Why You Should Be Watching Justified

I admit, I will not immediately cop to being a fan of cop shows. I don’t watch 24 or Law and Order or The Closer or Cold Case or Castle or The Mentalist or Southland or NCIS or White Collar or any other cop show out there on right now that I’m forgetting (because I don’t watch cop shows). I guess I got it in my mind when CSI and Law and Order started picking up steam that they were repetitive procedurals that didn’t need my time and energy. It’s the same with doctor shows or lawyer shows or any other sort of boring profession show. I have always preferred and will always prefer serials, because I like the challenge of remembering more than character names and occupations from week to week. Why would I waste my time wondering how House will save the next patient in the last five minutes if more pressing matters are at hand, like what’s in the hatch? So I was not at all expecting to like Justified. I only watched the pilot because I downloaded it by accident off iTunes and needed something to watch while I repainted my nails. Hoo boy was I wrong.
First of all, I just want to say that I love FX for picking up this show, and for picking it up early for a second season. FX to me is one of the best networks out there right now, aside from the premium channels. I love how their shows all seem to perfectly balance crudeness with heart and humor with reality, as any good TV show should. Obviously I love It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Archer is growing on me, I like what I’ve seen of Rescue Me and Sons of Anarchy, and I’ve heard Damages and Nip/Tuck are both great. And as far as I can tell, Justified is no different – it’s a serious, badass cop show with subtle hints of racism, class tensions, and other messed-up shit, but with enough optimism and humor to make it both instantly likeable and ridiculously entertaining. It’s partially a procedural, with a few episodes devoted to external plots with lots of gun-pulling and shooting, but it’s also a serial with a serious, detailed back-story that the writers are doling out like candy. So Justified ends up being (more or less) the best of both worlds, with stand-alone episodes like the epic “Long in the Tooth” (featuring the incomparable Alan Ruck and an awesome riff on Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer) and mythology-heavy episodes like “Blind Spot” and “The Lord of War and Thunder.” So it’s a drama, and the show is definitely looking to grapple with serious subjects like guilt and consequences, but it’s balanced so perfectly that the moping doesn’t get in the way of the fun stuff.
Timothy Olyphant, perfectly groomed scruff and all, stars as the trigger-happy U.S. Marshall Raylan Givens, who left Kentucky and his crime kingpin father when he was 18 and vowed never to return – that is, until he shoots a man in cold blood while stationed in Miami and gets reassigned to his hometown of Harlan. Olyphant oozes hot-bad-boy-cop sexiness, and the camera loves him, too – he dominates the screen. And while I wish the show would give a little more time to its circle of supporting players like Winona, Ava, and Boyd, it isn’t really a problem right now because Olyphant has plenty of charisma to keep the show pulsing.
What I love most about this show, though, is that it always feels authentic. Even when the car scenes are badly green-screened or the camera zooms in just a few too many times to lovingly pan over Olyphant’s smooth manly neck, it’s hard to complain because everything else about the show feels so right. I can’t say that I’m really familiar with Appalachian country, apart from a week a couple years ago in rural West Virginia, but I feel like the show is very true to its setting. From what I gathered in those few days, that part of the country is a huge mess of contradictions: trailers with premium satellite dishes and Hummers parked out front, McMansions next to abandoned coal mines, poverty mixed with wealth, the old mixed with the new. Raylan himself is an embodiment of that: a Wild West cowboy with a Blackberry and a town car. I don’t think the series is perfect (the recent episode “Collection” was kind of annoying, although it had some great Raylan one-liners), but I think it’s well on its way to being a solid, really great TV show. And even the best shows screw up sometimes; call it the Nikki-and-Paulo Effect.
I also like how the show is developing Raylan by developing his relationships with the aforementioned supporting cast, which is admirably diverse and delightful. Each character, like the setting and like Raylan himself, is a bundle of contradictions (Raylan’s sleeping with Ava, but he protects her like a sister; he’s both still in love with and furious at his ex-wife, Winona, who probably feels the same; his boss Art has a Tombstone poster on his wall and an iMac on his desk). In particular I love chemistry between Raylan and both Boyd Crowder, his arch-nemesis, and David Vasquez, the US Attorney investigating the shooting from the pilot (and another potentially juicy antagonist).
It all leads to the probable point the show is making: how do we justify justice if it means shooting a man in cold blood? How do you kill someone and sleep at night? How far can the consequences of your actions be taken? All are valid questions, and I’m quite looking forward to watching Raylan find answers to them. And hey, if the show runs off the rails in the future, at least Timothy Olyphant is nice to look at.
P.S. Can I just say how happy I am to see M.C. Gainey back on television? Lost hasn’t been quite the same without Mr. Friendly, but it was brilliant to cast him as the Crowder family patriarch Bo. I can only hope he gets off ABC’s disastrous-looking Happy Town soon so he can stay with Justified.

Lost: An Elegy

I think it’s pretty much common knowledge at this point that in the age of modern television (that is, anything made after 2000), Arrested Development will go down as the best comedy. I mean, it’s pretty much inarguable at this point. It’s been off the air for four years now, but it still remains extremely relevant, modern, and smart. It’s a biting satire that managed for three precious seasons to be both broad and incredibly nuanced, self-referential, and wickedly funny, with nary a bad episode to be found, even at the end (when it inexplicably got better). I’m sure arguments can and will be made for The Office, 30 Rock, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Family Guy, Scrubs, and countless other comedies to take the title, but I’m keeping my chips on Arrested Development. Don’t believe me? Watch it sometime. I dare you not to fall in love.
So that leaves the title of best television drama up for grabs, and I’m prematurely submitting my ballot for Lost. I am well aware of the recent influx of breathtakingly good dramas on premium cable (and, to a lesser extent, network TV), being a fan of many of them, but I’m making my case for Lost to be the victor. Mad Men may be better acted, Breaking Bad may be more relevant, Six Feet Under may have broken more barriers, The Wire may have better sustained quality, but none of these shows can come close to the fever and fervor Lost created over six tumultuous seasons.
I admit, I am a bandwagon fan of Lost. I largely ignored the first season; I was tempted to start watching when I saw the promos for the pilot, but at that point I was mostly obsessed with reality TV and was too busy following The Apprentice to have to deal with another show. How wrong I was. I remember hearing my Lost-watching friends discussing it feverishly and being jealous, because if there is one thing I hate it’s being out of the loop. So I got them to explain what was going on to me, piece by piece, and I picked up with the second season and was immediately hooked. But as time went on I was more than hooked. I became obsessed, too. Day by day my mind was blown by the scale to which Lost had taken over the pop culture-sphere and how what I had always viewed as mindless entertainment had become intelligent, challenging, and innovative. Before Lost, I, like most people, had never taken even a second to think about the people behind television shows. So much focus goes to the actors that we as consumers don’t give a second thought to the writers and producers. I don’t think I even knew what an Executive Producer was until Lost. And then, in my feverish quest for answers, I discovered the Official Lost Podcast on iTunes and so discovered Damon and Carlton. After that, I could have cared less about Matthew Fox and Evangeline Lilly. I wanted to know more about these two men, and the others like them, who were funny and brilliant and everything I wanted to be. I think it’s safe to say that I would not be considering my current career path if it were not for Lost.
I think it’s too soon to tell what Lost’s cultural legacy will be. There are three more episodes until the end of the end, and only time will tell what will happen after that. I can say that Lost changed my outlook on media, entertainment, and my future. It wasn’t a perfect show – I think everyone can agree on that – but in many ways I felt like it was my show. I watched it during the time in my life when I was most malleable and unlike many other shows I watched, I was never quite able to shake it. I can only hope that its legacy opens up doors for me and people like me who are looking to elevate television to challenging, intelligent entertainment for the masses.

An Open Letter to Ryan Murphy

Dear Mr. Murphy,
My name is Sarah, and I am a Gleek. Or, at least, I want to be. You see, I was an avid supporter of Glee. I watched the pilot last year and fell in love, hard. And I watched every single episode you aired of Season 1. It was one of just a few appointment shows for me in a television season that was fairly disappointing. But I stuck by you. I bought the soundtracks, the episodes off iTunes. I have an autographed Glee poster on my wall. But, with the resumption of Season 1, I must admit: I’m worried about Glee.
I’m sure you’re a very smart man and a very talented writer and show runner. I’ve never seen your other show, Nip/Tuck, but I hear it’s great. And I really, really want Glee to work out for you. It’s a genius show concept, and it paves the way for people like me who are looking to write the one-hour pop-culture-based teen dramedies of the future. And for all intents and purposes, I represent your target demographic: young, female, easily manipulated by and highly aware of current music and pop culture, very passionate about and involved in the performing arts, obsessed with Broadway and modern theater. No one cheered louder than me when Kristin Chenoweth showed up in “The Rhodes Not Taken” last season. No one is more excited for the guest arcs of Neil Patrick Harris and Jonathan Groff. So, like I said before, I should consider myself a Gleek, but I’m temporarily ripping up my membership card. That said, here’s how you can win me back.
1. That dialogue. Good God is it bad. I suggest that you and your writers take a field trip to any high school ever, listen closely for about five minutes, and immediately rewrite all future scripts. One of the things I loved from the start about Glee was that the concept was firmly grounded in reality. When they sing, they know they are singing and they sing in real time reality. It’s not like a Broadway show where they speak and think out loud in song. I love that, as a twist on the idea that the song must directly advance the plot. But here’s a newsflash: real teenagers don’t talk or act the way yours do. Half of your show is grounded, like in the often superior scenes where the club is together singing in the classroom (“Bust a Move,” “Hate on Me,” and “Sweet Caroline” all come to mind). But you also seem to want to show an alternative, twisted reality where characters like Rachel and Sue Sylvester exist, and teenagers talk like they’re in a bad After School Special. I can’t buy into or emotionally connect to a show that doesn’t know if it’s real or not. Give us more episodes like “Wheels” and “Acafellas” that perfectly balance whimsy with heart, and I’m yours.
2. Take a chill pill. The first part of Season 1 was like a theater camp on speed – you flew through plotlines that take most other shows entire seasons. The idea that Sue was co-coaching New Directions was absolutely inspired, but I was thoroughly disappointed when it was over in the same episode. I can’t even imagine what shenanigans you could have dreamed up for the club had you kept her around even a few seconds longer. You have my attention. Your fan base isn’t going anywhere – I promise you, no one is going to stop watching Glee so they can catch up on Gossip Girl. Take your time, and do it right. Enjoy the ride as much as your fans want to.
3. Ease up on the sentimentality and amp up the weird. I almost hurt myself after the huge involuntary eye rolls I experienced after “True Colors” and “Imagine” sung by the deaf choir. Really? That’s not emotional or sentimental, that’s somewhere between cheesy and just plain embarrassing. My reaction to the end of “Wheels,” on the other hand, was somewhere between stunned silence and misty-eyed. Kurt coming out to his father got a similar reaction. That’s how you show heart, not with contrived song and dance numbers. Using songs to tell a story is certainly not a new idea and for the most part you use the motif well. It’s when it’s used as a crutch that we have a problem. You could, however, do with a little more weird. John Lloyd Young as a depressed, cough syrup-addicted shop teacher who cuts off his own thumb while high? Now that’s just plain weird, and that’s what makes me happy. More, please.
4. Reevaluate your future song choices, please. We’ve heard all along that Glee is a young show, with a young cast, for young fans. So what the hell are you doing raiding the Madonna song-book? It was all too transparently obvious that the only reason you included (the admittedly awesome) “4 Minutes” number in “The Power of Madonna” was because it’s the only Madonna song people my age know, besides maybe “Like A Virgin.” Don’t blame it on my upbringing – I was singing Duran Duran hits when I was five – but instead accept the fact that Madonna is not culturally relevant anymore. I keep going back to the pilot in my head, because it’s the best episode you’ve done so far, and making a mental checklist. “Rehab” by Amy Winehouse? Relevant. “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey? You can thank The Sopranos for bringing it back later. “Gold Digger” by Kanye West? “Take a Bow” by Rihanna? They all work. But there’s a reason an episode like “Ballad” kind of flopped – it’s not young, it feels forced, and you’re taking away my one reason to watch the show. There are no other shows out there for people like me – too old to consider sitting through “Gossip Girl,” too young to connect with shows like “Breaking Bad” and “Dexter.” Please don’t ruin this for me.
Well, that’s all for now, I guess. I haven’t given up hope on you yet. Just know that this does not excuse “Hairography,” because nothing you could ever do could ever make up for that 45 minutes of my life. I love pretty people making fools of themselves as much as the next person, but don’t waste my time. Just get back down to business, and I won’t stop believin’.
Sincerely,
sarah here

In Defense of The O.C.

I have recently taken it upon myself, in light of my newfound obsession with any and all things television, to go back and watch as many of the most critically acclaimed and/or popular shows in recent years, as well as a few older ones that I was interested in. And since I have a particular love/hate relationship with the teen drama, I decided to watch all of The O.C., best remembered as Josh Schwartz’s first show. Is The O.C. culturally significant? No, not particularly. Is it mindless? Yes, often. Is it Mischa Barton a terrible actress? Are you kidding me? But does it deserve all the shit it got over the years? Absolutely not. A few years ago, if you had asked me if I watched The O.C., I would have given you a look of supreme disdain and disapproval. Everyone knew The O.C. was only for dumb blonde popular girls to watch. Everyone knew it sucked. And yet everyone knew what Chrismukkah was and had heard of Death Cab for Cutie. I’ll admit, there are episodes when I can’t help but revert to my old opinion of The O.C. I frequently roll my eyes, scoff, and even occasionally sarcastically exclaim “Oh, my God!” as it veers closer and closer to soap opera territory over the seasons. But I still give Josh Schwartz major props for keeping it on the air as long as it did. Spoiler alert: The O.C. is not actually a teen drama. It’s very much an adult drama that as the seasons went on devoted more and more screen time to its infinitely more interesting adult characters and their infinitely more interesting problems. The teen cast is certainly prettier than the adult cast, but far less experienced and nuanced – and it shows, so much that their scenes are sometimes almost breathtakingly bad. The O.C. had a lot of problems, yes, but you can’t deny that when it worked, it worked. When the main cast is together, dealing with each other’s problems and keeping things in the family, it’s a great show. It flows better, it’s shot better, the chemistry is better – it’s like magic. One of my favorite plot lines to date was actually one of the most melodramatic – the one with Lindsey and Caleb – but it worked because the cast was together, riffing off of each other and being contagiously likeable. And it didn’t hurt that Tate Donovan and Alan Dale were both cast members then. No one does crotchety old rich man like Alan Dale (see: Charles Widmore on LOST). But as soon as The O.C. stepped outside itself and brought in supremely boring, flat, and annoying characters like Oliver, Volchok, Theresa, and Johnny, the whole thing just drags and you can see the boredom in everyone’s faces. The good thing about these characters is that they always leave, in some increasingly implausible and stupid way, but by then the show is several hundred feet in the air, flying over a Great White. The show first jumped the shark for me, in fact, with the Oliver story-line, which was so incredibly irritating and transparent I almost stopped watching because I couldn’t take it anymore. As far as I can tell, that’s the story-line that sealed the show’s premature-death fate. The point is, the core of this show was from the beginning the Cohens, the Coopers, and the Roberts, and when they’re together, it’s great stuff. And I may be just a little bit in love with Seth Cohen.
In short, I ask that you reconsider judging someone when they say they watch(ed) The O.C. It’s not actually as bad as you remember.

Redux

I may not know much, but I know about pop culture. This is not an overstatement. I have zero opinion on modern art, nuclear physics, psychology, or anything else remotely useful or relevant, but I can tell you that neither The Office nor Entourage has been any good for at least the past three seasons, True Blood is the sexiest show on television right now, Fela completely deserves the Tony, Avatar was a really, really terrible movie, Broken Bells is as good as the hype, and Lost is arguably one of the greatest television shows ever. So that, I suppose, is the point of this blog – a way for me to put my thoughts out there about the pop culture universe. In the interest of full disclosure, I am a media junkie. I also happen to absorb most of what I read and hear. So if you feel like you’ve read any of this before, it’s probably because you have.