episodes: bones, grey's anatomy, the office, 30 rock

Bones: I am extremely irritated with this show. The season four finale, "The End in the Beginning," offered viewers an immediate look at Brennan and Booth in bed together -- something the creators have sworn up and down would be real and not a hallucination or a dream -- only to discover that it's not actually Brennan and Booth. While the real Booth has been in a coma for the past four days, the audience learns in the last two minutes that Brennan has been writing a crime short story/book based on people she know. The following are my major irritations: (1) First of all, the actual story she writes -- complete with a lame Hodgins voiceover -- isn't a very good story. (2) Secondly, it took me an entire forty minutes to figure out where this bizarro world came from. These are characters I know, and yet somehow they're not... oh, it's a story. Told by someone. For some reason. That won't be revealed until the last two minutes of the show. Because the writers didn't introduce it as a story (but rather immediately leapt into bed with Booth and Brennan for cheap thrills), I spent a majority of the hour waiting for the end of the episode. I didn't care about these bizarro characters with their bizarre personalities. I wanted to get back to the normal Bones world I had grown to love. The only thing I liked about this world was that it showed how well John Francis Daley (Sweets) can sing. (3) And lastly -- and this is a major problem -- there was no chemistry between the lead actors during their sex romp. This could be because of two reasons. One, the sex came at the very beginning of the episode, and because there was no build-up, the scene couldn't climax (much like the characters, I'm sure). Without the build-up, there's no audience investment. Or two, randomly beginning the episode in bed -- with Booth in a hospital bed in the last episode -- lead to a lot of confusion. So instead of enjoying the moment for what it was, the audience scratched their heads and wondered what happened between last week and this week that allowed Booth to be healthy enough to engage in sexual relations. Outside of these two possibilities, the scene simply didn't work. It was awkward and the actors seemed to be pulling back. (The actors are friends in real life, so I bet it was like kissing a sibling on the set.) But most of all, imagining a story is the exact same as dreaming. Brennan and Booth still have not had sex, something the creators have been promising since mid-season. I'm angry. I feel cheated. And the fact that this show has been renewed for two more seasons really worries me.


The Office: Hands down, the finale "Company Picnic" was the best thing on television last Thursday. It was able to balance the multiple strengths of the show, including sight gags and verbal jokes, outrageous caricaturizations (which Blogspot informs me is not a word, but then again, neither is Blogspot) and quiet moments of heart-tugging goodness. Steve Carrell and John Krasinski really brought their A-game to this episode, and the writers pulled off a wonderful showcase of the often times overlooked or ignored supporting cast. Stanley had the winning line of the night: "I usually don't enjoy the theater, but this is delightful." The episode began with a wonderful prank on Michael -- wonderful because it's based in reality (what office employee doesn't dream of taking advantage of their boss and skipping out on a full day of work?) -- and it was nice to see Dwight get in on the prank. And yes, I enjoyed Dwight's awful pun while changing the clocks, "Like clockwork." And then the episode follows our favorite Scranton Branch into the Dundler-Mifflin company picnic, where hilarity ensues on the volleyball court and we discover, through one of the sweetest moments of the show, that Jim and Pam are pregnant. It's a scene that is right above the proposal (for its style of execution) and just below the kiss from "Casino Night" (only because nothing will ever touch the awesomeness of that moment). The reveal came through a window in the hospital (begin watching at the 20:14 mark), and we see the look of shock and awe on Jim and Pam's face, right before they kiss each other and Jim starts crying. Then he comes out to call Dwight with the sweetest line of the episode, "Dwight, send in the subs." Way to make my heart swell, Krasinski.

Below are some of the highlights:
• I loved the introduction of Dwight's best friend, Rolf -- "I met him in a shoe store. I heard him asking for a shoe that could increase his speed and not leave any tracks." -- mostly because I will never tire of anyone calling Angela a whore.
• Michael wrote down a list of why he and Holly are soul mates -- "Holly and I are soup snakes, and the reason is... in terms of the soup... that doesn't make any sense. We're soul mates." -- and was smart enough to know he should wait to tell her of his affections. Michael Scott is only as self-aware when he's around Holly.
• I'm going to miss Idris Elba as Charles, Michael's interim manager while Michael created the Michael Scott Paper Company. In this episode, his competitive nature really heightened his character's contempt for the Scranton Branch, namely Jim. This is a very specific type of character that would work well within the Office universe. Best line: "It must be nice to get a rest from all your rest."
• Michael and Holly's skit, "Slumdunder Mifflinaire," worked so well despite its obvious awkwardness (Michael announces the closing of a branch, when said branch is present without any knowledge of the layoffs) because of Steve Carrell's Indian accent and because they made torture into comedy. This skit, by the way, really showcased why the show will suffer the loss of Amy Ryan next season. Michael and Holly chanting "Dun-der, dun-der, dun-der" to the tune of the Jaws theme song was as sweet as anything Jim and Pam have ever done.
• Pam played volleyball in junior high, high school, college, and went to a volleyball camp most summers -- and she's proud of it.
• Best site gag: As Kevin is speaking into the camera -- "It's 6 to 6. It's a nail biter." -- he gets hit by the volleyball. Unexpected physical pain is always welcome. (And this was followed by Angela asking Kevin, "Now it's 7:6. Or is that too much accounting for you," to which Rolf says, "Here's an accounting question for you. What does one fiance plus one lover equal? Answer: one whore.")
• Second best site gag: To delay the game while Jim takes MVP Pam to the hospital, Dwight kicks the volleyball into the woods with such anger and then yells, "I'll get it!" and saunters away. I laughed embarrassingly hard.

Grey's Anatomy: The finale "Now or Never" was certainly the talk of Facebook on Friday. (Sadly, Facebook statuses have replaced "watercooler talk.") I don't have much to say outside of George and Izzie's storylines -- other than someone needs to give Chandra Wilson (Bailey) an Emmy already, and then more Emmys for the previous seasons that she hasn't won -- so I'll stick to those major characters. (1) Izzie: When she emerged from her surgery with short term memory loss, I immediately thought back to a previous episode where a woman had to be told every 30 seconds that her husband died on his way to the hospital. At first I was peeved because I thought they were recycling material, but then I realized the familiarity of the storyline was supposed to evoke a response to tragedy. What if Izzie had to be told over and over again that the tumor was removed? It's not as heartbreaking when compared to the woman whose husband died, but the source of one's identity is very much rooted in memories. Eating jello (action) is not as defining as remembering whether or not you like jello (memory). We all knew that Izzie's memory would eventually come back, but it was wonderful to see it come back in such an honest way. Her husband Alex delivers one hell of a speech about his fears, which makes Izzie hold on to his words and thus focus on remembering. His speech, delivered so well by Justin Chambers, included thoughts on leaving her, on feeling helpless, on her not being the same person he married. It wasn't sweet; it wasn't romantic. It wasn't anything anyone would ever want to hear after going through brain surgery. But damn was it honest.

(2) George: I didn't realize George was the John Doe on the table until the Chief said he sent O'Malley home early to be with his mother before he departed for Iraq. Creator Shonda Rhimes has noted that the writers deliberately edged George out of major storylines so that when he was absent in the finale, nobody would take notice. Well Shonda, it worked. I was completely taken by surprise. (Rhimes has also noted in previous seasons that she pitches the season's finale before they even begin writing that season, so I believe her when she says it's merely coincidence that Katherine Heigl and T.R. Knight have been publicly scrutinized for their roles in the show and that they're the ones who end up flatlining at the episode's end.) There are two reasons why George's storyline broke my heart. The first is all due to Ellen Pompeo. Her delivery of "007? 007! 007! Oh my God, oh my God. It's George!" will forever be etched in my memory. Broke. My. Heart. (Best thing Pompeo's done on the show yet.) And second, in the first hour of the two-hour finale, George-as-John Doe is on the operating table, being poked and prodded by all of the major surgeons, including his ex-wife Callie, his mentor Owen Hunt, and his friend Meredith Grey. John Doe stepped in front of a bus to save a complete stranger from being hit, and someone wonders aloud if anyone thinks they could ever do that for someone else. Callie says, "We like to think we would, but... [we wouldn't]." That's our George. George is the type of person to step in front of a bus for someone else. The way that these scenes were set up -- thinking of John Doe as some random patient in the beginning, then realizing that the patient is our heroic George towards the end -- was extremely well plotted. For the most part, the finale was a typical episode... but the last few minutes, where Izzie and George both simultaneously flat line, left a lot of fans screaming at their television, "SERIOUSLY?!?"


30 Rock: My biggest issue with this show is that the jokes are often isolated within specific scenes -- and further, those scenes are isolated from other scenes -- so it was nice to see Liz's fifth grade kidney performance brought back to reveal she went to school with Sheryl Crow. Overall, the episode was just okay, but I didn't care for the forced catchphrase storyline (despite it being funny, it was so self-aware that the irony was quickly replaced by the idea that NBC is making 30 Rock catchphrase central -- even their website has "It's a deal breaker, ladies!" everywhere), or Tracy Jordan going back to high school to deliver a commencement speech. The episode did have one great moment, and that's the closing charity song ("One song. One man. One kidney."), filled with the voices of Mary J. Blige, Elvis Costello (alias of an international art thief), Clay Aiken, Cyndi Lauper, Adam Levine, and many others. It was more parodic than the straight-laced "The American Dream" song from Wag the Dog, and I do enjoy a good mocking of consumer capitalism.

• Dr. Spaceman was used remarkably well in this episode, from "Kidney transplantation is no laughing matter, so I apologize... (insert childish laughter)... kidney is just such a funny word" to yelling "Opposite! Opposite!" at the kidney transplant form.
• Here's a complete list of the catchphrases Liz Lemon offers to various women throughout the episode: "This guy's making you talk like a crazy person. You have sexually transmitted crazy-mouth. That's a deal breaker." "Your fiance's gay. Look at him, look at you. Classic case of 'fruit blindness.'" "He thinks he deserves a va-jay-jay upgrade. He doesn't; he's not Tom Brady. Shut it down." "There's no such thing as bisexual. That's something they created in the 90s to sell hair products." "Only one snake in the bed. Deal breaker!" "Not on my watch, beyotch." "S to the D. Shut it down." "Talk it out before you walk it out." "Long distance is the wrong distance."
• Say what you will about Tracy Morgan as an actor or a human being, his performance as Tracy Jordan makes even the worst storylines so much better. The "When have I ever cried" montage was hysterical. In case you've ever wanted to revisit some of Tracy's best lines, you can go here and read every line he's ever uttered.
• Here are the lyrics to the charity song:

Sometimes life brings pain and strife, and all seems wrong. That's when you find a friend and write a song. So give the gift of giving, and give it far and give it wide. Take the leap pushed down deep inside. And just give a kidney to a father or a dad. Just give a kidney. We hear it doesn't really hurt that bad, and we know you want to give it to a super human being (?). So get it done. We just need one. For Milton Green. This country has six hundred million, and we really only need half, which still leaves three hundred million kidneys. Do the math. Milton Green (x a lot). He needs a kidney. Milton Green. Don't ask why, he could die if you don't call today. Listen, when someone starts talking in the middle of a song, you know it's serious. So give Milton a kidney. We all believe in this cause so much that we're doing it for free. Except for Sheryl. And only three of us are drunk.

The song continues, but it moves so quickly between the celebrities... but the highlight was Cyndi Lauper exclaiming, "I'm one of the drunk ones!"

episode: lost, "the incident" (5.16)

So... that just happened.

• The fifth season finale of Lost opens with an unfamiliar face (a motif usually reserved for Lost's season premieres) spinning and weaving a tapestry (with a machete!) in the base of the Egyptian statue. He then catches his own fish in a makeshift trap, and offers a piece to another strange face. The Black Rock presumably sails in the distance. There are two interesting things to note here. (1) Jacob and his little friend are involved in some sort of game, one in which rules are applied (hence why Man #2 needs to find a loophole). As Alan Sepinwall notes in his always-insightful recap, this relationship is analogous to Ben and Widmore. Certainly, Ben thought the safety of his daughter was protected under some set of guidelines, which Widmore broke. And (2) Man #2 is certainly an Esau-like character, isn't he? The son of Issac and Rebekah, Esau was the older twin of Jacob. Because his mother favored Jacob, she instructs Jacob to pretend to be Esau in order to obtain his birthright, which then made Jacob the heir after his father's death. In Genesis 27:41, Esau vows to kill his brother, but Rebekah intervenes and saves Jacob.

Genesis 27:41: So Esau hated Jacob because of the blessing that his father had given him. Esau said to himself, "The time to mourn for my father is near. Then I'll kill my brother Jacob."

Although this makes it sound like Jacob is the deceiver, Issac agrees that Esau was not responsible enough for his birthright and denies him a blessing. The brothers eventually reconcile, although only superficially and it seems the rivalry lingered. So between Lost's Jacob and Man #2, who is the deceiver and who is being deceived? Ever since Jacob's name was uttered, we've assumed that Jacob is the most closely linked to the island -- but what if it is really this other man who's in charge? What if Jacob's powers only extend to setting up the pawns of their game?

Here is a complete transcript of the opening teaser.

Jacob: Morning.
Man #2 (Esau?): Mind if I join you?
Jacob: Please. Want some fish?
Man #2: No, thank you. I just ate.
Jacob: I take it you're here because of the ship.
Man #2: I am. How did they find the island?
Jacob: You'll have to ask when they get here.
Man #2: I don't have to ask. You brought them here. You're trying to prove me wrong, aren't you?
Jacob: You are wrong.
Man #2: Am I? They come, fight, they destroy, they corrupt. It always ends the same.
Jacob: It only ends once. Anything that happens before that, it's just progress.
Man #2: Do you have any idea how badly I want to kill you?
Jacob: Yes.
Man #2: One of these days, sooner or later, I'm going to find a loophole, my friend.
Jacob: When you do, I'll be right here.
Man #2: Always nice talking to you, Jacob.
Jacob: Nice talking to you, too.

• So it seems that "Jacob's cabin" isn't actually his cabin. First of all, it seems to be inhabited by Man #2 (at least, according to Ilana, someone other than Jacob), who may very well be able to imitate dead people -- perhaps he is some incarnation of Smokey, and if so, does this mean Man #2 is the Christian Shephard Ben and Sun talk to in present time?(*). And second, it looks as though Rose and Bernard constructed the house(**) as a means of escaping the absurd antics of the Losties. (By the way, I loved the delivery of L. Scott Caldwell's (Rose) lines, "Oh, sure, you guys all joined up with the Dharma Initiative," and "It's always something with you people." God, I missed Rose and Bernard.) This scene, as well as establishing that Sawyer still pines for Kate (despite Juliet being more awesome in every fathomable way), explained the whereabouts of R&B that was true to their characters. "So we die," Bernard says with complete resolve. All they need is each other, and ever the optimists, R&B have everything they need. It was a really heartwarming scene, completely ruined by the dreadful Juliet-Sawyer-Kate triangle.

(*) Man #2 can't be Christian at this point because he's already imitating the body of John Locke, who's standing outside the cabins... right?
(**) I'm just assuming, really. How many houses have we seen on the island besides the Dharma barracks? There is a time-loop problem with this assumption, though. Locke (and arguably Hurley) go to the cabin and see Jacob, but Locke is unable to find the cabin later. If the house was constructed circa 1977, the cabin shouldn't jump locations if flashing through time. I'm sure that the cabin -- and what Man #2 is using it for -- will be explained next season.

• A quick thought from Isaac Spacewoman over at Throwing Things (which I totally agree with): "If I had one nagging thought this entire episode, it was that it is discomforting, and not mildly so, to realize that we're five years into caring about these characters (or some of them), and suddenly it's apparent that most of our heroes are a bunch of zealot terrorists trying to drop a thermonuclear bomb into a peaceful construction site and the rest are plotting to kill God. If, five years ago, we started in the compound watching a bunch of dirty and self-destructive people fall out of the sky to upset our idyll (just like Sawyer and Juliet did a few episodes ago), we probably would have an entirely different perspective on this little adventure."

• Speaking of Juliet, I sure am going to miss Elizabeth Mitchell. She's the only actor on this show who can handle complex emotions. Whereas actors like Matthew Fox (as much as I adore him) and Evangeline Lily and even Josh Holloway can only express one emotion at a time (no matter how intense it is), Mitchell was able to convey rationality, heartbreak, resolve, regret, and love all at once. However, and I completely blame the writers for this, Juliet's apocalyptic-suicide mission would have been so heroic if she hadn't done it for love. ("I saw the way you looked at her." Really?) And on that note, it was admirable that the writers allowed Kate to come back, not for Sawyer but, to give Aaron back to his rightful mother. But then they make it so Jack wants to detonate a bomb because he had Kate and then he lost her? I was certainly under the impression that Jack wanted to detonate the bomb to save (because that's what he does) all of the 815ers who died (Boone, Libby, Ana-Lucia, Nikki, Paolo, Arntz, Charlie, Shannon -- a lot of people died!), but no, he wants to detonate it so he can hit the reset button on him and Kate. I can understand that the writers are planting the two most rational characters -- Jack and Juliet -- as the "believers/saviors" of love, but the execution was just so unbelievable and untrue to their characters.

• Oh, Zombie-Locke and the patricidal Ben. What a sweet couple this pair make. (1) The original Locke is dead dead. His body is still in the coffin from the plane, and this switcharoo was made apparent earlier in the episode, to me at least, when Zombie-Locke suggested to Richard that they kill the other passengers of the Ajira flight. Even Richard was surprised at this suggestion, and if Richard Been-Around, Seen-a-Lot Alpert is surprised, you know something is afoot. (2) Zombie-Locke is most likely Man #2 from the opening scene. This means that it was Man #2 -- and not Richard, and not the original Locke -- who set in motion the idea that Locke is destined to die in order to come back to the island. This means that Ben really did kill Locke, which only adds to his ever-expanding list of father-figures he's taken care of. (3) And now Jacob is on that list. I really thought Ben was going to kill Locke out in the hallway -- there was a moment of hesitance, and when he grabbed the knife from Zombie-Locke, deception seemed inevitable -- so when he killed Jacob, I felt a bit cheated. I thought to myself, "Hey, I was just getting to know this Jacob guy." And then Zombie-Locke pushed Jacob into the fire and burned him.

• Things I liked: Sawyer and Jack finally beat the crap out of each other. This has been a long time coming. (And can it be true that Jack never knew about Sawyer's parents until just now? Kate never told him during their engagement or at any other point in the last three years?) I also loved, loved, loved the few seconds leading up to and during the dropping of the bomb. Everyone knew -- the characters as well as the audience -- that dropping the bomb was suicide, and thankfully the show didn't linger on that obvious fact for too long. When Jack finally dropped the bomb, the looks on everyone's faces -- especially Elizabeth Mitchell's -- were brilliantly done. And what made this scene extra fantastic was the closing shot (similar to season one's ender, "Exodus," where the camera goes down the hatch). Juliet furiously bashes the bomb(***), and when the screen went white, those watching became all too aware of how absurd that idea actually is. Blow up the island? In the hopes we'll return to 2004 and the plane will never land? Now we're stuck in limbo, just as those characters are.

(***) Unlike "Exodus," which did not show us Desmond in a Dharma suit below, "The Incident" showed you what was at the bottom of the well. And FYI, if you're ever angry and need to do something destructive, it seems that cursing at the object to be destroyed always does the trick. When Juliet's rock doesn't detonate the bomb, she yells at it, "Son of a bitc--" and you knew it was over. Ka-blooey.

• Things I didn't like: As much as I enjoyed watching Mark Pellegrino (Rita's abusive ex-husband on Dexter) as Jacob, I did not like the flashbacks. What exactly did they add to the story? Jacob "marks" someone by touching them and they thus become a pawn in his game, and that's fine, but the moments depicted in the flashbacks left a lot to be desired. Young Kate steals a lunchbox? Hurley shares a cab with him after being released from prison (and Hurley's not super freaked out about this guy)? He freaking gives Jack an Apollo bar as a metaphor for "needing a push"? Juliet's parents got a divorce (and Jacob wasn't even in this one)? Wow, snooze. The only interesting about them -- if you would even call this interesting -- is that it seemed like Jacob had a previous connection/relationship/meeting with Ilana. I'm also upset, of course, that neither Radzinsky or Kate died. I know Radzinsky dies later with Kelvin, but gosh darn is that character annoying.

• One last thought before I go... the title at the end of the episode, as well as the teaser for next season, inverted the colors so instead of white-on-black, it's now black-on-white. Perhaps next season takes place in bizarro-world where everything is backwards.

episode: dollhouse, "briar rose" (1.11)

I recently bought a wonderful book by Dan Gilbert called Stumbling on Happiness, which essentially looks at various ways people encounter, define, and categorizes feelings and levels of happiness. (It is by no means a guide on obtaining happiness, but rather a psychoanalytic exploration into the human condition.) I just finished a section on subjectivity and happiness, and what is relevant to my review of Dollhouse is that (1) these past few episodes are superior episodes, but (2) only when comparing them to earlier episodes. I am still not convinced that Dollhouse is a good show (and deserves a second season), but I am certain that it is getting better. Instead of reviewing this episode as a stand-alone, I'm going to look at the specific issues(*) I have with the show, all of which could have been avoided if Whedon and Co. had merely written second drafts.

(*) Admittedly, I seem a lot angrier than I actually am. I do enjoy the show (well enough), and there are some good things to recommend it. I just feel like Whedon and Co. could have a much stronger show on their hands if they had thought more about the characters and less about the overall arc of the season. Well-conceived plot means very little when you're surrounded by egotistical and ever-changing characters. There's no foundation on which I should build my Care House.

1. Ballard: At the beginning of the series, I think both Agent Ballard and Boyd Langton, Echo's handler, were supposed to be the characters with whom the audience would identify. Ballard -- played, as much as I hate to admit it, kind of one-note by the otherwise fantastic Tahmoh Penikett (Helo from BSG) -- was an FBI agent seeking justice. Who wouldn't support that kind of selfless and morally righteous mission? Well, Ballard became obsessed with finding and freeing Caroline -- his own Briar Rose complex -- and lost his badge, as well as some of the moral righteousness. Ballard is now a character who is so self-involved and hellbent on finding Caroline that it's more about his sexual infatuation with her and less about the ethically-challenged purpose of the Dollhouse. As someone who does not find grotesque infatuation charming, I have to admit that my emotional attachment to this character is waning. And this thought is continued with the star-crossed pairing of...

2. Ballard and Mellie: Now, I like the idea of Mellie, but I find the actress who plays her (Miracle Laurie) to be so annoyingly sweet that she actually leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Also, the misogynistic undertones of her scenes are alarming -- especially considering this character comes from the mind of Joss Whedon, who gave us Buffy Summers and Zoë Washburne, two of the greatest representations of modern femininity. Last week, Mellie told Ballard that she would continue loving him even if he didn't love her back (though not in these words), and that she would basically allow him to take whatever he needed of her. Those are words of an emotionally abused woman, no? Of course, this statement comes after Ballard discovers she's an active doll and so the scene has a level of sadness to it -- the audience knows her love for him is an imprint, and isn't it sad that "November" won't ever know that love(**) -- but then BALLARD SLEEPS WITH HER. He has angry, passionate sex with her, and it's just downright creepy. There's nothing sad about her situation. There's nothing about this pairing that makes me root for Ballard in any way, shape, or form. Did he feel betrayed by Mellie (and by extension, the Dollhouse)? Sure. Was he angry? Yep. But he flat out took advantage of Mellie/November, and it made me physically ill.

(**) It would have been a very intriguing development if Mellie had killed herself post-Ballard's rejection. What if her handler hadn't saved her? Because he did save her, we don't really have an objection to the Dollhouse because we know that the handlers will always be there to protect the actives. But what if he hadn't saved her? What if she took pills or put a gun to her head? The show can be ethically ambiguous, that's fine, but there should be less glorification of becoming an active. We see these dolls living a wonderful, zen-like existence, free of worry or anxiety. Why wouldn't someone sign up for that? So what if Mellie had killed herself? Then the loss of subjectivity and conscious decisions become the major ethical focus.

Fast forward to this week's "Briar Rose" episode where Ballard discovers November in the sleeping pod... and then leaves her there. I'm sorry -- WHAT? Ballard is far too obsessed with freeing Caroline, a woman he hardly knows (which thus points to his infatuation being sexual), that he can't also attempt to free November? "Mellie" may be fictitious, but certainly Ballard feels some physical connection with the body who shared his apartment and his bed. Surely Ballard looks at the body of November and recognizes something familiar. Surely Ballard would opt to save her over Caroline. Surely... oh wait, no. Why? Because Ballard has been turned into a one-trick pony. He has been oversimplified and reduced to a one-track Caroline-inspired mission. And I just can't support these writing decisions. Whedon and Co. could have done so much more with his journey.

3. Eliza Dushku: I've said it before and I'll say it again. Dushku should not be center of this show. She's not a versatile actress, her delivery is almost always awkward (and can't be funny to save her life), and her body has become a site of exploitation by the good execs at FOX. Out of all of Dushku's outfits, this one pissed me off the most. (Seriously, I almost broke my TV I was so angry.) But Dushku's not entirely at fault for her general mediocrity; Caroline's a boring character to play. Seriously, the main doll -- the one that we are supposed to care about the most -- signed up for the Dollhouse because her boyfriend was killed during a save-the-lab-rats mission? Wait... she cares about animals? That's how Caroline is introduced to us? Even Mellie had a better backstory (her child died). Dushku plays Echo well with childlike simplicity, but she's not a strong enough actress to pull off a new personality every week -- and I don't think I want to spend an episode with Caroline again. At this point, I don't care if Caroline ever makes it out -- and isn't the whole point that I care about her making it out?

4. Topher-as-Xander/Wash: According to what I've read throughout these "series of tubes," everyone unanimously hates Topher. I think Topher was conceived as a Xander (Buffy) or Wash (Firefly) character. He's supposed to be manic, insecure, and offer the most comedic relief. The problem is Topher is more intellectually-insecure and less emotionally-insecure, so he just comes off as being preoccupied with himself and his own creations. Almost everything he says is either technological exposition (brain scans, imprints, etc.) or some reference to his genius. It's pathetic and it's annoying. Even last week's episode, where Sierra is imprinted to be Topher's friend, was intended to humanize him and it just reminded us why he doesn't have any friends. Like Ballard, he's too much of a one-note character. I have nothing against Fran Kranz, but he doesn't have the self-deprecation of Nicholas Brendan or the (purely genius) comedic delivery of Alan Tudyk (who should, from here on out, be cast in everything).

5. Where's the Whedon-Funny? "Briar Rose" is the first time I've laughed at an intentionally comedic moment on the show, and almost all of my laughter was a reaction to Alan Tudyk. (One particular storyline from Firefly that always makes me laugh -- "There's obeying going on right under my nose!") In fact, Tudyk as Kepler was so outright entertaining -- and do I dare say magical? -- that I was not looking forward to the inevitable upcoming twist. (I learned that Tudyk was coming on board to play the elusive Alpha, but I was so convinced of his performance as the ecologist Kepler that I hoped perhaps the internets had tricked me and Tudyk was actually signed on to play a hyper-paranoid god of comedy.) Some highlights:

Did you know Earth Day was last week? Earth gets one day.... You know what I think? I think that once we die out, in a couple hundred years, Earth is gonna have a People Day.

We're here? So soon? Let's go around the block! This is like one of those buddy-cop movies where you're the hard-boiled cop and I'm the guy who hates buddy-cop movies!

7. Without a screen surrogate (the "emotional center"), the Dollhouse is just creepy. Boyd is now the head of security -- after Dominic was sent to "the Attic" -- and now he's no longer Echo's handler. Without that paternal relationship, I have no reason to care about Boyd or Echo. And there are some rumblings that Boyd is some sort of spy, which, to me, would be a lazy justification for why a "good" guy is working for the "bad" Dollhouse. (I feel like the labeling of people and things are way too simple, and further, the constant switching back and forth between good and evil is mentally exhausting. Kind of like the Benjamin Linus debate on Lost.) So... Ballard's a sick bastard (who only cares about Caroline, for whatever unknown reason), and Boyd has been advanced in the professional ladder at the Dollhouse. I really don't know who I'm supposed to care about... or why. Is the Dollhouse creepy? Sure, I think so, but I have a Masters degree that provides me with terms like philosophical zombie, objectification (instrumentality, denial of autonomy, fungibility, dehumanization), and sentience. But the Dollhouse can be used for good (which was attempted with the "Briar Rose" story-of-the-week and certainly with Miss Lonelyheart's storyline), but it seems like the possibility of the conceived Dollhouse being good is so unanimously wrong that the writers are not going to flesh out a storyline in which we root for Adelle DeWitt. She's cold-hearted and lonely and cruel... but couldn't she be trying to make the world a better place? Couldn't she believe in that? Are we ever going to see an episode where the merits of the Dollhouse far outweigh the creepiness factor?

episode: lost, "namaste" (5.9)

Some quick thoughts on this week's Lost episode, "Namaste."

• Interesting role reversal with Sayid, eh? In Season 1, Sayid interrogated Sawyer about Shannon's asthma inhaler (which he didn't have) and did some excruciating things to Sawyer's fingernails, and here, Sawyer gets to play Pretend Interrogator. Of course, Sayid's not in any real danger with Sawyer, but the irony was not lost on the viewers. Also, Sayid interrogated Ben (as Henry Gale) at the Swan back in Season 2, and now Ben has come to offer Sayid (as prisoner) a sandwich. (Was the "I didn't use mustard" line some sort of code from the Others? Surely Ben has already interacted with the Others at this point.)

• For those of you worried about Sawyer being a victim of the Purge, it doesn't happen until 1992. I don't think death by genocide is a real concern of his, and I can understand why he dismisses Hurley's paranoia about the event -- it doesn't happen for another fifteen or so years.

• Sawyer's always been the leading type, but we needed to get rid of the "reactionary" leaders like Jack, Locke, Sayid, Ana Lucia, and Ben in order for him to come to front of the line. I don't think this is an existential character development (as in, Sawyer burns his letter to the real Sawyer, the man who killed his family, and then takes a new name, James LeFlour, as a way of reinventing a new alias for a new life of redemption). I think it's much less interesting than that, but just as satisfying. As Sawyer tells Jack, he's a thinker. Thinkers don't order other people to do "what's best right now." They think ahead in long-term planning.

• Speaking of Sawyer, how amazing was it that Sawyer didn't use Kate or violence as a means of insulting Jack? Those are both barbaric and primal means of competition that work on a two-dimensional level of a now fully fleshed out three-dimensional character. Calling Jack reactionary cuts a lot deeper than perhaps Sawyer even realizes. Jack likes to fix things (as we all know too well by now), and not only did people die because of Jack's reactionary decisions, but Jack lost Kate and his job to alcoholism, and as a doctor, he always took it personally when he couldn't save people. Calling Jack "reactionary" was spot on. And the self-professed comparison of Sawyer to Winston Churchill, who played the ever-important role of a wartime Prime Minister, was especially profound. This scene was the best part of the episode, mostly because it showed Sawyer's layers. He's not just a brute. I always thought it was contradictory that this one-note character made so many cultural and historical references, and even though he read during a lot of his time on the island, I never understood -- until now -- how these things were interrelated. He was a vengeful character, but only when it came to finding and killing Sawyer*. Now he doesn't have a reason to be angry, and he's settled quite nicely into a domestic space with Juliet.

* Now that he has moved on from Vengeful Sawyer to Domestic LaFleur, should we start calling him Jim now? "Sawyer" just doesn't seem to fit anymore.

• In relation to this scene, I think Jack is only momentarily accepting Sawyer's position as the one who's calling the shots. I think that next week, "Reactionary Jack" will do something to undermine Sawyer's well-thought out plan, and Kate will join because she, too, is reactionary... oh, and because she likes to screw things up. (Quick mention: I appreciated how little screen time Ms. Austin had this week.)

• On that note, I always thought that out of the original love triangle -- Jack, Kate, Sawyer -- that Sawyer would be the one to die. His archetype called for it. The bruting, hypermasculine character sacrifices himself for the woman he loves, and the greatest selfless sacrifice one can make is to die on their behalf. But after realizing that (1) Sawyer already made this sacrifice by jumping out of the helicopter so that Kate can be rescued and that (2) he also redeemed himself by settling down with Juliet, perhaps it is Jack who is the archetype slated to die. Jack definitely needs a moment of redemption. I think he's starting to realize how much he's screwed everything up...

• We finally meet Radzinsky! Here's a quick refresher on Radzinsky... we first learned about him in a Desmond flashback where Kelvin explains the procedure of entering the code into the Swan station's computer. Radzinsky used to be Kelvin's partner, that is, before Radzinsky shot himself in the head (and left a big ol' blood stain on the ceiling). So not only did Radzinsky live in Kelvin (though I'm still uncertain if they were under lockdown because of "the sickness" -- what information did these guys have in the Swan, which was obviously in operation after The Purge?), but he was also the architect behind building the Swan. While living with Kelvin in the Swan, he was able to figure out how to mimic lockdown procedure and began creating the blast door map, which he worked on with the aid of his photographic memory. Radzinsky was also the one responsible for editing the Swan orientation video, and we later find out (in the Arrow station, I believe) what was edited out of the video. Eko finds the missing film strip, and Locke then splices the frames back together. This new clip reveals that the computer should only be used for inputting the code and not for contacting the outside world. Why Radzinsky took it out (and how it ended up at the Arrow station, and why the computer's only function is for inputting the code, and why the code needs to be entered at all*) is still unexplained.

* I thought that perhaps entering the code had something to do with the burial of Jughead so close to the electro-magnetic center of the island, but Jughead was buried in the 50s or 60s and the Swan wasn't built until the late 70s. Were people "entering a code" somewhere else on the island previous to the Swan station, or did something happen in the 70s that required the task of entering the code?

• On the note of Radzinsky, Alan Sepinwall notes, "He had been Kelvin's partner at The Swan before Desmond, and painted the map of all the Dharma stations on the blast doors. Assuming that one of The Others didn't assume Radzinsky's name after the purge, then The Swan was still technically under Dharma control in the 21st century, which might help explain why Dharma planes were still doing supply drops after the Oceanic 815 crash." I had been wondering about those drops, and this makes a lot of sense. But again, why were Radzinsky and Kelvin out of the communication loop from the rest of Dharma? Or did Radzinsky know about the Purge (and that's why he shot himself) and made up a story about a "sickness"?

• Where is Faraday? I don't think he's dead. My guess is that he found a way to travel back to the current era -- I mean, our Losties have to make it back to 2009 somehow -- but I am curious, judging by Sawyer's reaction to Faraday's whereabouts, did Faraday still try to alter the future (re: Charlotte)? Even with the time-is-a-record theory, we know that Faraday still tries to convince child-Charlotte to leave the island. But I'm wondering if he goes even further than that, if he somehow physically removes Charlotte from her situation? Knowing that Charlotte searches for the island because she remembered it and wanted to prove her mother wrong, does this alter how Faraday interacts with Charlotte's mother?

• Annoyance of the week: Still, nobody's talking to one another. A simple "Locke said he'd bring you back" isn't a sufficient exchange for Sawyer understanding how Jack, Kate, Hurley, and Sayid return to the freaking 70s. Nobody wonders why or how they're in the 70s, and Jack isn't curious as to why Sawyer and Juliet stayed on the island for the past three years? (I mean, honestly, if I had been through what these guys have, I would get the hell off that island ASAP. Speaking of, why is Miles still on the island? What convinced him to stay?) Also, if I were Jack, Kate, and Hurley, I would be asking SO MANY questions about Dharma -- who they were, all of the stations that exist, what each of the stations are for, who is charge, etc. I would also ask if Sawyer had run into Smokey (or any other island booby traps) or Rousseau in the last three years. Come on, guys. This isn't a high school reunion. When thrown into a new situation, you need to ask questions.

• Continued annoyance of the week: I still don't understand why the 06ers had to return to the island. Jacob/Christian/the island better have a good explanation for why they had to come back. For Locke, the island told him to jump, so he did without asking questions. "I need to bring back these people who don't trust me and are living their old lives again? Sure, no problem!" And for Ben, there really hasn't been a good explanation for his interest in returning to the island. (I definitely think he killed Penny and exacted revenge on Widmore and is now ready to come back to the island, but did he needs the 06ers in order to return to the island? Could he not have "gone back" on his own?) And NONE of the 06ers have a good reason for coming back. They didn't know about the time flashes. Locke just told them they had to go back with no real explanation why. The only people who can explain this are Christian, Jacob, and Eloise -- and my money is on Eloise. Someone has to convince Desmond to go back to the island, and my best bet is, after discovering that Penny was killed (or injured) by Ben, he seeks out Eloise and she tells him what he needs to do next... and hopefully provide some exposition along the way.

• I appreciate the following quote from Isaac_Spaceman over at Throwing Things: "My favorite part, of course, was LaFleur going meta and delivering the audience's verdict on Jack's leadership. I never was a Sawyer fan (he always seemed like the stock TV renegade to me, a half-step removed from Lorenzo Lamas), but the Churchill-emulating LaFleur, with a long-con man's respect for the setup, is dramatically more interesting than either the old Sawyer or the eternal Jack. Because I like where LaFleur is now, personally and professionally, I'll be sorry to see the romantic tension over the next few weeks and the inevitable escalating pissing match with Jack over the next season and a half, but the last few episodes have been nice for both the character and the actor."

• From commenter Russ over at Throwing Things: "I presume that Hurley or another 815 survivor plays a role in selecting the numbers for the Swan's "botton"? Will we learn that the musician who programmed the code in The Looking Glass was also a time-displaced survivor? I've assumed for a while that it was Charlie, but of course bringing Charlie back would require more than simple time travel. Unless, of course, Charlie is (1) Charles Widmore or (2) the son of Des and Penny or (3) both."

Overall, this was a decent enough episode. It seemed to be a narrative filler, though -- as in, they needed to dedicate an episode to explaining how the 06ers are integrated into Dharma life. But it was also a bit of a creepy episode. There was a lot of foreshadowing (is it really foreshadowing if we're in the past looking at the future, but we know about the future because we experienced it as the present? is there another literary term for time-travel foreshadowing?) regarding unfortunate events in the future: eight-year-old Ben (who is on board for the next few episodes), baby Ethan (Juliet's reaction was PRICELESS), and Hurley's mentioning of the Purge. Since Sayid hasn't been around for Faraday's time-travel theorizing, will Sayid try to kill the young Ben? What ramifications will that have? (He can't die, of course, if Lost is going to be consistent with their time travel theory.) How will the 06ers try to alter the past so that the future does not unfold like it does?

episode: kings, "goliath" (1.1)

For the most part, I enjoyed the series premiere of Kings, a modernist update to the David and Goliath/rise of King David Biblical account set in a parallel Manhattan, known as Shiloh (in the country of Gilboa), that is ruled by a recently developed monarchy. I enjoyed the acting well enough -- Ian McShane was amazing, but he's amazing in pretty much everything, so that comment is both obligatory and obvious. The actor who plays David, Chris Eagan, is a decent actor (although I didn't like the scene, I enjoyed his delivery of "You want blood? Come and take it!" while carrying the bloody sheet his brother recently died on), but he is a little too pretty boy for me. His face doesn't have any wrinkles, and his eyes are very small, so I only ever caught two expressions from him: either confused/unhappy (furrowed brow) or happy (smiling). The actor playing the king's son Jack, Sebastian Stan (who is apparently Leighton Meester's boyfriend), was phenomenal. The conversation where Daddy King berates him for his homosexuality nightlife is terrifying, but only because there was such animosity and disgust, such horror on Stan's face, it was a wonderfully acted scene. But the real reason to watch this show is for the cinematography. The look of the show is brilliant. The muted, monochromatic tones really allowed for the (predictable) crown of butterflies to really pop against the background. It has a real gritty feeling to it, and for a show that's focusing on politics in Biblical measures, the audience needs gritty.

And now for the things I didn't like. I understand that the Bible is the main source for this narrative, but did they have to be so obvious with it? First of all, Gilboa is the location where Saul and his son Jonathan, David's possible lover (in the same ambiguity of Achilles/Patroklos), were killed in battle. And the city Shiloh was a place of assembly for the people of Israel. David's brother (the one who dies) is named Eli, possibly after the Israelite Judge who lived and judged in Shiloh. The only thing I can remember worthy of noting is that Eli's sons were cursed because of "bad behavior" (the Bible is very loose on what constitutes bad behavior... drunkenness of Noah, anyone?). And King Silas (Ian McShane's character) was a leading member (Silvanus) of the first Christian community in Jerusalem, and he accompanied Paul on some of his missionary journeys. I don't know of any significance of naming the king Silas except that it's a name from the Bible. And lastly, there's David. Shepherd. SHEPHERD! As if Jack Shephard wasn't over the top, we now have David Shepherd, with the correct spelling and everything?

There was one particular line near the beginning of the show (possibly after the first commercial break in the two-hour pilot) that I chuckled at, but that was before I knew how blatantly Biblical this episode would be. After a secretary lists off the food items for the banquet, King Silas's wife (I don't know yet if she has the title of queen in this setup) tells her to take lamb off the menu. Get it? The lamb of God? Of course you got it. Everybody got it. But I think what irritated me the most about the obvious Biblical references is that they didn't update David's slingshot. Technically, he didn't use a slingshot to kill Goliath -- a military tank* -- but he attached a grenade to a wrench and slung it at the tank. Little weapon, big enemy. Okay, but couldn't he have used something more creative? We're introduced to David as a mechanic who can "fix anything." Why couldn't he come up with some sort of Macgyver gizmo? Not only was the war aspect of the episode way, way too short (seriously, only ten minutes?), but David's defeat of the tank was over so quickly. And it didn't seem like David faced much opposition during it. He cuts open a tent, and there's no one there to greet him? Didn't we see armed guards hanging around that tent? I had no time to really understand (1) why the Goliaths were undefeatable, (2) why David took it upon himself to suddenly go after the tank and/or the hostages (as far he knew, there was no good reason to attempt a lone rescue operation, that was expressly forbidden, for hostages he didn't know), or (3) what the war was really about. So the whole "David Slays Goliath" was over too quickly for me to understand the importance of this brave deed. Yes, yes; David does admit to his dying brother that standing up to the Goliath (at the point the picture was taken) was a moment of surrender and not bravery, but certainly he understands that going in to the enemy's camp without any gear is considered heroic. I don't think the "confession" scene was all that convincing.

* The name "Goliath" was attributed to a series of tanks from the country of Gath, but in this analogy, the war is Goliath. There is not one tank that David defeats; there are many. Those tanks are symbols of the war, and at the end of the pilot, David does indeed stop the war. Originally, I was annoyed that the tanks were named Goliath because it was too obvious, but I'm pleased that they took that reference one step further.

I shall watch it again next Sunday, but they need to ease up on the references, explain the setup of their government, and flesh David's character out a bit more.

tv roundup: big bang theory, HIMYM, and castle

The Big Bang Theory: This episode was really quite fantastic and I may even place it as one of the top episodes of the entire series. The major aspects working in favor of this episode were the fact that Penny had very little screen time (as much as I appreciate her female -- but not feminine -- presence, she's not particularly interesting), and Sheldon was less over-the-top and more grounded (albeit in an obsession with trains). This episode was also able to highlight Leonard's sarcastic coping mechanism to counteract Sheldon's absurd behavior ("We took it to a vote. Three of us wanted to take a plane, but Sheldon wanted to take the train. So we're taking the train."), Howard's epic crash-and-burn flirtation with Summer Glau (recalling his dream was particularly enjoyable: "And then I ripped off your legs and you turned into sausage. What do you think that means?"), and lastly, Raj's genuine charm as he becomes the victim of a placebo non-alcoholic beer ("Did you see Slumdog Millionaire? That was based on my life.") was very funny. It's hard to imagine Summer Glau as anyone other than River or a Terminator, and her bored state of mind looked very similar to an approaching desire to kill everyone. Which, actually, worked for her. But the best running gag belonged to the phone conversation between Sheldon and Penny. In allowing Penny one-time access to his room in order to retrieve a paper from his flash drive, Penny discovers a secret box of letters from his grandmother ("Only Meemaw calls me Moon Pie!") and destroys a difficult ten-step Chinese puzzle box by stomping on it ("Did you hear the click?"). I think this show works best the fewer locations they use. What's better than having Leonard stuck in a small confined space with Sheldon for eleven hours? What's better than Howard reciting his pick-up lines to himself ("It's hot in here, so it must be Summer!")?

How I Met Your Mother: This episode had so many honest-to-God laugh-out-loud moments that I don't even know where to begin. If you want an episode breakdown, I redirect you to Alan Sepinwall's wonderful recap, but here, I'm just going to list my favorite gags. First, the alternating time perspectives was fantastic. I don't know of too many shows who are able to manipulate in quite a seamless way as HIMYM, but here they managed to have flashbacks to college, flashbacks to earlier in the day, and a story that spoke about the potential future when it was really talking about the recent past. ("I'm not going to call her.... because I already did. I'm not going to have lunch with her... because I already did. I'm not going to have sex with her..." You get the idea.) Second, Neil Patrick Harris's forced laugh is completely contagious. What should be a very simple plot -- Marshall forgot his pants at work and had to sneak around in very short gym shorts -- ends up being gut-busting funny all because Barney cannot get past how much fun it was to ridicule his colleague and friend. Mocking Oliver Twist, he asks Marshall, "Please, sir. Can I have some more... pants?" It's a bad joke that NPH makes so deliciously funny that you can't help but laugh. (You know what, stop reading. Go over to Fancast and watch the episode.) Third, Laura Prepon did such a wonderful job being a "douche zombie." For example: "Salt? That's so bougeois." "What's that? Oh... I don't watch television." And my personal favorite, she pronounces van Gogh "van Gochk," the pretentious -- albeit correct -- pronunciation. Fourth, Marshall's rundown of the worst things in the world. One, a supervolcano erupts. Two, an asteroid heads to Earth. Three, all footage of Evil Canival is lost. Four, Ted calls Karen. And five, Lily gets eaten by a shark. ("I'm Lily, and I approve the order of that list.") And lastly, quite possibly the funniest sight gag I have EVER seen... due to taking sleeping pills in preparation for her early job, Robin engages in some unexpected behavior. She talks to herself in her sleep, catches but doesn't remember Ted making out with Karen ("Hey Ted. Hey Lily. Don't worry, I won't tell Marshall), and then... she's on the floor in the kitchen, belly-side down, devouring ribs. It's at the 14:40 mark. It's worth watching... over and over and over again.

Castle: I think we're all aware by now of my unabashed crush on Nathan Fillion. He brings such charm and easiness to his roles that it's really difficult not to absolutely love him. (And if you don't like him, you're just not human.) My thoughts on the premiere are pretty much the same from my earlier post -- I love Susan Sullivan's role as Castle's loose mother ("I performed Mousetrap eight times a week for one year and I still don't know what it's about.") and the female lead, Stana Katic, doesn't annoy me because she's tough but also soft, masculine but also feminine, and I appreciate her casual delivery of certain lines (that other actresses, like Robin Tunney) would over-deliver. As for the other thirty minutes of the pilot, I also enjoyed that the show did not "dumb down" the clues so that I could figure everything out immediately. The killer was predictable, yes, but how Castle and Beckett discover that truth was not as transparent as Bones or as random as House (seriously, some of his diagnoses come out of left field). I know some people may find Castle to be a little too charming or a little too goofy, but I think it's legitimate that an egotistical writer wouldn't take things seriously. I also felt like their "pilot flirtation" (how the series ultimately supplies the foundation for a future romantic arc) was well done. They both they would only be working with each other for a certain amount of time, and so their flirtation was very school yard pulling-on-pigtails that I think it set up a good relationship for future episodes. I hope that other episodes do not try to recreate the blatant flirtation like this episode did and focus more on their two conflicting personalities working together, and how that friction is what ultimately makes them cute together. You can't force chemistry; you have to build on it. All in all, I'm a fan and I'll be back next Monday.

episodes: united states of tara, secret diary of a call girl

United States of Tara: I haven't really watched this show beyond the first two episodes, and with only four episodes to go, I doubt I'll go back and watch the ones I missed. But this last Sunday's episode was really fantastic, and it almost made me forget how oversimplified and stereotypical the alters are. I don't know much about Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), but I doubt it's as simple as "Alice deals with the maternal stuff, T comes out when there's too much adult stuff to deal with," etc. And although I LOVE the addition of Gimme -- a primitive, animal-like alter, complete with poncho and grunting sounds -- I don't know how realistic that is. I can understand an alter reverting back to a child-like state of mind, but an animal? My ignorance on this disorder allows me a double-function as a viewer: I can enjoy the projected images and situations, but I also have to question them. And one of the more interesting parts of this episode was Alice's announcement that she controls the other alters -- including, it seems, Tara. That makes sense, as Alice is the maternal 50s housewife, but it's interesting to think of "normal Tara" in the same realm as "hillbilly Buck."

But back to Sunday's episode. I thought it was well-written, as in, it had a really great flow throughout the singular narratives. The transition from Tara to Alice over vomiting was especially inspired; a moment that triggers a repulsive reflex turns into a revelatory moment, "I'm pregnant!" I enjoyed Max and the other children humoring Alice's fake pregnancy because this dismissive attitude really turned full circle at the end of the episode (when Tara gets her period and Alice thinks she's miscarried) and Max comes to comfort her on the bathroom floor. The episode also allowed some bonding between Alice, daughter Kate, and sister Charmaine. I think Charmaine has some underlying sexual chemistry with Max, and I don't know if the show is going to explore that, but her rejection of Tara's identity disorder has always been interesting to me. Tara's "chosen" family loves and accepts it, but her blood relation doesn't? I feel like there might actually be some truth to Tara faking it (which I don't think Showtime will do because they would get so many complaints from the medical community). Last week Charmaine bonded with Buck, and now she's bonded with Alice. These have been interesting situations to put Charmaine in. I also have to comment on Marshall's church show -- which, as anti-organized religion as it was, I know people like this, people who would put the Village People in hell and demonstrate a demonized version of getting an abortion. It honored this mindset (people at the show were disgusted, which was the point), but it also made fun of their oversimplification of morality. Also, as a last note, Nate Corddry plays creepy really well. His postmodern video sonnet was ten shades of disturbing.

Secret Diary of a Call Girl: Here is my biggest problem with this show. Nothing substantial ever happens, and when it does, it's as though it didn't. Case in point: I missed the last two episodes, and in one of those, Belle broke up with Alex (the very scrumptious Calum Blue) and then rebounded with Ben, her best friend. I watch Sunday's episode -- the second season finale -- and it's as though Belle never slept with Ben. They're still friends? There's no fall out? There are no lingering feelings? And according to the recap at the beginning, Ben broke up with Vanessa. So where does this leave his feelings for Belle? Not only that, but because this show only has ten episodes per season,* something like the Ben-Belle hookup should have been a monumental forward-driving plot point. It should NOT have been contained to one or two episodes. It's very frustrating the way this show absolutely refuses to develop its characters. Belle isn't likable, and there's not much to recommend her. Ben is fine, but he's only given three-to-five minutes of screen time each episode. The story arc of Belle falling in love and giving up her career as an escort should have been monumental, but instead it was just "something that happened." And the reveal that Alex was testing her, seeing if she had really given up her career for him, should have been shocking but it was predictable and not sad. I should've felt bad for Belle. I should've felt bad for Alex. But I just. didn't. care. I've finally decided -- I'm not going to watch this show anymore. It has such potential to be really good, and instead, it insists on being crap television. And why -- why -- is the makeup department so hell-bent on making Piper look as ridiculous as possible? The bright pink and purple lipstick wasn't enough? They had to give her clown hair? Does that somehow hide her pregnancy...?

* I don't know if future seasons will also have ten episodes. The first season had ten, I imagine, because it was a new show and Britain was testing out its watchability factor. The season season, though, should have had more episodes, right? But perhaps Billie Piper's -- very obvious! -- real-life pregnancy kept the episodes at a minimum? Either way, ten-episode seasons are not nearly long enough to develop any character arc.

episode: lost, "lafleur" (5.8)

Wow. That was an amazing episode. For those of you who haven't figured this out about me by now, I focus more on the storylines and character development than anything else, more than any individual scene or any clever editing trick. With that being said, it's about time that we put the mysteries of the island on the back burner and spent large quantities of time with a central trio of characters (Sawyer, Juliet, and Horace). Now, I don't particularly enjoy Josh Holloway's acting (I've analogized him to Christian Bale's "Batman voice" in the past, and I'm standing behind that), and some of his deliveries were just too "I have a gruffly voice and therefore have authority" for my taste. But it was the actual execution of this episode -- switching between Three Years Earlier/Later -- that really made his transition into the sheriff (with a gruffly voice) interesting.

Daniel: The best shot of the episode has to go to Daniel watching Amy mourn the loss of her husband, Paul. She is crouched over his dead body in the grass, a visual mirroring Daniel's recent mourning of Charlotte. The reason this shot was so heartbreaking was, one, it only lasted a second or two, and two, Lost put Daniel in the background instead of closing in on a close-up of his sad eyes. (And boy, Jeremy Davies has some sad eyes.) For once, Lost wasn't hitting me over the head with its visual metaphors. It was an honest scene, and one well-played by Davies. As for Daniel seeing the little red headed Charlotte... it's 1974, but didn't Ben mention that her birthday was in the late 70s? That red-headed child is around four years old. So unless that child is jumping through time (which is actually possible, hmm), she is just a red herring.

Sawyer/Richard "Eyeliner" Alpert: This exchange was particularly interesting because Sawyer lies to Horace and the others in the Dharma Initiative about how he and his people got to the island. (Of course, Sawyer's the boat captain...) He explains they were looking for the Black Rock -- which is where he killed Locke's father (a surrogate for the real Sawyer that James Ford wanted to kill) -- which is probably where Horace gets his dynamite for the alcohol-induced explosive Three Years Later opening. This lie aside, I find it very telling that Sawyer uses the truth with Richard. He explains that it was the Hostiles (as the Others were known to the Dharma Initiative) who broke the truce by killing Paul and putting a bag over Amy's head. (Technically, Sawyer says that the truce hasn't been broken because he's not part of the Dharma Initiative, but I think the implication is that the Hostiles originally broke it.) He mentions John Locke by name, and poof, Richard has built a foundation of trust with Sawyer. But the reason why this scene makes me so sublimely happy is... finally -- FINALLY -- we have characters who TALK to one another and ask questions. No more of Juliet evading questions. (It still really annoys me that Ethan shot Locke in the leg, and Locke didn't have the chance to explain that to anyone.) No more of Jack neglecting to ask questions in the first place. (His initial meeting with Mr. Friendly, back before we knew his name was Tom, brings back anger.) Richard actually asks, "If you're not Dharma, then who are you?" Although Sawyer doesn't mention that he's a time-traveler from the future (it would be pointless to argue that truth at this point), he does give Richard a fair understanding of why he's on the island. He pretty much said, "Your messiah? Yeah, I'm waiting for him too," and that was all that needed to be said.

Sawyer/Juliet: I love Juliet; I really, really do. But let's be honest. She is written in the exact same way as Kate. This love quadrangle is beyond absurd. One, Jack and Sawyer are just recycling these women. (And how is Kate going to explain to Sawyer that she had sex with Jack right before they left for Guam? Hmm?) And two, Juliet is being forced into relationships for the sake of the masculine narrative. (And yes, I am of the thought that the patriarchal code of cinema is still relevant to modern televisual narratives. This is a male-driven show, and the women only exist to support the male characters' storylines.) With that being said, Juliet is intelligent and cautious. While it does make sense that after three years, she would develop a relationship with someone at the Dharma compound (let's not forget she was "the other woman" with Goodwin back in the day), did it have to be Sawyer -- and did it have to progress to the point where they were saying "I love you" to one another? And again, that scene proves my earlier point about it being a masculine narrative. Yes, this episode is Sawyer-centric, but Juliet's character is used at the expense of Sawyer's. The "I love you" scene was meant to demonstrate that he no longer has feelings for Kate... but what about Juliet? Was her brief relationship with Jack little more than a way to pass the time? Juliet's become the island whore -- and it's absolutely, entirely unbelievable. Cruse and Lindelof, I beg you. Please stop pairing her off when it makes no sense for her character to be with someone.

Enough of that rant. I thought it was sweet that -- with his alias "LaFleur" meaning flower in French -- Sawyer gave his homemaker hippie lady Juliet a sunflower. I do like the two of them together (honestly, I do!). I just wish that the previous relationship entanglements didn't previously occur.

Sawyer/Kate: Boring. I was SO angry at the last three minutes of the episode. So unbelievably angry. Lost gives me an excellent episode and then does the top three things that piss me off about the show, all within three minutes. One, Sawyer gets a phone call from Jin that Hurley, Jack and Kate have been found. Does he tell Juliet? Of course not. Sharing information is frowned upon on Lost. Did it even occur to Sawyer that Juliet might want to know that Jack is back? Two, when Sawyer sees Kate, Lost pulls the only heart-tugging trick it knows. No talking. No ambient sound (not even of the waves or the wind!!). Same few notes playing over the images. Extreme close-ups on faces. Boring. Boring. A thousand times boring. This has never -- not ONCE in the history of Lost -- brought tears to my eyes. Stop. Doing. It. And three, Kate is still alive. I know, I know. She's not going to die. (And I know that they won't ever kill her character, but until they write her better, I'm going to continue to wish that she dies.) So... Sawyer tells Horace that he's forgotten Freckles's face. (Lie.) Sawyer tells Juliet that he loves her. (Most likely true.) And then at the very thought of Kate coming back, he lies to the woman he loves, leaves her on the bed, and goes to a romantic cliffside to reunite with the woman he claims to have forgotten? No. It belittles Juliet as a love interest. It denies me the ability to ever take Sawyer seriously in a relationship. And it just makes me want Kate to die.

Horace: But I said that I enjoyed this episode, so let's get back to some of those reasons. I don't think that Lost is interested in explaining the Dharma Initiative, but I do think that they are going to explore some of this group's missions through living with them in the present. The D.I. is more like a backdrop for the events that happen on the island, not the other way around. The island is the real mystery, and the D.I. were just a bunch of scientists who inhabited it for a while. Because of this, Lost will only provide a few more answers about them -- mostly revolving around Ben and the upcoming Purge -- but other than that, the primary focus is on the island and the Others. If you remember, we first saw Horace back as the welcoming committee for the young Ben and his father, Broots. (According to Kristin at E!, we're going to see more of the young Ben in a four-episode arc. Huzzah!) But in that earlier episode, which is later than our current time, Horace isn't married to Amy. So what happens to Amy? (My guess is that she dies, and I suspect that it's due to a double-crossing nature of hers. There was something eerie about the way she led our Losties through the sonic fence and pulled out her ear plugs. I don't trust her.) But I did enjoy the Horace-Sawyer exchanges, and I think these two actors worked really well off one another. I found a mutual respect in those scenes, and I hope we see them again in the future.

The statue: Finally, we get to see remnants of an ancient society again. Judging by Paul's ankh necklace, the hieroglyphs on the Temple, and the statue's skirt, this was most likely an Egyptian civilization, which makes sense considering their location. And the statue was probably Anubis. Blah, blah, blah. You know, for someone who loves Greek and Egyptian mythology, this aspect of the show just isn't that interesting to me.

All in all, a very enjoyable episode. I'm happy that we got to see more character development... even if the episode did end on a faux reunion of unrequited love between Gruffly Voice and the Girl Who Just Won't Die.

episode: dollhouse, "stage fright" (1.3)

Things that didn't work in this episode: Oh, where to begin. (1) First of all, the storyline was absurd. Whitney Houston exploded into the mainstream back in 1992 with Bodyguard, and every time someone tries to reimagine this plot, I can't help but think any version thereafter is "the poor man's Bodyguard." The 1992 film is far from perfect, but it doesn't seem like anyone really expands on the basic plot. Here, Dollhouse tries to put a twist on a familiar tale (which they did last week with "The Most Dangerous Game"), but the "twist" is that the singer, Rayna, actually wants to die and -- get this -- has a pact with her psychopath killer. He kills her during a show, and she is set free. The biggest problem I have with this is... the show doesn't explore how Rayna feels trapped. So she has to pretend to be happy and grateful all of the time. So she is "factory made" (which should have been a nice parallel to Echo's own factory manufacturing, but it seemed so blatant and obvious that I wish it hadn't actually been written into the script).* But so what? Why did she feel like she couldn't simply quit the business?

* To be fair, Fox is notorious for dumbing down scripts so that it reaches the lowest common denominator, and Fox, time and time again (see Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles and House), has shown that they think that denominator is the shared IQ of 95, and no one can pick up on visual signs; everything must be spelled out verbally. It makes deconstructing this text entirely unengaging because Fox wants the message and purpose of the episode to be written in the very delivery of it.

Besides the narrative itself, and the grossly overdone unappreciative diva stereotype, (2) Tahmoh Penikett is still being underutilized. In the same way that Chuck had a problem incorporating the Buy More into the agent action in season one, Dollhouse is having trouble integrating Ballard's quest into the major A-storyline adventures of Echo. Although, to this episode's credit, revealing that the Russian leak was an active doll was refreshing and did offer a bridge -- though faint and minor -- between the two story arcs. But during the fight sequence between Ballard and those nameless/faceless mobsters, I found myself cheering for Helo (rather than Ballard), which may be more my fault than the show's, but Ballard's character has not been developed enough for me to care about him. Why is he so intent on finding the Dollhouse? Did he have a run-in with Echo in the past? I find it hard to believe that his sole determination hinges on secret clues left by a mysterious third party. We're three episodes in now, and we still don't know what motivates Ballard.

(3) Some of the dialogue was unintentionally referential. At one point Rayna screams at Echo, "You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do" -- which immediately transported me to various episodes of Lost. (Which further supported my feelings about Locke being an obnoxious, complaining teenage girl.) The other line was when Rayna was dangling from the catwalk and she said, "I want to live!" I definitely thought of George Bailey, and I don't think that was an appropriate connection to make here. But her delivery was almost identical to "I want to live, Clarence! I want to live!"

What did work about this episode: To continue on Ballard, I did appreciate the following exchange with the Russian. On the one hand, it shows you an intelligent contemplation on why the dollhouse could plausibly exist and the ethical implications involved (the Dollhouse is like the atomic bomb!), but it also shows, through the Russian's unbothered delivery, a common dismissiveness about the dark side of human nature.

Ballard: We split the atom; we built a bomb. We come up with anything new, and the first thing we do is destroy, manipulate, control. It's human nature.
The Russian: Yeah, people are mostly crap.

Also, (2) the last three minutes of this episode were incredibly well done -- but in no way make up for the abysmal previous 40 minutes. And for the first time, it made me excited about the next upcoming episode. Security advisor Laurence Dominic makes the point that Echo is a a risk** -- she makes decisions outside of how she's programmed ("She went off mission!") -- to which Adelle DeWitt counter-argues that Echo did precisely as told (saving Rayna's life) and, furthermore, prevented Rayna from wanting to risk her own life in the future. Of course, these two characters are looking at it from a strictly business point of view. This scene is juxtaposed immediately by the following scene between Boyd Langdon and Dr. Saunders. He calls Echo "special," but Dr. Saunders notes that, referring to Alpha, "special" isn't good in the Dollhouse. Being the best isn't the goal, as she notes, "Sometimes the best to hope for is being just good enough." These two scenes were brief (no longer than a minute each), but both of them developed strong arguments about the business structure of the Dollhouse as well as concerns for reaching beyond the safety of conformity. (I'm just waiting for the inevitable episode where Echo goes to live in Suburbia.)

** In Battlestar Galactica, "retiring" a Cylon was referred to as being "boxed." Here, the concept is similar, but the active would be sent to the "Attic" (no doubt with a capital A), which is a counter-feminist reference, I believe, to The Madwoman in the Attic. There is a thread in much of 18-19th century literature where women who are intelligent, rebellious, or independent are "monsters" and should kept under lock and key in the attic. So here, we have the independent thinking Echo, and that's a problem for the most masculine figure of the show. He's the man of action (brawn) who is quick to "retire" Echo for thinking for herself. But I find pleasure -- instead of irritation -- in this scene because Dominic is immediately silenced by a well-crafted counter-argument from Adelle DeWitt, the female mastermind behind the Dollhouse.

And in addition to this, the closing scene of the episode (3) shows a wonderful visual parallel between Rayna and Echo. Instead of explicitly drawing this connection, the episode shows us Rayna on the stage, isolated under the blinding stage lights, no longer "putting on a show" for herself or her psychopath fan. And she sings her song about freedom: Gotta find the freedom that's promised me freedoms from our struggles and our misery. Freedom is all we need to heal the pain of history. The singer is trapped by the limited space of her performance stage, and she does not exist beyond that frame. And then the camera switches to Ballard in the hospital, who is literally paralyzed by his pursuit of something intangible (technically, the gun bullet is what confines him to the hospital bed, but it's a metaphor), and Echo sings over the images: Each day when the sun shines upon my eyes, it feels me with love, makes me feel alive. I'm saving it up for a rainy day, when there's no light to guide my way. The episode closes on Echo, who, walking through the Dollhouse, feels herself being watched and does not stop to converse with Sierra, the other active. The Dollhouse is no longer the Buddhist safe-haven it parades itself to be.