Showing posts with label TV. Show all posts
Showing posts with label TV. Show all posts

Monday, December 28, 2015

Tunnel-vision Writing

I've heard countless old people complain about being "forgotten about" in various ways; sometimes literally and sometimes in terms of "the world." As I transition into my fifties, I begin to understand more what they mean.
A guy you might not have grown up with.

I just read an article online and it referenced Jessica Biel. It said something about "the girl we all grew up watching on 7th Heaven."  I don't know about you, but I was twenty-eight when that show came out. (I was also in a stage of life at which TV almost didn't exist for me...but that is not relevant to my point here.)

So, the the thing is, "we all" did not "grow up" watching 7th Heaven.

Now, I am no Yale student who needs to be made to feel comfortable and cozy and "included" in everything and I am sure not going to call for an end to exclusionary writing and the resignation of the writer because he bwoke my widdle hawt, but I sure as heck am going point out the tunnel vision of many writers, especially when it comes to popular culture.

I could use this as an opportunity to lambast the self-indulgence and self-centeredness of "kids today," but I won't. [Insert sly grin.] But I do wonder if young writers are thinking, at all, of "audience" when they write. Because they are doing one of two things: 1) not thinking and being short-sighted enough to not imagine an audience outside of their peers or 2) deliberately excluding a wider (and older or younger audience). Number two really makes no sense. Why would any online writer deliberately limit his audience unless he or she were writing a very focused blog -- like a blog for ham radio enthusiasts? (Granted, though, that certain sites cultivate a certain demographic...but when a subject could be universal, what's the point of limiting things?)

If I wrote a piece about Happy Days, I sure would not refer to it as a show "we all grew up watching" -- not if my blog wasn't called, Middle-aged Daily.

I'll be okay. Don't worry about me. But writing, unless it is in a personal journal, should not be an intellectual form of intellectual auto-erotica. Either writing teachers are doing a lousy job of teaching "audience" or parents are churning out kids who think only of themselves. You decide.




Wednesday, September 23, 2015

British vs. American TV Casting

I have been watching a bunch of British-produced TV shows, lately. In fact, since cutting cable TV, my wife and I have actually watched more TV than before, because we are actively picking shows that seem interesting; there is less "flipping around" and stumbling onto things. We have definitely gravitated toward the British shows. Because of this, I have seen a contrast so sharp between British and American TV that American TV now seems ridiculous, for one major reason: casting.

Our Netflix/Hulu/Amazon Instant wanderings started with American made LOST, which we liked quite a bit and then we moved onto Deadwood, which was brilliant, if filthy. Then, we embarked on a series of British mystery-oriented shows, from Ripper Street to the brilliant Foyle's War to the light, quirky and entertaining Midsomer Murders, to our current binge-watched show: Whitechapel.

They are all very good shows (I really like Whitechapel) but that's not the point of this. What I have noticed is an apparent difference in casting philosophies. I have long been aware that American casting is superficial, especially on TV. Everyone is exceedingly handsome or beautiful. Every adult seems to be a former prom king or queen. Doctors, garbage collectors, teachers, presidents, CEOs, security guards, students, letter carriers -- they are all models from the Sears catalogue. Unreality just hangs in the air. In advertisements, the shows look ridiculous to me, especially when those ads come on during the British shows.

It is indescribably refreshing to see shows in which the casting was clearly done for personality, but also with regard to the character and not just the aesthetics of the actor's "look."

American TV was once like this, I think. But I guess the Internet supported image-distribution, coupled with the availability of cosmetic surgery have made the crop of good-looking actors inexhaustible. The Brits have access to the same pool of humanity and to just as many images -- it just seems they are maintaining some level of integrity.

Here is the main cast of Whitechapel. Sure, we have the dashing Rupert Penry-Jones as our leading man, but his sidekicks look like real people. And, in fact, Penry-Jones's out-of-placeness is accentuated in the stories by his handsomeness. It works for the story:


Contrast this with the cast of Madmen. Try to catch seven guys and girls in one (real) room who are so handsome/lovely. I dare you:


Or CSI -- to me these people look factory-generated; like they were genetically engineered to be TV stars:


And it just isn't the lead characters; the extras on the British shows are all more real, as well. Notice that I said, "real" -- not less and not even less-attractive. They just look like actual people, not actors playing real people on TV. The only time American shows seem to cave-in and hire non-perfect actors is if they need a villain (ugly outside, ugly inside, right?) or a street person (poor = homely, right?).

And the women. I am sure the girls in England deal with a lot of the same unrealistic image-pressures that our young American girls deal with, but it is nice to see, for example, these two women, on Whitechapel -- both of whom do not fit the "Barbi Doll" mold, but both of whom I (and I am sure, many) find beautiful because of a combination of their character and their individual (and unique) appearances.

Here is Claire Rushbrook as Dr. Llewellyn. She is not cookie-cutter beautiful; she is real and more beautiful for her individuality and for the character she has created in Dr. Llewellyn, who is intelligent, passionate about her work and infectiously vibrant. (Please excuse the burnt corpse on the table):


Or, also from Whitechapel, Hannah Walters as Megan Riley. Not 115 pounds of six-foot runway model -- a real person whom you believe on screen. Here is a woman given a chance at a role she might not have gotten on American TV; or if she had gotten the chance, she might have had to play a skinny, leading girl's chubby girlfriend. On Whitechapel, she stands on her own as a strong, sweet and adept woman. Is she beautiful? I absolutely think so; in fact, I find her pretty sexy. But the best part is that is doesn't matter; her role is not about her appearance; it's about her character -- a character that could have been thin or overweight; glamorous or not. And unlike what one sees on many American-made shows, her appearence is never even referred to; the writers never feel the need to justify her presence in the cast by having her character constantly trying to lose weight, etc.:


British leading men and women are allowed to be old and they are allowed to be imperfect. British actors seem to be chosen for many reasons outside of their appearance and a for marginal ability to act. (I find the British actors -- and I am certainly not the first one to say this -- far superior, in general.)

Even the women on the British shows who need to be pretty because of their character seem to me more naturally pretty; pretty in more of a quirky way; not with a perefectly symetrical face and perfect teeth and silken hair, but, they are the girl you once fell deeply in love with in your math class; not the one you had on a poster in your room. More real, yet again.

I'm sure all directors and casting directors want a "look" for their characters, but that look should be chosen in service of the character. I never realized the contrast until I started watching these British made shows. Good art reflects reality. In reality, people are composed of different measurements, weights, sizes and facial types. Remove that and it might as well be a poor puppet show we're watching.

Monday, October 14, 2013

Everyday Absurdity

A woman is walking through her living room. She picks up a discarded T-shirt, rumples her kid's hair and steps into the kitchen to sit next to her husband who is reading the paper and drinking coffee in the morning sunshine. All the while, she is talking to us, through the TV screen, about her health insurance. We have just followed her through her house, even though we were never really there.

A commercial, of course.

Is this not one of the most ridiculous premises in the history of mankind? -- this common format for television commercials? This woman makes no reaction, whatsoever, to...what? The fact that there is a TV crew in her house, in the middle of the morning routine? Or, is there some sci-fi concept at work -- a portal for talking to the world's population; a population she just happens to know is interested in hearing about her health insurance issues and triumphs?

Completely comfortable, the husband grins wryly at his wife and goes back to his newspaper. He is unperturbed. Nothing strange about universal communication portals and/or film crews in his kitchen and/or following his wife around.

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

The Lingering, Languid Lick

It had been a long day for my eight-year-old son and for me, as well. School all day, then a hard forty-five minutes at the karate dojo for him. We came home to a quiet house -- my wife and other son were off at baseball practice -- and we had a nice, quiet dinner. The boy had one of his faves: cold pasta and meatballs. (I know, I know....) I had that classic combination of a phony vegetable chicken patty on wheat bread and a bowl of reheated pork-fried rice. Nothing but the finest, when daddy provides dinner...

After dinner we partook of a square of leftover birthday cake each. I made my self a nice cup of Earl Grey.

We cuddled up together on the couch for a little TV and, the gods smiling upon us, we found that Raiders of the Lost Ark was being shown on the SciFi Channel. Ahhh! We high-fived and pulled up the blanket.

The upside of Raiders being shown on SciFi: HD quality (I still have the original three dilapidated video tapes I bought years ago). The downside: commercials.

Yvonne DeCarlo; from the
good ol' days when vampiresses
left a little to the imagination.
Yes, commercials. That's when it happened.

You think, as a dad: Commercials. So what? Product ads. Ads for new shows on the channel. Maybe a public service message of some kind with some lame celebrity telling us that we need to save music in schools because music helps kids to be good at math. (Its only really useful purpose, you know.)

But what you don't expect is that, eager to market their shows to a particular (and particularly libido-driven) demographic, the station execs would completely ignore the fact that children might -- through some weird alignment of the cosmic energy channels; some fluke of fate -- be watching Indiana Jones at five o'clock on a Monday night. What you don't expect is to see a horrifying ad for a new vampire series.

But, you figure, "Meh...he didn't react to it, so I guess he wasn't scared. No harm done." Then, the rapid-fire, attention-span corroding edits slow down so that the viewer can focus on a shot -- a slow, languid shot (in glorious HD) of a young, lovely vampire vixen lovingly running her tongue up the cheek of another lovely vampire vixen.