TV: Studio 60

Dara writes:

In an earlier post, I noted that I liked the latest creation of Aaron Sorkin, Studio 60, because its main character was a writer and the show did a good job of conveying exactly what that means--agony, being blocked, fatigue, ill humor, catharsis, et. al. I mentioned too that Matthew Perry did a good job as said writer. As the series has evolved, Bradley Whitford has become my favorite character. He is never more boyish than when trying to woo the network executive Jordan McDeere, played winningly by Amanda Peet, who, we learned two episodes ago, is pregnant. I don't know if Danny Tripp, Whitford's character, is the father, but he is in love with McDeere.

Tripp is a recovering addict--he is not exactly everyone's dream date. He tells McDeere,

"I know you want to run. But I will come after you."

This was extremely cute, especially since McDeere's mouth was full, since she is "eating for two."

I have not watched TV, except for Seinfeld re-runs, for some time. But I really like this show, and it is fun to feel part of mainstream culture again. Like I have something to contribute at the water cooler. If I worked at a place with a water cooler. If I worked. Anyhow, Alessandra Stanley, the head TV critic for the Times, corroborates my allegiance:

"And at their best, the two shows are unequaled by anything else on network television,"

she attests of Studio 60 and its more slapsticky counterpart, 30 Rock.

Studio 60: A show about writing

Not a show about nothing, as Seinfeld was, but a show about writing.

I was attracted to the show by the following scene: Matthew Perry, much better here than as the buffoon in Friends, plays the head writer for an SNL-like variety show, and he's been blocked, until this moment, when he comes upon an idea for the season premiere. After much agonizing, he sets down to his Apple laptop to start hammering it out. In this moment I felt happy to be a writer.

I felt happy because Aaron Sorkin, the creator of Studio 60 (and of course of The West Wing), transmitted the buzz of inspiration, and that's no small feat. Writing doesn't tend to play well on screen. There's no movement to it. A recent visit to the "Moving Pictures" exhibit at NYU's underestimated Grey Art Gallery confirmed that early filmmakers gravitated toward bodies in motion--horses, weightlifters, dancers--because their kinesis shows up well on tape. Writers don't dance. And we often appear tense. Nicole Kidman did a good job, nose prosthesis be damned, in The Hours, but Jane Campion's 1990 film An Angel at My Table did an even better one. The wild bright red hair of Janet Frame, the depicted writer, compensated for a writer's typical frowsiness and incapacity to be photogenic.

I do commend, as well, Studio 60's camera-work and quick dialog. Moreover, it was a smart move to make the audience anticipate the opening number of the season premiere of the SNL-like variety show *at the same time* they were watching the highly-anticipated second episode of Aaron Sorkin's latest contribution.

Upstairs Downstairs

Mr. Right and I have been watching the 70s BBC series "Upstairs Downstairs," which we get from Netflix. Addicted. We can't get enough and tend to watch a whole DVD in one sitting, or would if our cat, Professor Boskowitz, didn't need to be fed occasionally.

I highly recommend this show. It depicts social situations of Edwardian England with great wit and insight. The wealthy scion impregnates a servant; the heiress beds her son's friend; the chauffeur and the parlor maid tease each other around the kitchen. The best thing about these characters is they're multidimensional. All are good and bad, cruel and humane. The head servant is named Hudson and if he were running my job search right now, by golly I'd have the best editing position Conde Nast had to offer!

We've added this series to our expanding obsession with old TV shows, which started with Brideshead Revisited about a year ago. From Bridey we moved on to The Office (hilarious), Freaks and Geeks (humbling), and Hill Street Blues (horrendous--we only watched one episode). How did that show get so much adulation? My theory is because it dealth, albeit from a chauvinist's perspective, with women's issues. Perhaps our fave was Law and Order. We watched about a million episodes, all for Michael Moriarty and Jerry Orbach. Moriarty doesn't have the trembling lip of Sam Waterston, thank goodness.

Let me know if you can suggest more shows...