Running Wilde: Pilot

Critics seemed tepid at best about "Running Wilde" but I trusted the talent involved enough to give the pilot a look, and I'm glad that I did. What I was a thoroughly enjoyable, cleverly written comedy, with some definite room for improvement but enough going for it to keep me tuning in.

Will Arnett (GOB from Arrested Development) plays Steven Wilde, a trust-fund "kid" who begins the episode complaining that no one will come to the party he's throwing for himself to celebrate the Humanitarian Award he's giving himself. Wilde's sheltered life is maintained by his manservant/friend Migo, who seems to care about him for more than just his cluelessness about the cost of things. (Migo takes $100 for six Diet Cokes and doesn't give back any change, then later at a drive-thru cuts off the server before she can divulge the cost of a beverage.) A personal secretary named Mr. Lunt is also there, in a bit of a redundant role that the show might not need. Interestingly, we don't see anything of Wilde's father.

Keri Russell, who is a really beautiful woman, by the way, plays Emmy, Wilde's schoolboy crush turned Amazonian preservationist. She hears about the Humanitarian Award, but not it's facetiousness, and rushes to the states in order to convince Wilde not to let his father drill in the Amazon.

I like that the show didn't make Russell's character a saint. She's actually kind of a scold, which Wilde picks up on, leading to a nice exchange where Emmy asserts her moral superiority over Wilde, and her further superiority for not feeling morally superior. It's witty, and it's quick, and while it's not as layered as Arrested Development (at least not yet) it made me laugh.

Narrating the show is Emmy's daughter, Puddle (no explanation given) who hates living in the jungle and enlists Wilde in a scheme to allow her and her mother to stay. Obviously, Wilde is not a great co-conspirator, though he and his tiny-horse (they're actually more expensive the smaller they get) owning neighbor Fa'ad gamely plug their way through the con.

No one can say what comedies are going to be able to sustain their humor or draw a large enough audience to stay on the air. (I've always wondered whether Arrested Development would have languished in later seasons the way people think 30 Rock and The Office have, and how that would impact its place in the culture.) I'm going to keep watching Running Wilde because I want to see how the show wrings humor out of Emmy's efforts to better Wilde, and his efforts to convince her it's working.

How I Met Your Mother- "Big Days"

I chose How I Met Your Mother over House last night, partly because I was curious to see whether Carter Bays and Craig Thomas could be taken at their word that they recognized the deficiencies in Season 5 and were striving to correct them. (My other reason was residual dismay at the House season finale. I am not a Huddy supporter.)

"Big Days" is a promising start. The episode was more truly vintage HIMYM than just about anything Season 5 had to offer. HIMYM works best as a slightly-cracked version of reality, where the little comedic observations about life and relationships are punched-up with witty dialogue and a touch of the absurd. It also helps when there is real sentiment behind the plot-lines, but too much sentiment tends to become cloying and corny. Too often last year the absurd and the corny tended overpower the witty and the romantic.

It was gratifying that the premiere got off to such a strong start, with great banter between Marshall and nervous pre-wedding Ted. ("Dude, you fixed church!) Barney was also great tonight, and in less of a breakout crazy character kind of way. NPH had some great line reading tonight, such as when he told a cheese-crusted Robin "I must paint you!" and the whole "Dibs" conversation really worked. Barney also got to be a real person, mentioning his missing father without dwelling on it. Strong work from the writers.

Marshall and Lily got a traditional sort of sitcom plot tonight, but one that brought up some fairly relatable issues. (Marshall tells his father about the couples' efforts to have a child, which Lily thinks is over-sharing.) Marshall's response to Lily's "what-if-I-can't" fears is maybe a little too perfect, but that's who they've made Marshall, so it was at least consistent.

Spoilers: I enjoyed the fake-out with the wedding, even though this is exactly the kind of thing they've done a hundred times before. It worked though, what can I say? I really hope HIMYM is in for a big comeback this year, it'd be a same if they only got around to introducing the mother when there was no one left to care.

Freedom Review: Hurts So Good

Jonathan Franzen’s “Freedom” is full of heartbreak, cruelty, and pain. Its characters seem to invent new ways to injure each other on every page, often when their intent is just the opposite. When they are not hurting one another they will spend their time making decisions you know they will regret (many of which even they know they will regret) and that will do lasting damage to their consciences. Consider yourself warned: this is not a book for the faint-of-the-heart, for your grandmother’s book club, or for people looking to be uplifted by a story about the triumph of the human spirit. It is a bleak and often despairing look at human life in the twenty-first century. All of that may make “Freedom” a curious, and, given their history, genuinely shocking pick for Oprah’s Book Club, but it also makes it one of the best contemporary novels I’ve ever read.
“Freedom” concerns itself with the lives of the Berglunds, a family of four which moves from St. Paul to Washington, D.C. Patriarch Walter Berglund is a do-gooder conservationist who wants the world to realize the dangers of constant population growth. Wife Patty is a former All-American college basketball player who rebels against her emotionally distant and unsupportive State Assemblywoman mother by choosing to be a traditional housewife. Their children are Joey, a fiercely independent boy who abandons his family for his submissive girlfriend Connie, and Jessica, a coolly intelligent girl who seems to hold everyone to the same high standards to which she holds herself. Walter’s best friend Richard Katz, a musician’s musician perennially just this short of stardom, pops in and out of the action, wreaking havoc whenever it isn’t called for.
“Freedom” is more character-based than plot-driven, which is not to say that there is no story (this is, refreshingly, a rather traditional novel, with little to no artsy pretensions) but that the characters are our entry into the action. Every plot point is informed by their personalities, rather than a test through which we discover their personalities.
The novel divides neatly into sections. The opening is a soaring overview of the family’s history in Saint Paul, from Walter and Patty’s often poorly-received efforts to gentrify their neighborhood to the aftermath of Joey’s decision to move into his girlfriend’s family’s house next door. Subsequent sections are told from the perspective of the characters, including parts of an autobiography Patty was assigned to write by her therapist, which is nonetheless written in the third person. The only major character not to have her own section is Jessica, a curious authorial choice, and perhaps a disappointing, though understandable one. It could be extremely tiresome viewing the world through the eyes of someone who thinks they are always right.
By now I bet you are asking: what’s with that title? A little arrogant, no? A tad uninformative? Perhaps even a bit bland, so far as it goes? I admit I thought so too, and to some extent still find it problematic, but Freedom is indeed a central theme of the novel. (It’s just hard to think of other classic novels named so blatantly after their themes.) Each of the characters in the novel is seeking to exercise their freedom and become an independent self. Mostly they are trying not to be the people their parents’ were, and failing in spite of their best efforts. Patty, who thought her mother was a bad mother, overcorrects and smothers Joey with her affection (Jessica won’t let anyone over-love her) and eventually pushes him away, much like her own mother did to her through indifference. Walter’s father’s only consolation in life was that he wasn’t as bad a drunk as Walter’s grandfather, but he winds up being just as cruel to his wife. Walter subsequently avoids the drink altogether, but becomes just as much of a political crank as his father was, albeit in support of radically different causes.
“Freedom” takes a dim view of the nuclear family. Every family in this book is deeply flawed and each leaves its damaging fingerprints all over the next generation. The book is not quite deterministic, but argues persuasively for the importance of early influence. The families in the novel work as microcosms of society, where people’s individual selves are in constant conflict with the selves of other people. Franzen recognizes that one person’s happiness is almost certainly the root cause of someone else’s unhappiness. Walter himself doesn’t articulate this thought, but it might subconsciously inform his obsession with over-population. More people inevitably means more conflict in an economy of scarce resources.
It is too early to throw around terms like Great American Novel, timeless classic or masterwork; these are questions that can only be resolved by time. But “Freedom” is a serious work of art, a major attempt at grappling with life as it really as, and it is an impressive success. For all the pain, cruelty and heartbreak within its pages the thing that most suffuses “Freedom” is life. And there’s no greater compliment for a novel than that.

Recommendation: Ray Lamontagne

I don't write music reviews for a few reasons. For one thing, I don't know anything about music, my half-hearted attempts to learn the alto saxophone notwithstanding. I also don't listen to a lot of new music, especially not since the end of my unheralded college radio career. I've never really been a passionate music fan, following a band through their discography, celebrating their progressions or lamenting creative stasis. In short, I feel unqualified, but I do recommend music I like, at least when it's someone of contemporary relevance that I have just discovered.

With those caveats out of the way, consider this a full recommendation of Ray Lamontagne. I recently purchased his new CD with The Pariah Dogs (terrible name) "God Willin' and the Creek Don't Rise." Lamontagne's voice is possibly a divisive topic in music circles, but I like it. It's a little reedy and thin, but with range. It produces an effect that's very appealing, it sounds like it's being perfectly controlled to keep it from getting out of hand. A lot of the songs leave you wanting more, but in a good way. The song makes you think the singer is going to soar or scream, but he never really does, and it's to his credit.

The songs here are not lyrically complex, but they manage to take topics which are well-worn with repetition and make you forget that they are cliche. If stuff like this got more commercial radio airplay, I would think a track like "New York City's Killing Me" might actually reach iconic status as the "New York is impersonal and cold" anthem. (As a commuter, I know I find it anthemic.)

The other real standout track on the album is "Beg, Steal or Borrow" which is just sort of your standard "desperate to get out of a small town, not do what my dad does" kind of song, but that voice manages to raise the song above it's subject matter.


I like Lamontagne, and it's least partly because I find it hard to think of people to compare him too. Of course, that makes it difficult to tell people what he's like. I would suggest listening to "Beg Steal or Borrow" on youtube to gauge your interest.

After reading this you probably understand why I don't do this that often.

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

Why are so many people reading this book?

That was the question that kept bugging me long enough for me to accept a copy of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo when someone offered me one. For months I had seen people reading it on the subway, on my bus ride, or carrying copies on the street and sneaking in a paragraph or two while waiting for the light to change. I'm always interested in what people are reading, and even though I have mostly forsaken the thriller genre, I decided I needed to see what was so special.

After reading the book, I still have the same question: Why are people reading this book?

Let's get a few things out of the way, because I'm not a snob and this isn't a terrible book. The story definitely has momentum, and you find yourself flying through the pages. (I read the book in about four days, mostly over my lunch break at work and on my commute home.) And the title character is an undeniably fascinating creation, a cipher with a serious anti-social streak and crippling issues with intimacy, who just happens to be a world-class computer hacker with a photographic memory. When she's in the story the book hums along quite nicely. There is also an appealing set-up for a mystery. The main character, a journalist named Mikael Blomkvist recently convicted of libel is hired to investigate a decades-old case of a missing girl. Nothing outrageously original, but perfectly serviceable for this type of novel.

Unfortunately, the negatives start to far outweigh the positives the further you get into the novel, and even worse, you keep coming up with negatives for as long as you think about the book. That forward momentum I listed as one of the book's strengths is really the only thing saving it from ruin. A moment's reflection and the magic is lost. The appealing mystery devolves into a nonsensical solution seemingly plucked randomly from the list of suspects. All of the characters behave stupidly and out of character when it suits the needs of the plot.

As for the writing, look, I don't expect Shakespeare when I crack open a thriller, and I don't need it to enjoy a book. I've read plenty of mystery novels where the prose was just adequate and never uttered a complaint. Here the prose only rises to the heights of adequacy intermittently. I have seen speculation that this is largely a translation problem, but that strikes me as a convenient scapegoat. The problem is that there seems to have been next to no thought put into the words on the page. Every thing is just plot. This happened and then this happened which meant this happened. There is no art to it or originality. The novel never creates a feeling of place or people. Everyone speaks exactly the same way, no matter what their age or disposition. The book reads like it took the author exactly as long to write these sentences as it does for you to read them, and that is pretty damning.

So, again, why is this book so outstandingly popular? I admit I am dumbfounded. Again, it is not a terrible book, I have certainly read much worse. But there have to be thrillers much better than this. (I don't expect literate fiction to dominate the bestseller lists, but more competently written thrillers would be a start.

Maybe I'm the strange one, but I tend to think of reading being different from other forms of entertainment, if only for the more significant time investment. I'll watch a stupid movie or a light TV show because, what the heck, what's the loss? But to spend the time on a book that isn't unique or special in any way, that has no art behind it, seems wasteful. When I'm looking to shut off my brain, and believe me, I know how valuable it can be to do just that, I turn on the television. I open up a book when I want to engage my brain.

Was The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo a fun read for a while? Yeah, it was, although the end of the story was disappointing to say the least. But there have to be better ways to spend your time.

P.S. I don't feel like going into specifics, but there is a lot of deviant sexual activity in this book, and it is handled in such a banal way as to be frankly disturbing. Also, and this is more of a complaint of the thriller genre, I get really tired of near-superman male protagonists that every woman immediately jumps into bed with. It's tacky and feels like wish-fulfillment through fiction.

Fantastic Mr. Fox

Sometimes you just miss a movie, you know? I mean the whole appeal of it just eludes you. Clearly there must be some reason this stop-motion animated, dry-humor infused quirk fest was received warmly by critics. I just can't for the life of me figure it out.

It's surreal that this isn't so very different from Wes Anderson's other movies, which I actually enjoy very much (esp. Rushmore and Royal Tenenbaums.) There's family tension and quirky characters, but it just isn't as funny or compelling. I think the limitations of dolls as actors comes into play.

Fantastic Mr. Fox's 87 minutes felt a lot longer. I was almost in pain waiting for it to end. See it if you want, if you dare to, and if you like it, could you let me in on the secret? Until then, 0.2 out of 10. Just because I smirked at one joke.

The Informant!

Note: We're backed up a bit around here, because I've been ignoring my duties. The next few posts are going to be short and to the point.


Steven Soderbergh's The Informant! really earns that potentially-aggravating exclamation point. Everything here is so outlandish, off-the-wall, and ridiculous that it's kind of amazing it's based on a real story, especially one set in the highly exciting corn byproducts industry.

Matt Damon plays the central character, a goofy, mustachioed executive who puts his own job at risk for uncertain motives when he alerts the FBI to a price-fixing scheme at his company. Damon really sells the eccentricity of the character, and it's a joy to try and figure out what's really going on with him. The movie finally lets you in on the whole story, and it's so delightfully bizarre that it will keep you laughing, and keep you from omitting that exclamation mark at the end of the title. 8.6 out of 10.