Yet More Motor City Photos

Russ Martin was a stills photographer on Across the River to Motor City, the show I wrote and co-created last year. (Which should air sometime Fall 2007 on CHUM stations in Canada.) All of these shots were from his site, which can be found here. Some really great stuff.


ATR traces one character in two eras. Sasha Roiz plays the young Ben Ford in the 1960's. David Fox plays the contemporary Ben.








At right, another photo of Matt Deslippe as mobster Frank Calasso, whose ambition causes him to try and work both sides of the U.S.-Canadian border.

David Fox (below) is one of Canada's finest actors. I've been seeing him for years in theatre, and on TV. It was such a thrill to hear him saying words I wrote, I can't even tell you. And he looks fetching in prison-issue orange.


In the photo at right, you get a sense, I think, of what the D.O.P., David Greene, and the Director, Michael DeCarlo, brought to the show. It looks really beautiful. David Greene's got a great eye, and his vibrant visual sensibility is probably Michael's main strength as a Director.


This is fun. This is actually an "art department" photo. In one episode, Ben is working a divorce case (in 1964, where the law in Canada meant that you HAD to prove adultery, and go through a whole bunch of embarrassing steps before you could petition Parliament to dissolve your marriage. Seriously.) As a character in the show says in the script, "You Canadians. I'm surprised you didn't have to phone the Queen." I include this photo because it features an actor I love named Bruce Hunter, and a very nice girl whose name I'm forgetting, who I talked to for quite a while on set. She was a trouper.


This is Young Ben Ford and his girlfriend, Katie, in happier times, sometime before the start of our narrative.





If you're from Detroit or Windsor, this stadium probably needs no introduction. We got in before they tore it down.








Saving the best for last. What's a story that spans two eras without a fantasy girl that got away? This is from a dream sequence, and, unless I miss my guess, is the only scene that the lovely Charlotte Sullivan (Katie) shares with the older Ben Ford (David Fox)


Again, all photos are by Russ Martin. If you're looking for art dept, production, or gallery photos, he can be reached at russ@russmartin.ca

As Long As There is Death, There Is Hope

Okay, Okay...I said below that I wouldn't be posting Friday, but I'd forgotten that it was Letterman's 25th anniversary.

When it comes to Television comedy, I've learned that you can actually tell in the room what a writer's "original comedy sin" is. For me, and for a lot of writers my age, that sin--that main influence-- is Letterman by a mile, with maybe a dollop of Carson and George Carlin and Richard Pryor albums thrown in.

Go a little younger than me, and I've caught and appreciated people for whom The Simpsons was the big jumping off point. Or Conan. The Conan thing is strange, since he's so heavily influenced by Letterman himself.

I've yet to work with anyone who was influenced by Leno.

But I've had a great time trading quips and barbs from people who first discovered Peter Sellers. Or Python. Or Blackadder. They bring a different sensibility.

Go a little older, and I get those for whom the genre busting standups were all: Carlin and Pryor, and the first years of SNL.

Then, with some, the wall of formalism creeps in. Beyond the Fringe and the Goon Show both may have been cutting edge for their time, but time's passed them by, now. People getting closer to my parents' age remember Milton Berle and Nichols and May, and I Love Lucy and Dick Van Dyke and Carl Reiner and Mel Brooks' 2000 Year Old Man, and Newhart ...and the list goes on.

It's not that I don't appreciate these comics. I love old Nichols and May, for example. And I'm quite proud of that Complete Dick Van Dyke Show set sitting on my shelf. But your comedy original sin determines where you go first: your go-to's. And in the room, your comedy go-to's kind of define you.

From Carson, I learned the value of letting the other person look funny. That is a lesson that's so important, a lesson that, sadly, often goes unlearned (it certainly has with every Canadian who's ever tried to host a radio show or a tv show here.)

But Letterman was a revelation completely untoward. It's hard to describe what it was like, seeing those early Late Night bits. There was comedy of the absurd, there was the original rise of irony. He was a terrible, terrible interviewer. For people who complain about him today, you really need to see Letterman in those early bits. He stinks. He was irascible, and uncomfortable. He was goofy. He seemed to show no respect to the tradition he was inheriting. Then you realized, if you kept watching, just how wrong that was -- just how much he respected those who had come before.

How to communicate to people maybe a little younger what it was like to have to sneak down and set that first family VCR to tape Letterman each night? The VCR that you begged your Mom and Dad to get mainly so you could tape Letterman -- the original sinner repeating the sin, over and over, with no thought of repentance. The VCR that was as easy to program as the Space Shuttle, and just about as noisy.

Then, later...the fact that after all these years, you can only now finally admit it: Yes, Mom. Yes, Dad. I know I denied it at the time, but my grades in Grade Eleven DID slip because I was up too late watching Letterman. There. It's said. It's out. You were right. Gosh. That does feel good.

As I was sucking up irony and that Letterman sensibility in the dark, I was forging my comic personality; the trip wires that still signify me, that define the pathways into what I will and won't find funny. It was not without cost. Letterman said, "what the hell?" so much, that my constant repetition of the phrase got me thrown off the school announcements by a peevish Christian teacher. Hah! To a one, those high school teachers didn't understand this 'humor,' this irony that we all were sucking up from Letterman like air. The impertinence! We were like ravenous zombies scouring the world for things to make us laugh. Things that were for us. No internet, no 176 cable channels devoted to our tiny slice of interest; no marketers catering directly to us. It was Letterman or teen ski-and-sex movies. That's it.

"That's not funny." Ahhhhh. Good times. So much more than a velcro suit, or throwing stuff off a roof, that is the true legacy of Letterman. It is the thing that made us able to point to our elders and say, "You are square."

I don't mean to be one of those people who say, "Oh the original was better," but there was something lost when Dave moved to 11:30. Not to say the show wasn't still funny. Not to say that I'm not amazed how he can still rear up every once in a while and be very relevant, like his post-9/11 shows or his post heart surgery shows, or when he takes down people like Bill O'Reilly.

But I guess by the time that move to CBS happened, Letterman and the comedy that he wrought was firmly in the mainstream. So of course it seemed less...dangerous, somehow. I mean, when "The World's Most Dangerous Band" changes its name to "The CBS Orchestra," the firmament has shifted, my friends.

Which is why I think like my friend Rob, I was so disappointed that Letterman was so low key in his marking of the anniversary last night. Damnit, this is important!

As much as I might like The Daily Show, for instance, I can't say that the form of what Stewart's doing is revolutionary. Colbert may have more of a claim to that, but even there, to me, nothing touches what Letterman did on NBC. Nothing beats my memory of spending a day riding around in a limo with Calvert "Larry Bud Melman" DeForest. (I did a story on him when I was a producer, following him around on an advertising-driven day when he was doing promo work for Pizza Hut. He was a very nice man. Not as strange as on the show, but don't kid yourself -- not that far away, either.) Nothing beats the time I waited outside 30 Rock, on crutches, for a glimpse of Letterman doing a remote segment. You can see me in the B.G. of the camper van as Larry Bud heads off for Tierra Del Fuego.

One of these days, I'm going to find myself in a room with someone whose comedy original sin is South Park. Or Aqua Teen Hunger Force. And I'll struggle with their go-to's and finding the bridge between us. And that's fine.

So long as it's not Dane Fucking Cook.

Below, a short clip of the guy who was my all time favorite Late Night With David Letterman guest: Brother Theodore. (The title of this post is another memorable Theodore line.) I remember watching this live, and Dave's calm question reduced me to a puddle on the floor. I think my laughter woke my parents up. I think Dave got me in trouble.

Thanks a lot, Letterman. Asshole!







(this post was edited slightly after publication, to fix a couple mistakes and expand a few points.)

Blood Ties Preview

Well, there's no way that I can equal the nuttiness of the post below. And you've gotten your free dollar's worth today.

Today was a good day...a bunch of 'spitting' stories for the final three eps of the season. Then, at the end of the day it's tagged with this:



Our first promo from Lifetime, up on YouTube. AWESOME. So there you go. American viewers, tune in in March. Canadians...well...um...the Canadian Broadcaster is CHUM and they haven't scheduled the show yet. Maybe you might email them or write them and ask, POLITELY, when they're gonna start the show.

I mean it about the polite thing. When I was at CHUM, I read some of the viewer inquiries. And some of them were...well...just this side of actionable. Seriously, use the manners your mum taught you. And if she didn't ... fake it.

No blogging tomorrow (what, all these posts aren't enough? You should pace yourself.) Story notes and writing through the weekend. Hope you all have a good one. Tip your waiter.

First Casualties in The Coming War on Irony

Well I don't know what's the what, but while I've been writing apparently the world went crazy yet again. Never mind the crazy bride, who turns out to be a student from the University I taught at...but what are we to make of this?

Moments after facing a judge on felony charges, the two defendants in the cartoon character ploy that panicked the region were all smiles and jokes, staging a mocking press conference this afternoon outside the Charlestown courthouse in which they deflected questions about their culpability with non sequiter quips about their hair.

"Hair today, gone tomorrow," said Sean Stevens, 28, when asked about the charges.

Stevens and Peter Berdovsky, 27, pleaded not guilty to charges of placing a hoax device and disorderly conduct. Authorities say the two men were responsible for placing 38 electronic signs depicting characters from the "Aqua Teen Hunger Force" program on Cartoon Network as part of a guerilla marketing campaign for the show.

See? It all comes down to a bullshit corporate stunt gone bad . Aqua Teen Hunger Force, guerilla promo devices that have been up in other cities for weeks, causes a terror scare. Merciful Aunt Helen!

Of course, the minute things went bad, Turner Broadcasting basically SHAT themselves, and went straight into massive mea culpa mode:



But see, no one got the script to the fall guys -- who are the very demo that Turner makes money off of with "hip" shows like Aqua Teen. These are the guys who got the joke -- and for whom the overreaction is going to be seen as legendary.

To watch these guys below is just painful. The ridiculous over reaction by both the authorities and the media is made so much worse by their absolute refusal to play the role into which they've been cast.

THIS IS FREE SPEECH, kids. This is Jonathan Swift advocating the eating of Irish Babies (A Modest Proposal)...this is Poor Richard's Almanac...this is liberal stalwart Caroll O'Connor decrying racism by playing Archie Bunker. This is Chaplin in Modern Times taking on Hitler. America...you used to get this kind of thing!

The funny thing is that even Fox News seems not to know what to do with it. It's like making fun of Colbert. How do you mock someone who's mocking you?

Of course, what we can't talk about is the real context for all this: how this bullshit stupid stunt in Boston went so quickly to hysteria because the United States, and its media, has been sucking on the crack pipe of manufactured fear for five years now. Terror threat levels raised before major events. Lying about CIA operatives. The complete and utter mendacity of the current administration, who play fast and loose with American lives by hammering home talking points, then abandoning them and denying they were ever said. All of it creating a culture of hysteria and fear and deceit, where a a compliant, and complacent news media would rather track every motion of Lindsey Lohan and Paris Hilton than actually offer a coherent context for world events, so that stupid stunts like this don't make everyone go all Chicken Little.

Seriously, America...you are messed up right now. You're a sixteen year old girl who's drank a gallon of schnapps and two Mike's Hard, and your bra strap is backwards and your makeup is smudged, and the last thing you need to be doing is going to that bush party with that scary, skanky guy who chews the mints and calls you 'breasty.'

And to think, all it takes to put the entire mediascape into sharp relief, all it takes to puncture all of this hysterical bullshit is two assholes. One with dreadlocks. Unbelievable.

How can I write fictional tv when this is what's really going on out there? You're taking bread from Daddy's mouth, here.

I don't even like Aqua Teen Hunger Force. But now, I have to support it. Shee-yit.

Little Mosque Numbers, Episode 3

One million, eighty five thousand viewers.

Okay CBC. You have a hit.

Now... can you make the show a little better, please? And don't pull the schedule bumping thing again, M'kay?

CTV & The Benefit of The Doubt

So...

Robson Arms & Jeff Ltd.

2nd seasons.

Both premiering next week...on Saturday.

Deadest night of the week. Opposite Hockey Night In Canada.

I just don't know anymore. Two views:

1. What, are you kidding me? CTV shows that it just doesn't give a rat's ass about Cancon at all. It's totally depressing.
2. This is great news! Saturday nights are dead zones for U.S. nets, which means they don't run new stuff, which means CTV won't pre-empt for simulcasts, which means people might actually get a chance to know that these shows are on in a constant timeslot, without being bumped around the schedule.

Like I said...I just don't know anymore.

You Say You Wander Your Own Life...

INSPIRATION comes from funny places. As does context.

I have a friend who gets ideas from opening the dictionary, and pointing to a word at random.

Another, has gone on Ebay and bought old phone books, like, from the forties, for major North American cities. He says the ads help him think.

I've been known to mouse through my copy of the Complete New Yorker to try and get something going. But I've also written before about the inspiration-generating power of music.

A writer friend of mine hits random on his Ipod, and goes with the first song he gets. Something in the lyric, something in the tone just sets him off. I've used his method myself and it rocks.

When it comes to music, there's melody people and there's lyric people. (or at least there used to be; with the latest evolutions of the music biz I'm not so sure now) Lyric people will forever be surprised by that wedding they went to where the couple's song was "Every Breath You Take." Music people just shrug.

I'm guessing you'll agree without too much trouble that most writers probably tend to be lyric people.

So it was that I found myself at Vancouver's Orpheum last night.

The Orpheum is a beautiful Vaudeville-era house, opened originally in 1927. Since 1977, it's been government owned and is the home of the Vancouver Symphony. Not as much history as Massey Hall in Toronto, maybe, but just as much personality. If you've ever been in the Wintergarden Theatre in Toronto, you get an idea of the ornate interior. It's just a beautiful place to see a concert. And the acoustics are amazing.

Last night was the final night of the North American tour for English trio Keane. Keane had a rough year last year. Then, most of their North American tour was canceled so that lead singer Tom Chaplin could get rid of his demons in rehab. I'm sure all the snickering about the band being "for people who thought Coldplay was too hardcore" didn't help.

But Tom Chaplin was in fine voice last night, and the Vancouver crowd was raucous, appreciative and incredibly vocal. (Seriously, I'm used to going to concerts in Toronto, whose crowds are notoriously deadly)

I got into Keane when I was in South Africa in 2004. Cape Town hews way more to the British cultural orbit than the American, so I was hearing Hopes and Fears and its signature tune, "Everybody's Changing," all through the summer of 2004. Then I came home and got to hear it hit radio in Canada six months later. No Matter.

"Everybody's Changing" is a soaring song of despair. It's about dislocation, and longing, and not knowing where you fit, and seeing everyone else around you moving forward while you can't figure out where you are, or where you belong. It's exactly the kind of catchy melody + lyrics that connected with a guy tooling around in the worst car known to man, working crazy hours in a strange city as far from home as he'd ever been. Pile on the fact that the guy was seriously questioning aspects of his relationships and friendships, suffering from a bit of heartbreak and moral tiredness, and you've got a glorious soundtrack of despair. With keyboards!

(Guess I never got over that Howard Jones phase. Not really.)

Keane's Hopes and Fears is so much a part of my South Africa experience, from paying an insane amount of Rand for it at the Waterfront CD Wherehouse, to playing it all through my post-work week driving through Stellenbosch and the Western Cape of Africa, that I can't seem to separate it out from my memory. "This Is The Last Time" calls up memories of winding my way through Camps Bay or trying to dodge the taxis as they barrelled down the road in Seapoint. "Bedshaped" is the song I'd listen to as I watched the Atlantic crash from my window, wondering, "how is it that I came to be here, at this moment, on the Southern Tip of Africa?"

Flash ahead Two and a half years - and I'm in another rented house. This one's even bigger than the flat that I had in South Africa, which was easily twice the size of my condo at home. I'm also alone in another city, working on a totally different show. So...everybody's changing, do I still feel the same?

Well. Yes and no. WC Dixon wrote an affecting piece a while back about the dislocation involved with working in this industry in Canada. I hadn't really thought about it before then, but he's right. I think it's hard for writers working and planted in L.A. to understand just how fluid you have to be if you work in Canada. The vagaries of tax credits and production mean you're always going somewhere. The Corner Gas writers traipse out to Saskatchewan for several months every year. I'm in B.C. Someone else will be off to Winnipeg for something or other.

When I was in South Africa, much as it was an adventure, I found myself wondering if I was putting off life by doing these sorts of things. Then I came back, and did grinding development work for more than a year, where I didn't go anywhere or do much of anything exciting. So you can't win.

But standing in the Orpheum last night, tapping my feet, while the good-looking and waaaaayyy younger than me crowd sang along, I realized that this time, I didn't feel the same dislocation. I've made peace with the bouncing around and the moving, because that's my life. And that's my adventure. So be it.

And then they played "Everybody's Changing" -- 2nd song in.

It was great, but...second song?

Guess I have to work on the timing of my little life moments, is all.

Strike One, Strike Two...

So. The CFTPA went to court to try and put the phooey on ACTRA's continuation letters and strike.

De-Nied:

From the ACTRA release:

CFTPA FAILS IN EFFORT TO STOP ACTRA'S STRIKE

January 30, 2007 - TORONTO - The trade association that speaks for Canadian producers lost its bid to stop ACTRA's strike in Ontario's Courts today. The CFTPA failed to stop ACTRA's strike and failed to get an injunction against the continuation letters that ACTRA is offering to producers as a way of ensuring stability in the industry.

The court sided with ACTRA and stated that there was no evidence the continuation letter strategy ACTRA adopted had caused ‘irreparable harm' to the industry or the CFTPA as the CFTPA had claimed.

The court also ruled that unspecified issues should continue to be litigated before an arbitrator. Arbitrations are often lengthy. Appeals are also possible.

ACTRA called on the association to stop wasting time and money and to settle the current strike instead.

The CFTPA got one thing going, though: the judge did tell both sides to get an arbitrator.

It's hard to see how the CFTPA can spin this as a win for them. ACTRA's continuation letters keep their actors working, and CFTPA has lost its bid to quash the strike spreading to other provinces.

But wait a second...then there's this:

Provincial mediator Vince Ready has scheduled three days of negotiations between bargainers for the actors union and producers led by the Alliance of Motion Picture & Television Producers, which reps Hollywood studios and indie prodcos.

See, apparently new media ISN'T a sticking point in the B.C. negotiations. If there's a quick settlement of their strike, that kind of leaves ACTRA twisting in the wind. With SAG and WGA strikes possibly on the horizon next year over the same issue, and U.S. producers looking to stockpile material before that in a place where they can shoot...Vancouver looks like it's gonna get really busy.

I'm reminded of the Prince's last lines in Romeo & Juliet:

"All are punish'd"

Oh Yeah, Like You'd Be Cooler.

Those of you who've been reading the blog for a while have probably figured out by now that I don't gab on too much about projects that I'm actually working on. I would hope that for most of you, the reasoning behind this would be self evident. I've said before how the room is a place of trust, and when you work on a TV show you want people you work with to feel they can speak freely to you without their words winding up on the internet. This is part of what my father once euphemistically referred to as, "social skills."

I give that preamble because there have been a few people sending me emails asking me to talk more about the show I'm working on, and I wanted to explain a bit why I don't.

That being said, here's one little anecdote I can share.

Yesterday, on set, we had a Jaguar.

No. Not the car.

Never mind why the script calls for it. Once the sun went down the action shifted to the front of our production offices, which double for the entrance to the police station.

From the upstairs kitchen window, the other writers and I watched as the animal trainer ran the cat through his paces. There was a board he had to hit for his mark, then go behind the car and right into the cage. I was impressed by the efficiency with which they do this. There is no malingering. It's boom, mark, trot, cage. I guess the idea is to get the animal to perform the action quickly, and be done with it.

The cat was impressive, shiny, black as night. It was really something to see.

So then about a half hour later I'm going out to my car to go home. Usually I park in a space right outside the office, but since that area was "hot" I had parked way in the back.

So I'm leaving, I go out the side door, and the director says to me, with some concern, "Be careful, Denis...the cat's back there." And I actually said, "Isn't he in a cage?" And looked around twice in fear.

Then, of course, comes the laugh and the smile.

One of my sisters, one of the most endearing thing about her is that she kind of believes you whatever you say. Even if it's outlandish, even if it's obvious that you're putting her on, there's a part of her that wants, that needs the reassurance that, yes, in fact, you're kidding. She's never 100% sure you are, til you say you are.

I think it's endearing, but I never really understood it. When something seems wrong on its face, how can you still have that nagging doubt?

I get it now. I mean, I knew there wasn't a jaguar wandering back behind the trucks without a fucking leash. But I wasn't exactly walking to the Taurus till someone spelled that out.

Maybe it's cause I'm not a cat person.

One of our cast, Kyle, who plays Henry, apparently did a scene where he's right there and the cat's roaring at him and he's roaring at the cat. Apparently it looks amazing.

I wouldn't do that for a million dollars. Actors, man. They're awesome sometimes.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to spend twenty minutes checking my back seat.

EDIT: The episode won't air for months and months, but in a comment below someone posted something that could be construed as being a little spoiler-y (After all, we know how rabid some people get about such things.) So read the comments at your own risk.

Hey Now, It's Larry Sanders.

Once upon a time there was a Television show about the backstage life of a television show. And it was self-referential. And brilliant and prickly.

But this one had Rip Torn. And Jeffrey Tambor, and Carol Burnett uttering the words, "I can see your balls." And ladies, in one episode, you get to seen Jeremy Piven's naked ass.

The Larry Sanders Show flamed out on DVD because the first season didn't sell well enough to release more, which bums out people like me who loved the show with a white hot pure fire.

Well, now it turns out that there's going to be a new set of 23 Episodes across all six seasons. And Garry Shandling is extensively involved. In fact, it sounds like these might be some of the weirdest, most revealing extras you're ever going to see on a TV DVD set.

Other performers might be content to put out such packages with a few sweeteners, maybe some outtakes and running commentary from the star. But Mr. Shandling has never been like other performers. More than a year ago he set out, hand-held camera crew in tow, to interview virtually everyone connected to the show. There are the series regulars, including Jeffrey Tambor, who played Hank Kingsley (“hey now!”), Larry’s eager-to-please yet quick-to-lash-out sidekick, and Rip Torn, who played Artie, Larry’s fiercely protective executive producer. Mr. Shandling’s camera also found many of the A-list guest stars whom he had goaded into cameos on the original show, including Mr. Seinfeld, Mr. Baldwin, Sharon Stone, David Duchovny, Carol Burnett, Jon Stewart and Tom Petty.

Thus the DVD’s title, “Not Just the Best of the Larry Sanders Show,” and its length: four discs, despite containing just 23 episodes.

Mr. Shandling concedes that these recorded conversations — which are presented largely unedited, with awkward silences and plenty of mistakes — are at least partly self-congratulatory. Taken as a whole the treatment is also expansive, exhaustive and at times exhausting, with Mr. Shandling’s new material (including a documentary) adding up to nearly eight hours.

But the results are, in many instances, riveting. There are some good casting stories: Ms. Burnett, for example, tells how Mr. Shandling persuaded her to be a guest and to play against her clean-cut image. (On the talk-show-within-a-show, she warns Larry that the loincloth costume he’s wearing isn’t covering what it needs to cover.) And Bruno Kirby, whom Larry memorably “bumped” from the last episode, made an appearance as well — his last, it turned out, before he died last summer.

But to those who watch them carefully — and Mr. Shandling hasn’t a clue whether anyone will — the interviews are also striking for his efforts to make amends. He apologizes to some of the best-known people in Hollywood for having failed to thank them for their service on “Larry Sanders,” and for largely allowing them to drift from his life in the years since.

The full New York Times article about the upcoming set is here.

People Only Die of Love in The Movies

There are many ways to discover a new city. When you're a not a tourist, of course, the compact is different. No guidebooks or landmarks to hit. No schedule. Instead, there are stolen moments. You discover the mundane first: the grocery store. The coffee shop you like to go to. In Vancouver, that's a bit of an audition process. I have it narrowed down to three on Commercial Drive. (I'm still trying, however, to call it, "The Drive." I fear that will take far longer than learning to call New York just "The City," however.)

Having more or less mastered the drive to the office (if not the insanity of those with whom I must share the road) driving opened up to me a bit this weekend. The weather, lo and behold, consisted of something other than torrential rain or slushy snow, so it was a good weekend to go exploring. Saturday it was a walk through Kits, and a jaunt through English Bay.

Dinner out Saturday night, I managed to see a bit of a neighborhood on Main Street I want to go back and explore. There are no great pubs in this city, I've decided, a matter of some concern to me. I gather the local licensing laws that make Vancouver's restaurant scene so robust are the same ones that foil a nice homey pub from getting up and running. Is there a place where film and TV people hang out, I wonder? And don't tell me the Shark Club. That place is ass.

I had some familiarity with this city before this latest trip, but my map is out of date. It's been five years since I've been here, and the differences are puzzling and surprising. Yaletown, which was just getting started when I was here last, has reached the tipping point of young urban obnoxiousness. There's construction everywhere, trying to anticipate the boom of the 2010 Winter Olympics. Robson Street looks very different to me, and of course, there's the people. At one time I knew probably ten people who lived in Vancouver. But one by one they all drifted on, moved back east, or otherwise pulled up stakes. That leaves me to explore the city more or less alone, which is a great tonic for indulging moodiness and a dreamy, wander-y quality that one never gets at home.

As someone said to me recently, "After all, three months isn't long enough to put down roots, but it's long enough that you have to make a life of it."

One thing that's currently fascinating me is a show that's just opened at the Vancouver Art Gallery. A German immigrant named Fred Herzog took color slide photos of Vancouver through the fifties and sixties, and the city that he captured could not be more different than the place it is today. There's lush neon everywhere in the photos; places like the Downtown East Side that are smashed and worn today show a vibrancy and color of a lost time. The city Herzog captured in the photos seems raw, unformed, a small port city still figuring itself out. I share the photographer's dismay at the loss of the vibrancy and color. That Vancouver looks like an amazing place. All bustling in Kodachrome. Another Le Chateau, and the swapping of the Virgin Megastore for another HMV doesn't seem like an equitable trade.

What's doubly interesting for me is that this exhibition has piqued my interest in the history of this city in a way I've never felt about the city I call home. I came to Toronto with my family nearly 30 years ago now. And I don't really ever recall having a thought about what the city was like pre-CN Tower, for instance. I remember it being rather stiff and British even when we arrived. The best thing that ever happened to Toronto, as any Montrealer will tell you, was the Parti Quebecois. Once the separatists took the reins, the drive down the 401 of all the money and capital infused a color and vibrancy, along with the explosion of immigration, that handed Toronto the crown Montreal once wore so well, as Canada's most populous city.

Still, there's that history. Writers like Mordechai Richler, and the history of the Quiet Revolution, Jean LeSage, and Trudeau (as well as the slightly naughty implication that Montreal was the place New Yorkers went to get into trouble) have brought that city alive for me. New York looms large in the imagination for any lover of great cities -- the eras etched upon the mind like so many Walker Evans photos, all in pristine black and white.

But not Toronto. Poor Toronto. Maybe the Vancouver hate is already seeping into me. A water borne explanation would be miraculous, because lordy, T.O. they do hate you here, beyond all reason and sense.

Even reading the paper out here, you see articles twisted in order to slip in a dig to the city they insist thinks it's "the centre of the universe." I try telling people that all Toronto ever does is envy New York. So far that's not helping. I'll keep working on it.

How strange, then, to find yourself in one of a million coffee shops going through your weekend papers, and lo and behold, there's the Vancouver Sun. Vancouver is one of the cities that people worry about with media concentration. Both papers here are owned by the same company. Compared to Toronto, where there are four separate dailies (which is probably better than most cities in North America) you would think that put Vancouver at a disadvantage. But testify, the Sun kicked the Globe & Mail's ass this weekend in the sheer number of interesting stories on different topics. Sometimes the poor grey Globe just seems like a sad old mare waiting to be shipped off for glue. The Vancouver Sun, at least the edition I read, makes me think that the lurid color of those Herzog photos hasn't entirely disappeared. It's just underground now. Surrounded by cables and apple boxes as another crew tries to shoot for Chicago or L.A. or D.C.

Then, last night, I come home and just as I'm thinking about bed, there on TCM is - Oh God - it's The Umbrellas of Cherbourg.

There's an hour and a half gone. Every time I stumble on this movie, I can never turn it off.

Here is color even brighter than Fred Herzog ever dreamed. And there's Catherine Deneuve, all of nineteen.

Non, je ne pourrai jamais vivre sans toi, Je ne pourrai pas, ne pars pas, j'en mourrai! Un instant sans toi et je n'existe pas, Mais mon amour, ne me quitte pas. Mon amour, je t'attendrai toute ma vie, Reste près de moi, reviens, je t'en supplie! J'ai besoin de toi, je veux vivre pour toi, Oh, mon amour, ne me quitte pas.

Poor Genevieve. And Guy. And love gone wrong. And of course, there are the umbrellas, which have been a little bit on my mind recently out of necessity. And did I mention the young Catherine Deneuve? Seriously, if you're a man and you can't get behind the young Catherine Deneuve, then I don't even want to know you.

I defy anyone to sit through that last meeting at the Esso station, and not have a good, awful, wonderful ache.

Mon amour, je t'attendrai toute ma vie, Reste près de moi, reviens, je t'en supplie! J'ai besoin de toi, je veux vivre pour toi, Oh, mon amour, ne me quitte pas.

Anyway, they're singing that song, and it was all so perfect. I think maybe last night I dreamt in Kodachrome.

All around, a pretty good weekend.

And I Told My Mouth To Shutup, But it Wouldn't!

He doesn't post enough...but one of our up and coming writers, who'll be sure to succeed in the coming, inevitable post-U.S.-Canada-Iraq cultural merger, Callaghan, contributes a great one about the pitch from hell.

I remember being in a meeting a while back now where there were lots of people from the network, and lots of people from the co. I was working with, and the perfect example of a show that had lessons for what we were trying to do with our project, and the only person who'd seen the show were me, and the big, big, big, big boss. All the underlings, all my fellow partners? No help.

So me and the big boss talked this show for four minutes as other people looked at their nails. It was weird. But lessons learned: a) that's how you get to be the big boss, and b) remember, always, that you can't count on the people you're pitching to to actually be up on the genre or material. It's far more likely that they'll be enthralled with the last book they read that said one brad, not two. Or whatever.

Anyway, C. We have all been there, bud. Thanks for sharing your shame. More.

Pros, what's your pitching horror story?

Bite Sized Bits

I don't have the full mojo for a big post, so a couple of observations on unconnected subjects follow:

Dresden Dolls

I caught the premiere of The Dresden Files on the weekend and thought it was kind of spiffy. Paul Blackthorne is very good, the production values were great, and the story was, you know, good old fashioned genre double. I call shows like Dresden Files "peanut butter" because they're never going to win Emmys, but when you're curled up on your couch it's actually nice and diverting. I'll be watching it again. And best of all -- shot in Toronto, so yay for that. (Sci Fi in the USA, Space in Canada, Sundays.)

Brush Up Your Shakespeare

I've been laying aside 2nd season Rome till I had the time to devote to it. I got just enough time to watch the premiere episode last night and found something so great and valuable in it that it actually made me clap my hands in delight. One of the things I'd been wondering was, in the aftermath of the death of Caesar, how would they handle the oration over the body? How do you top "Friends, Romans, Countrymen Lend Me Your Ears, I Come to Bury Caesar, Not to Praise Him?"

Well the answer, of course, is you don't. You go to the aftermath: straight to the scene where Marc Antony negotiates with Brutus to get him out of Rome because the crowd turned on the killers after Antony's oration. Brilliant! You play the fact that EVERYONE KNOWS THIS SPEECH, or at least everyone literate. You're playing on the audience's own knowledge, and engaging them. Then you play a scene from the perspective of the lower classes, recounting the two speeches -- not quoting the speeches, but simply speaking about the emotional content and how it made them feel. Dramatize the effect, because that's what's important for the narrative. Not the cause.

We struggle all the time with: how much does the audience know here? Should they know more? And sometimes we forget that you can actually count on the audience quite a bit. Twenty years ago they didn't trust that you could cut from someone in a car to someone knocking on a door. Now, you can omit the oration speech and play other scenes we haven't seen a hundred times before.

Whenever you can omit the scene we've seen a hundred times before, why wouldn't you do it?

How many of those scenes are in your script. Rip'em out.

Conservative Surprise

I can't figure out our Conservative Government here in Canada. But I am glad they seem to recognize that as screwed up as it is, the TV industry is actually an industry that employs real people. Go read this article in the Globe and Mail, and then read the comments below. That's what we're up against. I swear, it's when I read these comments from the body politic that I think to myself, "what are you doing here? Just take the hit, move south, and let them trade their damn country away." They'll get teary eyed at a beer ad manipulating Canadian pride, but they'll blithely hand over cultural sovereignty when it counts.

Canadians, you are an odd, odd people.

I Hate The Line

There's a Toronto-based comic named Sabrina Jalees. She's all of 21 or 22, and is probably best-known nationally for appearing on a Muchmusic TV show where she makes fun of Videos. (Yup, the kind of thing Beavis and Butthead were doing almost fifteen years ago.) But she's also been a professional comic since she was 16, has played Just For Laughs and scored roles in several movies. She now writes bits for CBC Radio and the Toronto Star.

Sabrina is, I believe, of Pakistani descent. Or she's mixed-race, anyway, a real Canadian story. She also went on tour on the Allah Made Me Funny comedy tour across Canada last year -- which featured Muslim comedians, and played to mixed audiences.

I observed to a few people I knew awhile back that Sabrina is exactly the kind of person they should be considering for a junior writer on a show like Little Mosque on The Prairie. I still think that. I also think she's kind of winning, though she could use better material occasionally. But hey, she's out there doing it. And that's great.

But the latest thing she wrote in her column in the Toronto Star just made me a little sad.

Titled, "How Comedy Struggles With Being Race-Y," Jalees quotes heavily from comic Kenny Robinson, who runs a "Nubian Comedy Night" in Toronto, and Al Rae, who's one of the writers on Mosque.

Robinson says:

"Nubian night was born around the time of the L.A. riots, and the O.J. Simpson trial. It was a point where racial eyebrows were being raised in society ... we turned away 200 people our first show. We had no idea it was going to be such a huge success. It just goes to show, what's going on in the world will always affect what's going in comedy."

The question of how to approach race in comedy is a good one, and has never been more trenchant. The article goes on to recount one of the now semi-famous reasons Dave Chappelle gave for walking off his show -- about doing a sketch in blackface and getting the "wrong kind of laugh" from a white crew member.

Jalees gives Rae the last word:

"One of the biggest challenges of writing comedy where race is a component is to make sure you never get to that line," Rae says in response to the Chappelle incident.

"It's the reason that I'm reluctant to take my 14-year-old daughter to see Borat. I think he (Sasha Cohen) is clearly sophisticated enough to create one of the funniest motion pictures I've seen in years, which, on the surface, appears to be monstrously racist and inappropriate.

"The question is, when my daughter goes to see the film is she sophisticated enough as a viewer to understand? Not everyone will necessarily understand that he's satirizing anti-Semitism and not promoting it. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter what the creator thinks.

"Do the vast majority of your audience understand what your intentions are?"

For the security of Al Rae's job, the future of Canadian television and the possibility of my guest-starring role on Little Mosque on the Prairie, I'm hoping the vast majority of its viewers do indeed.

Okay, now here's why the article makes me sad. These are all good, thorny questions. But younger comics like Jalees have grown up in the era of full-blown political correctness. So it's no wonder that we're talking about "gentle" comedies about race...and Lord knows, we all have to be careful about where "the line" is.

The problem is, "the line" isn't a line anymore. Most of the times it's been moved so far back that it's a meaningless, toothless distinction. And the line is different places for different people.

What was the whole thing about "reclaiming" words about? Wasn't the whole point of Gays calling each other Queer, and f*g and d*ke and all the other stuff about denying the power of those words to hurt? Wasn't the hip-hop embrace of "My Niggas" supposed to defuse the bomb that has always been that awful word, n***er?) Well, whatever it was meant to do or mean, it hasn't worked, obviously. Now we have black comics debating using the N-word over Michael Richards' outburst...and for the last week or so we've had the kabuki spectacle of one millionaire star of a hit TV show who's probably heard one hurtful word thrown at him way too many times, turn around and bust out another word at his millionaire co-star. So we haven't gotten beyond words.

We haven't gotten beyond race, either. Not by a long shot. But like the fiction of reclaiming words, the idea of comedy "celebrating" or reaching out across our differences is a nice idea that's not being practiced. For a lot of the same reasons.

If you go to Sabrina Jalees' website, she's got the tagline, "if you don't find me funny, you're probably a racist." Now, that's funny because she means it ironically. But in a very real sense, it's not funny at all. Cause it's kind of true. Well, not true. But that certainly is a prevailing attitude out there. That's a thing that holds us back. That accusation can get hurled and grind everything to a halt today. Why? Because to challenge the assertion would be to have an honest conversation about race. And that is something that we've simply forgotten how to do.

The fact is that we have gone far, far, far backwards in our conversation about race, in all art, but specially in Television. They're dated in many ways, but if you look at old episodes of All in the Family, or Good Times, or even The Jeffersons, you will see a far funnier, and more honest expression of our cultural differences than you ever see on TV today. Those 70's comedies were being more honest about race than any of the dramas of the time. When Mike Evans, who played Lionel on Family and later, The Jeffersons, died recently, I had the chance to back and watch some of his exchanges with Archie about race. They were sublime. Funny. True. Talk about promoting understanding. They were sophisticated in a way that you could not even have the barest hope of trying today.

Because today, the truth of race is that we don't talk to each other about it. Not really. The marketing machine has found a way to hive us off from each other. And we're all tacitly embracing this. There are movies now that black audiences go see and white ones don't. There are separate TV shows. Separate pundits. Separate magazines, radio, and media of all types. There is no conversation about race anymore, certainly nothing as honest as those exchanges between Lionel and Archie Bunker. In a very real sense, we've given up trying to understand each other -- except for the occasional, non-threatening comic who tries to work the other side of the fence. Ho hum.

I don't know how many white people saw Tyler Perry's Madea movie. I rented it because I saw him on Tavis Smiley and thought he was one of the most interesting guys I'd ever seen. I admire what he's trying to do in his community. But see...that's the point...that he's focused plainly on speaking to his own community. Time was, Perry would be the kind of guy making provocative comedy that reached across those lines.

Which brings me to Chappelle. Chappelle was wonderful and exciting because he was the first guy in a generation to really stick it. To throw down the truncheon and speak to EVERYONE's cultural biases. The fact that he eventually felt he couldn't go on maybe says something about who we are today. Maybe it just says something about him. But while he was saying it, Chappelle was the man precisely because he blew away all the carefulness, all the calcium that had crept between "the understanding between the races" through the years.

He. Moved. The Line.

Borat, too, is an interesting case. I felt uncomfortable with the movie because of the personal stuff, not because of the racial stuff. I respect and understand Rae's point - but this, too, is nothing new. One of the old criticisms of Archie Bunker back in the day was, "What if people don't get the joke?" And you know what? There were people who didn't get the joke--who thought the point of All in the Family was that no one saw Archie's common sense. But I'm betting there were far more people out there who, like me, learned a lot of lessons about race by seeing the face of a genial, ignorant racist on TV, and knowing the things he said and thought were unacceptable.

Things like All in the Family, and comics like Richard Pryor, hell, they were scary. And they shook things up. And sometimes, you weren't sure if you should be laughing, and that made you think, too.

In contrast, I have no problem watching the hicks on Little Mosque be completely boorish and awful to the Muslim characters, because that doesn't threaten me at all. I'm evolved. I don't think that way. I can feel nice and superior. Of course, it's not funny. And because there's not an ounce of subtlety to it, it doesn't run the risk of actually tripping me up on my lingering mixed feelings, which are probably in there waiting to be exposed by a surprising joke that makes me go, "oh, wait, why did I laugh there? Is that me?"

In comedy, if your object is never to cross the line, then you never learn where the line is, and that always, always, always means that the line gets moved steadily back.

It's a shame that Sabrina Jalees works in a world where the line is where it is, wherever it is, today. Because race is screwed up in this country (Canada.) It's even more screwed up in the USA, and it's no prize through Europe these days, either. There's nothing gentle about racism, and there's nothing gentle about gentle comedy that tries to defuse racism, either. It's not gentle. It's toothless. And if you're really going to take on something as deep as our ingrained attitudes about each other, you need those teeth, my friends.

Where's Archie Bunker when you need him?

When The Crazy Pokes Back

I've talked a bit about poking the crazy, and the defect in my character that is my love of poking the crazy.

Every once in awhile I get what I call the "hmmmm" emails. "hmmmmm" emails are from people who do not know you, have never met you, and either

a) assume a level of intimacy that's just...weird.
b) are vaguely insulting or sometimes not even vaguely...
c) show a real nutty disregard for the values of Common Sense.

I don't blame the internet for this, necessarily. I noticed in the last few years I was teaching a growing sort of cavalier (ness?) (ity?) (tude?) man...that's going to bug me all afternoon... from students who thought nothing of phoning you twelve times on one assignment, emailing at all hours and expecting to be phoned back right away, etc, etc, etc.

What am I saying? Okay, here goes. Everyone starts out in screenwriting knowing nothing and no one. You learn your craft by reading, watching, talking, learning, and more reading and, of course, most importantly, writing.

But just because you haven't sold anything yet, doesn't mean you shouldn't be professional.

It's well known that most TV viewing by kids is "aspirational." If you want to attract 8 and 9 year olds to your show, the main characters should be 11 or 12. If you want young teens, your characters should be 16-18. If you want 16 year olds, Paris Hilton. Okay. The metaphor breaks down there, but I hope you take my point, which is this:

If you aspire to be professional, the acting professional part of it starts now. It starts in the comments you make on blogs, as well as the emails you send, meetings you take, and people you meet.

Don't be Crazy, yo.

That wasn't a funny post. Damn. Not enough time today. That's okay, though -- because this post by Craig Mazin that illustrates what I'm talking about is freaking hilarious.

For the record, I am not *the* Denis McGrath. I am simply *a* Denis McGrath.

Playback Goes Daily & Jim Shaw Shoots Blanks

Playback is Canada's Variety in the same way as the Geminis are the Emmys and the Genies are The Oscars.

Which is to say, ehhh, not so much.

But they're taking a step in the right direction. As of today, Playback is launching a daily email newsletter that should keep Canada's TV and Film Industry up to date. I'm sure, like everything else in Canada, it's being done with too few people and too few resources, but it's still a tremendous step forward, and for all the people who are probably killing themselves to get this thing out, I say, thanks and this is long overdue.

Interestingly enough, today there's more of Jim Shaw in the daily sheet, where he expands upon his reasons for choking off his 56 million dollar CTF contribution.

Now, I have to say that I've just gotten a SHAW digital box here in the temp digs in Vancouver, and his digital terminal layout kicks Rogers' ass in terms of elegance of design and navigation. The technology is much, much better.

Jim Shaw's firmware, though, needs a whole lot of updating.

The comment that caught my eye:

"We keep paying, but what shows are being made? Am I just getting shows like Trailer Park Boys with all those guys running around half-naked, swearing and smoking weed? Is that what Canadians are getting?" he asks.

Okay, to borrow from Jon Stewart, Jim, meet me at Camera Three.

I appreciate that you're very, very, very old. But whatever your point about the CTF is, you seriously undercut it by seeming to take the stance that somehow your 56 million dollars should reflect your personal taste of what constitutes "good or worthy" programming.

Trailer Park Boys sells DVD sets by the skid. It's been successful enough for Showcase that it's spawned Christmas specials and a movie produced by a Canadian who's made quite a bit of money, and whose judgement I trust a whole lot more than yours: Ivan Reitman. The Boys attract crowds wherever they go. (They're making two nights of personal appearances at the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver this week or next, for instance.) They're popular enough that they've been asked to host the East Coast Music Awards for the second straight year.

So, in short, if your point is that you're not willing to fund shows that don't connect, then TPB is a baaaaaad example. If your point is that you think that networks should pay more money to license shows, and rely less on CTF handouts, TPB is a baaaaaad example. But if your point is that you should get to be the arbiter of what's successful and what we should be spending money on, and TPB is your example of something we shouldn't be...supporting, well...

You're an old, out of touch, cranky duffer. And you just shot yourself in the foot. Whatever good you had to say, whatever point you had to make is pretty much moot. Because you just insulted one of the few shows that lots of Canadians connect with, laugh at, and love.

Shame on you, you pampered monopolist. I hope they fine you big time.

Or as Ricky would say, "Hey Jim, Knock Knock, Who's there, Eff Off, you tool. Now...smokes."

Little Mosque: My Take

Okay, so I finally got a chance to see the second episode of Little Mosque on the Prairie.

I was really reticent about posting anything negative about the show at all, because I thought that those premiere numbers and the coverage was such a good step in the right direction for CBC that I don't want to rain on the parade. But let's face it, no show is perfect. And if CBC wants a long term hit with the show, there's definitely some things that need a good tweak.

I did not think the Pilot of Mosque was very good television. The most interesting thing about it was the concept. The execution, I thought, was lacking. I thought Episode Two was better, which was a personal relief.

You can argue all you want about the backseat driving discussions -- ie: the howiwouldhavedoneits -- it should have been edgier, etc, etc, but on the merits of the show they say they're going for -- a straight down the middle family, wide appeal comedy, here's what I think's good, and what needs attention in the next batch of eps (assuming, as seems likely, that the show gets a pickup.)

The Good:

• Babur. I think this character is clearly the Hiro of the show. (See what I did there? I made a pun, kind of, on the guy from Heroes. Aren't I just so...oh wait...arrrggh...I just broke my arm patting myself on the back. ow. ow.) Babur is a muslim Archie Bunker. He's intolerant and dogmatic, conservative and doesn't question things. He's rigid and inflexible, but still somehow pretty lovable. The masterstroke: making him a single father of a Canadianized girl. I wish they'd hit a little harder the fact that he didn't push the hijab question because he wants his daughter to fit in, not because he didn't want to talk to her about her period. This plotline has the most juice in the show.
  
• Yasir. He proves it on 24, but CarloRota is clearly a star. He's got presence for miles, a good nature, and you just want to spend time with him.
• Sheila McCarthy. I think her character is odd. It's problematic to use her, as they did in the pilot, to express "outsider" views of Islam (like being more ignorant of how Ramadan starts, or what foods are traditional, etc, when in her backstory she converted long enough ago that she has an adult daughter with Yasir. But in both the pilot and the 2nd episode, she had little comic awkward moments -- with the press in Ep. 1 and the Protesters in Ep.2 where she showed a goofy looseness that was winning.)
• The occasional sharp line. The joke about the pot-smoking guy joining the United Church, the "You dress like a protestant. You mean Prostitute. No I mean protestant." Occasionally, there are lines that land that are good. It would be easier if the premises were inherently more funny, but there you go.
  

The Bad:

• Zaib. He looks good, he could probably be good in his role as the Imam, but he mugs and overacts insanely. The guy needs to be reined in, hard. It's like he believes no one will find it funny unless he actually rolls his eyes. (I'm not dreaming that, am I? He really did roll his eyes?)
• Wake Up, White People! Neil Crone, who plays the right wing radio host, is a great comedian who is absolutely stranded in his role. It's decent, at least, that they managed to spin it in Episode 2 that he was fomenting intra-Muslim conflict as well as conflict with the community...but come on. Compare this character to Maurice Minnifield in Northern Exposure. Where does he go in three eps? What is the slightest bit interesting about him?
• Fatima I hate to say this, but the fact that Sheila McCarthy's character got to use her as a tactic to play on the feminist protestor's political correctness (because she's a person of color, see?) was the best use of this character so far. She plays the same role in the show as Babur. Two characters who play exactly the same role does not work in Comedy. You don't need two Dumb Joeys...you don't need two space cadet Phoebes, and you don't need Fatima and Babur, both. One's gotta show a different side or it's gonna be a bitch trying to service them both. It's not enough that she's a person of color. What makes her distinct and unique? She was useful as a plot point (she's a woman and wants the barrier too!) but useful as a plot point does not a good character make.
  
• The Imam vs. Rayann. The standard Romantic, "they hate each other, but they like each other" thing that they're going to play here is a big problem for one big reason: there's nothing keeping them apart. She's a progressive single Muslim, He's a progressive single Muslim. They live in a town where Muslims are a serous minority. They agree on most things theologically. What's keeping them apart? What's the obstacle? Diane was brainy and Sam was dumb and brawny. Then they got together, and once it didn't work, the obstacle was external: Frasier. (Thanks to my friend with the house for this point.) Also, they missed an opportunity by putting the most interesting thing about Rayann: that she discovered her faith as an adult, in the backstory. Why would you not have dramatized this journey in the show? Could have been a brilliant way in. If they're not careful, Rayann could turn into a scold.
  
• The Direction. From scenes that are overacted, to scenes that are staged wrong, the comedy is consistently crushed through bad choices in shooting. You also get the sense that there's A LOT of editing surgery going on to put this together. Two examples that explain all: The Pilot, where the Imam's on the phone and is mistaken for a terrorist. The women in front of him reacts, big, and goes off. If only that was staged as a slow burn with her behind him, it would have actually have been funny. Dont' announce, "ATTENTION AUDIENCE, JOKE AHEAD!" Trust them to find funny things funny. Example two is in Ep 2, the sequence where the women get on the board to prevent the men from putting up the barrier again. This could have been rich. But it was shot indistinctly, there was no build to it, and a potentially funny sequence (Imagine what Niles Crane would have done here, or hell, Lucy) was as flat as the board it was played on.
• The Scheduling. Good God Almighty. The one thing the CBC has going for it is that because it's not a slave to simulcasts, it can put a show on and run it and not move it, so people can get used to when it's on. So they premiere in one slot, move, run a rerun, then get pre-empted. Are they TRYING to shake off 500, 000 viewers, or what.
  

There's also a lot of merit in what Alex said when he wrote about the show:

A really clever look at Canadian society, seen from the point of view of people who are outsiders in some ways and insiders in others. Sometimes it takes a fish out of water to notice how odd terrestrial critters really are. This is where the show really fails for me. I don't feel its white characters are keenly observed at all. They seem to be mostly racist and all stupid. Whereas I bet most white people in the Canadian Prairies are extremely tolerant, and racists are in the minority. Most Canadians bend over backwards to be nice to minorities (except possibly not to the Natives), reserving their passive aggression and venom for empowered white people. Instead of making out every white character to be a buffoon, why not write episodes based on actual observation of white society, from a Muslim's perspective? How white people's kids are defiant to their faces? How white women wear push-up bras and low-cut shirts but get mad when people stare at their breasts? How white people worship an impoverished, anti-intellectual, rabble-rousing mystic carpenter and cherish money, hierarchy and dogma? Etc.

I think the show really does have promise. It's still not my type of humor, but I wish CBC every success with it, and I hope it will lead to lots more "higher concept, boundary breaking" shows on CBC.

And like Matt Watts observed a few days ago, it would be nice, now that they have their feel-good Muslim comedy, if at least one or two of those new boundary breakers was pitched to be edgier and more clever, a la the last time CBC really, really broke through with a critical homegrown hit: those first glorious eps of The Newsroom. (Before Auteur Ken disappeared up his own digestive tract, I mean.)

UPDATE 02/20/2007: I'm closing comments for this post. I'm tired of deleting ignorance. That is all.

Whither the Poor ODG? (Original Dolphin Girl)

Okay, this is a bit premature for you Yanquis who haven't seen this week's Studio 60 yet. (But wait a minute, none of you are watching it anyway so screw you guys...)

There is a bit in the show where Sarah Paulson's Harriet is brought to Matt (Matthew Perry) and auditions a new voice for a sketch, called "Dolphin Girl."

Basically, that's it. She can laugh like a dolphin.

Well. La-dee-da.

Now, I can say this because I'm currently away and so I won't have to endure all the usual rabble who stalk and follow every move of nobody Canadian TV writers...it's a very small fraternity, but Norman is very persistent...ahem.... when I reside in Toronto there is this bar on John Street in the shadow of the CityTV building called The Friar and the Firkin, which, shall we say, is not entirely unknown to me.

Among the storied staff there, which includes Carla and Graham and Marcella, there is Nicole. Nicole is now, and always shall be, the original Dolphin Girl.

Much as I love Aaron Sorkin, Nicole, if you're feeling litigious, I'm more than willing to swear out an affidavit when I hit Toronto. Seriously.

Emphasis on romantic comedy, my fanny. They're going to try and milk Dolphin Girl. The shame. The shame.