seen the footage on CNN or some other major news network if they had?) This being said, I can still understand and relate to that irrational anticipation and excitement. It’s the same hopeful but ultimately foolhardy logic that prompts us to buy lottery tickets or watch Dinner for Schmucks—we know that it’s going to be a complete, soul-crushing waste but maybe we’ll be pleasantly surprised. Ghost Hunters and Ghost Adventures may not prove the existence of ghosts but the longevity of these shows does prove that we haven’t all been turned into hardened, world-weary skeptics and that, like Fox Mulder, we desperately want to believe. Perhaps that’s something that should be celebrated. On the other hand, they say that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. So, there’s that.

2. They’ve totally found ghosts on these shows. 

Now, the other school of thought is that there hasn’t been an episode of Ghost Hunters or Ghost Adventures where there wasn’t some kind of paranormal activity. Changes in temperature, unexplained noises, garbled “spirit voice” recordings, and orbs of light witnessed in photographs and video footage, are more than enough proof for most viewers, completely justifying the continuation of this genre now and forever. There’s no rationalizing or arguing with that kind of unshakable belief. Just don’t show one of those grainy, night vision videos to a Eureka fan. They’ve suffered enough.

3. Paranormal investigators have abnormally high levels of charisma. Fact: the primary ingredient in AXE Body Spray is essence of ghost hunter.

A couple of years ago, I went to Dragon*Con in Atlanta and the Ghost Hunters panel was packed. While walking around the convention floor, I saw a family—all wearing Ghost Hunters t-shirts—carrying around some fancy plaque with “TAPS” inscribed on it that I can only assume they’d planned on presenting to the show’s eponymous ghost hunters. I personally feel that Grant and Jason, the two lead investigators, are completely devoid of personality. But clearly, I’m in the minority. Sure, these shows appeal to a niche audience but they are an incredibly devoted and apparently large niche. Viewers relate to these investigators on some level. They like them. It’s fitting that a reality show about the intangible should be appealing for a reason that is as unquantifiable as the charisma of its stars.

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Along the way, they’re hired by Dana Barrett (Sigourney Weaver), a woman whose apartment is haunted by a demonic, ancient Sumerian demigod—an entity that is far more powerful and destructive than anything the ragtag Ghostbusters have ever faced.

Why We Love It

Today, a growing number of big-budget, big-name comedies rely on Frat Pack-Apatowian absurdity and non-sequiturs. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with this—I enjoy watching 1970s anchormen dueling to the death as much as the next person. But the humor in Ghostbusters is firmly grounded in scene, situation, and character; the astute attention paid to this very basic rule of comedy, and storytelling in general, is, I think, what makes the movie so accessible and also what makes it classic.

In one of my favorite moments—a little bit of dialogue most likely overlooked by anyone who hasn’t watched the movie some four-thousand times (then again, who hasn’t watched Ghostbusters four-thousand times?)—Janine Melnitz (Annie Potts), the team’s secretary, asks Egon if he has any hobbies. His reply: “I collect spores, molds, and fungus.” Ramis’s delivery here is droll, deadpan, completely in character, and exemplifies the masterful simplicity of so much of the film’s humor. (Incidentally, if you’re ever on a date or meeting someone for the first time, and you’re asked about your hobbies, it’s crucial that you repeat this line—it is a surprisingly effective litmus test).

Considering the ghost conceit, it wouldn’t be difficult to imagine another version of this movie, a version nowhere near as successful or beloved, filled with over-the-top slapstick and caricatured performances. Fortunately, the tone of the screenplay and acting in the version of the film that we do have, is understated and refined—the perfect contrast to the high-concept storyline and visual effects. The juxtaposition of tone and subject creates an odd sort of realism. That realism, I feel, is one of the things that make Ray, Peter, and Egon so endearing.

Of course the other, more obvious, thing that makes these characters so endearing is the fact that they’re played by a group of fantastic comedians—each one exquisitely attuned to what is and is not funny, each one charming in his own way. Ghostbusters was released in 1984 and, at the time, Murray, Aykroyd, Ramis, and Rick Moranis (who plays Louis Tully/ “The Keymaster”), were all really just beginning their careers. However, the projects that they’d been involved with prior to filming—SCTV, Saturday Night Live, Stripes, Caddyshack, Animal House—had already established and distinguished them in the comedy world.

The entire cast is marvelous—everyone having a few brilliant moments throughout—yet, the two standouts, for me, have always been Murray (naturally) and Moranis. As I write this, I’m finding it difficult to resist the urge to simply rattle off every bit of wry, waggish dialogue uttered by Peter Venkman. However, there is one scene in particular that never ceases to amaze me with its genius. Sigourney Weaver’s character, recently possessed by Zuul, minion of Gozer and clearly in heat, says, “I want you inside of me.” Venkman replies, “sounds like you’ve got at least two people inside of you already. Might be a little a crowded.” A bit later, she says in a deep, raspy, demonic voice, “there is no Dana, only Zuul.” Venkman’s response: “What a lovely singing voice you must have.” The scene is just this divine confluence of impeccable comedic timing and horror.

As for Moranis’s performance—which, apparently, was heavily improvised—it’s, yet again, hard to think of moment that isn’t superb, especially once his character, Louis, is possessed by Vinz Clother, another of Gozer’s minions. He is, sadly, the character I relate to most.

Finally, there’s the soundtrack. “Ghostbusters,” the film’s theme song, performed by Ray Parker Jr., is particularly infections and somehow just as quotable as the movie itself. Any time someone asks me, for whatever reasons, who I’m going to call, I instantly, and without thinking, say, “Ghostbusters,” regardless of how inappropriate a response that might be. It’s like a reflex, something that I’m compelled to do even though no one ever thinks it’s funny. I know I’m not the only one who does this, which is probably evidence of how deeply engrained this movie is into our collective consciousness.

Moment We Fell In Love

If, like me, you were a child the first time you saw it, you were probably most impressed by the overall scope of the movie. The action, the special effects, the proton packs, the wanton destruction of hotel ballrooms, just the sheer scale of the thing. It all created this tremendous since of awe. You wanted to be a Ghostbuster.

Now, though, as adults I think you’ll agree that the most quintessential moment is not the final act, in which the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man stomps through the city, as some people might lead you to believe. It is instead the following line, delivered by Mr. William James Murray as the Ghostbusters attempt to characterize the destruction that everyone has to look forward to if the guys aren’t allowed to bust ghosts: “Human sacrifice, dogs and cats, living together, mass hysteria.” Those words are inscribed on my heart.

Final Thoughts

A couple of years ago, my 3-year-old cousin saw a Ghostbusters poster that I have and said, “hey, I like the Ghostbusters.” His agitated tone and the way he emphasized the “I” actually made it seem as though he was upset and somewhat baffled by the fact that we had this common interest. Here he was, born more than 20 years after the movie was released, and he felt some kind of ownership over it. But I think this just shows how timeless the movie is. It belongs to my cousin just as much as it belongs to me. The movie really does hold an important place in our collective consciousness—you can witness this in department stores that still carry Ghostbusters shirts or hear it in the way that the phrase “don’t cross the streams” has been incorporated into the lexicon and repurposed. Ghostbusters spans genres, it spans generations, it’s an amazing movie, from start to marshmallow-covered finish.

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Not!

(It was necessary that a “Not” “joke” be worked into this at some point, so let’s just be thankful that we’ve gotten it out of the way this early.) Wayne’s World is, of course, the film adaptation of the seminal, 90s, Saturday Night Live sketch about two slacker BFFs, Wayne Campbell (Mike Myers) and Garth Algar (Dana Carvey). The duo host a wildly popular, Aurora, Illinois-based public-access show, broadcast from Wayne’s parents’ basement. The film elaborates on this premise by giving Wayne a robo-babe love interest, Cassandra (Tia Carrere), and introducing Benjamin (Rob Lowe), a smooth-talking television executive who plans to exploit “Wayne’s World’s” popularity and drive a wedge between Wayne and Cassandra.

Why We Love It

If you’re anything like me, and were born in the early 80s, then you were in grade school the first time you saw Wayne’s World. You laughed and laughed, from start to finish, quoted the movie to your friends while playing four-square or wall-ball, perhaps even reenacted Garth’s pelvic thrust-laden, “Foxy Lady” dream sequence – much to your grandmother’s horror. The funny thing about this period of unbridled, adolescent, Wayne’s World fervor is that there’s no way that you (at 8, 9, or 10 years old) understood what the hell was going on in this movie. It doesn’t matter how intellectually advanced you were at the time, you couldn’t have really picked up on more than 10% of the humor, and that’s a generous estimate.

In one scene, for example, Garth snoops around Benjamin’s “fully functional babe lair” and finds a box of condoms. He holds them up to the camera and says, “ribbed for her pleasure…Ewww.” At eight years old, I thought this was hysterical (and repeated the line to my mother…a lot, which I’m sure she was thrilled about) despite (a) not knowing what a condom was (b) not knowing what the word “ribbed” meant and (c) just generally not understanding the entire sentence. My laughter, then, had everything to do with Dana Carvey’s delivery of the line, which is goofy and kind of brilliant in its own, simple way.

This is the beauty of Wayne’s World; the gags are amazingly nuanced and satisfying on so many different and unexpected levels – from basic silliness that appeals to the more elemental regions of your sense of humor (Wayne’s “psycho-hose-beat” ex-girlfriend, Stacy, crashing her bike, hard, into a parked car), to lighthearted, non-sequential, almost surreal, social commentary that you have to be at least moderately intelligent and culturally literate to grasp  (a product placement bit that features Garth pontificating about “selling out” while dressed, head to toe, in Reebok apparel), to the sort of meta humor that can only be fully appreciated by movie buffs (Wayne opening up a door to a room where men are training, like in a martial arts film, not because it has anything to do with the plot, but because he’s always wanted to do so).

Wayne’s World is funny. Really there isn’t too much more to say. In an age where so many comedies underestimate the importance of humor, here is a movie that’s brimming with it – just layer after layer of funny. And like most of the movies we love, it seems to offer something new with each viewing. Wayne’s World is a movie that you can grow old with. It’s a movie that I’m growing old with.

And even when you understand the implications of every joke and pop culture reference and have memorized every last bit of dialogue – and you will be compelled to memorize every last bit of dialogue – Wayne’s World is a rare comedy in that it will actually make you smarter. Because I’ve watched this movie, I know how to say “you look pretty” in Cantonese and that Milwaukee is the only American city to have elected three socialist mayors.

Moment We Fell In Love

I think we’ll go with a little “Bohemian Rhapsody,” gentlemen.

As hilarious as almost every scene is (can you tell that this is my absolute, favorite movie yet?), Wayne and Garth’s jaunty, Queen sing-a-long while cruising in the Mirth-mobile, is synonymous with Wayne’s World and exemplifies the movie’s playful spirit. I don’t even know that I could totally pinpoint why this moment is so great. I mean, there isn’t anything overtly clever about it. Well, the choice of “Bohemian Rhapsody,” with its, what, 45 tempo changes and all-around epicness, was pretty genius. But on the face of it, this scene should be dumb, or just trivial. But it isn’t. And there’s something clever in that.

Final Thoughts

Saturday Night Live is notorious for beating its audience over the head with recurring sketches–sketches that were, possibly, funny at one time, but certainly not as great after the fifteenth reiteration. The show is also notorious for turning those recurring sketches into god-awful movies. Wayne’s World is an anomaly. But an anomaly that can be explained. Unlike every other SNL movie, Wayne’s World’s premise lent itself to film adaptation – the sketch didn’t revolve around one joke, it was always about these two extremely charismatic guys who had stalled somewhere between adolescence and adulthood. Wayne and Garth are a winsome pair. They’re enduring figures. Even after a sort of mediocre sequel, it’s still exciting to see Myers and Carvey reunite from time to time, as middle-aged Wayne and Garth.

Isn’t it dreamy? Check out more Movies We Love

Synopsis:

Review: This mid-season finale, with its two layers of time travel, obviously owes a huge debt to Marty McFly who paved the way for that kind of thing. “I’ll Be Seeing You” was, without question, the most ambitious episode of Eureka’s most ambitious (and symmetrical) season. Even though it was clear that everything would end well for the gang (I’m pretty sure that a grand total of zero people thought that Salli Richardson-Whitfield had been killed off), it was still exciting.

A good show is engaging, even when the conclusion is inevitable. Notwithstanding the death of Nathan Stark, Eureka isn’t exactly known for its unexpected twists and turns. Somehow, though, that predictability doesn’t affect the show’s tension. On that note, Allison’s “death” was kind of poignant. There Jack was, finally with her after all of these years of pining and then…she’s killed. It was tragic even though we all knew that she wouldn’t be dead for very long. Thanks to the understated way that Colin Ferguson played the scene, the moment rang true.

Toward the end of the episode, Dr. Grant decides to leave Eureka—the gang learns that they are all going to be placed under heavy scrutiny by the DED and think it’s best that Grant flee rather than risk being exposed for the 1947-man that he is. Not that anyone thought that James Callis was going to be a permanent fixture on the show, but it was nice having him around for the first half of this season. When it comes to my favorite shows, I’m usually a bit wary of new cast members and guest stars with story arcs. Callis, however, was a good fit for Eureka (not to mention, an incredibly handsome addition) and it’s sad to think that he won’t be returning (and that I won’t be able to see his face on a regular basis).

The finale concludes with Jack blissfully in love with Allison and totally unaware that Beverley Barlowe has set her sights on him. What she plans to do, I don’t know. And I honestly don’t care. I just hope that by the end of the second half of the season, someone finally shoots her or at least locks her up. Why is she so hard to catch? It makes absolutely no sense. And who is she talking to all the time? It’s going to be hilarious when it turns out that she’s been talking to herself every time she whispered conspiratorially into a phone or headset.

I don’t know about you, but I’m pumped about this December’s Eureka Christmas special and the return of Taggart. It’ll make the wait for the second half of season four bearable.

Synopsis:

Review: So, the hallucinations were brought on by insecurities and didn’t disappear until the gang was able to work through their respective issues. Pretty banal stuff. But the back and forth between Jack and Stark was some of this season’s best and funniest material. (Side note: did anyone else kind of want James Callis’s hallucination to take the form of Tricia Helfer? You know, for old times’ sake?)

Jack admitted that he’s always been in love with Allison and the confession was enough to vanquish Stark (although, I’m sure he’s already made this exact confession two or three times this season). After their exes disappear, the two long-time friends head off to the bedroom, presumably, consummating their relationship.

Will their coupledom usher in the series’ decline? Probably not. The show has been pointing to this moment since it began. Anyway, we’ve already seen them together. (In one of the best episodes of the series, which also happened to be set in an alternate timeline, Jack and Allison were married.) Drawing out the will-they-won’t-they thing for another season would have been a mistake.

And then there’s Beverly Barlow. I can’t believe that Dr. Grant trusted her. (When he was sitting across from her at Café Diem, didn’t he notice the way the light caught the crazy in her eyes?) I know that I said it last week but it bears repeating: Ugh. Although Beverly does inject a certain amount of mystery and darkness into an otherwise whimsical show, she’s basically a flat character. She has some grand purpose that is never fully articulated and that kind of nebulousness is annoying. Eureka is so quirky and it deserves a villain with more personality. A villain who is, I don’t know, playing both sides of the fence. A villain like Larry. Someone needs to make that happen.

With only one episode left, this has been an important season. The gang has developed more than ever, it seems like the writers are really starting to understand who these characters are, and as a viewer, I feel that I’ve become more invested. Emotions that may have been hinted at in the past have been explored in greater depth and, in a way, this episode, with all of its pop psychology, was cathartic. For better or worse, everyone’s feelings have been exposed and resolved and now the finale is free to focus on the Bridge Device.

Odds and Ends

• Nathan Stark. Shirtless. I think I may have been waiting for that moment my entire life and never realized it.
• The Zoe-Zane relationship makes me uncomfortable. I know, I know, age ain’t nothin’ but a number, but Zoe is the epitome of “barely legal” and it’s hard to imagine that an overprotective dad like Jack would be so accepting of the coupling.

What did you think?

Review: There was too much going on in this episode. It was entertaining, don’t get me wrong, but with Zoe and Zane’s secret flirtation, Jack asking Allison out, the petrification, and Dr. Grant discovering that he’s been discovered, the episode just had this relentless quality about it. And then, if all of that weren’t enough, Henry breaks into song in the middle of GD. Joe Morton is a fantastic singer and as amazing and unexpected and adorable as that moment was, it just underscored the fact that there was too much happening–it was like an unnecessary exclamation mark at the end of a run-on sentence, written entirely in caps. Jamming that much into one episode really did a disservice to each of the storylines that the writers were trying to juggle. It would have been nice if, for example, all of Henry’s wooing had been incorporated into another episode—that storyline, in particular, felt the most out of place.

The two events that seemed most important, though, were (1) Jack kissing Allison and (2) the return of Beverly Barlowe—she knows Dr. Grant’s secret. The Jack and Allison thing, well, if they were ever going to get together then it was going to happen in this bizarro world and it was satisfying to see them kiss so passionately. But Beverly Barlowe. Ugh. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see a character leave this show than when she teleported away during season 2. (I associate her with the Artifact story arc, which was painfully drawn out.) What I wonder, though, is if she’s the alternative timeline Beverly Barlowe or if she’s the original Beverly Barlowe. Either way, her presence usually means that some conspiracy is afoot and even though she is a total nuisance, it will be nice to have an episode or two where the major conflict isn’t about some robot malfunctioning or experiment gone awry.

Odds and Ends

Nathan Stark (Ed Quinn) is in next week’s episode! I literally cheered when I saw him in the preview.

Does anyone else think that there should be at least one episode that revolves entirely around Larry? Right now he just seems like a weird, immature man but I think that there might be more to him.

Synopsis:

Review: The beginning of this episode was an unabashed Subaru ad—Tiny rampages behind the guys, their car spins out, cut to close-up of the Subaru logo. It was so insanely blatant that it was hilarious and so bold that I actually kind of admire it. When it comes to product placement, Eureka is a frequent and shameless offender. Although there have been some doozies over the years, my favorite “embedded marketing” moment (not including the one in this episode), happened a couple of seasons ago when Colin Ferguson stepped out of the shower and basically just held a stick of Degree deodorant up to the camera. Product placement is obnoxious but the reality is that TV shows are beholden to their sponsors. In a way, it’s probably better that these “ads” be overt rather than sneaky and subliminal because even when the show’s producers and writers think they’re being sneaky and subliminal, they never are.

Now that that’s out of the way, “Momstrosity” was a solid episode. It followed the show’s basic experiment-goes-wrong-and-threatens-the-lives-of-the-townspeople structure but it also felt like most of the key characters were moving forward and that the overarching story was progressing. Jack finally came clean about his feelings for Allison—a monumental development. Since the beginning of the series, he’s been harboring this love for her and even though those emotions haven’t necessarily been secret, they’d never been articulated so plainly. At the end of the episode, Jack tells Kevin that he’s in love with Allison and then tells Dr. Grant that if he wants Allison, he’s going to have to fight for her.

Jack’s rivalry with Dr. Grant is reminiscent of his rivalry with Nathan Stark. Actually, it isn’t “reminiscent,” it’s exactly the same. And that’s a problem. It’s totally acceptable to delay the inevitable relationship between a will-they-won’t-they couple, but the obstacles impeding the union should be novel. Jack’s confession may have set the stage for a retread of the first two seasons of the show.

Henry, the guy who told the group that they shouldn’t tell anyone about the Bridge Device and their excursion to the 1940s, told someone about the Bridge Device and their excursion to the 1940s. His growing love for Grace, it seems, made it impossible for him to lie to her. The revelation had disastrous results and Henry ended up moving out of the house—but not before implying that he’s going to be spending the rest of the season wooing her. Even though Henry’s confession and the dissolution of his relationship with Grace seemed a little abrupt, it’s probably better that things worked out that way. As happy as I was to see Henry with a woman in his life, the marriage was semi-creepy.

With both Henry and Jack’s feelings out in the open, there will be a romantic bent to the rest of the season, and that’s fine, but it would be nice to see more action relating to the Bridge Device and their time travel journey.

Odds and Ends

• If “Tiny” was that E.M.O. robot baby’s mother, was Wall-E it’s father? Or was it Johnny 5?
• Implying that Deputy Andy had robo-relations with S.A.R.A.H. wasn’t funny. It was disturbing. S.A.R.A.H. and Andy are two of the most terrifying AI units in computer history.

A vampire, a werewolf, and a ghost share a flat. If we weren’t living in a post-Twilight era, the premise of BBC America’s Being Human would sound insanely stupid. And maybe it still does sound stupid, but series 1 of Being Human proved that the show is not only wittier than any of the homegrown supernatural fare currently airing in America, but it’s also one of the most engaging programs on TV—it would be impossible for me to count the number of times that I’ve had an actual, visceral reaction to this amazing show.

I worship at the altar of Alan Ball and applaud any program that incorporates James Frain into its cast, but True Blood tends to err on the side of confusing vampire sex. Being Human, on the other hand, grapples with real issues like guilt, self-loathing, isolation, and the desire to belong in a relatable way. The show’s creator, Toby Whithouse, is able to use the supernatural elements as a metaphor for what it means to “be human” without sacrificing any of the excitement you’d expect from a show about a vampire, a werewolf, and a ghost.

In series 1, Mitchell (Aidan Turner), a vampire struggling to control his blood-sucking habit, George (Russell Tovey), a loveable, mild-mannered werewolf determined to lead a normal life, and Annie (Lenora Crichlow), the ghost haunting their flat, became this tight, supportive unit and in the finale, teamed up to defeat Herrick—the vampire leader who’d been hell bent on making it impossible for them to lead the quiet lives they’d tried to carve out for themselves. The first three episodes of series 2 have already aired on BBC America and somehow the show is even better than it was last year. The new villain is a religious fanatic named Kemp and the guy is frightening. He’s a member of a secret anti-supernaturals organization and he’s at least ten times scarier than Herrick, mainly because Mitchell, George, and Annie don’t even know that he’s pursuing them.

As we gear up for the remaining five episodes, let’s take a look at where our three supes were at the end of series 1 and how things have already begun to change for them in series 2.

George

In order to kill Herrick, sensitive, unassuming George had to embrace the werewolf nature that he’d fought so hard to suppress. He may have saved his roomies and brought about a sort of temporary peace but unleashing that brutal, animalistic side for the first time has made his struggle to lead a normal life all the more difficult—George, the kind of cautious werewolf who locks himself up during the full moon, may have enjoyed ripping off Herrick’s head a little more than he’s willing to admit to himself.

Complicating matters is a manic vampire named Daisy. Killing Herrick has made George a celebrity among the vampires. Daisy, who is attracted to George because of his notoriety, tries to draw out the beast within him, which leads directly to George cheating on Nina, the hard-won girlfriend he unwittingly gave his werewolf “curse” to.

George is an emotional wreck in series 2. Only three episodes have aired and he’s cried at least twice in each one of them. At the same time, there’s something hard about George, something dark. He’s still as sarcastic as he ever was but there’s also a meanness there that didn’t exist prior to that final showdown with Herrick. Before Nina reveals that she’s a werewolf in the first episode, George is cold, distant, and extremely unlikable.

Brooding is usually a vampire’s prerogative, but George is breaking stereotypes, showing the world that werewolves can be just as gloomy and aloof as their blood-sucking, supernatural brethren. Now that Nina has left George to be cured of her curse by creepy Kemp, poor Georgie will certainly be crying a lot more.

Annie

Having sufficiently terrified Owen, her cheating fiancé/the man who killed her, Annie had the opportunity to walk through the door of death and cross over to the other side. But she didn’t, choosing instead to stay with Mitchell and George. Taking care of her unfinished business, however, boosted her confidence and by the beginning of series 2, Annie can be seen and touched by non-supernaturals. Psyched about her newfound visibility, she begins working at a pub where she meets a handsome man named Saul. Alas, romance is not in the cards—Saul hears voices coming from TV sets and radios that persuade him to act aggressively toward Annie and eventually end up getting him killed in a car accident. Annie happens to be in the hospital when Saul dies and his door of death appears. A radio in the hospital room instructs Saul’s ghost to push Annie through the door. Fortunately, for Annie, Saul walks though the door and it disappears. Unfortunately, it seems that Annie has an enemy targeting her specifically.

Annie started series 2 so silly and funny and, ironically, full of life. Her interlude with Saul, though, has broken her spirit (no pun intended) and caused her to regress—she is once again invisible to humans. One of the biggest questions for me when I found out that there was going to be a second series was: how is Annie’s story going to develop after finishing her unfinished business? Will her unfinished business change every time she doesn’t walk through the door? Well it looks like all of that is starting to be answered. For Annie, series 2 will be about this unknown foe trying to get her through that door and Annie trying to sort through her reasons for not crossing over.

Mitchell

Bringing down Herrick created a power vacuum and all kinds of chaos—bodies are turning up at the hospital with bite marks, threatening to expose Mitchell and the rest of the vampire world. Although he’s been trying to stop drinking blood and distance himself from vampires who insist on killing humans, Mitchell feels that he must assume a leadership role in the wake of Herrick’s death—he wants to serve as an example for the others. Episode 3 ends with the vampires essentially naming Mitchell their king.

It’s incredibly difficult to watch Mitchell entangle himself with these horrible vampires and their politics. He may not be drinking blood but he’s definitely backsliding. As he gets more and more mixed up in the vampire bureaucracy, he’s starting to neglect his friends–the tight bond that he had with George and Annie kept him grounded. One can only hope that he sees the light (does that count as a vampire pun?) before Kemp begins to pursue the three of them more aggressively.

Where do you think things are headed? (No spoiling, readers in the UK…)

Review: Claudia Donovan on Eureka! How cool was that? No, really. How cool was it? I don’t watch Warehouse 13, so I have no idea if her appearance was supposed to be exciting or if it was just a gimmick. But speaking as a completely objective person with absolutely no allegiance to Warehouse 13, this cross over episode was tastefully done—Claudia’s presence in Eureka felt natural (even if she was a bit gabby) and because her arrival wasn’t the central focus of the episode, I wasn’t distracted by how gimmicky the whole thing may or may not have been. The bizarre chemistry she had with Fargo was enough to make me want to check out Warehouse 13, if only to find out how a self-possessed quipster like her could be attracted to a wormy supergeek like the Fargonator. Eureka’s writing staff, however, lose creativity points for titling this episode “Crossing Over.” I’m sure they thought that they were being clever—a cross over episode about objects “crossing over” from the past to the present called “Crossing Over”—but they were wrong.

While the Fargo-Claudia relationship probably won’t be examined any further (except on the episode of Warehouse 13 that Fargo appeared on), a few of the show’s other romances were explored. Last week, there was some minor but nonetheless adorable flirtation between Jo and Zane—watching their relationship grow from its acrimonious beginnings into something very cute for the second time is actually satisfying and not as boring or predictable as I thought it would be.

Henry’s tentative interaction with his wife, however, has been a little strange and uncomfortable—but I think that that’s intentional. Henry’s showing that he’s gentleman by not immediately partaking in some of the “privileges” that come with married life—he barely knew this woman before the time travel incident. Yet, as a man who has been unlucky in love in the past, I thought that he would enjoy this potentially romantic situation a little more. The writers are being very deliberate with this particular relationship—as the end of the episode showed, Henry is starting to warm up to his wife. When the season draws to a close, I’m fairly certain that the gang is going to have to make a decision to stay in this alterna-verse or return to their time-line. Allowing these relationships to develop slowly and believably will make that final decision carry more weight.

And finally there’s Allison and Dr. Grant. A romance between the two of them was hinted at in the season premiere but it wasn’t until this episode that that initial flirtation was revisited. Honestly, I’m kind of indifferent about this coupling but I’ll support it if it means that we’ll see more of James Callis. Even though his character has been featured in every episode, I feel like he’s being underutilized. As much as I adore Eureka, the show can be formulaic. Giving Callis a more prominent role would be a way to make things fresh. “Crossing Over” was the most enjoyable episode since the premiere, a fact that I attribute to how Dr. Grant-centric it was. Watching Grant adapt to the present/future, bounce around to 70s music, and make disparaging comments about smoothies was fun. Although most people probably wouldn’t describe Callis as a comedic actor, he really is. Maybe not in an obvious or conventional way but the few moments of humor on Battlestar Galactica came from him. Hopefully, Dr. Grant’s role will expand as the repercussions of the time traveling incident become more apparent.

Review: I’d like to apologize to the faithful Eureka fans for neglecting my Eureka review duties for the past two weeks. But, in a way, my irresponsibility was kind of a good thing because it has given me the opportunity to veer away from the usual review format and compare and contrast the two episodes that I missed, paying special attention to the guest stars, the emotions underpinning all of the quirk, and those trivial subplots that seem to pop up in every episode.

The Guest Stars

“All the Rage”: Wil “Wesley Crusher” Wheaton.

“The Story of O2”: Jamie “Don’t Be Hatin’” Kennedy.

I doubt that anyone writing for FSR is a bigger Trek nerd that I am and I still harbor a Wesley Crusher crush after all of these years, but Wil Wheaton cameos/guest appearances are a dime a dozen these days—the novelty has worn off, even for the Trek obsessed. Not to take anything away from his performance, which was perfectly fine, but as it was, his appearance just seemed like stunt casting—pandering to a geeky audience by casting the ultimate geeky actor. Every second that Jamie Kennedy was on screen, however, was fabulous, albeit in an ironic way. Watching Kennedy all wide-eyed and dopey, saying things like, “doz kids took it,” forces you to ask yourself if donning a lab coat is enough to transform an actor into a scientist. I may not have understood why Kennedy was on the show—whereas uber-geek Wil Wheaton’s appearance made complete sense—but he was so goofy and out of place that the casting was actually kind of inspired.

The Less Important Subplot

“All the Rage”: Henry and Dr. Grant discover that objects they touch dematerialize. Believing this to be related to their time travel adventure, they freak out. Fortunately, the whole thing was a prank perpetrated by Henry’s alterna-verse wife.

“The Story of O2”: Jack and Zoe chase a cat coated in invisibility spray.

I don’t mind misdirection, but spending any amount of time on a storyline that ultimately has no significance–other than to show that Henry and his wife have a playful relationship–is annoying. The Jack and Zoe subplot, on the other hand, actually shook the entire foundation of the show. The self-propagating oxygen crisis happening in Eureka while Jack was at Harvard was solved without his help. The episode basically proved that Colin Ferguson’s character is unnecessary and that Kevin should be the sheriff.

The Emotional Undercurrent

“All the Rage”: Jack and Tess split up for good.

“The Story of O2”: Allison, who is used to caring for an autistic son, struggles with alterna-verse Kevin’s independent spirit.

When Tess agrees with Fargo’s mocking interpretation of Sheriff Carter’s folksy “everyman” logic, Jack is visibly hurt and it’s clear that their relationship is a wrap. I haven’t necessarily been pro-Tess, but after watching the conclusion of “All the Rage”—Jack suggests that Tess should take that job in Australia while she leaves and simply says “I love you”—I couldn’t help but think that Jack was making the wrong decision. The beauty of the moment was that the emotions felt genuine. Allison’s struggle to trust Kevin also rang true (although it did seem a bit odd that in a town of geniuses, Kevin was the only one to think of using those balloons to neutralize the oxygen). Everything was wrapped up in a neat little package by the end of the episode and it would be a shame if Allison didn’t continue to struggle to understand this new Kevin.