The second episode of Life’s Too Short, featuring a Johnny Depp appearance, is perhaps the single funniest episode of a half hour sitcom ever recorded.
Archive for the ‘Television’ Category
Life’s Too Short
November 19, 2011This Whovian Podcast
April 22, 2011
I have recently had the honor of an invitation to participate in a Doctor Who related Podcast with good friend and brother-in-arms Brian from the most excellent Who blog Agnostic Whovian. The premier episode is up and running in which you can hear us lament the passing of Liz Sladen, talk about our earliest memories of the show and our expectations for this Saturday’s debut of Matt Smith’s second season as the good Doctor. You’ll also hear a Don Knotts impression and accusations of cannibalism concerning Kirstie Alley.
All in all, it was a delightful experience and one we hope to enjoy every week now that the new season is under way. One never knows what sort of tangent we might fly off on but there’s always the guarantee of excellent Doctor Who talk from two guys who know how to appreciate videotaped interiors.
Learn more here or click the above picture for a direct link to the podcast. Share and enjoy.
Winter Is Here
April 17, 2011
I don’t often get exited about television. I do, however, get excited about great books. And sometimes, when it appears that one of my favorite novels is going to be brought to life on film by folks who appear to “get it” I do get a bit enthusiastic. Sometimes it’s a rewarding experience, sometimes not.
In the case of HBO’s adaptation of George R.R. Martin’s sublimely adult oriented series of fantasy novels, A Song of Ice and Fire, everything I have seen in previews and on the promotional website leads me to think this thing is being done right.
First off, it looks utterly gorgeous.
When lost in the mental realm of images created in one’s mind whilst reading a novel, one tends to create one’s own set of ideas about how things in a fictional world might look. This is especially true in fantasy and sci-fi. So it’s rare that another’s conception of that world will match or satisfy your own. I think of the absurd imagery in David Lynch’s Dune as an example of how turned off I could be when I perceive that someone’s done it badly (and I otherwise like David Lynch, by the way). I think of Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings as someone who did it fairly correctly. The images I’m seeing from Game of Thrones suggest the creators of the series are doing it even better than my own imagination might do. It looks dark and cold in all the right places, misty and lush in others, glaring and hard where needed. The settings and costumes seem perfect.
For once, I’m wondering if a filmed adaptation might actually enhance a written story and not pale in comparison. Perhaps I’m letting my enthusiasm get the better of me, here. I consumed Martin’s novels like they were rich, delicious meals and I was a starving man. I want to do the same this evening at 9 p.m. when the series debuts on HBO.
Update: The opening episode met almost all of my expectations. It was beautifully done. Not only is the art design absolutely masterful but it seems they have managed to bring aboard a genuinely fantastic cast that will bring these characters to fascinating life onscreen. You can’t take your eyes off the gent playing Tyrion Lannister, Sean Bean is brilliantly cast as Ned Stark and the children have all been cast to near perfection. Jaime Lannister, Cersei and the multitude of side characters. The only question to me is whether the wide-eyed beauty playing Daenerys will ever be able to pull off the dramatic transformation required of the character as the series progresses.
Regardless is will be an unbounded pleasure to watch.
Excuse Me Whilst I Drool
January 10, 2011Having spent an hour or so pouring over HBO’s site for Game of Thrones, a seemingly faithful and gorgeous looking adaptation of George R.R. Martin’s fantasy series, A Song of Ice and Fire, I can safely say I’m sporting wood and it’s not just because of the chick playing Daenerys Targaryen.
It just looks like they’ve done things properly. Meaning, paid full heed to the source material. If we’ve learned any lesson from the past decade or so of film adaptations, it’s to stay true to your source when you bring a comic or a novel to the screen. Heed the author’s intentions. The atmosphere created within the work. The words themselves whenever possible. It was a success as a novel for a reason. Thus, to do it correctly, stay true to the original.
Looks, so far, like HBO is going that route and I couldn’t be happier or more eager to see more.
The Last Star Gazer
August 23, 2010Just found out that astronomer Jack Horkheimer, host of the legendary PBS series Star Gazer, passed away at age 72 last friday. There may not have been another sentient creature on Planet Earth as enthusiastic about Naked Eye Astronomy than this gentleman. His show was always fun, a little bit trippy with the amusing graphics that would feature him sitting on the rings of Saturn and such and the spacey synth theme song that played in the background. Wonderful stuff, really. As goofy as it may have appeared at times you would always be won over by Jack’s genuine love of stargazing.
The final episode, recorded recently, covering this upcoming Labor Day weekend.
Keep looking up, folks.
Roid Rage From The P B & J Guy
January 28, 2010I need to stop turning these things into online novellas. I shudder at times to think of the time I’m wasting on what is the most humiliating hour of television the week has to offer this side of Jay Leno’s Self-Immolation & Variety Hour. Its just such sick, depraved fun, though. I’ll see if I can’t make this one brief for all our sakes.
After a quick trip down Sizemore Memory Lane where we finally see Tom return to the program in a state of Supernova Fucked Uppedness and begin 48 hours of “sleeping it off” we get treated some brief tantalizing tidbits from the McKenzie Phillips Lifetime Special, “Father Knows Incest Best”. The worst of it isn’t that Phillips isn’t telling all to her program pals when she hints at the dee-fucking-mented relationship she and her dad shared, it’s that Dr. Drew feels the need to highlight it all with cheesy voice overs.
Okay, Pinsky. Alright. We’ve seen Inside Edition. We’ve walked through a supermarket check-out aisle. We know the tale. I know it burns your ass that you couldn’t get into this crap with her during the show and, in turn, set your ratings on fire. I guess making sure we’re reminded of it at every turn is the next best thing.
Anyway, the episode quickly turns into the Joey Kovar Roid Rage Experiment.
I'm sorry, are you going to beat me with your peanut butter & jelly?
Y’know, why try to rehab anyone from an MTV reality show? What’s the point? Aren’t they more entertaining on drugs than off? Take this steroid abusing mouthbreather here, for example. In celebrity terms, a complete nobody, dumb as a spare tire and with all the personality of a warthog with a brain injury. We get to hear, for example, a conversation with his beloved pregnant girlfriend who’s politely asking him about money and his repsonse, essentially, is “Get a job, bitch!”
He’s just that sweet.
Now, all pissed of because the future mother of his child had the audacity to talk about monetary needs, he’s losing it in a simmering state of rage, ready to detonate at a moment’s notice. Dennis Rodman consoles him luckily, telling him (pardon the paraphrasing) “You’re not married. She can’t touch any your money. You can take it straight to your agent and she won’t get shit. You the star, baby.”
It gets worse, however, when, while making a particularly sloppy peanut butter & jelly sandwich, Joey flies into a rage because the camera men are sticking cameras in his face. On a TV show. The overcompensating-for-a-small-penis Jersey Shore Wannabe threatens to kick their asses and what not then sits down to stew and eat his P B & J. All very scary, I assure you.
- Dear Joey,
Get back on drugs, please. There’s no reason not to. No one will ever hire you for anything ever again. Your chick wants all your dough and that snot nosed kid just won’t stop screaming. The second you get released from this chicken shit rehab go out and buy a bag of coke and get back on that horse, buddy. Then find yourself some iron piping and track down a camera man. It’s all good.
Love,
Ken
The episode meanders from there. Some aggression therapy during which we see Dr. Drew get disturbingly excited while watching Joey smash up a car with a sledgehammer. Does anyone know if he’s straight or not? That look on his face might at least mark a touch of bi-curiousness. Certainly wearing a black visor and safety goggles in public opens up a world of questions about the man, you must agree.
I don't know about you but I don't take mental health advice from
guys who think wearing a visor and safety goggles is a good look.
In the end, we see Sizemore awaken from his prolonged slumber looking fresh as a daisy. That was just picked out of an orangutan’s ass, that is. He cuddles sickenly with Heidi, who just naturally looks like an orangutan’s ass. When seen from the inside out.
After that, a bit of a tease, as we get a little preview of the next act in the Circus. Keri-Ann, the outcast renegade douche bag princess kicked out of Pinsky’s Sex Rehab, will be coming to the PRC for drug treatment, likely turning the entire facility upside down with shrill, whining drama and ridiculousness.
Four episodes in and I’m pretty sure I now want drugs more than ever.
Nice work, Doctor.
I’m In The Sweatbox
January 23, 2010
Down Goes McCready! McKenzie Phillips cackles with delight.
It’s The Feel Good Episode of the Summer.
For all the grim uncertainty surrounding the cliffhanger ending to last week’s Celebrity Rehab, this week took a quick turn to the postitve as we were finally allowed to see the sweet, caring side of our celebrities which, it turns out, is more sickening to watch than vomit splaying detox scenes.
It starts out with the much anticipated Mindy McCready seizure which is covered with relentless completeness. In fact, after seeing her go spare and slide off the bed twitching at least 8-15 times in the show’s first 5 minutes I felt my own brain start to lock up and my vision turn all white at edges. Enough already. Of course, while McKenzie Phillips, after a few minutes giggling at McCready realizes what’s going on, starts screaming and running for help, the camera man closes in for some really juicy close ups of the convultions, the spitting and drooling and animalistic grunting. It’s awe inspiring, for sure.
In the end, the trusty man boob sporting resident tech Will comes in to cushion her head and calms things down for everyone. Eventually McCready is taken out on a gurney to the hospital, sobbing, and someone wakes up Dennis Rodman (who has slept through the entire episode) who heroically rushes out to the ambulance to comfort her and tell her “We’ll pray for you.” Touching, I know.
But that’s just the beginning of the love we get to see in this one, folks. Mindy returns to the Rehab Center in the wee hours of the same night, seizure fre ebut with a dislocated shoulder, to be embraced by Phillips who welcomes her back to the room they share. It’s tender and loving but you can see the terrified look on McKenzie’s face is like, “Christ, are we going to have a spastic episode every other night in this peace hole now?” McCready tells us how moved she is by Rodman’s show of tenderness.
Then, it’s Friends and Family night as each resident gets a visit from someone close to them, except for Heidi Fleiss who, we learn, is only really close to birds, not people. She lives in the desert with over 20 parrots and toucans and what not, remember? Apparently they couldn’t catch a flight for this one. The highlight, then, is Mike Starr, no longer a greasy bag of hatred and angst, who shows us all how he has the mind of an 11 year old boy as his “friend” (who looks like he might be the moderator of an online Mike Starr fan forum) brings Mike a bag of his old picks from his Alice in Chains days and Starr goes around to the other folks in childlike glee handing them out, like anyone cares. “Have a Mike Starr pick. Mike Starr, AIC.” People humor him the way they would a 4 year old distributing bits of construction paper the kid had cut up.
This all ends fairly well, though. And from then on it’s the Tom Sizemore Sweat Show.
So what's you're opinion on life without meth, Tom? Oh.
The man can sweat, folks. We see only a teasing preview of things to come in this episode as, whenever the questions become a little difficult, Tom turns on the Head Faucets. This is not a well person, people. Days, weeks, years, of constant meth abuse have turned him into a rambling, shambling mess. He wanders into the program, disjointed, confused, shaky and manic. He looks like pure living hell and yet he carries a recent newspaper and likes to discuss how the press is “crucifying” him again. Hrm. Gee, Tom, whatever sort of negative stuff would they have to report on?
The interesting part of his arrival is how, even there amongst the sticky residue at the bottom of the Hollywood barrel, there remains a heirarchy. Sizemore comes in and spots Dennis Rodman, runs over to him like an autograph hound, pressing the flesh, chatting excitedly, looking up like a true fan. Rodman feeds off the vibe, looking distracted and annoyed, treating him like another shmuck he met outside Chicago Stadium back in the day.
Then, up runs little boy Mike Starr for his own fan moment, hopping about as if to say, “Tom Sizemore’s here! Tom Sizemore’s here!” Now Tom has his chance to turn the tables as he inquires who Starr is and gives him the looking-down-from-above vibe that he’d just received from Rodman. It’s good to see that the system remains in place even at this disfunctional level so a person always knows their place.
In this case the order being: 1. Has-Been Former NBA Star 2. Drugged Out Failed Film Actor 3. Washed Up Ex-Rock Bassist.
Know. Your. Role.
The episode wraps up with Heidi Fleiss, the woman Sizemore was sentenced to a 16 month prison term for abusing, rushing to embrace her former smack-down paramour upon his arrival, calling him, “Doggy, Doggy.” Watching them embrace is stomach churning to say the least. The queasiness is short lived as Tom decides he’s not hanging out and rides off into the sunset for parts unknown. The fact that he showed up with a carry-on bag full of drugs maybe should have been the first clue that he wasn’t at the program for the long haul. Off into the night he rolls. Cue some pensive, philosophical Dr. Drew morality narration.
Next week: Some no-name ex-MTV reality show minor character goes apeshit. Can’t wait.
Mantracker
January 21, 2010
At some point I need to do a lengthy expose on the Ken Socrates household phenomena that is Mantracker. I guess a new season debuted last night and I missed it, which annoys me.
Maybe you know the show, maybe not. It’s shown from time to time here in the U.S. on the Science Channel (I guess it’s the science being mantracking…?) and it features this gruff, horse riding throwback character who looks and acts exactly like he just walked off the set of Lonesome Dove. The thing is, he’s for real. Obviously. This guy is fucking serious, he lives that life, he’s about as genuine as it gets. This is not a dude you’d fuck with.
So each week they get a team of two people from various different walks of life and set them loose for two days in a different remote location in the Canadian wilderness (the show is filmed and broadcast originally north of the border) and the game is that these folks have to get to a certain location some miles distant within 36 hours while trying to avoid Mantracker, who’s a trained specialist in hunting down fugitives. They are on foot and have a head start and have a map to their destination. He is on horseback and has a local guide to assist him.
It gets wild and wooly, I tell you, and it’s nearly impossible to stop watching once you’ve tuned in to an episode. You want to see what happens. He uses his a near forensic approach to tracking, noticing the most minute broken branch, overturned rock or half-footprint, to determine where they’re going and try to intercept them while they skulk through thickets of underbrush to try and avoid him. It all usually ends in a furious chase and, depending on the personality of the “prey”, you often find yourself rooting for Mantracker to run them bitches to ground.
The contestants and he, I swear to you, take it seriously. I’ve seen people break down crying and screaming at being caught and they’re always scared out of their minds when he and that big horse come galloping around a turn hot on their trail. I’ve seen hims pissed off as hell, too, at some stunt someone tried to get under his skin. They both want to win badly.
It’s thrilling shit, I tell you, and, as someone who’s spent time in both postitions of Hunter and Prey, I find it fascinating. Of course, I want to be on the show desperately. Pit the Ken Socrates Mountain Guerilla Training against him, maybe some Deep Woods Mindfuck tactics, and see who wins. A match for the ages, I’m sure you’d agree.
If you think it’s your thing, give it a look. If you’re already watching, then you know what I mean.
Beacuse you’re caught, bitch!
Monster Island Rehab
January 8, 2010
Yeah, I blew the Smog Monster one time, so what?
It’s admission time. And no, that doesn’t mean I’m going to fess up anything about my involvement in the Holy Cross Girl’s Lacrosse Team sex scandal. It’s never been proven that I was anywhere near Worcester the night of the alleged incident or that I do indeed own a Roman Gladiator costume, either. So keep your paternity tests to yourselves and let’s move on.
No, I’m talking about admitting something even more embarrassing than impregnated Catholic co-eds.
I’m talking about Celebrity Rehab.
And my addiction to it.
Let’s be honest. It probably has something to do with enjoying the sight of people more fucked up than I am, that’s true. It’s not like I’m getting anything terribly emotional or intellectual out of watching leathery old b-level celebrities throw up and blow snots on each other. No, the enjoyment that I feel watching the show is a bit more visceral. And let’s be honest, it is enjoyment, through and through, at seeing the miserable, venal, gutter level abyss that these delusional, self-important Celebri-douches have brought themselves to through substance abuse.
So is it wrong to gain enjoyment out of someone else’s pain?
Not in this case, friends. These are not the down and out underpriviledged of the world. These are pampered, wealthy fame hogs who have used whatever small level of public notoriety they’ve gained, and the money that comes along with it, to fund spectacularly indulgent chemical dependencies. They have, as you might say, made their own beds and it turns out those beds are in the Pasadena Recovery Center.
Good luck to this Doctor Drew guy, by the way. A seemingly decent, intelligent, good hearted guy with, I think, a genuine desire to help folks who’s created for himself the Monster Island of rehab facilities. Makes the guy on Animal Planet who takes care of those hyper-violent, brain damaged chimpanzees seem like he’s filming Romper Room.
And trust me, this season is the Atomic Bomb of Fucked-uppedness when you look at the cast of heavy lidded Hollywood back alley types they’ve assembled.
The Cast:
Add in a couple of random, out of control former reality show twat bags and you’ve got your cast. I guess that ultra-nasty, whiny little twit-princess Keri-Ann Douche-Sipper, recently rejected from from VH1′s sex addiction show will be on hand at some point to take her top off and douse another couple or six people with water before she gets kicked to the curb again.
I can’t fucking wait I tell you.
I know, I know. It’s low brow, pandering titilation that appeals to the worst voyeuristic nature within us. Very true. But I swear to you this is not the proverbial car crash that you can’t look away from. This isn’t in the class of “so bad it’s good”.
No, this is High Art people and not in the sense that you have to be high to appreciate it. This is the human condition laid bare in all it’s glorious ugliness and depravity. It’s what our celebrity worshipping culture has led us to, the natural end results of our cravings for fame and fortune.
It’s who we are and what we deserve. Every Thursday night at 10. Tune in, won’t you, and check back here on Friday’s for some delicious post-show rehashing and fun.
You know you want to.
Who’s The New Who?
January 3, 2009Twenty-six year old Matt Smith, that’s who.
Announced today by the BBC, the young gentleman will follow the very popular David Tennant as Doctor Who after his impending departure from the role. Conversation, as you might imagine, is buzzing everywhere about the news.
My great friend and co-conspirator Gonz O’Lager, the man who’s opinion on all things Who I value and respect more than any other, weighs in on the subject with seeming trepidation and general distaste for the kissy nature of the Doctor in recent years, and how that may have influenced the choice of this youngster for the part. His observations, as always, are spot on and very similar to my own.
Meanwhile, at the KSWNO, Gorman Moloko is using his position as Managing Editor to voice his own opinions on the matter, including, as you’d expect, some rather maudlin dribblings about his boy Tennant riding off into the Vortex.
As for myself, I will admit to a certain amount of interest in the long running series over the years. It all started during the fondly remembered Tom Baker era when I would catch episodes airing on WGBH in Boston. I can recall the feeling when that amazing theme song started up and the tunnel visuals started drawing you into what seemed like such a delighfully strange and alien universe. Later, I would manage catch up on other era’s from the show’s illustrious history, viewed through varying degrees of snow on a tiny television set with rabbit ear antennas that could just barely pick up the signal from NHPTV in New Hampshire. That was my introduction to Jon Pertwee and Peter Davison and all the others.
Baker remains the favorite to this day. I guess I like my Doctors a bit older, and though it was unrealistic, when I heard that the exceptional Tennant was departing, entertained fantasies of a wizened Time Lord with a truly alien sense about him. Perhaps a bit stern and threatening, as someone with his history might become, given to bouts of haunted grimness and a wildly unpredictable sense of humour.
Not to be, of course. But, then, I’m an old fart now and no longer a part of the target audience for the show, which is a keenly felt shame, I think. We’re losing something if The Doctor is slipping into the realm of the Teen Idols and Pop Stars. Television science fiction will be that much poorer as a result, I do believe.
Why bother resisting the trend, though?
You could say that doing so is absolutley useless.
