RECAP: BREAKING BAD, Season 4, Episode 5: “Shotgun”
By Matt Zoller Seitz
Press Play Contributor
EDITOR'S NOTE: This piece contains spoilers for Breaking Bad, season four, Episode 5. Read at your own risk.
Tonight's Breaking Bad, titled "Shotgun," ended with a scene that did what TV drama does best: define characters so completely that you feel as if you know them as well as you know yourself.
The scene was a family dinner at Hank and Marie's house, with Walt, Skyler and their kids as guests. Earlier in the episode, Hank had convinced himself that the murdered Gale's lab notebook proved Gale was Heisenberg, Walt's alter ego — which in turn meant that the DEA could stop looking for Heisenberg, and Walt could breathe easy, at least for a little while. Then Walt, who already seemed tipsy, excused himself to get more wine from the kitchen; the camera lingered on Walt in the foreground as he poured and drank a glass and then poured another one, his family's voices echoing in the background. Would Walt control himself and let his DEA brother-in-law continue to think that Gale was Heisenberg, thus ending or seriously delaying the investigation? Or would Walt give into macho pride, or intellectual conceit — the two are intertwined for him — and hint that the real Heisenberg was still out there?
Walt just had to be Walt.
The chemist's Achilles' heels are intellectual vanity and a kind of beta male machismo. After living most of his life as a schnook, to quote Henry Hill at the end of GoodFellas, he got a taste of what it's like to be rich, innovative and important (within his criminal circle, which is admittedly limited, and invisible to everyone who isn't already part of it). Dangerous, too; he's a killer now, remember? Now Walt wants to be treated like he's The Man. Whenever he's forced to bow, you can see how miserable and angry it makes him.
PressPlay founder and publisher Matt Zoller Seitz is the staff TV columnist for Salon.com. His video essays about Terrence Malick, Oliver Stone, Budd Boetticher, Wes Anderson, Clint Eastwood, Michael Mann and other directors can be viewed at the at the online magazine Moving Image Source.
RECAP: ENTOURAGE, Season 8, Episode 3: “One Last Shot”
By Drew Grant, Matt Zoller Seitz
Press Play contributors
EDITOR'S NOTE: This recap contains spoilers from last night's episode. Proceed at your own risk.
Drew: This episode starts by showing us some actual repercussions of Vince's drug use. He's in an AA meeting, and not to spoil anything yet, but by the end of the episode the guys might have actually experienced the darkest moment on the series so far. But my first question is: what is the history between the boys and that producer who comes up to Vince after the meeting and tries to make amends?
Matt: The producer who shoots himself at the end of the episode, and who was in that rehab group with Vince, is Carl Ertz. He's played by Kim Coates, an amazing Canadian actor who's on Sons of Anarchy and has had a long career as a character actor. Ertz was first introduced in the 2008 episode "Fantasy Island," when Vince was hiding out down in Mexico following the failure of his dream project "Medellin." Ertz contacted him and offered him a comeback project, a tropical crime thriller that had been turned down be Emile Hirsch. (Remember when Emile Hirsch was the next big thing as a leading man?) Anyway, it turned out that Ertz was only courting Vince to drive down Hirsch's asking price. When the boys discovered this, they trashed Ertz's car as revenge. But this being Hollywood, where the deal is more important than personal animosity, Vince didn't bear any ill will over that. Plus there was the rehab bond, which counts for a lot.
I thought the moment where Vince talks Turtle down from his outrage and says he has to stay at the house to counsel Ertz, who has relapsed and is high as a kite, was one of Adrian Grenier's better acting moments. At his best, Grenier reminds me a little bit of the young John Travolta. He seems like a street-wise kid, but with a core of decency. Maybe Coates brought that out of him; he's a magnificent actor.
PressPlay founder and publisher Matt Zoller Seitz is the staff TV columnist for Salon.com. His video essays about Terrence Malick, Oliver Stone, Kathryn Bigelow, Budd Boetticher, Wes Anderson, Clint Eastwood, Michael Mann and other directors can be viewed at the The Museum of the Moving Image web site.
RECAP: BREAKING BAD, Season 4, Episode 4: “Bullet Points”
By Matt Zoller Seitz
Press Play Contributor
EDITOR'S NOTE: As always, the following recap contains spoilers for last night's episode. Proceed at your own risk.
Vince Gilligan, the creator of Breaking Bad, once said that he and the show's writing staff deliberately wrote themselves into corners during season three for the challenge of writing their way out. I hope the exercise has been fun, because the show is still backed into a corner from the end of last season, when Gus decided that Walt was more trouble than he was worth and could be replaced by his erstwhile protege, Gale. Walt responded by pressuring Jesse to kill Gale. (Walt volunteered to do the deed himself but had to press Gale into service when he got held hostage in the lab.)
The murder of Gale was strictly a desperation move; by Walt's admission, it didn't truly solve any problems, it just bought him and Jesse a bit of time. But the cost of that time has been steep, not just for Walt but for the show itself. We're almost halfway into season four of Breaking Bad, and the show is still dealing with the fallout from the last episodes of season three. The title of last night's episode was "Bullet Points," named for the comically thorough list that Skyler printed out to help her and Walt convince Hank and Marie that Walt earned his fortune by counting cards rather than cooking meth. But the title doubled as an inadvertent confession of what Breaking Bad has become in season four: an exercise in accounting, in dramatic housekeeping, one that is constantly asking: Where are we? How did we get here? How do we move forward? Are there any loose ends that still need to be tied up?
PressPlay founder and publisher Matt Zoller Seitz is the staff TV columnist for Salon.com. His video essays about Terrence Malick, Oliver Stone, Budd Boetticher, Wes Anderson, Clint Eastwood, Michael Mann and other directors can be viewed at the at the online magazine Moving Image Source.
RECAP: JERSEY SHORE, Season 4, Episode 1: “Going to Italia”
By Drew Grant, Matt Zoller Seitz
Press Play Contributors
EDITOR'S NOTE: This is the first in a series of Jersey Shore recaps by Drew Grant and Matt Zoller Seitz. Drew has been watching the series religiously since season one. Matt is a relative newbie. Complications ensue.
Matt: Okay, Drew, I'm a relative newbie — watched a few episodes from other seasons and about about half of the last one — so I need to be brought up to speed. What's the history between Deena and Pauly? The producers lingered over that final kiss on the dance floor like they were deconstructing the head shot in the Zapruder film.
Drew: I took a screenshot of that. There was something almost David Lynch-ian in their faces. And the tongues…
But their deal? They don't really have one. Deena is a relative newcomer to the show. She appeared last season to take the place of Angelina, who was on the first season and the second, but left both times because she was by far the worst of the bunch. Deena has wanted to feel included by the group since last season, and her first episode involved her pulling down her underwear and showing The Situation her vagina. It was very classy. So I think for her, hooking up with the guys is a way to cement her standing in the house.
SIMON SAYS: EASTBOUND & DOWN, Season 2: a loving tale of dysfunction, egomania and debauchery
By Simon Abrams
Press Play Contributor
When Kenny Powers (Danny McBride) sets his mind to doing something, he not only usually doesn’t do it, he makes you second-guess him the few times that he does manage to get anything done right. Kenny, the main protagonist in HBO’s proudly juvenile sitcom Eastbound & Down, is an obnoxious screw-up, a washed-up athlete who is so deeply confused and self-absorbed that he never really understands why he sucks so damn much. We don’t just expect Kenny to fail because it’s in the sitcom’s nature to periodically force its protagonists back to square one in order to maintain dramatic equilibrium. Since Kenny’s normal emotional state is hitting rock bottom, it’s also a given that he’s going to fail even when he infrequently succeeds. What really makes Kenny an unfailing schmuck is his self-centeredness — the way that he makes everything about him.
That is why Eastbound & Down’s second season, which arrived on DVD and Blu Ray this week, is so surprising. As we catch up with the washed-up ball-player we notice that his egocentricities remain mostly unchanged. It is true that those relationships between himself and those around him are slightly less dysfunctional (like those with his "assistant" Stevie [Steve Little] and an obsessed fan who worships him). He even starts to look at them as real people with real concerns — so it seems. This doesn’t mean that Kenny really learns anything about generosity by the end of season two. It's just that, in a roundabout way, Kenny selfishly infers that those who love him the most will always be there to stroke his ego. Stevie is a perfect example of this. Season two is in many ways a bromantic comedy between the two characters because in season two, Stevie isn’t just a hanger-on. In Kenny’s eyes, Stevie evolves into a human leech.
When a representative from Tampa’s major league team, the unnamed Bay Rays, reveals that he wasn’t officially authorized to offer Kenny a deal, our anti-hero flees to Mexico to lick his wounds. While there, Kenny replaces Stevie with Aaron (Deep Roy), a pugnacious, switchblade-wielding dwarf from Bombay who winds up robbing Kenny at knife-point twice (see the season two outtakes reel to see Roy taunt a victim about his “burrito” and threaten to cut off his “titties”). Stevie leaves his job at a Starbucks-type coffee house in order to track Kenny done using credit card receipts (Kenny’s been using Stevie credit card to pay for $22,000 worth of debauchery, including cock-fighting, prostitutes and hallucinogens).
Admittedly, the fact that Aaron makes Kenny realize just how good he had it with Stevie says a lot more about Kenny’s drive towards willful ignorance than it does about his relationship with Stevie. Kenny periodically goes through cycles of false enlightenment where it seems like he’s on the verge of making a breakthrough and cleaning up his act. That happened in almost every episode of season one, wherein Kenny makes a number of misguided attempts to better himself that all wind up biting him in the ass. So when the Tampa rep tells Kenny the bad news, it hurts Stevie pretty badly, too.
Stevie is so madly in love with Kenny that at the end of season one, he quits teaching just to follow in his hero’s footsteps—all the way to Tampa from North Carolina with no promise of a job or recompense beyond being able to bask in Kenny’s dickish glory. But Kenny shuts that idea down in the season one finale even before he learns that there is no job waiting for him in Tampa. He would have rejected Stevie earlier but he just didn’t know how.
Which is why it’s so important that Kenny momentarily learns to appreciate Stevie (in his own way). It’s true that at one point Kenny wantonly demands that Stevie get rid of the woman he will later ask to marry him. And the happy place that he leaves Stevie at at the end of the season two finale is surely a temporary respite. But once Kenny accepts the fact that Stevie has a love interest independent of his life with Kenny, he even goes so far as to help Stevie smuggle his wife over the Mexican border into America. As far as gestures go, this is a big one for Kenny. It happens by without commentary or complaint from him because, on some level, he has accepted Stevie as a desperate individual and not just a Kenny Powers clone.
Much like how many of the best jokes in Eastbound & Down are the ones that wring humor out of the most accidental and/or improvisatory details, the fact that Kenny helps Stevie’s wife without protest is a big temporary step forward for Kenny. It shows you that sub-consciously, he’s accepted the declaration Stevie makes at the end of season one when he strolls up to Kenny with a bottle of steroids in one hand and a syringe in the other. Kenny marvels, “You came back for me,” and Stevie smiles knowingly, “No, I never really left.” It’s only a matter of time until Stevie gets his heart stomped on by Kenny in season three. But until then, Stevie is more than just another little person Kenny thinks he has to step on to succeed. He’s a real lackey now and that’s probably as good a sign of any that Kenny has learned something during his brief but memorable time as America’s brightest egomaniac.
Simon Abrams is a New York-based freelance arts critic. His film reviews and features have been featured in the Village Voice, Time Out New York, Slant Magazine, The L Magazine, New York Press and Time Out Chicago. He currently writes TV criticism for The Onion AV Club and is a contributing writer at the Comics Journal. His writings on film are collected at the blog, The Extended Cut
RECAP: BREAKING BAD, Season 4, Episode 3: “Open House”
By Matt Zoller Seitz
Press Play Contributor
The most important moment in last night's Breaking Bad wasn't a scene or a line. It was a shot — that closeup of the soap suds clustered in the bottom of Skyler White's sink after she finishes washing her baby bottles, has her "eureka" moment and realizes how to manipulate a reluctant car wash owner into selling his business.
On one level, the shot is just functional, expository. She's washing the baby bottles. She sees the water and suds going down the drain.
She thinks about how liquids seep into the ground. And she hatches a complicated deception involving a phony EPA inspector who tells the car-wash owner that his property is contaminated, and that he has to close down for several weeks in order to fix the problem.
But like so many close-ups on Breaking Bad, this one has a metaphoric dimension, too. It marks the moment when the remaining traces of Skyler's personal moral code went down the drain.
Skyler had previously been carrying her husband Walt's water, so to speak — going to the car wash owner and trying to get him to sell his business so that Walter could use it to launder drug money. When the car-wash owner said no — treating Skyler dismissively and insulting Walt's manhood — she became obsessed with owning not any business, but that particular car wash. All of a sudden, acquiring that car wash became more about retribution than simple business — and she deliberately drew Walt into her obsession by revealing the slur against him.
PressPlay founder and publisher Matt Zoller Seitz is the staff TV columnist for Salon.com. His video essays about Terrence Malick, Oliver Stone, Budd Boetticher, Wes Anderson, Clint Eastwood, Michael Mann and other directors can be viewed at the at the online magazine Moving Image Source.
RECAP: ENTOURAGE, Season 8, Episode 2: “Out With a Bang”
By Drew Grant, Matt Zoller Seitz
Press Play contributors
Editor's note: Salon staff writers Matt Zoller Seitz and Drew Grant will be recapping the eighth and final season of Entourage as a team. Matt has been watching the HBO series regularly since it debuted; Drew is a newbie. Complications ensue.
Drew: So this episode starts off at a very expensive hotel where the gang is all living since their house burned down due to an errant joint, right?
Matt: Is that a hotel? I thought it was heaven.
Drew: Ha ha. Heaven doesn't have Drama in an Ed Hardy shirt.
Matt: I like Drama insisting on the shirt's heterosexual cred. If you have to insist that your shirt makes you look straight, there's a problem.
Drew: It's like insisting you are famous — another one of Drama's personality quirks. But my first question is: If a famous movie star gets out of rehab and then his house burns down because of a pot-related accident, is there nobody — not the paparazzi, a parole officer, a sponsor — who would maybe try to take Vincent Chase away from these guys? No one who, at the very least, would point to the incident as a sign of a possible relapse?
Matt: Yeah, there would be fallout from that in real life. But this isn't real life. It's Entourage.
It goes back to what we were talking about last week. This show is hip to the way most young men — and older men with young men's mentalities — fantasize. The messy, ugly parts get skipped. It sounds kind of strange to say, but in this sense Entourage is weirdly prim and conservative. It'll show us tit implants and guys doing drugs, but the really, truly hardcore stuff — the moments where people really have to struggle with pain and doubt — that stuff, it goes out of its way to avoid. So in that sense the show is truly escapist, in a way that Sex and the City never was.
PressPlay founder and publisher Matt Zoller Seitz is the staff TV columnist for Salon.com. His video essays about Terrence Malick, Oliver Stone, Kathryn Bigelow, Budd Boetticher, Wes Anderson, Clint Eastwood, Michael Mann and other directors can be viewed at the The Museum of the Moving Image web site.
GREY MATTERS: The personal politics of FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS
By Ian Grey
Press Play contributor
Fans are celebrating with dewy eyes and hearts full of happy saccharine the last episode of the last season of Friday Night Lights. Me, I'm more attuned to a sense of things lost. Yes, Friday Night Lights was a formalistically trailblazing act of televisual literature. And yeah, I feel like I know these people, whether it’s the depth of feeling that the names Coach, Tami or Matt Saracen evoke, or the sadness I feel when I realize I'll never find out what the deal is with Epyck or Buddy's son.
But there is something bigger. Friday Night Lights was also this huge, much-needed shot of Southern humanism meant to appeal to the Molly Ivins part of the American soul so profoundly, deeply soiled after eight years of Cheney-Bush moral nihilism, theocracy and torture culture. The fact that Friday Night Lights—or FNL for short—managed to crawl out of that awful era and flourish creatively was miraculous. But its abject failure to find an audience was—and is—a bracing, dark thing. You look at this video and think, Wow, this is what American audiences are turned off by, and you seriously have to wonder.
And nobody could have predicted that, since the show’s premiere back in October 2006, things would get exotically worse. A Rapture-ready, anti-science, professionally homophobic crazy person named Michele Bachmann has ascended to the top of the Republican party and has been assimilated by a magic-based economics cult. As if that wasn’t bad enough, we have a different but equally alarming derangement in the form of current GOP “It” boy, Texas Governor Rick Perry, whose main men insist that Japan’s economic problems are due to the nation’s people having sex with a sun god demon; that Frank Lloyd Wright houses tend to be infested with New Age demons; that birds fell out of the sky in Arkansas because of the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell; and that Oprah is a harbinger of Satan. Seriously: look here. Or take a look at this. The good governor is also enjoying communications—coming either from God or from his mother; the precise source is unclear—commanding him to become president. In either case, he has taken to the airwaves.
But God bless FNL creator Peter Berg: despite producing TV in a nation increasingly populated by voters best served by Thorazine injections and guys with giant butterfly nets, he tried to offer a principled, humane, alternative vision of life in a devout “conservative” community. Everyone in Dillon—FNL’s featured small town—took flag, church and country very seriously. And every Friday night, everybody went kind of crazy. It was high school football night, with humiliation and redemption on and off the field overseen by Coach Taylor (Kyle Chandler), who offered his players pansy-ass-free support and solace. (The girls go to his wife, Tami, played by the Emmy-nominated no-bullshit actress Connie Britton.)
Beyond all the flags and fireworks, there was a plentiful supply of fleshly hotness, led by Taylor Kitsch’s iconic Tim Riggins, the big-hearted pretty-faced Dillon Panther with the let’s-have-a-tall-one hetero charm and a just-got-fucked amble. Then there was Adrianne Palicki as the ever-troubled Tyra—she of the gimlet gaze and legs too long to fit into a wide shot. And Minka Kelly brought a complex sexual sizzle to daddy-girl Lyla Garrity, a hotness that just intensified when she became an evangelical (inner conflict, how we miss you).
But there was something about the series that was intrinsically at odds with a huge swath of the people living in the part of the country where the show was set. Yes, NBC screwed the pooch from the git-go, marketing to teen boys a show that often centered on Tami giving birth control tips to girls. Then it tried selling at steep discounts online, adding desperation to the mix. Then NBC announced that reruns would appear on ESPN and the female-friendly Bravo network after which it debuted a killer new tagline: “It’s about life.” Finally, NBC struck a co-financing deal with DirecTV. Which meant that at various times, the show might be available on DirecTV only, or DirecTV and then NBC.
Yet FNL was still, for five years running, a continual pop culture presence via new or repeated episodes. For five years it was just kind of, like, around. If you followed TV at all, you knew about it, you knew it was worth watching and having an opinion on and it wasn’t hard to find out where and how to see it. And still, beyond a wonderfully passionate fanbase, the prospect of roping in an even moderate following remained a chimera. Hats off to Peter Berg and his collaborators for having the skill, the vision, the steel-plated balls to create five seasons of simple, messy truths. And there may be more: as I type this, there’s tentative news on the FNL front. Following in the footsteps of Joss Whedon—whose awesome space-western Firefly was violently crushed by Fox after one truncated season, but thanks to fan and creator passion was resurrected into a feature, Serenity—Berg has announced that an FNL feature is also in development. (This would bring FNL full-circle: it was a hit movie before it was a show.)
But if we celebrate, we should do it cautiously, remembering that Serenity tanked, and that all the problems NBC faced with FNL will now be faced by a feature film in a marketplace owned by high-velocity products about superheroes and fast-moving toys. If a feature film does get made, you can bet I’ll be first in line to pony up my fifteen dollars. Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose, I’ll think, echoing Coach Taylor’s fist-pump of a tagline.
But I’m afraid it’ll just be for that fleeting moment. And then reality will sink in.
Now, it’s admittedly a sketchy business performing cultural obituaries and looking for meaning in failure. But this is all kinds of different. This series failed to become even a modest hit, despite being ludicrously, specifically good, and having multi-corporate media muscle pushing it (however ineptly) directly but warmly with things that are now driving a country collectively off the rails. Maybe we should look at what’s rusting those rails.
I’d wager plenty that so-called Red State folks tuned into Friday Night Lights, saw all this touchy-feely lame-stream media shit corrupting the imagery and ideas associated with their idea of America, felt they were being condescended to, reacted with disappointment and contempt and clicked away. And to a lesser extent, and perhaps with more bafflement than anger, the other side—the goddamn liberals, the Blue Staters—saw the megachurches, the non-ironic backyard-cookouts-as-social-problem-solvers, the prayers before dinner and the general flag-waving ambiance, and were like, You’re kidding, right?
The tragedy of FNL’s inability to locate and/or connect with even a reasonable sized audience starts here, with both sides of an ossified cultural divide on alert despite, or maybe because of, FNL’s rampant, normal Americanism. It’s simple live and let live: you leave me alone, I’ll return the favor. (Crazy thing: back in the day, this was, you know, boilerplate conservatism.) FNL threw everyone for a loop by consistently refusing to kiss up to one side or another of The Divide (and so gain sticky market share).
Consider the slightly-nimble fingers, big brown eyes and lesbian soul of Devin (Stephanie Hunt), Landry’s bass player. When she first showed up she looked like total alterna-girl bait, like Berg was winking at the South by Southwest contingency and saying, “Hey, these rednecks, right? Crazy.” For cultural conservatives, it must have been maddening to see this quietly out and proud lesbian mixing it up on the TV. I worry that Glee crosses political divides because its kids are so easily identified and typed. Devin was a serious gay menace because unlike Glee’s Kurt, she blended right in—a smiling, Fender-hugging liberal smart bomb. Nothing came of Devin as a theme—and as a lefty, I’ll admit that at first I was kind of bummed that she didn’t do something more LGBT-positive! But immediately I felt like a blithering idiot for wanting this and felt impressed with the show for not doing it.
Problem was, by not turning Devin into a Gay-in-the-South human talking point, Berg lost traction with people who read The Nation cover to cover and with people who see Satan in Neil Patrick Harris’ eyes. The people on this show were just people. If you think you know what Tim Riggins really meant by “Texas Forever” and why cities terrified him so damned much; if you think Luke joining the Army was truly a patriotic act and not something more human than….
Well, there’s that damned word: human. There is no FNL ideology. It was all humans making do with the cards they were dealt, which I always thought was a very American thing. But like I said at the top, the loss of FNL keeps giving me a deep sense of many things lost, not just a TV show. On a very unpleasant, meta level, this great series was—continues to be—a mirror of America.
By the finale, Tim Riggins has rejected a college scholarship in order to work in his garage business and build his dream house. We see Luke, son of an unstable, Bachmann-esque mother, getting on a bus for service in the Army—but there’s a sinking feeling regarding the wars started by the regime that was in power when FNL premiered. Better to focus on Tyra, whose hard road to education has paid off. She’s in college. Her lovable dork of an ex, the indie-guitar-playin’ Landry, is in college, too. Ditto that picture of soft-spoken Texan gentility, Matt Saracen (Zach Gilford); he hightailed it to art school in Chicago (!) where he was ultimately joined by Coach’s liberal, vegetarian daughter Julie (Aimee Teegarden).
These last two are adorable, major-key flourishes, supporting the main theme played out magnificently with Tami and Coach Taylor. Tami is given the chance to be a Dean at a prestigious school in Philadelphia—Tami, who’s been a coach’s wife for what, forever?—and Coach gets the chance to coach an actual college team. Tami, who isn’t getting any younger, who has earned this gig in every imaginable way, says yes to the new job. Coach is kind of a grumpy douche about it for a while, but he comes around to Tami’s side. And so one of the most believable married couples in TV history cannot be broken by job offers in this economy. As an epilogue, we see Coach some months later, coaching a team in Philly. Are they college level? High school? Does it matter? No, it doesn’t.
For Tami, what matters is education. For Coach Taylor, who loves a win as much as anyone, what really matters is helping wayward youth and creating a team that centers a community of very disparate people. Kind of a community organizer, you might say.
I am not being cute here: I believe FNL failed to attract a huge part of the national audience, especially one that trended culturally conservative, because it was literally pro-choice.
But choice, in a Red State base defined by ideological purity tests with a 1956—or even 1856—sell-by date? And by the show’s finale, a woman’s choice to put herself above her husband’s idea of family, and not be judged for it, positively or negatively? Seriously, for some viewers, Berg might as well have had Tami tattoo “666” on her forehead and be done with it.
Some theorize that FNL failed to become a hit because it was a “woman’s show” with too much football, or a guy’s show with too much mushy stuff. There’s some truth to that, just as there’s truth to the notion that it was a liberal show in conservative drag, or vice-versa. In general, the show’s problem was that it tried to appeal to everyone, or to represent everyone, and it put a premium on choice itself without worrying too much about whether the results of choice matched up with a political litmus test.
Ultimately, what the failure of Friday Night Lights telegraphs, I think, is that the American political/social divide is deep, exacerbated by media and technological change and designed economic sinkage, and that for all these reasons, the time of shared adult narratives about how we actually live is pretty much over.
Ian Grey’s Press Play column “Grey Matters” runs every Friday.
Men are from Mars, women are from Venus — and when they talk on the phone, they're divorced by a split-screen. We learned this from 1960s-era romantic comedies, and "Rescue Me," of all the damned shows in creation, reminded us yet again in last night's episode, "Press." Andrea warning Tommy not to come home too early, Colleen pouring liquid bubblegum into the anxious Shawn's ear as they planned their wedding — these conversations and others were separated by an actual, graphic divide, a sharp black line bisecting the screen and putting the men and women into actual, observable boxes.
It was a good, jokey way to represent the show's sexual politics, which more than any other element seemed defined by the standup comedy traditions that forged star and co-producer Denis Leary. ("Women, can't live with 'em, can't shoot em — but seriously, folks, I love women! Let's have a big round of applause for the ladies in the house.") It was also unsettling. The more sensitive and caring these guys become, the more emasculated they seem, like big, hairy plush toys. In his wedding-planning conversation with his fiancee, Shawn paces as nervously as a little kid who has to use the bathroom but is afraid to tell mommy because he should have gone before they left the house. ("Forty-five hundred bucks for a dress?" he growls after talking to a starry-eyed Colleen eyeballing gowns in a bridal shop. "That shit better be made out of crusted diamonds and shit.") And poor Tommy Gavin just looks miserable, like a guy sitting in a doctor's waiting room for news that he just knows will be horrifying.
Speaking of which: Mortality. Purgatory. Hell. Enjoyable and well-written as these first three episodes have been, they have a bit of a Tony Soprano-in-coma-land feeling, as though the series' continual undertow of off-off-Broadway existential theater is finally bubbling up and becoming explicit. (We're seeing a roll call of dearly departed characters, the "Rescue Me" version of that mini-montage in the credits of season 5 of "The Wire" reminding us of all the great supporting characters who'd gotten killed over the years.) The relative peace and quiet in these first three episodes feels like a classic "Rescue Me" rope-a-dope strategy. Like a horror movie lulling the audience with banter and slapstick and then bringing out the "Scream" killer in the robe and mask, this series has often settled into relationship comedy mode just long enough to haul the Anvil of Tragedy high up above the proscenium arch and swing it into position over some unsuspecting sap's head.
PressPlay founder and publisher Matt Zoller Seitz is the staff TV columnist for Salon.com. His video essays about Terrence Malick, Oliver Stone, Kathryn Bigelow, Budd Boetticher, Wes Anderson, Clint Eastwood, Michael Mann and other directors can be viewed at the The Museum of the Moving Image web site.
EDWARD COPELAND: Curb Your Enthusiasm: He’s yelling for society
By Edward Copeland
Press Play Contributor
Having seen the first three episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm's eighth season now, no arc has developed yet that Larry David will carry through the 10-episode season, unless this year's theme is the pursuit of laughs at any cost and pushing the envelope of good taste even further than Curb has gone before. It appears to be paying off in the ratings: Its premiere was the highest-rated episode in the show's history and the second episode got higher numbers than that. If your sphincter muscles have tightened to the point that any sense of humor you might once have had now needs life support machines to survive, Curb is not the show for you and I'll be too busy laughing frequently and loudly to hear if you voice any objections to my praising David's ballsy genius. The new season's first two episodes have been very good, but the episode that airs Sunday night may end up in the pantheon of classic Curbs.
"You know what you are — you are a social assassin," Larry's manager and best friend Jeff Greene (Jeff Garlin) tells Larry in Sunday's episode "The Palestinian Chicken." Jeff bestows this new title upon Larry after he shares the story that when he went to pay Ron (Jason Kravits), a mutual friend and member of their five-member club golf team, for accidentally backing his car into the front of Ron's Lexus, Ron asked him to pay him back in a different way. Ron's wife Ilene (Maggie Wheeler), you see, who Larry says "could be Susie's twin" in the way she constantly berates Ron to the point that he barely speaks around her, has a particularly annoying habit that whenever someone says something funny she verbally says, "LOL." It drives Ron up the wall, but he was so impressed by how Larry speaks his mind about things during a dinner party for the members of the golf team ahead of the club's championship, Ron offered to pay for his own repairs if Larry would confront Ilene on how annoying the habit is the next time she says, "LOL." That thread is just one small part of the hilarity of Sunday night's episode, the third of a season that began with a very funny premiere and has escalated in terms of laughs with each subsequent installment.
The season's premiere, "The Divorce," picks up exactly where season 7 left off where it looked as if Larry and Cheryl might be reconciling when Larry realized that Cheryl had left the cup ring on Julia Louis-Dreyfus' table that Julia had blamed Larry for ("Do you respect wood?") and Larry was calling Julia to get Cheryl to admit her culpability as Cheryl asked him not to do it. The scene continues with Cheryl telling Larry that he never listens to her and she storms out. A title card indicates that it's ONE YEAR LATER and Larry sits across from his divorce attorney Andrew Berg (Paul F. Tompkins) making the final arrangements on his divorce. Larry is going to get to keep the house and it sounds as if he's getting a pretty good deal. As he emphasizes to Berg, Larry wants to look like he's being a good guy, but he doesn't want to be a good guy. I do wonder if this episode marks Cheryl Hines' swan song on the show. In the closing credits, she's listed as also-starring as usual but in the following two episodes in which she doesn't appear, her name is absent. At the same time, Susie Essman's name remains in the credits though Susie Greene doesn't appear in the second episode. Even though Larry David plays a fictionalized version of himself, you have to think that Hines has become a victim of circumstance given David's real-life, well-publicized divorce from his wife Laurie.
That, however, merely sets up the laugh-filled, taboo-breaking hijinks to come in "The Divorce." Among the jaw-dropping "I can't believe they're doing that" moments in the episode:
Gary Cole plays a fictional owner of the Los Angeles Dodgers going through a bitter divorce similar to that of the team's real-life owner Frank McCourt;
Larry dumps his attorney when he discovers he tries to pass himself off as Jewish but he's really Catholic (Of course, Larry's concerns over Judaism only show when it's convenient — at a buffet he stacks his plate with shrimp and crab legs);
Larry tries to coach the Dodgers' owner 13-year-old daughter on how to use a tampon when she gets her first period while visiting Larry's house to sell Girl Scout cookies.
Watching Larry David fumble with a tampon while reading instructions through a bathroom door to a freaked-out young teen has to be one of the show's most sustained set pieces of awkward and uncomfortable comedy. You aren't sure if you're laughing at the scene's content or its audacity. Throughout the long run of Curb Your Enthusiasm. (now HBO's longest-running comedy or drama series), while the series seldom has failed to deliver the laughs, after awhile the mechanics of its formula had become a bit predictable. While so far the eighth season continues to follow the broad outline of the formula where all the various strands come together at the end, so far this season seems to be much looser, with the comedy taking precedence. As a result, it is strengthening the underlying skeleton because that's not what's being emphasized any longer.
Some other highlights from "The Divorce": A classic Susie Greene moment when Larry, the Greenes and the Funkhousers have brunch together and Jeff tells her that if they ever split up, he'd just divide everything 50-50 and give her the best of everything to which Susie replies, "What are you fuckin' kiddin' me? You think we're gonna have a nice divorce if we ever get divorced? I'm takin' you for everything you've got, mister. I'm taking your balls and I'm thumbtackin' them to the wall." Bob Einstein always has been a delight as Marty Funkhouser when he has appeared, but he's hitting it out of the park in all three episodes so far this season. In "The Divorce," he announces at the brunch that he's going on a business trip to London and Larry innocently asks why his wife Nan isn't going, only to get the dirtiest look from Marty when Larry sells Nan (Ann Ryerson) how wonderful London is this time of year. Later, Marty confronts Larry about how he's ruined his getaway because all they do is stare bored at each other or she'll talk over him. Larry asks why he doesn't get divorced. "I'm lazy," Marty admits. Later, he drops by Larry's elated as Leon (J.B. Smoove, still hanging around), Larry and Jeff are playing pool to announce that he's getting a divorce too. He asked Nan for one and she said yes. Leon suggests he tie strings of cans to his car like you do when you get married that say JUST DIVORCED. Jeff is terribly jealous — Larry and Marty are getting divorces, Leon doesn't need one and he's stuck with Susie. It's just a warmup for what Einstein gets to do in the second and third episodes.
That second episode, "The Safe House," ramps up the laughs even higher. So often, Larry ends up getting punished for his actions or his "rules" as how society should function. Too often what gets overlooked is that Larry either has good intentions or he's just right. The opening scene of "The Safe House" offers a perfect illustration of this. Larry is minding his own business, walking down the wide aisle of a grocery store to pick up a carton of a certain ice cream he wants. In front of the case holding the flavor he seeks are two women — one (Miriam Flynn) comforting the other (Tymberlee Hill) who is crying and visibly upset about something. The aisle contains no one else but the three of them and Larry tries his best to coax them to move over just so he can get his ice cream and be on his way, but the woman doing the comforting turns on him — insisting she's done her best to be polite and ask him to give them a minute. Larry appears to leave and the woman tells the bawling woman not to pay any attention to"that jerk" then we see one of the best sight gags ever as Larry's arms creeps through the freezer as the women continue to stand there. Of course, Larry was right. Why should anyone have to wait to get one item when the other two, one of them upset or not, could have easily moved elsewhere? Later in the episode, Larry arrives home in time to catch the woman (Michaela Watkins) who has been walking her dog and letting him go on his yard. Larry yells at her for not bringing a plastic bag with her. "A dog without a bag is incomplete," he tells her. She claims forgetfulness, but he counters that she forgets every time. "You didn't have to yell," she says. "I'm not just yelling for me. I'm yelling for society!" Larry shouts. Honestly, don't we all want to yell for society sometimes? It turns out that both the crying woman and the dog walker are battered women who now reside in a "safe house" a few doors down from Larry which he learns when the other woman knocks on his door and introduces herself as Margaret. She wants Larry to come to apologize to the women to give them "a positive male" image. Larry doesn't think he has anything to apologize for, but agrees to do it anyway, though he's puzzled when one of the women living in the house, Dale, turns out to be a big gal that he thinks is pulling a scam because she looks as if she could take care of herself. If she looks familiar, she's played by Jen Kober, with a different look and demeanor than her role as Melissa Leo's friend Andrea on Treme.
As has been a recurring topic throughout the run of Curb, "The Safe House" also touches on racial issues with no one wanting to leap to conclusions when a laptop Larry was supposed to be watching appears to be stolen after having asked an African American to watch it for him when Larry has to leave. More disturbingly, it gets Leon to regret how it gives his race a bad reputation as he proceeds to rattle off all the personal information he knows about Larry that he's never used but he could have to rip him off if he wanted. Suddenly, Larry begins to wonder why it is that Leon still lives with him. The purely comic thread of "The Safe House" gets launched by Funkhouser in a scene where he's a veritable one-liner machine. He informs Jeff and Larry over a meal that Richard Lewis has yet another new girlfriend and that she's a burlesque dancer with quite impressive breasts. Lewis joins them briefly, but says he has an audition that he is running late to because of a phone call. Lewis finds it annoying that Funkhouser told the others what his girlfriend did for a living and denies that her breasts were the attraction, going on to defend the tradition of burlesque, saying that without burlesque we wouldn't have Charlie Chaplin. "Chaplin was a great pole dancer," Funkhouser comments. Lewis swears that it's her inner beauty and spirituality that attracted him. After a pause, Funkhouser asks him, "Have you set a day aside when you're finally going to look at her face?" Jeff and Larry can't stop laughing and since this is an improvised show, who knows if that laughter was in character?
"The Divorce" and "The Safe House" turn out to be mere appetizers for the meal that is Sunday night's episode "The Palestinian Chicken." The episode takes its title from a restaurant run by Palestinians which Larry and Jeff have heard nothing but great things about and decide to try after finishing a practice round with Ron and Eddie (Larry Miller), two of the other three members of their five-man club golf team. For some reason, their fifth member and best golfer, Funkhouser, has been mysteriously scarce of late. This does bring up one criticism that I do have of Curb on occasion. They so frequently have actors and comedians play themselves, that it throws me off when they are supposed to be a character. They've done this before with Michael McKean and Tim Meadows, here they do it with Larry Miller. As soon as I see him, I assume he's supposed to be himself so it takes a little acclimating to realize that he's playing a completely fictional character. The food at Al-Abbas' Original Best Chicken turns out to be as great as its word-of-mouth indicated, but it's definitely not a Jew-friendly place with lots of anti-Israel posters lining the walls. Larry tells Jeff that if someone who's Jewish wanted to cheat on their spouse, this would be the place to go because they wouldn't get caught. Larry spots an attractive Palestinian woman (Anne Bedian) and suggests to Jeff that perhaps she could be the next Mrs. David, but Jeff thinks that if she's going to get over her anti-Semitism, Larry wouldn't be the man to bring her around. Larry admits that is part of the attraction. "You're always attracted to someone who doesn't want you, right?" Larry says. "Here, you have someone who not only doesn't want you, but doesn't even recognize your right to exist."
When they have the dinner party where Ron's wife annoys with the "LOL" and Larry hits the Lexus, they finally learn where Funkhouser has been hiding. He tells them that he has had a midlife crisis and rededicated his life to Judaism, meeting with this new rabbi every day and wearing his yarmulke all the time. The Greenes have puzzled everyone by bringing daughter Sammi (Ashly Holloway, the same actress who has played her since the second season classic "The Doll" in 2001). During the dinner, it comes up that Al-Abbas plans to open a second location — next to Goldblatt's Deli. Susie decides to organize a protest. Some argue that they have a right in the U.S. to open where they want to but, as they've done before, Curb has sneaked some parallels to a real controversy, in this case the whole Ground Zero mosque brouhaha, into a story, but for laughs. I'm not going to spell out in detail all the twists and turns in this week's episode just so you can enjoy it all the more, but I have to say that they do give Sammi Greene more than she has ever had to do before and, as Larry says to her, "Boy, you're really your mother's daughter, aren't you?"
There aren't many series that you see churning out episodes at this high of quality in their eighth season, but so far this season Curb Your Enthusiasm is three for three with "The Palestinian Chicken" destined for inclusion on the list of their best.
Edward Copeland is a former professional journalist and critic whose career got sidelined by multple sclerosis and other medical mishaps. Now, he just writes what he wants to write about and is editor-in-chief of his own blog Edward Copeland on Film where he has many contributors and covers topics besides film including TV, theater, music and books. This piece can also be found at Edward Copeland on Film here.