TV Review: “The Song of Lunch”

The title gives it away, even though it’s hiding in plain sight. While etymologically it signifies nothing, it reveals that the BBC production The Song of Lunch is styled after the mock heroic narrative poem conventions popular in the Regency Period. In particular, the title hearkens back to Alexander Pope’s epic poem The Rape of the Lock, a seriocomic masterpiece that blows the cutting of a lock of hair out of proportion. In other words, it is a perfect storm in a teacup.

And what a storm is brewing in the glasses served at The Song of Lunch. This is a dramatization of a contemporary narrative poem by Christopher Reid. He (Alan Rickman) once had a passionate affair with her (Emma Thompson). She moved away long ago to marry a successful novelist in Paris, while he has an editorial job he despises. The funereal volume of poems he composed based on her departure went out of print, “creeping into triple digits” in terms of its pitiful sales. This is their first meeting in fifteen years, at a restaurant that he heavily criticizes but also cherishes because they both shared happy memories there: it was their place. Directed by Niall McCormick, the film runs an economical 48 minutes. Little actual dialogue is spoken, as the lunch is almost narrated entirely by him. He still aches for her, as the production flashes back to their intense lovemaking, while resenting her choice to leave him behind.

The inner monologue he intones deliciously elevates the exercise of mastication to Herculean heights. The ordering of the meals from both he and she, informed by feeling and recognition of old patterns, invokes different reactions from the same waiter and reveals calculated premeditation usually reserved for warfare. (Reid would not be above assigning similarly heavy significance to the arrangement of forks, at least for this occasion.) No drop of wine falls without threatening to echo across the universe, magnifying its terrifyingly insignificant significance to shake the heavens. To give you a better flavor of it, here is the opening of the text:

It’s an ordinary day in a publishing house

of ill repute.
Another moronic manuscript
comes crashing down the chute
to be turned into art.
This morning it was Wayne Wanker’s
latest dog’s dinner
of sex, teenage philosophy
and writing-course prose.
Abracadabra, kick it up the arse -
and out it goes
to be Book of the Week
or some other bollocks.
What a fraud. What a farce.
And tomorrow: who knows
which of our geniuses
will escape from the zoo
and head straight for us
with a new masterpiece
lifeless in his jaws.

Reader, you may have noticed that neither character is named, thereby throwing the drama into sharp relief. Not only are the acts and omissions of these two people of nominal interest other than to themselves (he arguably more than she), but they are also greatly exaggerated. It should surprise no one that his hateful volume of regret features an Orpheus and Eurydice analogy elevated to absurd dimension. Like the mock heroic narrative poem tradition, Reid blatantly and deliberately flaunts the narrative excesses to grotesque grandeur, like a Grand Guignol of emotions dancing on the frays of his last nerve.

Although he is the orator of these proceedings, it should be no surprise that she has her own perception of how they once were. As the wine flows and he polishes off the first bottle, she presents her own view of their relationship and rips his analogy apart, then rebuilds it using new signifiers to reflect his own character – the one he cannot or refuses to accept – back onto him. The Song of Lunch, for its deadly hilarious and delectable turns of phrase, also harbors buried anguish, stuffed away in the deepest chambers of the soul, slouching forth to be borne again.  At its heart, the poem says that as grander emotions like love, lust and anger subsides, they are replaced by disappointment. It’s the ultimate sign that one is getting older when once-all-consuming passions surrender to resignation and regret. At one point, there is no longer any energy to be angry, only the gradual acceptance that a Henry James character once uttered in a devastating cri de couer, “We can never again be what we once were!”

The Song of Lunch received scant attention in North America until Emma Thompson received a surprise Emmy nomination for Best Actress this summer. It is so little-seen that neither its IMDB nor its Rotten Tomatoes pages have any memorable quotes submitted for it. The fact that such a symphony of the English language is not enshrined anywhere on the Internet for the aliens to find, but where reality show sound bites run unabated, is a crying shame.

If, after a summer of junk culture you crave a meal of substantive art, tuck into The Song of Lunch.

On the Telly: “The Office”

It hurt me today to find out that my beloved The Office has received a record lowrating. This was the lowest for the American version of the series since its premiere in the spring of 2005.

The history of NBC’s The Office was not a smooth one in its inception. Initial critical reception was generally favourable, but also cool, with many noting its inferiority to the original British series starring Ricky Gervais (admittedly I was not a stark raving fan of it but that’s another blog post). The ratings were generally low-rated, but enough for NBC to continue with the series. Clearly they saw more potential in it than in the wildly misbegotten 2003 version of Coupling, which lasted exactly two terrible episodes. The cast developed and grew into an ensemble, headed by the brilliant Steve Carrell as Michael Scott. The lynchpin of the series was his continually embarrassing efforts to befriend the staff by trying too hard. In other words, perpetual social experimentation and wild failure was the engine of what drove the show, and how the staffers reacted to it. By the time Carrell left for his successful movie career in 2011, having led the cast for seven years and earning numerous honours including a Golden Globe and SAG Award, and half a dozen Emmy nominations, the show had become a respectable long-running hit. The question was: would the series survive, let alone thrive, without him?

New boss: Catherine Tate

The answer appears to be a hesitant “no”, at least for the moment. There has been a tortured attempt in the show’s narrative to fill the gap left by Carrell. He may have been incurably dorky, but he also drew the entire staff together and they came to care for him in the end. The humanity was what was missing from the original Gervais version of The Office in Britain. For Dunder-Mifflin’s Scranton branch, the quest to fill the void Michael left behind mirrored his actor’s departure. Michael was Carrell’s signature role, and the problem was like any good pen, he left an indelible mark that could not be erased and would always be woven into the show.

Let’s liken it to what happened with Diana Ross when she left the Supremes. Without their biggest star, the one who defined the group, the effect was that the air was let out of the room. The Supremes carried on and did respectably, but they were never quite the same no matter how talented the members were who remained. Carrell’s from The Office departure echoes similarly, even a year later. The cast still has moments of brilliance and the ensemble plays well with one another, but the dynamic has changed radically. Sure, there’s great promise in British transplant Nellie as the by turns vicious and loopy new manager, played brilliantly by Catherine Tate in a turn balancing deft comic timing with a hint of dark turmoil, but she will need another year to make the show her own and to erase Carrell’s influence.

Kelly Kapoor (Mindy Kaling)

It’s a bit disheartening that the show seems to be on its last legs. Longtime showrunner Paul Liberstein, who plays the harangued human resources manager Toby, has stepped down and NBC is advertising for a new showrunner. Mindy Kaling, fresh off the success of her terrific comic memoir Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?, is filming a pilot that hopefully gives us more of an opportunity to see this refreshingly bubbly actress on a regular basis. And Rainn Wilson has been offered a spin-off with his one-of-a-kind character Dwight Schrute, in a backdoors pilot that will be aired sometime within the next year. (I am looking very much forward to this project.)

Like every office after a major shift in management, The Office is still in a transition stage. What we need to determine is whether or not the company will survive the change and grow into a stronger whole, or be finished off for good. Stay tuned.

Bad Art: “Heil Honey I’m Home!”

You know how sometimes, a really bad idea can be really, really good? I often think of this whenever I think of bacon-covered jelly donuts. And then there’s the idea of the Holocaust being funny, which at first I found hideous until I saw Roberto Benigni’s Life is Beautiful.

And then there’s the idea of a sitcom starring Adolf Hitler.

In 1990, the British Satellite Broadcasting system had the bright idea to turn Hitler and Ava Braun into a 1950s-style tag-team comedy called Heil Honey I’m Home!. Ava sported a New Yorker accent and was constantly harping on Adolf not being home to have dinner in their stylish Berlin apartment because he’s too busy hobnobbing with members of the Gestapo and plotting to take over Czechoslovakia. Feeling neglected and wanting more time with Adolf, and possibly relishing being in the spotlight itself, this ill-fated comedy was clearly based on I Love Lucy and even had a pair of nosy neighbours-cum-best-friends to match. What’s that, you ask? Is it a good idea to make them Jewish and call them Arvy and Rosa Goldenstein? No, but the makers of this sitcom made them so, anyway. And they banter and kvetch and all of those good things with each other and even with the Hitlers, who aren’t portrayed as being anti-Semitic but as competitive neighbours. Will hilarity ensue?

Lasting but a single episode that aired on September 30, 1990, this forgotten comedy has a bit of life on YouTube as a testament to all things regrettable. The pilot focused on Ava flitting about in a dizzy with Rosa over a star coming to dinner. In this case, that would be Neville Chamberlain (what, was Wallis Simpson not available?). Ava, being a show-off, slips this secret dinner guest to Rosa just to show how high up in the world she’s climbed, and they proceed to do jumpy claps like teenage girls on opening night of the last Twilight movie. Rosa tries to set up her young niece with Neville, who is given to corny, hammy little quips.

The comedy is unfortunately forced as if to wring as much irony and comedy out of the film’s high concept. The acting across the board is so over-the-top, it’s no wonder the actors in it were never heard from again. Neil McCaul, as Hitler, sounds like he’s channeling Cliff Claven on Cheers (that better not be John Ratzenberger in disguise). Denica Fairman, as Ava, plays her like a bored 50s hausfrau (never thought I’d use that term literally) who wants to just throw good house parties, dammit! (Is she auditioning for a Real Housewives of Berlin series?)

Guilty Pleasure: “Zuiikin English”

I don’t know who exercises to those morning TV shows anymore. In the 80s they had those Jane Fonda videos. Local stations still put on those programs where you do simple things like do 45-minute runs to warm up, then a bunch of exercises. Fair enough. But who would have had the gumption to combine exercise with other forms of daily exercises, as in language exercises? The good folks at Fuji Television in Japan, that’s who.

But let us heed the words of Tina Fey, who gave us this bit of wisdom on the dangers of combining two good things at once. In her phenomenal autobiography Bossypants, she said:

“It’s the same reason I don’t get Hooters. Why do we need to enjoy chicken wings and boobies at the same time? Yes, they are a natural and beautiful part of the human experience. And so are boobies. But why at the same time?”

Created twenty years ago in 1992, Zuiikin English debuted to absolutely no fanfare on early morning TV. The purpose of the show was simple and twofold: get your morning exercise in, and learn English at the same time. The program consisted of three women in skimpy exercise wear performing stretching activities while reciting English sentences that have nothing to do with the activity in progress. In an effort to combine two activities, the purpose of both seems to have been defeated because the phrases are not often used in daily conversation, and no one explains how to perform the exercises. This is the danger of multi-tasking in TV: you can’t go about it half-assed, because you won’t succeed at it.

To give you an idea of the rather useless sentences that the women leading the exercises chant in a happy monotone (if such a thing exists), here are a few choice clips:

“I have a bad case of diarrhea.”

“How dare you say such a thing to me!”/ “I can’t stand the sight of you!”

“Take anything you want!” / “Spare me my life!”

“Lovely golf weather today!”

More clips after the jump.

Book of the Year: “Bossypants” by Tina Fey

I have officially given up writing my memoirs. I have thrown out all electronic drafts, random pieces of paper with quotes, notebooks half-filled with remembrances and deleted the backups. I have done this because no matter how much I try to conjure a hilarious, wise but pointed and still very true memoir, I just know that mine will nowhere nearly match the wit, humanity and genius of Tina Fey’s Bossypants, my favourite book of 2011.

Fey charts the course of her life from her humble beginnings in the suburbs of Philadelphia. Since her mother had her at 40, when it was a rare occurrence in 1970, she was referred to as “Mrs. Fey and her change-of-life-baby!” We follow her in high school summer theatre camps, which she said was not intended to be a training ground for future gay theatre nerds, but of which she says “you know how sometimes squirrels eat out of a bird feeder?” There are hilarious memories of her first period (“Modess! It’s coming for you!, it hissed at me!”); her first out-of-college job at the Boystown YMCA in Chicago (“the centre of all human grimness”); her days traveling throughout the country performing Improv for $75 a show; her arrival at Saturday Night Live and her first meeting with Lorne Michael (a friendship which evolved anywhere from Annie / Daddy Warbucks to Mr. and Mrs. Michael Jackson and back again); the creation of 30 Rock (“an experiment to confuse your grandparents”); the 2008 presidential election and Sarah Palin impression, motherhood and her hopes and dreams for her daughter. You are probably already well-aware with the gloriously brief chapter “A Mother’s Prayer for Its Daughter”, which is likely posted on your fridge or on at least one co-worker’s cubicle at your office. And you’ll love her description of what it’s like to be on a magazine cover photo shoot (“With the wind blowing in your long extensions you feel like Beyoncé. The moment the wind machine stops you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and wonder, ‘Why is the mother from Coal Miner’s Daughter here?’”).

I told my friend Mark Ainley at The Piano Files recently that Bossypants is my choice of book of the year and that I intended to blog about it. I read aloud from the section where Fey thanked Joyce DeWitt for “not looking like everyone else” (and not just like “a Liza Minnelli doll damaged in a fire”) in the 1970s, when the era of Suzanne Somers and Farrah Fawcett set the beauty standard for everyone else (“Do you remember a time when pop culture was so white that Jaclyn Smith was the chocolate?!”). Mark put it simply to me: “the funniest people see the most clearly”. And it’s true. Everything Fey puts in her hilarious memoir is not the recycled product of numerous remembrances from instantly-made celebrities on reality TV series. What she brings to the page are her insights from years of struggle and hard work, shaped into perfect sense by perspective. No one will come away from Bossypants with easy catchphrases or delusions of going on spiritual quests (remember that Eat Pray Love was as much a marketing concept as it was a spiritual awakening for its author). Fey didn’t grow up thinking she was “special” or felt entitled to anything. She is not a self-proclaimed “artist” who excuses bad behaviour or poor judgment with that easy label. Fey is just a really funny person who liked to write, perform and share that love with everyone. She didn’t get famous for being on a reality show. Tina Fey got to where she is now through sheer hard work behind the scenes. This includes but is not limited to years of working in summer theatre, university acting seminars, night classes, writing on SNL and putting in 16-hour days on set before she traded that in for another 14-hour-a-day-gig running 30 Rock.

And she’s not even done yet. What keeps Fey going on 30 Rock is not just her love for her work, but also all of its attendant and necessary responsibilities. She realized that if she were to have quit the show a year or two into it that she would have royally corn-holed her entire staff. She admits that not everyone working on the show is at their dream job, and they had mortgages to pay, just like she does. This perspective keeps Fey from pulling any diva-like antics and sticking to the work at hand. She did, however, hint that the show might end before too long, as she indicated that “it was time to start looking for parachutes again” after the show’s low-rated yet long, critically acclaimed and culturally relevant run, but you don’t get the sense that she would end the show on a whim. She’s above that.

Classic TV: House Hunters International

Escapist TV has now reached the point where “house porn” is one of the newest forms of stealth soft-core erotica.

The original House Hunters on Home & Garden TV focuses on prospective buyers in the United States looking to upgrade or downsize into new homes. A global spin-off the series emerged in 2009, when HGTV decided that it was a good idea to show the challenge of buying or renting a home outside America. Given the terrible economic state and the startlingly high number of foreclosures in the U.S. within the last few years, it seems perverse to watch people get into debt while trying to find the perfect home. But the fact is that in our new economy, talent is moving globally and these people must all live somewhere. We move for love, for money, for a change of pace in life. This show might seem fantastical today, but it really shows that the dream of picking up and starting a new life isn’t out of reach.

House Hunters International (which I’m calling “HHI” since that’s a long title) follows, in each 30-minute episode, people who are moving entire countries, usually to take new jobs and / or be close to family, or for love or retirement. The prospective buyers or renters could be from anywhere. The show has followed a Canadian national moving home to her birthplace of Tel Aviv, a former Olympic skier from Edmonton who bought a rental mansion in Punta Cana, circus performers from Cirque du Soleil buying a country home in France, Brits buying vacation homes in Andalucia, two brothers returning to Singapore from Australia and Manhattan to start a business, and an Irishman who moves to Bulgaria to be with the woman he loves while she’s finishing university. HHI has gone to Turin, Nairobi, Sydney, Vanuatu, Hong Kong, Mumbai and Marrakesh. The show even follows, to my great surprise, a student from my university days who worked in the office across the hall from me in the student union building buying an apartment to make his stay in Tokyo permanent!

Dream home? Looking in St. Maartens

Some of the buyers are rather entitled and complain that they aren’t getting enough “bang” for their buck. Some are looking purely to acquire properties in areas that they always know to be “tourist-friendly” but who somehow seem to conveniently overlook kidnapping epidemics where they plan to settle as foreign nationals. Some pack up the whole family and simply think they can buy a residence in the centre of the city for a family of ten without paying a lot of money for it. This makes for unintentional comedy.

Perhaps what’s most interesting about HHI is not just entertainment value, but the living works of art they plan to move into. The homes are absolutely amazing in some episodes, given the size of the budget for purchase or rental. We are treated to palatial villas in Mexico right on the beach, six-bedroom three-level Cliffside homes with infinity pools in Kuala Lumpur, state-of-the-art condos in Zurich with private elevators, and brand-new lofts in the centre of Berlin that has more room for less money than you’d pay in New York, London or Vancouver. You can also find quaint homes such as tiny 300-square-foot pied-a-terres in Montmartre, seaside apartments in Slovenia that all overlook the Riviera, and historic but spacious attic spaces in Buenos Aires. Each home has the potential to be a work of art, and HHI shows the before-and-after once the buyer or renter moves in.

Move-in ready: planned community in Abu Dabi

It’s also a bit of wish fulfillment. I had mentioned how it was a dream to move for love, for a change of pace in life, or for a promising international career. It’s also surprisingly demure in tone for a reality series, with little sensationalism and no one throws up or has a hissy fit, not even during the home shopping phase. HHI is accompanied by a soothing voiceover that calmly makes the home-hunting process a relaxed experience. That sense of security and safety makes the show excellent comfort viewing, and for those of us who are cautious about moving out of the country to start anew, it’s also a revealing glimpse into local conveyancing practices. Who knew that Bulgaria doesn’t allow foreign nationals to own property, unless you do it through a locally-incorporated business you own or start up? In most of South America, the method of payment is cash-and-carry, meaning that you’ll have to get to the country with cash in hand, in a safe, and arrange to deliver the deposit in a money belt attached to your torso. You’ll also occasionally catch a glimpse into just how expensive cities such as London or Paris really are, and what you might expect to get at certain price points. (In case you’re wondering, they break down the price per square foot.)

It might be a stretch to consider HHI as “classic” television, but in fifty years’ time, this will be a time capsule showing how the global community moved in this time and place. Perhaps by that point we’ll have abandoned Earth and have moved to the Moon, perhaps we’ll all have gone underwater, perhaps international movement will become commonplace and it would be strange for someone to not have a career that takes them out of the country at least once in their lives. For now and for those of us who aren’t moving anytime soon (or plan on it), HHI is the kind of somewhat realistic escapist entertainment that doesn’t involve celebrity weddings, puking on the beach, or the initials “g”, “t” and “l” in that order.

Sweetie, Darling! The Return of “Absolutely Fabulous”

Christmas has come early to a lot of us who love Jennifer Saunders’s thoroughly subversive celebrity industry comedy Absolutely Fabulous. Originally premiering in the spring of 1992, the British series focused on trend-obsessed PR firm owner Edina “Eddy” Monsoon (Saunders) and her need to continually stay current on fashion trends and celebrity. This involves copious amounts of embarrassment to her straight-laced daughter Saffron (Julia Sawalha), who instead aspired to be a civil servant or work in the public sector, much to Eddy’s chagrin. Eddy’s best friend, magazine editor (now “lifestyle coordinator”) Patsy Stone (Joanna Lumley) is continuously drugged up, drunk or at odds with Saffron while egging Eddy to take the worst possible course of action if it meant that they could skip out of work and have lunch at Harvey Nichols. Also hanging around are Eddy’s bizarre assistant Bubble (Jane Horrocks), ex-husbands (one gay, one straight), Saffron’s babydaddy and Eddy’s senile but lovingly deadpan mother (June Whitfield).

Over the years, Eddy’s home has been continually upgraded, especially the kitchen in which the action occurs. Despite the current vogue for shooting comedy series as single-camera productions on film, AbFab (as it is affectionately known to diehard fans like me) is still shot multi-camera, in front of a studio audience. And yet it doesn’t remain antiquated or like a product of its times. It’s probably because the bad behaviour, in a reversal of the conventional parent-child relationship, remains one of the most hideously funny dynamics in comedy history.

AbFab returns for only its seventh proper series, not counting the odd Christmas special, this year on Christmas Day. Perhaps this is the key to AbFab’s success, and why they show it at Christmastime every year in the UK: because it’s like the worst family reunion, happening all the time, and it’s pushed beyond the boundaries of proper decorum and sometimes borders on what constitutes human decency, yet it’s strangely accurate in its understanding of dynamics. And at its heart, despite the sick twisted emotional f***withal / buggery (not the literal sense) going on, there’s real love amongst family and friends. Plus, who wouldn’t want to see a middle-aged woman try to desperately appear young, current and hip if she just surrounds herself with the latest trends, music, fashion, etc.? (It’s no coincidence that Eddy worships Madonna, who may not be getting any younger but can stay current better than Eddy possibly can.) The show has a rabid following in the UK and also has an ardent gay following, given that is bitchery remains unmatched on contemporary television.

The brand-new AbFab series promises more pointed British comedy from its creator. Consider that since the series started, the world begat Facebook, Twitter and iPhones. There is a plethora of new material to mine, to confuse and befuddle the entire cast and showcase the insane manners in which Eddy and her PR firm try to keep up. The creators remain tight-lipped on what happens but we can look forward to Eddy and Patsy waking up on a sheik’s yacht, worshipping Madonna, Twittering and – because they haven’t stopped following royalty since Princess Di – some attempt to cash in on Kate Middleton and Wills. I can’t wait.

AbFab’s new series premieres on BBC One on Christmas Day at 22:00 GMT, and on BBC America in January 2012. In the meantime, please enjoy previews of the new series and some classic clips after the jump.

Classic TV: Why I Miss “30 Rock”

I couldn’t put my finger on what was missing from this year’s fall TV series lineup. The failure of The Playboy Club, the disappointment that is Pan Am (which nevertheless illicit great analysis on the brilliant fashion-related TV blog to which I occasionally contribute, You Know You Love Fashion), and the sorely wrenching one-two punch of New Girl and Whitney were prone to induce depression and a longing for true quality television. There are terrific new series such as Once Upon a Time and the on-life-support (“hiatus” is a euphemism, I just know it) Prime Suspect, but what’s really missing is my beloved 30 Rock.

30 Rock grew out of a development deal Tina Fey received in 2005 following nearly a decade of greatness at Saturday Night Live. The antics of an SNL-style sketch comedy centering on the neurotic head writer, the Republican blowhard / mentor figure who protects the show from corporate heads threatening to cancel it, the incredibly bizarre comedian who fronts the show, the starlet hanging onto her youth, and the ragtag team of writers is easily the best show on television, for me (Modern Family is a very close second). As Fey went on maternity leave this spring and gave birth in the early fall, the show will return to the air on January 12, 2012, giving the five and a half million fans of TV’s 106^th-highest-rated show something to cheer about and look forward to in the New Year.

Here are five reasons why I miss 30 Rock:

1. It is today’s equivalent of the ultimate workplace comedy (no disrespect to The Office, which I also love)

Every decade brings at least one excellent comedy on the workplace. In the 70s, the beloved Mary Tyler Moore Show showed us the humanity and dignity of work, without ennobling it or making martyrdom or sacrifice of a work-life balance something to shout about. In the 80s and early 90s, Cheers demonstrated that work can be lively and, given the right balance of personalities, remind us that work is, to many people, like a second home, provided that you happen to like most of the people who work there. With the economy in danger and the more those with jobs are pulling bigger, heavier loads due to fewer people at the office, work becomes a bit more unbearable and there are plenty who are hanging onto their jobs and doing them just to stay out of the unemployment line and welfare office.

The rather preposterous situations in this comedy are not the usual run-of-the-mill variety, as they go over the edge and verge on the surreal. And isn’t your work a bit like that, sometimes? The series’ fast-paced dialogue is never dumbed-down for anyone, since those who criticize the series for being “too smart” and “too snarky” for its own good are not worthy to watch this ingenious show on a regular basis. Despite the discouragingly low ratings, 30 Rock remains alive due to the high quality of its writing, directing and acting (and not just for the also-high production values) and, quite frankly, there’s always been at least one really smart little comedy show kicking around on the air that doesn’t stick around long enough to be truly appreciated because most folks “just don’t get it” (RIP Arrested Development, The Critic, Sports Night and Pushing Daisies, among others).

2. Jack Donaghy is one of my personal heroes

I am not saying this because I am a Republican (since I am Canadian, I cannot be, and by virtue of being Canadian I will always be a little left of centre regardless). I am saying this because for a lot of us, who wouldn’t want to be successful, put-together, with impeccable credentials and a glamourous corporate office in the sky? What sets Donaghy apart from so many other suits on TV is that he’s unapologetically successful, without being smug about it (but he doesn’t have false modesty about it, either).

When I used to watch successful corporate types on TV growing up, I never thought that J.R. Ewing was the be-all-end-all of that corporate type. I enjoyed Donald Trump on The Apprentice until one day I realized his business-minded daughter Ivanka was way cooler. I had initially thought such a boss should be feared but approachable, and not be a blowhard who yells at people all the time just to exert control. It must have been serendipitous (the second time I’ve used that word in a blog post this weekend) that Meryl Streep’s scary Miranda Priestley on The Devil Wear Prada showed up in theatres just months before Alec Baldwin and the premiere of 30 Rock, because her performance was a primer for Jack Donaghy, the kind of executive I’ve always wanted to be. (They also both whisper, which is a lot more frightening than a scream.) That, and for some reason, I’ve thought that Baldwin would make a really kick-ass executive type. That Baldwin infuses him with humanity and yet keep his wits and witticism about him is a testament to the ingenuity of the writing staff.

For Your Consideration: Sofia Vergara

Dear Emmy voters:

This year’s category for Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Comedy Series boasts an impressive list of nominees:

• Julie Bowen, Modern Family
• Jane Krakowski, 30 Rock
• Jane Lynch, Glee
• Betty White, Hot in Cleveland
• Kristen Wiig, Saturday Night Live

Now, each and every one of these nominees deserves recognition in the category. Bowen’s balancing act of an uptight mother trying to contain chaos and yet in need of considerable release continues in a long line of Desperate Housewives types, a comic tradition that also includes the likes of Jane Kaczmarek in Malcolm in the Middle. Krakowski brings Broadway glitz to her role as the insecure starlet on Tina Fey’s artfully genius comedy. Lynch's consistently glorious line readings make her monstrous character just a shade more human than what we should be comfortable with. Wiig’s chameleonic sensibilities make her not just a comic treasure, but also a brilliant character actor in the making. And whoever thinks that White can’t light up a room should not be reading my blog and instead be shipped straight to North Korea.

However, there is just one name that matters to me, and the one who truly deserves your attention and your vote as this year’s Best Supporting Actress: the sixth nominee, Sofia Vergara for Modern Family.

If Gina Lollobrigida came back to life and carried on with Sophia Loren’s regal air, but were in love with life the way Vergara is as Gloria Delgado-Pritchett, then the world would be a better place.

Initially written as a trophy wife for the show’s patriarch Jay (Ed O’Neill), Gloria is not at all the gold digger that one might have suspected her to be. In fact, an entire episode was devoted to this sensitive topic in the first season of Modern Family, and the character is surely aware that such thoughts must fill the heads of so many others who see them together. The fact is that Gloria doesn’t care what you think, because she is in love with her family, her country and her life. When Jay’s gay son and his partner adopt a Vietnamese baby, she is only too happy to babysit whenever possible because she sees it not in terms of politics, but as a show of their love for one another. Plus, she loves karaoke, and whoever does not love karaoke hates life in general. Gloria is an endless optimist, and it’s too bad that you don’t have the cajones to tell her to her face exactly what you’re thinking.

There are several reasons why Gloria is my clear favourite in the show’s excellent cast. One is that she is gifted with wonderfully mangled English colloquialisms that are endlessly quotable: in one episode, she refers to sugarcoating the truth as “putting on the sugar jacket”. She gives Jay a phone in the shape of a giant pair of lips, because he once mentioned that he would like a saxophone and she (deliberately?) misheard it as “a sexy phone” … and he got it.

Classic TV: “The Comeback”

Every fall, a plethora of formerly big-name actors (or those who simply aspired to be but never were) make much-hyped, often embarrassing returns to the medium that made them famous in the first place. They often return in the context of a reality show and is “rediscovered” by a younger generation that tries to reclaim the washed-up star as one of their own, lending them an air of cool and generally upsetting universal law. It is in this atmosphere that one can fully appreciate one of the most brutally funny and expertly crafted comedy series ever created for American television, The Comeback.

Launched in the summer of 2005 on HBO, The Comeback was the brainchild of Michael Patrick King, then fresh off the conclusion of Sex and the City’s run on the same network, and starring Emmy winner Lisa Kudrow, who was herself coming off the successful run of Friends. The series, which ran only one season, was not a show-within-a-show, but two TV series that ran within the context of another show. Valerie Cherish is a former late 80s/early 90s sitcom star of the fictional, aptly-titled I’m It! The show, then nine-seven episodes into its run, was cancelled just three episodes shy of the one hundred episodes required for syndication. The show has since been forgotten and Valerie has been looking to return to her glory days ever since. Married to workaholic attorney Mark, she is well-to-do, looks fondly on a career that only lasted three years, and treats her housemaid as a visitor who somehow broke into her mansion. (They are not Karen and Rosario from Will & Grace.) Valerie has taken a role in the fledgling new comedy Room & Bored, and agrees to have a camera crew film her comeback and return to sitcom stardom as one of the conditions of assuming the role. It’s her first major acting project in years.

Valerie’s joy is short-lived as things take a vicious turn in the pilot. Valerie initially auditions for the role of an older roommate to a group of perpetually sunned, biologically gifted quartet of housemates. Needless to say, there are plenty of references to Three’s Company, as the sexual innuendo abounds. Her character is turned into Aunt Sassy, a Mrs. Roper-type who favours tacky track suits and landlady who barges in only to spoil the housemates’ fun. Her screen time is cut, she is continually forced to read lines mocking her alleged old age (Valerie herself is only in her early 40s).

Other characters revolve around and seem to exist only in relation to Valerie, at least from her point of view. It takes several viewings of certain episodes to see the rich inner life of even the more minor characters. Room & Bored’s juvenile creators and head writers are Tom and Paulie G, both of whom despise Valerie and are stuck with her only because the network agreed to green-light the series only if the reality show is given unrestricted access to the series. Needless to say, they engage in sadistically subjecting Valerie to further humiliations major and petty, at one point insisting that she dismiss a group of puppies in character with the line “you see puppies, I see Korean barbecue!” despite her protestations that the insensitivities of that line would be offensive. 

The show’s breakout star is a perky blonde thing name Juna (Malin Ackerman), an aspiring actress with no acting experience whatsoever. Her husband tolerates her activities, if only to get her out of his hair (although he clearly adores her). Her devoted, elderly gay hairdresser Mickey lives in the proverbial glass closet door, but like Mark, is the only person on the show who unconditionally loves Valerie. James Burrows, the legendary director of such classic series as Cheers, Frasier, Will & Grace and (life imitates art!) Friends, makes a handful of appearances as himself, a comic genius who is perpetually bemused by the fact that he has to direct the infantile mess known as Room & Bored.

Pop Rewind: the MTV Video Music Awards

With the VMAs taking place this coming Sunday, it’s time to contemplate the videos up for the title of “Video of the Year”. They are:

• Adele, “Rolling in the Deep”
• Beastie Boys, “Make Some Noise”
• Bruno Mars, “Grenade”
• Katy Perry, "Firework"
• Tyler, the Creator, “Yonkers”

Each of these is noteworthy and represents creative breakthroughs for some nominees (Tyler, the Creator), commercial breakthroughs for others (Adele) and a long-running history of making great clips (Beastie Boys). I hope that MTV chooses well, as they have in the past.

Here are ten notable past winners for Video of the Year, each of which has blown out the solar plexus at one point of another, and some of the worthy  clips they beat in the year of their victories. Whoever wins has a lot to live up to ... 

1987: Peter Gabriel, "Sledgehammer"

Beat Out: U2, “With or Without You”

1993: Pearl Jam, "Jeremy"

 Beat Out: Nirvana, “In Bloom”; Peter Gabriel, “Digging in the Dirt”, R.E.M., “Man on the Moon”

1995: TLC, "Waterfalls"

Beat Out: Michael & Janet Jackson, “Scream”; Weezer, “Buddy Holly”

1996: Smashing Pumpkins, "Tonight, Tonight" - 

Beat Out: Alanis Morissette, “Ironic”; Foo Fighters, “Big Me”

1997: Jamiroquai, “Virtual Insanity”

Beat Out: Nine Inch Nails, “The Perfect Drug”; No Doubt, “Don’t Speak”

Master Class: Lumet’s "Network"

Thirty-five years ago, a controversial film captured the zeitgeist. It was a heavily dialogue-driven indictment of a powerful new medium that was influencing people’s views of the world. It also had the word “network” in the title although, unlike The Social Network, it was about television. Directed by the late Sidney Lumet and written by the great Paddy Chayefsky, Network is one of the seminal films of the 1970s. It has been selected by the Library of Congress as being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant", in addition to being named one of the American Film Institute’s Top 100 American films of all time. 

Network is about a fictional fourth-place television network called UBS that has been lagging far behind the major “big three” networks. Fox had not yet come into being at that time, but its antics and shocking, controversial choice of programs before it became household-friendly with American Idol and Glee closely echoed the fictional stunts on Network. One wonders if Rupert Murdoch intended this to happen or if it were merely delicious coincidence.

The "mad prophet of the airwaves"

The three central figures in Network include its news anchor, the aging and recently fired Howard Beale (Peter Finch, in an Oscar-winning performance of a lifetime), ambitious and ruthless UBS executive Diana Christensen (Faye Dunaway, also in an Oscar-winning turn) and the former news division head Max Schumacher (William Holden). Howard suffers a vivid mental breakdown including a pronouncement that he will kill himself on the air, and another featuring a rant so monumental that it became a catchphrase when UBS rehires him and re-jigs its news hour around him. Everyone seems to ignore the fact that Howard is clearly mad and claims to be guided by what he believes to be the voice of God. No matter: he’s simply branded as “The Mad Prophet of the Airwaves”, and he’s a hit!

Diana, who is described as being “raised on Bugs Bunny”, pursues Max, the film’s conscience, and woos him away even though he has a wife and grown daughter. She’s so focused on business that while they make love, she is still busy talking about her business plan: the world’s first “homosexual soap opera, "The Dykes”.

Network is also noted for Beatrice Straight’s performance as Max’s scorned wife, on note as the shortest Oscar-winning role in history. It lasts barely six minutes in its entirety, most of which is contained in this one scene, but every last second of it remains overwhelmingly powerful.

Dream Mash-up: Glee and Björk

Dear producers of Glee:

You have so far given us the Madonna special, built an episode of self-empowerment around Lady Gaga, and gave us a quietly powerful interpretation of Fleetwood Mac’s seminal Rumors album. You are clearly into doing themed episodes and next season you may be looking to do more. I know you’re on summer hiatus, which is precisely why this is the perfect time for me to write this to you, so that you can have time to create the plotline and clear the rights.

My humble suggestion to you is to structure your next themed episode entirely around the music of … BJÖRK.

Yes, Björk.

Think about it. Her music, being so over-the-top and unusual, requiring such complex and unorthodox instrumentation as vocal beat-boxing, Inuit throat-singing, drum machines, triangles and full-scale orchestras, are ripe for choral treatment. It would be the ultimate challenge for your show!

Yes, I know you and she tried negotiating rights for a song of hers to be used in the past but it didn’t work. But still, why not entice the pop iconoclast with an entire episode around her music??? And I LOVE that you tried.

The visceral, violent imagery in Björk’s music is perfectly suited to the uncontrollable emotional diarrhea of the characters. The music is so far removed from conventional musical arrangement and experimental that it would certainly make for some of the most innovative music you’ll have ever produced thus far. Plus, think of just how confused Middle America would be by having you dedicate an entire episode around such an unusual concept, but it would also help them expand their musical repertoire.

Just think of it as Tina and Mike having a weird dream about her when they went out for dim sum and ate too much chicken feet, watched a marathon of Ms. Swan clips from Mad TV, and fell asleep. They wake up, tell everyone about their “weird dreams”, and voila! Mr. Schue gives them all copies of her collected works that he had in high school (which his shrewish ex-wife won’t let him play or listen to, natch) and chooses them all to pick one. Or it’ll just be a bizarro episode like that one black-and-white Felicity episode from 1999.

Here are some brilliant suggestions for each character to sing, and the signature line from each song that would be truest to each character’s essence.

Classic TV: United States of Tara

The Blogger grew up in a house with several women. As is common with ethnic families, several generations of the same family lived in the same home. No one thought to move out except to get married. Consequently, the Blogger counts amongst the people who were around during his childhood two parents, two siblings, two grandparents, three aunts, the housekeeper and an assistant. Even after moving across an ocean, the Blogger still had numerous relatives come to visit for several weeks at a time, and some lived with us for several months. Space has always been at a premium. This experience is uncommon to the West and particularly absent from television. 

Showtime’s poison-tipped but strangely loving comedy United States of Tara manages to accomplish the astonishing feat of having several women live in the same home while not adding any additional bodies. Created by Oscar-winning screenwriter Diablo Cody (Juno), the series focuses on a perfect nuclear family consisting of one man, one woman, one daughter and one son.

As is evident, this is no average nuclear family. Tara (Toni Collette) has been happily married for many years but also has at least three multiple personalities that arrive unannounced at triggering events. “T” is a typical teenage girl with battitude to spare and urges her ever-patient husband Max (John Corbett, perennially playing the nice guy to colourful women) to sleep with her because “it’s still your wife’s body, she won’t mind”. “Alice” is a stereotypical 1950s housewife, replete with conservative values but with a backbone and constitution that makes Sarah Palin look like a Planned Parenthood educator. “Buck” is a trucker and a stereotypically boorish redneck. At some point in the second season, Tara reads an influential psychiatry textbook and cultivates the personality of its author, “Shoshanna”, a Jewish New York shrink fresh out of the 1970s. Later on, she resuscitates her long-repressed childhood other, “Chicken”, who is five years old. 

Memo to File, re: Oprah

Note: this originally appeared on the Blogger’s previous blog a few years ago, and is re-published on the eve of Oprah’s farewell episode.

It was a conversation I’ve had with many lawyer friends of mine. They continue to be inundated with work, the partners they work with are sadist taskmasters, and their Machiavellian colleagues continually prey on their clients. People do not take vacations for fear that their files will have magically alighted onto the desks of the lawyer next door. My dear friends are ignoring their health and have begun to forgo family obligations, and return from work later at night. Despite our best efforts, it is becoming more difficult to “let go”.

There is, however, a simple solution that, while it may not make the nightmare files or the fear go away, can help alleviate just a little pressure. The solution is simple that no one has ever thought of it. Every day, for one hour a day, all business must shut down so that everyone in the office can … watch Oprah. Together. In the conference room.

Don’t look at me like that. I’m deadly serious.

Everyone who has stayed home from work can attest that Oprah has a hypnotic hold over her audience. On her show, you see ordinary people, sports figures, celebrities and politicians bare their souls. People discuss social issues, from racism and sexism to homophobia and ageism, to everyone’s great cathartic release. Recent topics include her revisit with Neo-Nazis who walked out on her in the late 80s during a taping, and Chaz Bono’s transition to a biological male. Oprah’s show is like a shining beacon, one to where celebrities tearfully go to address and atone for public embarrassment and sins, or just to promote their new line of handbags. The reason why Oprah is one of the most powerful cultural figures of our time is that she empathizes with everyone and welcomes them on her show, no matter how famous or ordinary they are. Although some (still) attribute the show’s lasting success female bonding at its most powerful, but the power of The Big O is not localized to women. When she speaks, people listen. Not just women: everyone. Oprah matters.