Thursday, March 29, 2007

It's Karma, Carson

The real test of a professional interviewer is the interview of the nobody. Anyone can interview a somebody. Anyone can interview George Clooney, because Clooney will always come off as cool and interesting. Case in point: Oprah had Julia Roberts and Clooney interview one another last month and I was completely riveted even though Roberts spent the entire interview giggling and saying "So who are you dating? No really, who?"

More difficult is to interview, say, Eric Balfour. Balfour is on 24 (as Miles), but you probably don't know the actor's name. Unless you watch 24 religiously, you might recognize him as an actor but probably wouldn't be able to place him. Interviewing Eric Balfour is a trick, because your job as interviewer is to make me, who really could care less about Eric Balfour, care about Eric Balfour. How does one do this? Well, I'm no expert, but I think you might want to start by acting like you care about Eric Balfour. Because if I don't care, and you don't care, the only person who cares here is Eric Balfour. And who gives a shit what he thinks? It's not like he's George Clooney.

Now, I don't want to single anyone out here, but Carson Daly is a really terrible interviewer. Sure, he's on at 1:30 a.m. Sure, he's stuck interviewing people like Eric Balfour and the entire cast of Las Vegas (which, by the way, becomes a totally worthwhile show to watch right around 1:30 a.m.). But I have cable, people. There is an old episode of The X-Files on SciFi that I could be watching right now (and Scully is having a good hair episode -- no bangs!). So it's not too much to ask for Carson to at least feign an interest in the guy his underachieving staff booked for tonight's show.

Really, this shouldn't have been too hard. Balfour was telling this truly amusing story about these stonewashed Bel Biv Devoe overalls he owned back during his Kids Incoporated days. But Carson seemed vicariously ashamed of this story. He kept shushing Balfour and fretting about how the story might be embarassing. Apparently, having a sense of humor about one's early career is not a skill Carson is eager to learn.

The funny thing about Carson Daly is that he actually thinks Eric Balfour is beneath him. He can't bother to pay attention to Balfour's stories about martial arts and being on Kids' Incorporated because Daly's too busy thinking about how he's going to make a play for Conan's job in 2009.

Oh, Carson. The only reason you have a show in the wee hours is because we need something to distract you from trying to get on television at a time when anyone might watch. I know you're still bitter that Ryan Seacrest took over your schtick and then proceeded to conquer the world. All because he hosted a show you most certainly would have considered beneath you. And now look -- Ryan's hanging out with Gwen Stefani in prime time while you make small talk with Eric Balfour in the middle of the night. So I get your bitterness. But nothing is going to change unless you embrace the current situation. You're a nobody. You're more of a nobody than Eric Balfour. At least people actually watch his show. You, on the other hand, may be remembered primarily for being engaged to Tara Reid. This is, how shall I say... unfortunate.

But you could turn it all around by making your show the safe haven for Hollywood nobodies. Pull a Kathy Griffin, but without the red hair and the annoying cackle. Actually, work on your annoying cackle. It would play better than that cocky chuckle you're doing now. That's not working for you at all. The people don't like smug, Carson. Unless you're really, really rich and famous. And even then it might Tom Cruise on you. So accept the fact that you're basically washed up at the age of 34. Accept the fact that you're kind of a tool. Accept the fact that although you are a good golfer, nobody really cares that much.

Once you accept reality as it is, you might discover a sense of humor. Or a sense of empathy. Or a personality. Until then, I guess you'll just have to let yourself be outshined by Eric Balfour. Who, by the way, was also dumped by Jennifer Love Hewitt. Unlike with you, however, he didn't find out when her publicist leaked it to a radio station. Eric Balfour 1, Carson Daly 0.

ETA: I learned way more than I ever needed to know about both Carson Daly and Eric Balfour while writing this. I should have gone with my first instinct and written about Friday Night Lights.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Reality Check: Project Runway Update

The fourth season of Project Runway is actually happening. I must say I missed it this winter. New York fashion week was markedly less interesting without the suspense of finding out which PR contestants would show and who would win. I propose some kind of Battle of the Designing All Stars to make things more interesting. I would really like to see Michael Kors go all Orange-Tinted-Gorilla on those annoying little boys from Proenza Schouler. Their new Target commercial is getting on my nerves.

Fortunately, PR4 is on track to shoot in June, debuting in July with the finale occuring during the Spring 2008 shows next fall. You can find information about the casting for Season Four here.

I also found this New York Magazine article about Season Three winner Jeffrey Sebelia. It's interesting that none of the PR winners has made it big in the reality-show-winner sense of the word. Refreshing, actually. Unlike most reality shows, PR contestants compete against one another by performing an actual skill. Notably, the prize on PR isn't a million dollars or a new house or the opportunity to cheat on your spouse in a hot tub while a film crew looks on. Instead, winners receive the relatively modest sum of $100,000 to invest in their design business, a mentorship with a clothing purveyor (it used to be Banana Republic, now it's Macy's), and free publicity in Elle Magazine. In other words, winners get a little leg up in an extremely competitive business.

The article seems to indicate that PR winners aren't living up to their promise. Sebelia used his prize money to pay off business loans, Season One winner Jay McCarroll has sold some of his designs to Urban Outfitters, and Season Two winner Chloe Dao reinvested in her Houston business and opened a second boutique. Sure, maybe other reality show contestants have gone onto bigger and better things, like being convicted of tax fraud on their winnings. But I like the fact that none of the PR winners has cashed in on their television fame to marry NFL players and become shrill morning talk show hosts. They are passionate about fashion, which is why they did the show in the first place. And they've done what normal, non-fame-whorish people would do -- paid down loans, invested in their business, and developed relationships with retailers. It's like a parallel universe where being on a reality show doesn't automatically mean posing for Maxim. A parallel universe where a reality show bears an ironic resemblance to reality. Curious.

Remote Control Confessions

American Idol makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It's not witty or clever or unique or novel in any way. Yet, when I watch it I cannot help but feel that all is right with the world. Maybe I just need a come-down after Battlestar Galactica killed off my favorite character and alter-ego Kara Thrace (and more about that shit show later this week). Maybe everyone just needs a little dose of unadulterated optimism in her life. I don't know what it is, but I enjoy Idol. Even when the judges and contestants revere some very terrible pop stars (Mariah, Celine, Whitney). Even when the scripted banter between Ryan Seacrest and Simon Cowell amounts to the same you're-gay-no-you're-gay-no-you-are-so-very-very-gay exchange week after week. Even when Paula Abdul blathers on at length using only adjectives and conjuctions. Well, actually, especially then. I just like it.

This season, in particular, I find myself looking forward to the show. I think it might be the uncommon maturity of this group of wannabes (particularly now that Antonella Barba and the interminable Sundance have been purged). Like pretty much everyone, I'm a little bit in love with Melinda Doolittle. She's humble! She's cute! She has OCD! And she can really really sing! My one complaint is that she sings songs I don't really care about. I wish she'd update her songbook by about two decades (My Funny Valentine? This isn't America's Next Tony Bennett). Of course, last week the judges wondered whether Evanescence was too "edgy" for the viewing audience. So maybe Ms. Doolittle is playing it safe with the oldies. Whatever she sings, though, she has twice the conviction of most contestants, which is why she will probably win.

On the other end of the scale -- poor, poor Sanjaya. And Haley. Did they wander onto the soundstage by accident? On a show that traffics in the most middlebrow, non-threatening brand of pop music, these two still manage to deliver the excitement of half an Ambien and a glass of wine.

Speaking of Haley and Sanjaya, I love how Paula soft-pedals her harsh comments by first telling the contestants how cute they look. It's the kiss of death. Maybe that's because Paula's idea of cute looks like this. Weirdly, I couldn't find a photo of Paula wearing a tiara, even though she always wears a tiara. It's like the internet ate all the photos of Paula wearing a tiara. I hope the internet doesn't get sick. But just in case, don't count on email access for a while, ok?

Anyway, thanks for letting me share my secret shame with you. Even if I'm not really sufficiently ashamed. I'll probably write all about this season of Idol, boring you with updates on Simon's and Ryan's comparative gayness. This week's winner: Ryan for mistakenly admitting to his closetful of high heels. Oops! Of course, his reference to the closet didn't help matters any.

Tomorrow: An ode to Starbuck and miserably, humanly flawed television characters everywhere. And an Idol update, of course. I'm thinking Sanjaya is gone.

Sunday, March 4, 2007

At a Loss (HAHAHAHAHA!)

The Winner, Fox's new half-hour sitcom airing Sunday nights, stars Rob Cordry (The Daily Show) as Glen Abbott, a 32-year-old late bloomer who wakes up one day in his childhood bedroom in his parents' house and decides its finally time for him to experience adolescence. It's 1994, so Abbott can't just get online to learn about fornication (as he calls it). The show is narrated by Glen's more successful future self, though it's unclear how Glen eventually succeeded, nor why he cares to tell us this story about his embarrassing past.

The Winner was created by Seth MacFarlane and Rick Blitt, and Fox is eager to bill it as a live-action version of The Family Guy. Even the website asks, "Is Glen Abott Stewie Griffin grown up?"

Hard to say. I have more pressing questions regarding The Winner. For starters, who are those people laughing too loudly and too hard at every single line of the show? Unfortunately, the laugh track is the most memorable thing about the show. You cannot watch an episode without wanting to reach into the screen and MAKE THE LAMBS STOP LAUGHING. Maniacally. At everything. For, like, twice as long as is merited, if it's even merited at all.

At first, I thought I must have just adapted to watching sitcoms without laugh tracks. And then I realized, no, this is just the worst laugh track ever. I can watch an episode of Friends in syndication without even noticing the canned laughs. But on The Winner, it's front and center, stepping on punch lines, distracting from sight gags, and chewing up the scenery.

Maybe the guy who laid in the laugh track hates Rob Cordry, actors generally, sitcoms, the English language, television, and me. It's also possible that the laughs are an intentional choice by MacFarlane and Blitt to mimic the cookie-cutter quality of the early 90s sitcom (the sets and costumes all have a bland, generic quality that starts to look purposeful once the references to Wings start rolling in). If this is the case, it doesn't work. It sounds more like the show received a poor response from the test audience, prompting Fox to punch it up in post production.

Even the few moderately funny lines fail to live up to the outsized guffaws forced into every spare second of dead air. When Abbott told a massage parlor hooker, "The movies are right -- you girls really do have hearts of gold!" I would have chuckled, but the laugh track stepped all over my line, too.

Laugh track aside, the real problem with The Winner is that Abbott just isn't a very sympathetic protagonist. Unlike Steve Carell's character in The 40-Year-Old Virgin, we don't understand how Abbott got to be 32 without learning even the basics about sex and relationships. He comes across as stubbornly obtuse (or maybe severely learning disabled), instead of just shy, awkward or embarrassed.

I don't mean to discredit Cordry as a comedic talent. He does his best with the material, but the script is too rigid and strange to give him much latitude. More importantly, there is no one for him to play with. He needs some savvy, observant, and slightly mean-spirited friends, relatives, or neighbors to tease and educate him and make him seem more like an actual person. Without them, he's about human as those lunatics on the laugh track.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

HA!