I have a weakness for the low-rent. I can't help myself. Maybe it's because the relentlessly classy is so intimidatingly perfect, while something ramshackle and half-assed fairly screams out for help of some kind.
Case in point: The Dresden Files, a new show on Sci-Fi. None of the sophisticated geo-political commentary that you'll find woven through Battlestar Galactica--or Rome, for that matter. No, every episode is about a guy--an erstwhile wizard--trying to get along in the big city.
Nicolas Cage is listed as one of the producers, which I take to mean that he optioned the idea and brought it to the folks who put up the cash. I also assume he had some input on the casting, since Mr. Dresden is a wolfish guy with a seriously receding hairline. (I had the chance to sit in on a casting session with the great Nina Foch, and she had a remorseless eye for distracting facial flaws. The actor playing Dresden has what she would describe as a "muzzle.")
It's getting to the point where I'm watching Dresden *before* BSG. I don't know why. Nearly every episode has followed Harry Dresden's accidental entanglement with some young lovely, and the consequent need for him to solve a mystery using magic. The guy has a seriously thing for ladies--he seems to fall in love in the first four minutes of every episode. On the plus side, the actor really sells the hell out of his role. Last week found him passionately smelling--yes, smelling--a woman/werewolf. (I think he was going to track her scent? I'm not sure.) Anyway, if they ever give an Emmy for smelling a woman with a straight face, this guy is a shoo-in.
Okay, but here's the problem. The show is set in Chicago. They've got Chicago cop cars and Chicago police uniforms. They have footage of the skyline and shots of the El. They drop street names and nearby towns, and generally try to fake like they really are shooting in Chicago.
The end result is TOTALLY UNCONVINCING.
I am a sucker. I have *seen* the section of Warner Brothers lot where they film exterior scenes for ER and I still try to catch little pieces of actual Chicago on that show. Likewise, I have seen the part of the Fox lot where NYPD Blue used to tape, and I still scrutinize footage from that show, just in case that was one of the days they shot on location.
Hell, I recently edited some ER dailies (for a class) that I know for a FACT was shot on a soundstage in Burbank, and caught myself marvelling at how they'd matched the exact cold grey color of winter sunlight in Chicago.
"The Dresden Files" doesn't fool me for a second. It's OBVIOUSLY being shot in Canada--probably Vancouver, maybe Toronto.
Problem one: The light is ALL WRONG. Everything is lit with a gentle, golden warmth. I'm not a professional cinematographer, but in my experience, Chicago alternates between a cold grey haze (September through March) and an intense solar glare (April through August.)
Problem two: The accents. No way any of these people grew up in the midwest.
Problem three: The cops are super hot. Again, I call bullshit. Actually, that's an all-purpose note, applying to any city this might be set in.
Problem four: An episode just began with the on screen title: "Chicago - Near West District." Huh? You mean the West Side? Or Wicker Park? Last week, Dresden and a client drove to "South Bend" in an open jeep. South Bend, IN is at least two hours of freeway driving. Who makes that drive in an open car?
Problem five: Everytime the show tries harder to convince me it really IS set in Chicago, it only gets less convincing. The way Harry will deliver some voiceover monologue about the "way Chicago is." Or someone will whip out a map that's clearly one of the CTA pamplets that covers just the Loop and Gold Coast.
But see, here's the thing...I find it all the more charming for those flaws. Who can keep up with BSG, with it's constant weaving of WWII battle strategy and Crimean-War-Era military history? I'd much rather watch a show with some dings in the paint.
And the silliness of certain ideas--Harry uses a drumstick for his wizard's wand, a hockey stick for a staff--is very winning. He shares his apartment with the ghost of a dead, gay wizard who periodically goes off to sulk in an old skull--his own.
It reminds me more than a little of "Forever Knight," another Canadian supernatural show, that one about vampires. It was utterly ridiculous (the bad guy was named Lacroix, if that gives you some idea), but very gamely done.
On another note, Oscar Sunday marks the anniversary of our first visit to Los Angeles. Two years ago, we tangled with the blocked off streets and horrific traffic generated by the Big Night, squeezed into the In and Out Burger around Sunset and Highland, then plowed through the 405 to the airport, where we watched the first hour or so while waiting for our plane to board.
A lot has changed since then. I never set tire on the 405 unless absolutely necessary. In fact, I make a point of driving as little as possible, particularly in and around things like Oscar Sunday. Oh! And I've discovered I prefer Fatburger to In and Out.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Friday, February 09, 2007
Things Over Which I Have No Control
Rubbing Time. A new ritual invented by my cat Willa at 8:34 p.m., February 8, 2007. out of nowhere, she decided to shake off her nap, walk over to my desk, and circle my legs for 40 minutes, rubbing against me the entire time. No idea why. Totally new behavior that I've never seen before.
My brain. Woke up at 8 a.m. with a migraine that was so profound that even the blood vessels in my right nostril hurt. Took Advil gel caps, waited 30 minutes, woke up 3 hours later with no migraine. Little did I know that the migraine wasn't gone, it was just hiding. My right eye started tearing about ninety minutes ago, and like an idiot, I paid no attention until that first, savage poke behind the right eye told me it was time to Relpax up. Now I'm sitting here, wondering if the Relpax will kick in before the migraine comes all the way back.
Tom Colicchio. The guy behind Gramercy Tavern, Craft and my favorite sandwich shop of all time, wichcraft. He's supposed to open his first restaurant in L.A. sometime in the next three months, but every time there's a news item about it, the opening date is pushed back. Oh, Tom! Don't you know I'm marooned out here with no reliable source of sweetbreads? Can't you pick up the pace a little?
J. Crew. I lost a beloved olive green v-neck tee back in August and ever since, J. Crew steadfastly REFUSES to stock any olive green v-necks. What the eff, J. Crew? What's your beef with olive green? I know, you've got the dark pine green thing going on, but that color is L7, baby. Strictly for the Land's End shopper, know what I'm saying? Give me some olive green sugar, J. Crew! I am your neighbor!
My stomach. I know nine Advil in 7 hours with a Relpax chaser is not your idea of a good time, but you gotta hang in there, dude. Brain's sending you a lot of uncool vibes about needing to throw up and what not, but Brain's in a bad place right now. You can pull through this. No, don't pay attention to the Vagus Nerve. Vagus Nerve is a big liar. Ask anyone. We get through this, there's a steak frites waiting for you at the Father's Office. Mmm...aioli. Okay, bad idea. Shouldn't have mentioned food. Forget about the food. Just focus on not throwing up. That's right. Good work. You're doing great.
My brain. Woke up at 8 a.m. with a migraine that was so profound that even the blood vessels in my right nostril hurt. Took Advil gel caps, waited 30 minutes, woke up 3 hours later with no migraine. Little did I know that the migraine wasn't gone, it was just hiding. My right eye started tearing about ninety minutes ago, and like an idiot, I paid no attention until that first, savage poke behind the right eye told me it was time to Relpax up. Now I'm sitting here, wondering if the Relpax will kick in before the migraine comes all the way back.
Tom Colicchio. The guy behind Gramercy Tavern, Craft and my favorite sandwich shop of all time, wichcraft. He's supposed to open his first restaurant in L.A. sometime in the next three months, but every time there's a news item about it, the opening date is pushed back. Oh, Tom! Don't you know I'm marooned out here with no reliable source of sweetbreads? Can't you pick up the pace a little?
J. Crew. I lost a beloved olive green v-neck tee back in August and ever since, J. Crew steadfastly REFUSES to stock any olive green v-necks. What the eff, J. Crew? What's your beef with olive green? I know, you've got the dark pine green thing going on, but that color is L7, baby. Strictly for the Land's End shopper, know what I'm saying? Give me some olive green sugar, J. Crew! I am your neighbor!
My stomach. I know nine Advil in 7 hours with a Relpax chaser is not your idea of a good time, but you gotta hang in there, dude. Brain's sending you a lot of uncool vibes about needing to throw up and what not, but Brain's in a bad place right now. You can pull through this. No, don't pay attention to the Vagus Nerve. Vagus Nerve is a big liar. Ask anyone. We get through this, there's a steak frites waiting for you at the Father's Office. Mmm...aioli. Okay, bad idea. Shouldn't have mentioned food. Forget about the food. Just focus on not throwing up. That's right. Good work. You're doing great.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Looking Towards the Future
Having just seen "Children of Men," I have the dystopic hangover of all time. If you're prone to being sucked in by movies (guilty), then you come away from "Children of Men" wondering what is even the POINT of getting up tomorrow.
This is a great place to be, emotionally, if you're a writer. Because you have to believe UTTERLY in tomorrow's possibilities to get anything done. Yesterday is fine, today is good, but you have to believe that, sitting at your desk, in five minutes, what you're working on will look much better than the blank page you're looking at right now. If you can't believe that, you are buggered.
And if you're in a place where you're not only able to invest in "five minutes from now", but the entire future stretches out in a vast wasteland...I guess it's time to turn in an application to Starbucks.
So here's what I'm looking forward to:
1. My first clam pizza at Mozza. I ordered the bacon-and-leek pizza to go last week, and ate 3/4ths of it in the car at the first stoplight. It wasn't an especially long stoplight, either. Man, that was a good pizza. So, yeah, I can't wait to eat the clam pizza.
2. Having an awesome thesis screenplay. Yeah, I said it. I think my thesis will turn out awesome and I can't wait.
3. Valentine's date with Michael and the Scrambler. At the Santa Monica Pier, there's a small amusement park with a tightly edited array of rides, my favorite of which is the American Scrambler. But I don't really like to ride it alone. I like to ride it with Michael, who punctuates every rotation with a loud, hollered "Scraaaaaaaaamble!" I know, the commercials on sports radio and the ads in the New York Times will lead you to believe that what I really is some diamond-encrusted piece of metal. And maybe some ladies do. But personally, I'll take a ride or two on the Scrambler.
4. The last Harry Potter book.
5. Newly waxed eyebrows. I've clearly let things go to far, and thank god, I'm seeing my eyebroweuse Julie tomorrow at 2:30.
This is a great place to be, emotionally, if you're a writer. Because you have to believe UTTERLY in tomorrow's possibilities to get anything done. Yesterday is fine, today is good, but you have to believe that, sitting at your desk, in five minutes, what you're working on will look much better than the blank page you're looking at right now. If you can't believe that, you are buggered.
And if you're in a place where you're not only able to invest in "five minutes from now", but the entire future stretches out in a vast wasteland...I guess it's time to turn in an application to Starbucks.
So here's what I'm looking forward to:
1. My first clam pizza at Mozza. I ordered the bacon-and-leek pizza to go last week, and ate 3/4ths of it in the car at the first stoplight. It wasn't an especially long stoplight, either. Man, that was a good pizza. So, yeah, I can't wait to eat the clam pizza.
2. Having an awesome thesis screenplay. Yeah, I said it. I think my thesis will turn out awesome and I can't wait.
3. Valentine's date with Michael and the Scrambler. At the Santa Monica Pier, there's a small amusement park with a tightly edited array of rides, my favorite of which is the American Scrambler. But I don't really like to ride it alone. I like to ride it with Michael, who punctuates every rotation with a loud, hollered "Scraaaaaaaaamble!" I know, the commercials on sports radio and the ads in the New York Times will lead you to believe that what I really is some diamond-encrusted piece of metal. And maybe some ladies do. But personally, I'll take a ride or two on the Scrambler.
4. The last Harry Potter book.
5. Newly waxed eyebrows. I've clearly let things go to far, and thank god, I'm seeing my eyebroweuse Julie tomorrow at 2:30.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Nobody Tells This Wookie What to Do
The Force Arrests Chewbacca
Ever since I moved out here, I've been torn between hating and loving this stretch of Hollywood Blvd. The vibe is somewhere between a year-round Comicon and the breakroom of the world's lamest auto show. It's also an excellent barometer of the current face of pop culture. For a while there, the sidewalk was carpeted with Ewan-as-Obi-Wans and Young Anakins. Now, aside from a guy in smeary red and black face paint, there's no sign of Lucas' prequels.
I love the drama-geeks-gone-amok quality. It takes me right back to the shadowy wings of the Little Theater, listening to a freckled sophomore playing Henry Drummond like a 16-year-old Spencer Tracy, while the prop crew plays poker under the stage.
But there is a dark side. Some people get really into it--I've stood in line for coffee behind a Jack Sparrow who would *not* break character. Keep in mind, this man did not look like Johnny Depp and was an easy 50 pounds heavier than Depp. But he stepped up to that register, swayed, and with one disoriented finger, pointed to a cup and slurred "Barkeep, a medium cup of your finest mocha ice blended, sir!"
Speaking of which, I suspect Thomas Fox will be crying himself to sleep tonight:
"The city will do something eventually. Yesterday's incident probably shortened that time span," said Thomas Fox, wearing a pirate's suit reminiscent of Capt. Jack Sparrow in "Pirates of the Caribbean."
In a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf in Hollywood, an unhappy man in eyeliner is lamenting to a sweaty Darth Maul: "Reminiscent? REMINISCENT? Do you think Depp grew actual dreds for the part? DO YOU?"
Ever since I moved out here, I've been torn between hating and loving this stretch of Hollywood Blvd. The vibe is somewhere between a year-round Comicon and the breakroom of the world's lamest auto show. It's also an excellent barometer of the current face of pop culture. For a while there, the sidewalk was carpeted with Ewan-as-Obi-Wans and Young Anakins. Now, aside from a guy in smeary red and black face paint, there's no sign of Lucas' prequels.
I love the drama-geeks-gone-amok quality. It takes me right back to the shadowy wings of the Little Theater, listening to a freckled sophomore playing Henry Drummond like a 16-year-old Spencer Tracy, while the prop crew plays poker under the stage.
But there is a dark side. Some people get really into it--I've stood in line for coffee behind a Jack Sparrow who would *not* break character. Keep in mind, this man did not look like Johnny Depp and was an easy 50 pounds heavier than Depp. But he stepped up to that register, swayed, and with one disoriented finger, pointed to a cup and slurred "Barkeep, a medium cup of your finest mocha ice blended, sir!"
Speaking of which, I suspect Thomas Fox will be crying himself to sleep tonight:
"The city will do something eventually. Yesterday's incident probably shortened that time span," said Thomas Fox, wearing a pirate's suit reminiscent of Capt. Jack Sparrow in "Pirates of the Caribbean."
In a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf in Hollywood, an unhappy man in eyeliner is lamenting to a sweaty Darth Maul: "Reminiscent? REMINISCENT? Do you think Depp grew actual dreds for the part? DO YOU?"
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