Rolling Review Part I

As I'm assuming you've heard, GTAIV came out yesterday. I picked it up and toyed with it a bit, but given that there's upwards of 50+ hours of gameplay (with some estimates in the hundreds) I'm not going to wait to finish the game before reviewing it, else you'd be waiting months. Instead I'll give impressions as I get them, beginning with...

This is the first GTA game I've played. I've been well aware of it for a while, but never played before because I never felt a burning desire to virtually beat up a digital hooker. Plus, the earlier iterations had legendarily iffy graphics, due to the amount of processing power devoted to making a "sandbox" city that characters have complete freedom to roam thru. Previous comments tended to say that the main story was less effective than just driving around, listening to funny faux radio and killing people without remorse. All of that is supposed to change with the latest installment – promising a truly interactive "living, breathing" environment, a compelling plot with a sympathetic lead character and a dramatic graphic upgrade. Based on about an hour of gameplay, does it deliver?

Maybe.

Liberty City (GTA's spin on Manhattan) is, indeed, breathtaking. Playing the game doesn't seem like a series of levels, it feels like... existing. No load times, no artificial boundaries, no rules – instead there's an actual environment with legitimate geography, different neighborhoods and populated by people who appear to be living their own life as opposed to being arranged for a main character to interact with. On a pure technical and artistic level, it's a staggering achievement.

As Niko Bellic, I haven't hit the main plot yet, having just arrived in the city to meet up with my loser cousin Roman, who's been filling my head with American dreams and has, instead, been eking out a criminal existence in a roach-filled apartment, drowning in debt. I've driven him around a bit, saved him from loan sharks, met some of his, uh, "friends," etc. Tough to say at this point how much we'll identify with Niko, altho I'll give him some points for not showing up on our shores with a "kill 'em all' mentality.

One thing that feels missing is the purported sense of reality that's part of the hype. Because for all the detail applied to the environment, it's clearly glossed over when it comes to how you interact with it. Within fifteen seconds of the first time I got behind the wheel, I'd crashed into several cars, knocked down a few streetlights and accidentally mowed down a couple pedestrians. Several of these things happened while the girl I was driving around commented on my clothes. Illicit thrills are designed to be a part of the game, and I guess I'm supposed to pump my fist and shout with glee every time I slaughter an innocent Liberty City-ian, but it's a little weird to have no one comment on the fact that instead of dropping them at their house, I overshot it by a block and smashed into a dumpster, pinning a hobo to the wall in the process. Add the fact that whatever car I drive apparently goes several times as fast as anything else on the road and the game's got a few questions to answer.

Which won't happen until I boot it back up and dive back in. More later...

When Irish Eyes Aren't Smiling

So Carly Smithson got voted off last night and, while I can't say I'm too upset about it, she prolly didn't deserve to go.

Yet.

I've never really "gotten" Carly Smithson. Not that her brogue is that strong – it's just that past beyond said brogue, she always came across as basically a fine singer, particularly if you're looking for someone to front a Heart tribute band.

Which I sincerely hope no one is.

That said, she belted out an acceptable version of Jesus Christ, Superstar. It was maybe a little bit on the shouty side, but it was a step up from Brooke, who was a bit on the forgetty the words side, and Jason Castro, who was a bit on the whatty the hell were you thinky side.

I still think it's David Cook's contest to lose, but for those concerned about the order of losers, you can rest assured that Carly got a wee bit robbed.

Aaaannnddd... we're done.

After last night's take on Mariah Carey's "Always Be My Baby," it no longer matters whether David Cook actually gets the most votes – he's won. He could turn out to be Kelly and take the title, he could be Daughtry and score a career, but that performance may have rendered the rest of the season irrelevant.

So You Think You Can Step it Up and Walk the Runway to America's Top Dance Crew Project?

What this latest installment from Bravo's reality tv factory lacks in innovation, it makes up for in presentation... almost. It's almost exactly the same show as So You Think You Can Dance, but instead of perky Cat Deeley as host, it's... a different kind of perky Elizabeth Berkeley. Why? Well, she showed off her... um... moves in Showgirls where she insisted that she's not a stripper, SHE'S A DANCER! And the judges, instead of being American Idol knockoffs (streetwise black guy, effusive woman, snarky Brit) are a bunch of industry pros that you've likely never heard of.

From the initial episode, I'd say it's better than America's Best Dance Crew (sorry, Randy Jackson Presents America's Best Dance Crew) but worse than So You Think You Can Dance. It's definitely slicker than the MTV show, but it's missing some of the spirit that the younger cast of SYTYCD brings. There's just something more innately appealing in watching undiscovered kids trying to break into the business than mid-tier semi-pros trying to land a somewhat bigger job.

Actually, all of the dancing shows suffer from a rather indistinct prize – I'm not sure what the next Top Dancer actually means, or where they Think They Can Dance or whatever. It's not like the American Idol machine, which pumps out a winner's album even if it's Ruben.

Regardless, is Step it Up and Dance worth a watch? Aside from the terrible title – sure, particularly as most shows are still recovering from the writer's strike. As far as Bravo rip-offs go, it's notably better than their take on America's Next Top Model, called Make Me a Supermodel. It's well-produced, the dancing is good, the cast is a combustible mix of talent and ego, etc. I don't see it spurring an NBC/Lifetime war like Runway, but it's ok for a Thursday. At least for six more Thursdays, when the Cat comes back.

Take Another Little Piers of My Heart

In a showdown about as thrilling as you'd expect from two competitors helping each other on the same task, Piers Morgan won the battle billed (by The Donald, at least) as The Ultimate Fight Between Good and Evil. Uh huh. What this basically boiled down to is that country star Trace Adkins is an absolute gentleman with a great cause and a few fairly well-off friends, while Piers is an absolute prat with a great cause and a ton of filthy rich friends.

Which is all well and good, really – you kind of know what you're getting if you sign up to watch The Celebrity Apprentice. Unfortunately, what you're also signing up for is a hackily produced live finale which amounted to Donald and his kids sitting on a fake table on the Saturday Night Live set while the taped episode played out on TVs in the studio, serving as an uneasy laugh track for the home audience.

Say what you want about Survivor (and what I say is that even tho this season is getting better ratings and raves, I can no longer muster up interest in watching a bunch of Type As sit on the beach and eat bugs) but they do their finale well. There's a healthy amount of cheese, as the taped ep often ends with host Jeff Probst apparently spanning the space/time continuum by leaving tribal council months in the past and showing up in the present seconds later wearing exactly the same outfit. But they reserve the live stuff for the reveal of the winner and then a reunion show Q&A with those who didn't Survive. Works.

The Apprentice, however, flips that formula on its ear, presenting two hours of live table-sitting and awkward narration capped by an extremely brief (and seemingly redundant) boardroom, a final hiring/firing celebrated by a smattering of shiny confetti, and a promise – or threat – from Trump that we can join them next year, because they're gonna be around for a looooooong time.

Frankly, I hope he sticks with the Celebrity version of The Apprentice, as it brings some interest to a flagging franchise. Round up another odd collection of has-beens, never-weres and who-are-theys and have at it. It's pass-the-time fun with a nice charitable angle. Just leave Omarosa at homearosa. Enough already.

Really thought this was gonna be more like Splash

Enchanted looked fun. A quirky twist on the classic fish-out-of-water story, with an animated princess turning up in modern-day Manhattan. Supercute. And it is... if you're five.

Unlike the best kids' or all-family films, Enchanted pretty much only works on one level – the "I buy all the Disney Princess merchandise" level. There's a bit of humor that isn't strictly for kids, but it unfortunately boils down into garden variety "Welcome to New Yawk" type jokes.

So for all my young readers (??), enjoy. It's well done for what it is. Parents, if you've seen the previews, you've seen the laughs. Beware.

Baseball, Hot Dogs, Carne Seca and Roller Derby?

Yeah, I know what it looks like. But don't try to tell me you don't want a Super Dog, too.

I'm back from Sox Spring Training in Tucson and the score looks something like this: 2 wins, 2 losses, 3 rounds of golf, at least 6 hot dogs (not sure how many the above one counts for), 3 plates of seca (a treat only available in Tucson), 2 books read cover-to-cover (The Last Best League and Say it's So) and 1 night of women's roller derby.
Yes, women's roller derby - a doubleheader in which the Furious Truckstop Waitresses defeated the Copper Queens followed by Iron Curtain falling to Vice Squad. Hard as it might be to believe, I'd never seen roller derby before, and even harder to believe – I may see it again. The traveling team (the Saddletramps) is coming to Chicago to face off against the best of the Windy City Rollers, and that may just be too much to pass up – the chance to see ladies like Sloppy Flo and Cheap Ore face off against Beth Amphetamine and Goldie Shocks! There are a surprising amount of leagues across the country – oddly worth checking out if you get a chance.

On a more, you know, real sports note – tough to say what the Sox are gonna look like this year. Javier Vasquez has serious stuff but Jose Contreras and Gavin Floyd were not in good form, Orlando Cabrera and Nick Swisher are definite upgrades while Juan Uribe didn't look half bad at second base. And Joe Crede looks like Brooks Robinson at third but below Mendoza at the plate while Josh Fields hits the hell out of the ball but boots the hell out of it as well. God, I love baseball.