Monsters of Television

No one in this room actually thinks Charlie is going to stab anyone in the eyeball.

My first introduction to Tracy Spiridakos (our gal Charlie) was in a one-page “interview” from the August issue of GQ. As women featured in GQ are wont to do, she was artistically topless and wearing pink jeans that struggle to cover what you would think would be a behind easily masked by off-the-rack clothing but, lucky for us, this turned out not to be the case. I put “interview” in quotes because seemingly she was asked two to three questions, enough to fill enough negative space with words to justify the image and all of them were pointed to a male fantasy. She plays video games! She likes to hack and slash! She watches Battlestar Galactica! All right, it’s a nerdy male fantasy but still, she’s referred to as a babe and not in an infantile way.

GQ isn’t exactly picky about picking women to splash across its pages in various states of undress (“Hey! Can you find creative ways to cover your nipples in front of a blank white wall? Good enough for us!”) but positioning Spiridakos to sell Revolution on her aesthetic feminine wiles in the press might lead you to believe that she would do the same on the show. Surprisingly, for the most part, that hasn’t been the case.

In fact, much of the show and her character trades on her innocence or naivete, both as an emotional core and, in my opinion, as a non-villainous antagonist. She’s constantly walking into trouble like Mr. Magoo but in place of a blindness that gets her onto the girders of a building under construction it’s her not sticking to the plan that constantly gets her captured. She has a variety of tight-fitting shirts (as everyone on the show seems to) but, outside of her cousin getting all worked up for her, there hasn’t been a focus on trying to make her a sex symbol of the show. Until NBC got a hold of this episode.

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“No, it’s you AND me. And we’re going to blow up that train.”

Even post-Blackout, no one wants a piece of Canada.

I don’t like the idea of comparing this show to Lost. Mostly because I don’t think it actually competes but also because I don’t believe it’s an apples to apples comparison. They share many of the same traits (mystery for which answers are provided in small tastes, adventuring without the benefit of modern conveniences, castmembers that look really good in tight shirts) but Revolution feels, somehow, much more straightforward. Maybe because we know upfront that the answer isn’t magic.

It’s not necessarily a bad thing for the show to be more straightforward in terms of learning curve. Lost‘s complicated story, with its myriad offshoots and complexities, creating diminishing returns when people would hear the hype and try to jump in. If only they’d thought of putting the series on Netflix like they did with Breaking Bad. But, with Revolution, we have a short introduction in the beginning of every episode that contains all you really need to know about the show to continue.

Sure, Lost had a Previously On but, from how many people still today ask “What was up with the polar bear?” (despite the answer coming in Season 3), we have a bit of disconnect between the important events for an episode and seasons of mythology. Revolution may be new but, as long as it’s contained in this box, it might actually learn from the mistakes of the learning curve that Lost suffered in the ratings.

Now, if they could only get me to care about the concerns of these characters.

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“After all we been through, we can handle it. I know it.”

“I’m sorry to tell you this but — you’re having a weather balloon.”

This is a post-Zelda world and we’re just living in it.

I’m never sure if it’s because my adolescence was filled with level-grinding in video games or if our shows are written by the men and women who shared my hobbies, but, our heroes have seemingly assembled into a party complete with their own individual stats, abilities, and weapon upgrades. They fight enemies of increasing difficulties and, now, find themselves traveling into a labyrinth.

This first episode feels different than any of the entire last season, which I look back on a rebuilding year. It was that awkward period where the first season was pretty lame, kind of cheesy, and involved the worst looking explosion this side of a Ringer green screen. The second season was about fixing those mistakes, finding nuance and pathos, while trying to find the right balance of character development and walker killin’. While they worked out some things (Shane’s escalating instability was one of the highlights) and laid to waste others (Lori is the worst and her death would only make Rick seem more sympathetic), they constructed a show closer to the one that the pilot promised: a horror movie with more time to dedicate to building the storyworld and the population within it.

But now we find ourselves in a video game.

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“I just want a future for my child.”

You are very smart, smarter than you might realize. A diet of serial narrative television provides you with a media intelligence that is unsurpassed in the history of storytelling. You’ve suffered the eternal questions and hidden clues of Lost. You’ve pointed out continuity roadblocks in Flash Forward. You knew The Event wasn’t going to last. And it’s all part of picking up on the details of how these shows are put together, even if you don’t fully understand the mechanics, that makes you a smarter, more critical audience.

That is why I think I’ve seen so many people on Twitter announce that they’re “out” with this series. They’ve tried it, stayed in for a hand or two, and then pushed back from the table. Because the audience for Revolution is smart. Now, that’s not to say everyone has tossed in their cards. Revolution is doing well, particularly for NBC, well enough to be picked up for a full season. But people are falling off. The show is slow-playing their story, which is essential for a premise like theirs.

But people have no interest in staying in a hand when they already know what’s being played.

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“Burn it. Burn everything.”

Last week on Revolution, Charlie said “family” so many times, the word lost all meaning. It was a very clear message that “family” in the post-apocalypse was going to be an important theme for the show as the core motivation for why anything happened. Unfortunately, whenever I hear the word “family” now, I roll my eyes, even when Revolution isn’t involved.

We’d hoped that this was just a growing pain from the pilot, an issue of establishing themes for the series in a limited amount of time by beating them into our heads (as pilots are wont to do). But, while the second episode isn’t bad, they double down on the discussion of post-civilization morality in a way that is so transparent each segment is like a vignette of thinly-veiled discussion on our modern hot-button issues.

I’m starting to feel like this show is going to desensitize me to ethical debate.

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“Hell hath no fury like the second-rate.”

I really hope “let’s do the news” is a euphemism.

It’s not unpopular to dislike The Newsroom. I struggle to find people that truly, honestly, uninronically enjoy it. I’m not alone in wishing Mac has a revelation that maybe while her newsroom is experiencing important current events that it’s not the time to pester Will into admitting he still has feelings for her. I’m certainly not alone in suffering the pageant of pedagogy pushed onto the audience once a week that wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t make me want to roll my eyes so far into the back of my head that they might actually get stuck. And I certainly am not alone in wishing Seal Team Six had taken out Maggie instead.

But, honestly, what is it about this show that raises the ire of so many people and why do they continue to watch it? I would understand if the people lifting pitchforks were those of a right-wing persuasion, particularly those that voted for the political figures that Sorkin often uses as emotional bait throughout the series. But they would just stop watching. Why aren’t we so smart? Why do we continue to endure the misogyny, the melodrama, the one-liners that would make a girl from Rosewood groan? What is it about The Newsroom that keeps getting us to come back for more?

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“How are you still working here?”

Adorkable.

And, finally, we have the story of the cylon.

While Mac Mac and Maggie have been busy flitting about girlishly, getting themselves worked up into tizzies that big, strong men continually save them from, there is one woman at the office who has been on the fringe of the nonsense. No, not Kendra.

It’s Sloan and her Munn-Face, blue-steeling through all the emotional scenes, establishing herself as unable to feel whatever hyperbolic emotional meltdown her radioactive coworkers are in the middle of. She stares robotically as Mackenzie carries on about stuff that happened four years ago. She’s maintains a stance that she has been told she does not communicate well with humanity. She has not found herself beholden to Will at any point, which clearly means she can’t be a female in this newsroom with her name in the excruciatingly long title sequence.

Well, no more! Sloan will prove her weak womanhood once and for all by being silly on camera, all so Will can paint himself as a martyr, the penitent bully, and a more square-jawed Obi Wan all in the same episode. Girls are such a mess!

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“Just because you shot Jessie James, don’t make you Jessie James.”

You’d think that, with all that cash, Mike could get a pair of pants that does a little something for his figure.

Skyler says less than fifty words the entire episode, depending on whether or not you count non-lexical vocables as words. My pleas to the universe that she have fewer words than that during previous seasons notwithstanding, it’s important to note what’s happening to her, now that she has become a woman with her life stolen from her.

Since the beginning of the season, her part has been dominated by the overwhelming fear she feels in Walter’s presence, the boot-quaking nightmare that is having no control over the monster in her bedroom. While she’s also had her Heisenberg moments this season (particularly while ensuring Ted keeps his big, stupid mouth shut), it’s nothing compared to the speechlessness she feels while Walter tries to mitigate his farce of a family life with his increasingly powerful role.

Whether you believe Walter is actually living two compartmentalized lives, is pretending to live one as a cover, or is desperately grasping at the last ounce of humanity left in him is irrelevant. The sum of his introspective and forward-facing action is the same: Walter is become the antagonist and everyone else on the show could be the hero that contributes to his demise.

Skyler, a woman living on the edge, is just as primed as anyone to eventually break down and be the person that ends this dystopia for everyone. Jesse, Mike, Hank, even Badger could contribute to the downfall Walt so desperately needs. She conveys this during three scenes at fifty words total. Give or take. Two of them repeated several times to sweet, cheer-worthy relief.

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“Friends don’t let friends sneak into insane asylums alone.”

Do Arkham Asylum inmates only eat sliced bread and peanuts?

My first instinct was to type this whole thing in Mona Code (what Spencer would know as a basic mnemonic device) but that’s harder in practice than theory. “She lives under trees” is more inspired than you might think it is. It’s like trying to compose Don Quixote from scratch. Or terza rima in German.

But, then again, it’s a lot easier when your character can communicate in nonsense. If you have anyone past puberty brushing a doll’s hair, they can say just about anything because she is clearly cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. In fact, I wonder what the doll industry has to say about this show. They certainly are on the forefront of establishing fake porcelain babies and tiny plastic people as the creepiest things to stumble across in the dark. Especially vast extinct necropolises ensconcing zany Rosewood asylums.

A lot of information is revealed in this episode, which usually means I’m going to hate the thing since that leaves very little room for Hanna to bust out a few choice lines (comedic brashness usually gets replaced by boring anxiety).
But this one could’ve been much worse and none of the plot that is revealed feels terribly contrived. Well, except for Nate’s weird Jenna love and Ali’s unmentioned evil bestie Cece coming to town. Couldn’t emerging characters exhibit some winsome faculties?

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“Very graceful.”

I don’t know why people were complaining so much about episode 4 of this show. Episode 5 is so much worse.

Let me rephrase that. I’m trying to temper my opinions of the show and base them on adjusted expectations. The Newsroom isn’t the serious, groundbreaking drama we thought it was. It’s not even a groundbreaking workplace comedy. But my thoughts on this are well-documented and well-shared throughout the community nerdy enough to discuss such things (one I love dearly).

Even while relieving the show of a haughty premise, “Amen” is infuriating. It makes me curious about the industrial complex at HBO surrounding Sorkin. In this new golden age of television, we have a lot of “auteurs” to whom we direct our praise and aggression but they generally collaborate heavily on a program or, at the very least, have to deal with a studio. Vince Gilligan often notes his collaboration process with his room for Breaking Bad. Matt Weiner had a much-publicized debacle with AMC between the fourth and fifth seasons of Mad Men. Shawn Ryan (The Shield) can barely get a network to stick with him long enough to grab an audience (see Terriers, The Chicago Code).

But Sorkin’s influence on this show must be more comparable to Louis C.K. on Louie, a showrunner who has the deal every young aspiring television writer in the world would love to have: complete autonomy. The reason I say that is because, just like on Louie, sometimes, stuff just doesn’t work. And those things that don’t work (to the degree that they don’t on these shows) usually don’t make it to air on programs that have a lot of studio oversight. The viewing public has given Louis C.K. the right to stumble because (a) even those stumbles are at least comedic/storytelling experiments worth trying and (b) how do you not love that ugly mug? Sorkin, however — sigh. Someone needs to tell him.

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