mo ryan's interview with michael angeli on "blood on the scales"

My reflections on last night's mind-blowingly awesome episode of BSG will come later today. For now, Mo Ryan has an interview with "Bloods on the Scale" writer Michael Angeli:

Why did Gaeta insist on a "trial" of Adama? Was it because he wanted to hang on to the idea that this coup was a legitimate transfer of power? Was it because he needed to hear Adama to say that Adama was wrong? What was that about?

For whatever else he was (or might’ve been) Gaeta was an idealist and despite his near occasions of peevishness, he was a romantic. He believed in the idea of government, laws, leadership, service, etc. and if you look at his behavior away back on New Caprica, there was a certain nobleness to his intentions. He wanted to do things right, he was an advocate of justice, fairness.

So, it’s not surprising that even with a coup snowballing, he’d want some form of a trial. But more importantly, Gaeta was conflicted. He loved Adama and just couldn’t get around to killing him. Gaeta was the romantic; Zarek was the realist. For Gaeta, the “trial,” was a stall. And having Adama admit that he was wrong was really about Gaeta convincing his own intellect that Adama should die – because he, himself admits he’s wrong.

Were you channeling Winston Churchill when you wrote Laura's "I'm coming for all of you" speech? What did you draw on for that dialogue?

[Executive producer] Ronnie [Moore]. He told me to bring Laura to a breaking point. So I had Zarek just becoming this terrible liar/bearer of bad news, pulling out all the stops, telling Adama that Tigh’s been shot dead escaping when Tigh was very alive and at large, telling Laura that Adama had been executed (and Zarek assumed that he actually was), all of it building to a point where Laura’s either gonna collapse in a pile or come out swinging.

What worked in our favor was the fact that, because of scheduling problems, we had to shoot this scene after a long day and everyone was exhausted. Mary had been traveling all day, flying back from Europe. We thought she’d be wasted, but she was still on London Time or something and she just rocked everybody’s headsets off. Everyone was clapping after the take, going wild.

That scene near the end between Baltar and Gaeta -- why put those two characters together? What were your reasons for including that scene?

Oh, I think Gaeta and Baltar were so close and had so much history together, it just seemed so right. The scene serves a couple of purposes. First and foremost, it humanizes Gaeta once again. We see the Gaeta we always loved and enjoyed. And it gives Baltar some emotional honesty. It’s obvious that his heart is breaking for Gaeta. And it’s obvious because both James [Callis, who plays Baltar] and AJ [Alessandro Juliani, who plays Gaeta] just killed on that scene, they’re both so frakking good.

I watched the show at Mark Sheppard’s house with some people and Liz Nankin ([director] Michael Nankin’s wife) brought up a really good point, which was that we’re killing off one of our oldest, and to some, one of our most revered characters, and it gives the audience a chance to legitimately say good-bye.

The scene is kind of wicked, too. We’re supposed to believe that Gaeta’s been spared. It takes place in Gaeta’s quarters (Ron’s idea). And Gaeta speaks of himself in the present tense, how he wants people to know who he is, or something to that effect.

Does the title "Blood on the Scales" come from a work of literature? Or was it a title you came up with? Either way, can you talk a little about that title?

I’m sure I was influenced by the title of Bob Dylan’s “Blood on the Tracks” album and the whole “Watchtower” tie-in. But thematically, it was an oblique signature of Gaeta’s fate and his conundrum. He starts out as the good soldier/idealist, becomes disillusioned (even stabs his hero, Baltar, with a pen), then the loss of his leg colors his perception of Kara and the Cylons. His embitterment eventually grows its own limb – the mutiny. He wants to do the right thing but the, er, scales of justice are tipped not only by the bloodshed of innocent people, but by Gaeta unable to silence his own humanity (his love for Adama), the blood running through his veins, etc.

Why did Baltar have a vision of Adama's execution -- was he psychic or just having a bad dream based on what had been happening?

A lot of Baltar’s story on the base ship didn’t make the cut. Baltar has some deep, underlying guilt for running away -- from his congregation (in the previous episode), from danger, etc. He meets another beautiful Six (Lida) who mistakes his moodiness for injury. She wants to help him feel better and all of it plays on his psyche, which causes the nightmare – which compels him to want to go back to Galactica and face everything.

episode: lost, "the little prince" (5.4)

These are just a few brief thoughts on this week's episode of Lost. The episode wasn't as good as last week's -- namely because there was no Desmond in it and because it involved the Oceanic 6. But I was pleased that, even though it was Kate-centric, I wasn't as aggravated by her existence as I had expected. (Note to those of you who voted: I was pleasantly surprised to find that I am not the only one who thinks Kate should die. We all know she won't, but there's something almost sweet in our solidarity of hatred for her.)

• The scene where present-Sawyer sees past-Kate delivering past-Claire's baby was sweet, but -- of course there's a but -- Lost used the same technique it always uses. There's a close-up of Sawyer's face as he looks on, a silent witness, and the music swells. It's the most basic formula for tugging on the heartstrings of viewers. I call it the "Peter Jackson technique" (because he overused it while directing the LotR trilogy), and it's very tiring after a wall. More importantly, I'm really annoyed by Sawyer's gruffly Batman voice. It's like Christian Bale's Batman voice. I understand why Sawyer had this voice in seasons one and two; he was the self-appointed antagonist, the loner, the one who pushed people away. But now he's the self-sacrificing hopeless romantic Sawyer, and giving Sawyer this deeper and huskier voice (it sounds like he's been drinking straight whiskey for all his life) detracts from this softer side that we're seeing. It's as though the director and Josh Holloway were like, "What's the easiest way to show that Sawyer's hurting? I know! We'll make him gruffly, like he's constantly choking on his feminine emotion." I do not like this new direction with Sawyer at all.

• I was wrong about Sun going over Kate. I will admit that. But Ben is TOO obvious. I knew that Claire's mother was a red herring because she's the most obvious choice out of anyone, but I still don't understand why she had to come to LA to settle a lawsuit with Oceanic. It's a corporation. Can't she sue them from anywhere? Why did she have to be in LA? As far as Ben... he was the second obvious choice because he's the manipulator. If anyone's messing with anyone else, Ben is probably behind it. He manipulated Sayid, then Jack, and when Sayid pulled out Kate's address from the assassin's pocket, I think it was obvious to everyone that Ben was behind it. Why would someone want to kill Sayid and Kate? Ben's scaring them to make them go back to the island -- or just to get them together, at the very least.

• Personally, I find most of Lost's "reveals" to be predictable and therefore anticlimactic. When Ben said, "He's my lawyer," I rolled my eyes and wondered why Michael Emerson delivered that line like it held so much weight. On that same note, every time they showed Sun, there was ominous music indicating a blatant duplicity of her character. Sun is seeking revenge. Got it.

• When Jack met up with Kate, I predicted their entire storyline, right down to the "I can fix this" line. The person I watched this with asked me, "How are you doing that?" Jack is the fix-it guy. The writers have drilled that into our heads. Every single flashback serves to tell us that he needs to fix things. Sometimes it really upsets me how Lost reduces these originally flawed and human characters to just one attribute. Kate is the screw-up who needs to be redeemed. Locke is the man looking for a greater purpose. Hurley is crazy and no one ever believes him about anything. And I had this conversation with my friend Jae last week; people cannot be reduced like this. I understand why television needs to do this, but it's like justifying and excusing people for their thoughts/actions. Oh, Jack has daddy issues, and that's why he needs to fix things. Oh, Kate has daddy issues, and that's why she feels inclined to take action. Oh, Sawyer/Hurley/Claire/Locke/Sun/Ben have daddy issues, so they ____________. No. In real life, we don't get flashbacks on people. We don't get to understand why some people are selfish while others are selfless. Originally I liked the flashbacks because they gave us an insight into them as individual people, but then the flashbacks became reductive and redundant. This is all a moot point since we don't have flashbacks anymore (only flash-presents!), but it bothers me that they're still drilling it into our heads that Jack likes to fix things.

• It surprised me that Kate came up with the idea to keep Aaron. First of all, I don't think she's intelligent enough to come up with a story like that. Second, there's really no reason or explanation as to why this is a good idea. And third, I don't believe that Jack would go along with it.

• Now, we know that Richard told Locke that he needs to bring the Oceanic 6 back (and die in the process). But when Locke explains this to everyone else -- especially Sawyer -- why does this seem logical to them? If you were experiencing time travel and someone said, "We can fix this by bringing back the people who left," wouldn't your first thought be HOW, how will that fix everything?

• After two really great weeks, this third week has brought my irritations with the show back to the forefront of my mind.

• For a really great exploration into the significance of the episode's title, I recommend reading a few pages of Entertainment Weekly's assessment of The Little Prince. An excerpt:

After a series of stops on other meteorites, the Little Prince is marooned on Earth. He is full of regret. He now realizes he should never have left his meteorite and his complicated little flower. At one point, the Little Prince learns from a wise fox that ''you become responsible for what you've tamed.'' The fox explains that these tamed ''things'' are your friends — the people who've come to trust you, love you, and depend on you because of the amount of time you've invested in their lives. In the final chapters, you get the sense that the immense distance from the place where he truly belongs is literally killing the Little Prince. As the troubled hero's wisdom and maturity grow and his existential/physical crisis intensifies, I get a strong whiff of Jack — especially when you reach the part where the Little Prince makes a risky pact with a deadly, duplicitous snake (read: Ben) that will resolve, once and for all, his homesick alien blues. Might this conclusion foreshadow — thematically or literally — Jack's (or someone's) ''Return to the Island'' story line?

review: taken

There are two types of reviews. There are what I call "douchebag reviews" where the writers use theoretical analyses to dissect the film (more often than not in pretentious tones), and then there are "entertainment reviews." The former category is for film lovers, people who seek out profound experiences at the cinema. The latter category is for cinephiles, people who just love movies and want to see everything ever made. This review will fall into the former, but if you want a brief entertainment review, here it is: This isn't a good movie. It uses every generic formula for movie-making that you've already seen this film before, many times with many other actors. But did I enjoy myself? Sure. Would I recommend it? Sure. I mean, unless it's Paul Blart: Mall Cop (where, as one critic noted, the director knew how to "put the camera in front of stuff"), I'll probably recommend something just for the experience of it. There were enough "Oh, shit!" moments that I found myself entertained throughout.

But now for the douchebag review...

The dialogue was cringe-inducing. There were a few moments I laughed out loud. In the first fifteen minutes, we got to know everything we need to know about Bryan Mills (Liam Neeson) from the mouths of other people. Among the gems uttered, we learned Mills is good at being invisible, that he doesn't play by the rules, that he has the propensity to worry, and that he would sacrifice anything for his daughter. Gee, can we say blatant foreshadowing? And not only do all of these "flaws" in his character come into play later, they all become good traits of his character. Because he doesn't play by the rules, he saves his daughter. Because he's overly cautious and worries too much, he saves his daughter. It's as though the movie set up his masculinity as a problem -- he lost his wife, he lost his daughter! -- and then these very problems end up redeeming him in the end. This film is a male's fantasy, and it's insulting.

There is nothing "real" about this movie. Most of the online reviews I've read, all written by men, have noted Liam Neeson's age as a site of implausibility. I don't know if it's because I'm female, but I had no problem with his age. I think if you're fit and strong and active, there's nothing implausible about a man beating a bunch of people up. What I do have a problem with, however, are the abundant clichés in the film. There was nothing original about the story. The only thing that makes this movie in the least bit enjoyable is Liam Neeson and his awesome I-will-kill-you voice.

The following clichés can be found in Taken:

1. Women are weak, feeble creatures who do nothing for the plot.
2. Arabs -- in this case, Albanians -- are evil and always carry a gun.
3. The dialogue (meaning, the characters) tell you everything you need to know about someone's personality.
4. Car chase scenes involve nothing more than loud music and fast editing.
5. Russians are evil, but not as evil as Arabs.
6. The slutty girl always dies, whereas the virgin does not.
7. Being a seventeen year old girl means acting like a twelve year old girl.
8. Gorgeous women will only marry older, uglier guys -- and if they remarry, it's to older, uglier guys with money.
9. Saying that human trafficking "isn't personal, it was just a business" to the father of one of the girls is a bad idea if you want to live.
10. Torture is okay when Americans* do it.

* Of course, Liam Neeson is Irish, not American, but in the movie he plays an American, so it's okay when he does it.


My first problem is with the casting of Maggie Grace. I haven't seen her outside of Lost, so I haven't formed an opinion about her as an actress. But I do know that she's twenty-five trying to pass as a seventeen year old, and this representation of youth involves a Bedazzled denim jacket (umm, no), babydoll dresses, and running at a 55-degree angle that's reserved for toddlers just learning how to walk. It's a bizarre and inaccurate representation, and every time Grace was on the screen, I found myself laughing at the ridiculousness of her character. Furthermore, her character's best friend is the quintessential slut to her virgin goodness. Of course, the protagonist's daughter is the virgin -- because if she's sexually active, she must be up to no good -- and of course, the slutty friend dies because (spoiler alert!) the daughter has to live. (Can that really be a spoiler since you already know it has a happy ending? And you know it's a happy ending because, one, it's an American film and, two, you've already seen this movie before.)

A side note on the whole virginity thing... Kim (Maggie Grace) is kidnapped in Paris and sold into human trafficking. There is one scene where you see her practically naked during an auction, but there is absolutely zero indication that she has in any way been tainted by this experience. Her slutty friend? Yeah, she's drugged and covered in her own vomit, and she's not wearing pants. But Kim? Kim is still the sweet and innocent virgin from the beginning of the film. (And the last five minutes of the film -- which you should avoid if you go see this movie -- suggests that this whole trafficking thing was just a dream and never really happened. She's completely unaffected by it.)

This film is also pretty misogynistic (as noted by my friend "Jean Cash," nicknamed as such because her resemblance to the Man in Black). Not in the typical "women are worthless" sense, but in the overall tone of the film. None of the women do anything but cry, act bitchy and/or careless, or exist as bargaining chips (and I'm not talking about Kim). Spoiler alert: Liam Neeson's character, Bryan Mills, shoots a perfectly kind and generous woman as a bargaining chip. "You took my daughter, so I'm going to take your loved one." Even Kim's mother isn't good for anything. When she finds out her daughter's been taken, all she does is cry. Her husband is a bajillionaire, and she doesn't think to use his resources. She's leaving her daughter's future in her ex-husband's hands? Come on, now.

But the female characters are not the only ones reduced to basic stereotypes. We also have the Albanians -- a group of characters with no individual names (other than Marco), no reason or purpose for being human traffickers, and they don't have any distinguishing attributes. On the one hand, I really appreciate that Bryan Mills kills everyone in the moment. I hate it when action movies prolong the death/fight scenes -- "I have to leave quickly now, but I'll come back and kill you!" -- and in Taken, Mills meets the many circles of men dealing with trafficking ring, and he kills them off one by one. It makes logical sense that he finds a guy, gets whatever information he needs out of them, kills them, and then moves on. But on the other hand, there are so many bad guys killed that they are seen as a collective body -- a collective body of bad Arabs. And, as we all know because of Hollywood ideology, Arabs are automatically evil. (To see the first ten minutes of the fantastic documentary Reel Bad Arabs, go here to see how Hollywood vilifies a people.)

So there you have it. As an intelligent, active cinema-goer, this is a bad movie. It does everything wrong. It's amateurish both in its writing and its execution. But... I didn't regret spending $4.75 on it, and I had a good time while there. Of course, most of my enjoyment came from laughing at the movie...

groundhog day, a buddhist meditation?

From "Groundhog Day: Breakthrough to the True Self":

"When Chekhov saw the long winter, he saw a winter bleak and dark and bereft of hope. Yet we know that winter is just another step in the cycle of life. But standing here among the people of Punxsutawney and basking in the of warmth of their hearths and hearts, I couldn't imagine a better fate than a long and lustrous winter."

In other words, having accepted the conditions of life and learned the pleasures afforded by human companionship, he is no longer like all those people who fear life's travails, and try to use the weather forecast, by human or groundhog, to control events. He accepts "winter" as an opportunity.

[. . .]

In telling this story, the movie hits on a message that is commonly found elsewhere and that appears to express an essential truth. When we get beyond denial and resentment over the conditions of life and death, and accept our situation, it tells us, then life ceases to be a problem and we can become authentic and compassionate. Murray's character makes two such breakthroughs: first he accepts being condemned to being stuck in the same day, then he accepts the fact that everyone else is condemned to die.

From "Groundhog's Day Everyday, Every Life":

In many ways this story resembles the plight of all sentient beings. Because of our attachment to greed, hatred and ignorance we are unable to live perfect days, much less perfect lives. As a result we cling even more to our attachments and to our vexations. The resulting conduct of body, speech and mind sends us through a myriad of lifetimes. In these uncountable lifetimes we play out each life clinging to attachments. It does not matter whether we are in heaven, hell or earth - our minds continue to cling to these false notions of the self.

Indeed, from the example of the life of the reporter, one can see that one does not have to travel to heaven or hell to be in such places. These are products of the illusory mind. To the reporter, when dispair and boredom set in he felt as if he was trapped in hell and sought to take his life to alleviate his suffering. Rather than alleviating his suffering he returned again for a new lifetime, as there was no lesson learned.

Equally, when he became deluded by the notion that he was an invincible god. His delusions of grandeur effected those around him. He was still caught up in thinking of the I, the me, and the mine. Once again, no lesson learned.

It was not until he abandoned all concepts of the individual self and began to live his life harmoniously among those around him that he was able to break the bondage of his own mind.

From "A Buddhist Interpretation of Groundhog Day":

The cycle in which Phil finds himself is comparable to the cycle of death and rebirth in which Buddhists believe. The Buddha taught that one must work lifetime after lifetime to achieve liberation; an individual who followed a path of morality, wisdom and practiced meditation was likely to achieve liberation more quickly than one who lived a life based on selfishness and greed.

While Phil initially struggles with the idea that he must endure the same day over and over he gradually learns to accept it. This epitomizes the Buddhist belief in accepting reality and suffering known as Dukkha, an unavoidable part of life. By accepting his situation, Phil grows in compassion and understanding and starts to change his reactions.

The movie also epitomizes the Buddhist belief that individuals are responsible for their own liberation. The Buddha preached that blind belief in a god or guru would not lead to personal salvation. Bill Murray's character in Groundhog Day slowly begins to realise that by changing his own reactions to seemingly inevitable events in the day, he can become responsible for his own peace and happiness.

Phil's process of rebirth is closely related to the idea of karma. Buddhism holds that an individual must spend lifetime after lifetime generating good karma, helping others to achieve Nirvana. In the movie Phil learns to use his knowledge of what will happen throughout the day to help people. Knowing that a child falls out of a tree at the same time every day, Phil makes sure he is there to catch the child.

episode: battlestar galactica, "the oath" (4.15)

Some quick thoughts on Friday's episode...

First of all, this may be my favorite episode of season four. Compared to earlier seasons, this season has been uneven (by Battlestar standards because, as we all know, a bad episode of BSG is still better than the best episode of Friends). This episode stands out for many reasons, least of which is bringing back kick-ass Starbuck. (Seriously, how awesome was it when she shot the guard holding Lee? And how brilliant was Jamie Bamber's reaction shot, complete with blood splatter across the face?) This episode took things forward. It's about time that the civilians revolted against Adama/Roslin. It's about time Zarek put his revolutionary skills to good use. It's about time someone called Adama out on collaborating with the Cylons, just because he happens to know a few of them personally. And it's about time that one of the main characters -- in this case, the morally-solid Lee -- pointed out that Adama is wrong. If I were Joe Nobody in the fleet, hell no, I would not want the murderers of my race anywhere near me. And if I'm not on the Galactica and interacting with them personally, I'm certainly not going to see any way that would benefit me.

As Alan Sepinwall so eloquently wrote:

Of course soldiers from Pegasus would still hold grudges over Adama killing their commander. Of course Anders' ex-girlfriend (or, rather, never-quite-girlfriend) would be furious to realize that the man she was so hung up on isn't a man at all. Of course Lee would be resented for his role in Baltar's trial. Of course the civilian fleet would be fed up with all of Adama's high-hand tactics, and would eagerly greet any opportunity to rebel. Of course the other pilots would fear and distrust Starbuck after her miraculous return from the dead -- What is she? And if she's just Kara, what makes her so special when none of the dead people we actually liked could come back? -- and even moreso when they realized her husband was a Cylon. And, for that matter, of course Starbuck would use this fiasco as an excuse to compartmentalize all her recent angst over who and what she is and get back to being the best at what she does (and what she does isn't very nice).

This episode had a lot of action -- action which beautifully mirrors an episode from season one where some toasters attacked the Galactica, but now it's humans against humans -- but it was so meticulous in its execution that I never felt overwhelmed. The episode spent a lot of time showing just exactly how Gaeta was able to pull off the feat of removing Adama from command, and it was appreciated. You can't just have a bunch of people running around with guns. You need to show me how civilians got these guns. (On that note, one of my favorite minor moments in the episode involves Kara and Lee walking around the corridors, and then Lee points his gun at someone, who immediately puts his hand up and says, "Whoa, whoa." It just showed that everyone's fending for themselves, and you have no idea which side a stranger will be on.)

So even though this episode was action-packed, it still had a few tender, intimate moments that were that much more meaningful because of the nature of the narrative. When Roslin and Adama kiss before she leaves on the ship, everyone looks bewildered by their suddenly open romance. I don't think they were confused or surprised by the kiss -- they all saw it coming -- but that they took the time to observe this random moment of warmth and love. Tigh, Tyrol, Lee, Kara, Baltar... they're all just trying to survive, and here are these two loverbirds saying, what I think will be, their last goodbye. And when Adama stays behind to fight for his ship, Tigh stands by his captain. I don't know why, but romantic gestures make my eyes roll... but grand gestures of loyalty, well, they make my eyes tear up.

Also, this episode has my favorite exchange of (possibly) the entire series -- with the exchange between Apollo and Helo regarding a holocaust of the Cylons as a great contender -- because it summarizes both the themes of this episode as well as the whole series. On survival:

Adama: It's all we have.
Lee: It's all they left us.

Such desperation, such heart. A common theme in this show (and any show that mainly serves as an exploration of the human condition) is survival, as evidenced by the entire existence of Gaius Baltar, and now we're back to combat just like the episode of "33" from season one. But humans have turned against humans. A robot uprising has revealed the true nature of man... save a select few individuals who refuse to let this be the fate of their race.

Then an explosive is thrown at a trapped Adama and Tigh. Roslin and Baltar leave on their ship, which Gaeta plans to blast out of the sky. And all of the Cylons have been rounded up in the brig, ready to be raped and beaten. (This episode is not a particularly happy upbeat one, but then again, none of the episodes really are.) And then... To be continued... This is the only "to be continued" (outside of season finales) that has made my heart jump out of my chest.

SNL: harry caray and jeff goldblum

Many thanks to J&G, who unknowingly made me addicted to this gem. It's a slightly older SNL sketch with Will Farrell as Harry Caray and Jeff Goldblum as -- what else? -- a serious scientist, and the real genius behind this is Farrell going off script, to which Goldblum responds, "I'm confused." Farrell's impersonation reminds me of a friend, who used to tell his jokes in that same startling voice, and it's the spontaneity that cracks me up. "HEY! If you had a choice between being the top scientist in your field or getting mad cow disease, which would you choose?"

love for freaks and geeks

I am finally done watching the entirety of Freaks and Geeks, and I have to say, it's honestly one of the best programs I've watched in a long time. Sports Night was well written, but some of the character interactions seemed gimmicky and the relationships forced. Leverage, on the other hand (which I do recommend to anyone who hasn't seen it yet), has fantastic characters, but the episodic narratives leave room for improvement. And with Coupling, the episode-long set-ups are great, but I often times find myself waiting impatiently for the end to roll around, just so I know what the thematic punchline is. With Freaks and Geeks, however, it's a-generic, existing somewhere between nostalgic drama and comedy, a commentary on the present as well as the past. I don't have the time to go through each individual episode (why when Alan Sepinwall has already done it so thoroughly?), but below are some of my favorite parts to this painfully entertaining show -- painful in its honesty, entertaining in its accuracy.

(Unfortunately, some of my favorite "moments" are entire episodes -- like "We've Got Spirit," "The Garage Door," and "Dead Dogs and Gym Teachers," and I can't very well post entire episodes on here. You know what? Do yourself a favor and just go out and buy the show. It's only eighteen episodes, and you'll thank me when you're done.)


Coach Fredericks tries to find out who's been prank calling him.


Bill Haverchuck (Martin Starr) defines awesome.


Daniel (James Franco) explains the three tracks of high school.


"As I pulled the reigns of the horse, she pulled the reigns of her soul."
Possibly the best worst song ever.