So-So pranos

After successfully avoiding getting spoiled on Monday, I hunkered down to watch the Sopranos series finale last night. Funny story – right at the end of the episode, while Meadow was parking and Creepy Guy went to the bathroom, the DVR recording ran out early. Thinking I missed some shocking revelations, I dialed it up on On Demand, fast forwarded to the end and – less funny story – didn't miss a thing. I realize this isn't news at this point, but thought I'd share my views.

Overall, eh. Maybe even feh. I wasn't surprised that it didn't end with a bloodbath or 80s style freeze frame, but it was still pretty annoying. Yet typical. From the 18+ month breaks between reduced-episode seasons to the excruciating explorations of less-than-secondary characters to satisfy the creators' whims, the show unfortunately evolved from a brilliant, breakthrough take on a tired genre to a self-important exercise in indulgence.

The series slid so far off the rails, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, but even the things it used to do well were botched – Phil getting his head shot and then crushed by a car full of babies while random onlookers laugh and vomit is smacks more of Naked Gun than Sopranos.

And it ended that way. I guess I get the point, that they've made it thru their immediate trials, but their life will always be a series of looking over your shoulder moments, but it felt so inconsequential that it's hard to get invested in it. When a show thumbs its nose at you, trying to flaunt its supposed superiority, it better deliver. And this was a few peppers short of a Satriale's sandwich.

For those in search of closure:

Ok, this isn't what I had for lunch, but...

...it is what I had for dinner over the weekend at onesixtyblue. That's their signature dish, the Delmonico, a perfectly marbled ribeye topped with carmelized shallots and watercress salad with potato puree (i.e. mashed potatoes) and shallot sauce. I'm not the biggest steak guy in the world, but this was like some sort of benevolent meat god slicing off pieces of himself for you to enjoy. Unreal.

Speaking of biggest guys in the world, this one was hanging out at the bar:
Yes, MJ himself, here shown perhaps finishing off the last of his Maine Diver Sea Scallops (which I also loved – perhaps there's a god of shellfish as well). I was under the impression he didn't own the restaurant anymore; maybe he still has a stake, maybe he still comes for the steak. Regardless, it was good to see him hold court again, even if that meant telling stories to a circle of his buddies.

Service takes a tad to get used to, in that the waiter puts some strength behind his suggestions ("I've ordered you a cheese course" or "under no circumstances should you order the squab"), but they proved to be dead-on. And once you settle in, it's terrific – his offer with the cheese course he insists on was "I'll buy it if you don't love it." And we did.

Dinner might cost in the neighborhood of the restaurant's name, but onesixtyblue's well worth it. Ask for Stephen and enjoy.

Blogundrum

While I'm not struggling to justify my existence, haunted by memories of another life, I do find myself a bit lost. It's about this blog. I originally created it to build up a portfolio of sorts in order to pursue a job critiquing pop culture media. As Some Guy's favorite guy might say, "Mission Accomplished." Not that I got said job, but I've filed enough entries for that purpose should the opportunity arise.

So.

An unexpected bonus of blogging has been reconnecting with a bunch of friends, so I'll definitely still hang around and comment. While life has taken some turns that take me away from the keyboard more, I'm still interested in posting – but I'm toying with what to post. I don't want to just do daily updates, as there are a million of those, and it'd be mostly filled with rants about working in the ass end of advertising – even I'm not interested in that.

So I turn it over to you, my (few but loyal) readers. Should I blog about...
...nothing, just abandoning the whole deal
...the same basic stuff, 60 word reviews of movies and tv, expecting things to pick up more around the fall season
...reviews of anything and everything, from comics I read to what I had for lunch
...ponies and unicorns (please don't vote for this ;)

Once, Twice, Three Times a Spidey

If your ten bucks didn't contribute to the $150 millionish that Spider-Man 3 made last weekend, here's a quick hit on whether it's worth a couple of fivers. Absolutely... with reservations.

Overall, I liked it didn't love it. The web-slinging action is ineffincredible, and the villains are wonderfully realized. However, there are just too damn many of them. Sandman, Venom, New Goblin, flashbacks of the original Goblin, Mary Jane's dour presence... on and on and on. While the film manages to string all these threads together, it turns into a bit of an ugly sportscaster sweater by the time it's done.

There's so much going on that it's hard to care a great deal about any of it. Spidey as a movie doesn't really get going until he swings into action to save potential new girlfriend Gwen Stacy from falling out of a building, but then she's wasted as basically just an object lesson about loving Mary Jane. Onscreen origin stories are always tough, and this flick's shoehorns in three villain's worth. Plus there are the obligatory scenes of Aunt May providing Peter with soothing spider strength and J. Jonah Jameson getting irrationally angry.

Hm. That sounds like you should run screaming from the theater – sorry. There are things that work terrifically well. Sandman, while the film would benefit from him not being in it, looks great. Topher Grace is terrific as Eddie Brock/Venom. Bryce Dallas Howard's Gwen Stacy is miles ahead of Mary Jane. And again, the superhero action stuff is near perfect.

So go. Have a good time. Bring something to read for the first 40 minutes or so. Don't concern yourself too much with some coincidental plot elements and examples of deus ex machina and just watch Tobey swing around.

Who's Gonna Drive You Home?

Why, Nathan Fillion, of course. Sorry, Ric Ocasek fans. The fanboy favorite of Buffy, Firefly and Slither stars in Fox’s new series called Drive. It’s like The Amazing Race, except the contest is called only “The Race,” and if you get eliminated, you don’t get a conciliatory hug from an affable Aussie… your wife gets killed. Or something equally bad happens. Maybe.

Buried secrets abound in this show, and it’s a fairly safe guess they’ll all come to light once a group of ordinary strangers are forced to Cannonball Run across the country in search of $32 million and resolution of their personal dilemmas. So is it any good?

Based on the first handful of episodes, I’d say… sure. With reservations. Drive requires a pretty healthy suspension of disbelief. And I mean healthy like Bruce Willis in Unbreakable healthy – if you’re one of those people who say things like “that wouldn’t happen,” then watching this show shouldn’t happen. The Race itself is a little questionable, some of the pairings are suspect (particularly the estranged good/bad brother combo), and the show has a flight of fancy feeling overall.

But if you don’t get hung up on the details, it’s fun. Fillion’s always good, the accountant from The Untouchables is appealing as The Race’s DungeonMaster, and it’s a decent car chase every week. Plus, the producers have a good pedigree, with shows like Angel and Wonderfalls under their belt. Put your mind on cruise control and enjoy.

Thank Whoever or Whatever You Happen to Believe In You're Here

Pilot Opinion: Thank God You're Here
This new comedy show, sort of a spiritual successor to Whose Line is it Anyway, is an Australian import. Guest comedians are sent into a scene with no more preparation than than their character's costume – they've got to improv their way to comedy gold! It's funnyish, but unfortunately it strikes something more like comedy bronze. Maybe comedy brass.

The setup is sound, but the execution is... safe. As host, former In Living Color player David Alan Grier fawns all over the guests and tries to come up with synonyms for the door he sends the comedians thru. "Enter the Portal of Possibilities" and such. Kids in the Hall alum Dave Foley is ostensibly the judge, but it's like American Idol with all Paulas. "Ohhh, so wonderful – I can't decide which is funner!" Hm. I can.

Even the improv feels approved for network family hour. Comedy ought to be a little dangerous and plenty provocative, and the first two episodes of TGYH won't do anything to upset your V-Chip. The show also got less funny as it went on; past the initial gimmick it's a bit devoid of life.

It's pleasant enough watching; ok to have in the background, but not worth clogging space on your DVR.

The debate is over...

...it IS a Cheer-ocracy!

As faithful readers may or may not remember, I've been all over this issue since the beginning – do we, or do we not, live in a Cheer-ocracy. I am happy to report that further evidence has come to light, thanks to an often-prophetic force - teenybopper girl pop singers.

One can track their cheerful influence on top pop hits thru the decades. Take "Hey, Mickey, you're so fine." With a cheerleader-based video so fine it blew your mind. Or more recently, Gwen Stefani's declaration that she Ain't no Hollaback Girl. Listen to the lyrics: "bananas... b-a-n-a-n-a-s" and you'll wonder whether you are, in fact, listening to Nostradamus instead of No Doubt.

And despite the protests of a fellow blogger, another pop princess is in the process of confirming our Cheer-ocracy status - lil' Avril. Her new opus, Girlfriend, follows in the pom-pon-clad footsteps of the aforementioned cheeriffic hits.



Take a listen to the lyrics, dominated by "hey! hey!" and handclaps and I'm sure you'll agree - we live in a Cheer-ocracy.

Which may give Hilary an unforseen edge in '08.