Rebecca Eckler knocks up Judd Apatow

FOR WHAT it's worth, I've met Rebecca Eckler a few times. Back in the previous life, when she wrote for the National Post and I worked at the Sci-Fi Station, she came by and did an article on us and talked to me and some of my compatriots. Eckler and Leah McLaren have taken heat for years for being the young pretty female writers at their respective papers (the Post and the Globe.) Sometimes the criticism shot their way made me feel a little oogy, because you could never quite lose the feeling that at least part of it was sexist in nature. Ie: if the reporters were male and young and good looking, there wouldn't be quite the focus on the looks, or the dismissal. Then again, the young male writers probably wouldn't specialize in the confessional stuff. And both McLaren and Eckler did trade in a certain kind of solipsistic...

Oh, who knows? Anyway...

The news that Eckler is suing the makers of Knocked Up for copyright infringement on her similarly titled memoir is cringeworthy for a number of reasons.

First, any time writers sue other writers, it's bad. Second, it taints the rise of a guy who's done a lot for refreshing movie comedy in the last little while. Third, because you know at least somebody is going to try and make this a little Canadian vs. The Big American kind of thing, and I hate, hate, hate that shit.

But finally, the reason why it makes me slap my head is that it's probably completely bogus.

Now, there's going to be no shortage of people bashing Eckler, so I want to link to the story she wrote for Macleans, because I think at least it paints a sympathetic portrait.

Here she writes about the similarities:

The movie Knocked Up features a woman named Alison who becomes pregnant after getting drunk. While she gets drunk going out celebrating a promotion at work, I got drunk, and knocked up, celebrating at my engagement party. Both my book and the movie feature one night of passion and the nine months that follow. Fine. Whatever. But what got me was the fact that "Alison" was an up-and-coming television reporter; in my book I was an up-and-coming newspaper reporter.

There were other similarities that hit close to home. In my book, I have a best-friend- with-screaming-children named Ronnie, who I go to often for advice. In the movie version, Alison has a sister, named Debbie, with screaming children, who is her sounding board. Both "Alison" and I did numerous pregnancy tests. What also got my back up was that Ben, the man who gets Alison knocked up, is not only Jewish, but from Canada, like my man. (I still can't figure out why the fact that someone was Canadian would add value to any movie.) And then there's this one scene in the screenplay and movie, where Alison and Ben are having sex. Ben stops. Ben, in the screenplay, says, "My dick is like, four inches away from its head. What if it kicked on purpose 'cause it didn't like it?" I actually wrote in my book about a joke I once heard, "A man and his pregnant wife had regular sex throughout her pregnancy. When their son was born, the father held him in his arms. The baby looked up at his new father and, without warning, punched him. 'See?' said the baby. 'Now you know what it feels like to be bonked in the face.' "

Now. What the whole article does well is give you a feel for how sweaty and awful it must feel to be in Eckler's position. My heart goes out to her. It really does. But in that excerpt above, you start to see a lot of the inherent problems in this kind of thing.

Simply put: in the realm of "originality," none of the concepts she's talking about are that off-the-charts original. Calling a story of an accidental pregnancy Knocked Up? It's clearly the vernacular way to describe that situation. Having a character with kids as a sounding board? A Screenwriting 101 choice that most writers would look to make. She even admits that she heard the joke about the baby punching his father from someone else. Of course she did. We've all heard that joke. She makes other, similar points -- the image of a martini glass and a pacifier -- a simple, easy image that encapsulates the character she's talking about.

Right there in the excerpt is the line that blows everything away: Apatow's wife was pregnant at the time he was writing. And as for the "why make him Canadian and Jewish?" Well, by now you've probably read something about Apatow's comedy other half, Seth Rogen...who's...umm...Canadian. And Jewish.

Sigh.

I know that everybody thinks that their pregnancy experience is a unique and beautiful flower. But like weddings, like christenings, like most passage life experiences -- essentially, every one is the goddamn same.

The simple truth is that none of the concepts in either Eckler's book or the similarly titled movie are that original. They're both derivative, and recognizable. That's why she sold her book. That's why he sold his movie.

Once you get past that, it all comes down to execution.

In fact, this is what I was talking about a few weeks ago the last time when we talked about ideas, and where they come from, and the difficult concept of originality in film and tv media.

It's also, by the way, a spoke of the whole fanfic argument. The fanficcers continue to link here and go off stamping their feet on their little livejournals about what a big ol meanie I am. But this kind of ugly fight, this kind of thing, is exactly what skeeves me out about fanfiction so much -- and especially the out of touch members of the community who write extensions of stories already written and turn around when they show up on the real show and ask, "hey! did they steal from me?"

Originality vs. Derivative work. Ideas vs. their execution. Being hired vs. writing on the side. Fanfic vs. Spec Scripts. All of these can be nuanced arguments -- but not when you're coming from an utterly emotional, not-grounded in the real world kind of place. A professional attitude is just that. We don't get to stamp our feet. And we better think three times before filing a lawsuit for copyright infringement.

Eckler vs. Apatow shows the scorched earth result. I'm pretty sure that Eckler probably won't work in Hollywood now. She probably will have trouble optioning or selling any future book to the movies. And you know what? It does suck that now she probably could never sell film rights to her book. That's a pain. But it happens. As for Apatow, I'm not gonna be too worried about him, but... his movie is now under a cloud, whether there's merit or not to the suit.

The only one who comes out ahead in this thing, is, predictably, the lawyers.

Of course, there's the bogeyman lurking in the background. Dan Brown might have cadged from a whole bunch of better non-fic books (like, say, anything by Karen Armstrong) when he was writing his DaVinci brick. Or he might not have. But the guys who sued him didn't prove their case.

Then there's Art Buchwald...oooh...now there's a bogeyman to be feared. Because he won. The producers of Coming to America had to settle with him.

Occasionally, someone does try to rip you off.

But the Occam's Razor explanation -- usually -- is that similar experiences lead to similar stories being created at roughly the same time.

Which is all the more reason why -- if you're a powerless and just-starting-out writer, you may as well swing for the fences in the originality department. If you'd written Pan's Labyrinth I bet you could have shopped that script for a lot longer without seeing something similar on screen than if, say, you'd written that definitive slacker working in a video store movie.

You Read So I Don't Have To?

THERE ARE really times I wish I had more time to read things on the internet.

I know.

Let me explain.

I'm still trying to get a draft out the door. But a couple of people sent me a link to this article by Antonia Zerbisias. It's interesting, because in her article, she makes an interesting linkage:

Last week, the Globe and Mail, which is in the same corporate stable as CTVglobemedia, ran an opinion piece by professor Paul Boin of the U. of Windsor's communications faculty. He argued that the CRTC, under its current chair Konrad von Finckenstein, was more intent on protecting corporate profits than consumers.

"Canada's private networks have forgotten that the public owns the channels their content is distributed on," he wrote.

Yesterday, the Globe ran an editorial shooting down Boin's arguments as well as the Broadcasting Act, which dictates that the system must "serve to safeguard, enrich and strengthen the cultural, political, social and economic fabric of Canada." The editorial called for less regulation, not more.

Fine. So how about dropping the regulatory protection of simulcasts? CTV, which just picked up the NFL, should not be blocking and tackling the U.S. feed. Right?

As if the editorial mentions that.

Whadddya know! I suggested the same thing a couple weeks ago. Now I suggested it as a tactic. I can see the reasonable-ness of allowing a substitution mechanism so that Canadian broadcasters don't get steamrolled by U.S. signals and ads... (I'm reasonably sure Antonia does too.) I was merely pointing out the hypocrisy inherent in a position where you argue against protectionism for creatives, when you're already the benefit of a much, much, much larger piece of anti-free-market protectionism.

Anyway, point is, Antonia talks about Globe editorials and the funny thing that this hypocrisy STILL isn't being covered. So good for her for getting it into dead tree media.

Her article led me to this site. Again, I just don't have the time right now to suss out if this is going to be something that works. I'm extremely cynical about the prospect of getting average Canadians to actually care enough to write the CRTC. Their money isn't really involved and the last time I checked, everybody had more to worry about than tv. That's the whole point of tv, isn't it? It's the thing you do to make yourself feel better about your worries. What a mess.

But I don't want to pooh-pooh a new effort before it gets started -- so here's the site again. I'll certainly be giving it a read when I have a chance. Even if they don't include me in their conference calls.

Kidding.

(Not kidding.)

No. Kidding.

(Click, Beep.)

Hang on, I have another mental caller.

(Um, Denis, this is your script calling. Remember me?)

Oh shit. Yeah...gimme a second. I'll wrap this up.

One more thing. ACTRA stamped their feet outside the Global party yesterday. From their press release. (I can't do anything about the ugly formatting. I think it's like that because it's a press release from actors and maybe they weren't in the moment when they formatted it. Or something.) Anyway:

CTV and Global threw themselves some parties this
week to celebrate spending hundreds of millions of Canadian dollars to stuff
Canada's primetime television with American dramas. And hundreds of Canadian
actors and other industry workers were out on the sidewalk protesting.
"These private shindigs the broadcasters threw for themselves are
disgraceful. And so was their latest junket to Hollywood to sell out their
country's broadcasting system," said Richard Hardacre, National President of
ACTRA.
ACTRA members and others rallied in front of Massey Hall this morning as
Global Television followed up CTV's party Monday. Both networks are
celebrating their foreign programming purchases. Last year, private
broadcasters spent over $470 million on foreign drama and less than
$70 million on Canadian programs.
"These shameless self-serving parties clearly demonstrate that the
networks don't care about their own country's culture and can't be trusted to
do anything with their licences other than rebroadcast someone else's work,"
said Stephen Waddell. "It's time for the CRTC to live up to its regulatory
role, since the broadcasters don't have the slightest intention to live up to
theirs," added Waddell.
Canada's private broadcasters were let off the hook when Canadian drama
content regulations were watered down by the CRTC in its disastrous 1999 TV
Policy decision. The result is Canadian network primetime schedules dominated
by U.S. shows. ACTRA demands that the CRTC reinstate drama content regulations
on the private broadcasters before Canadian culture completely fades to black.

I'm of two minds about this. I really am. The thing is -- I actually get nervous at the stridency of ACTRA's actions because, deep down, I really want the Canadian Private Networks to remain viable. Honestly, folks, the only alternative is relaxing the rules on foreign ownership and then the whole Cancon game is over.

But the nagging feeling I keep getting is that though I perfectly understand the challenges the networks face, I can't help but feel that the concern for "homegrown" material on their side of the fence really is...well... an inconvenience.

I understand the challenges they face, and I want them to make money.

But I'm not sure it goes the other way. They're just not that into me. Or any of us. And when the corporate media continues to play only the one side of the argument, it's hard not to think that maybe the fix is in. And maybe ACTRA stamping their feet is onto something. At least they're not going gentle into that good night.

Dude, I don't know. I just want to write TV.

What do y'all think of this new group? Any shot at making a difference? Or, like me, do you hear the letters C-R-T-C in a row and find your eyelids starting to droop, droop, drooooop...

And the Mill Keeps Turning

BY THE WAY, anyone with any more skinny on that big, big Canadian media rumor that's floating around this week -- feel free to email me or let rip in the comments below.

You know the one I mean. C'mon. You do.

A Ninety-Four Cent Dollar Dream

NO, I haven't finished, thank you very much. And as someone mentioned at the CFC Event I went to last night, "You can always tell when you've got a script deadline. You start linking to other people a lot more."

It's called "treading water for your life." I know that my Agent likes to joke that I don't sleep -- but I do. Fitfully and occasionally pitching myself to the floor. But that counts. Doesn't it?

Before I head out West to Banff, there's an awful lot to do, but something occurred to me sitting on the stage at Revival last night. It came to me because the CFC had just screened their 2007 crop of short films, and they were good. Several were even funny.

When the Film Centre shorts are good, there's always a different vibe in the room. It smells suspiciously like... hope. And that got me thinking...

What if nobody left for two years?

Seriously. What if all the writers, directors and actors who systematically are forced to say, "fuck it" every year; who face the petty cruelties, bureaucracy, relentless mediocrity and insanity of the business here said, "No. You're not chasing us out. We're not going."

What if everyone looked at our 94-cent dollar, decided that Yankee greenbacks, on their way to being worth less than ours by next year -- weren't the holy grail -- not forever -- just for now?

What if, en masse, all those talents demanded better from networks? What if they put the boots and the shame to those who work the gears of the industry but don't produce satisfying and worthwhile work? What if they stomped down Playback's doors and say, "it's time you wrote about US?" What if they descended on Gatineau and looked up 'Ol Konrad Von CRTC and said, "Enough. Do better!" What if they talked, and laughed, and exposed the showrunners who don't showrun, the development people who don't really develop, the network people without courage? What if all the people inside all those aforementioned organizations who do desperately want to do better discovered they had allies on the outside? What if everywhere every newspaper or media writer went, they faced a pool of engaged and talented people who said, "we're not letting you drive us out. When we go to the USA, if we go to the USA, it will be on our terms?" What if they took succour and comfort and inspiration from those people and stood up to the other people? What if they got excited too, instead of being resigned? And what if the poor, beleaguered artists -- the good guys and girls -- the ones still toiling here for family, or loyalty, or reasons they can't even define, were able to look up and say, "thank God you're still here - now I don't have to work with the bad people anymore."

What if this industry finally, finally decided "good enough" wasn't good enough?

What would happen then?

And now a word from The Department of Pathetic Fallacy: The whole time I have been typing this, the sky outside my office window has been growing darker and darker. Seriously. The sky is almost black now. In the middle of the morning.

Oh man.

Ah well -- it was still a nice dream.

The Most Trusted Name in Fake Programming News

JON STEWART isn't just a truly funny comedian and trenchant commentator. This most American of Comedians may now actually be counted as one of the better stewards of Made-In-Canada Culture.

Not only did he pluck Sam Bee and Jason Jones from our shores (two talents who were, um...let's be kind...underutilized here, though I'm sure Jones loves that beer money now that he's, you know, known...)

Not only did he spin better satire out of our last leaders debate than our homegrown comedy shows could manage....last night, depending on how you read it -- he may have just spoken up for CanCon.

Speaking via videotaped message to the big CTV fall launch party at Toronto's new Opera House:

"You've done a great job there, airing all those American shows and taking credit for them,"

"The C in CSI doesn't stand for Canada."

From Lee-Anne Goodman's Canadian Press report:

The network's Canadian shows, in fact, weren't highlighted till midway through the launch, when Brent Butt took to the stage to promote the upcoming season of the beloved hit sitcom, "Corner Gas." "Degrassi: The Next Generation," "Whistler" and "Robson Arms" join "Corner Gas" on the slate of returning Canadian shows, but there were no new ones on the schedule.

A CTV official says the network will announce some new Canadian shows later in the year.

As Jon would say, probably straight to camera: Whaaaaaaaaa?

Pray For Canadian Comedy

IT WAS killing me not to write about The Altar Boy Gang -- not just because I actually thought it was hilarious, and not just because the Catholic League who frowsies over every supposed slight against Catholics are a bunch of wound up prigs.

And not just cause I was an Altar Boy. And no, I never did anything untoward with the host. I wouldn't dare.

And that's the G.D. point of comedy there, my son... but anyway. I don't have to write anything about it, because Kevin Baker took care of it in the National Post this weekend:

You may have read about the flap over The Altar Boy Gang, the pilot that aired without fanfare two Fridays ago and featured altar boys lacing Communion wafers with drugs. Some Catholics were upset. The Post published an editorial. Here is the fiendish bit: "Indeed, no Canadian should have to pay the CBC to make fun of, ignore or misreport their views." The slip from comedy ("make fun") to news reporting ("ignore or misreport") elides the difference between fiction writers and journalists...

Other objectors, too, wanted comedy writers to adopt the journalist's concern for accuracy and balance, and insisted cultural groups depicted in the CBC's fictional programs all be treated the same. When they are not, went the editorial, there's a double standard, "Gang being permitted to deride Catholic rituals, while the CBC hired an Islamic consultant to ensure that Little Mosque on the Prairie was in no way offensive to Muslims."

So in fact Little Mosque has armed people of other races, faiths and cultures. Whether there is an actual sensitivity consultant or the sensitivity consultant was a conceit released in a pre-emptive strike against offence-takers, we may learn in time. But if there was no consultant, no matter. Now
everybody wants one. There'll be a swarm of them. Comedy will be the victim...

What is sad, and ominous, about the furor over The Altar Boy Gang is that no one cared whether the sitcom was funny.

Amen. BTW, it was. No matter, though, right?

Distractions Come And Go, but Lolcats are Forever.

SIX HARD fought pages. Not bad for a Saturday with some, but not a lot, of sleep. Sadly, though, this is a bad time to be fighting to get a first draft done if you live in Toronto.

That's because there's this new arts festival that's just started called Luminato.

It's a major event in the Toronto arts firmament because this city has badly neglected both the arts and the resultant effect on tourism for several years now. (All you boneheads out there, save the comments below: spending on the arts has been proven to be an extraordinarily effective economic lever in just about every study of the last ten years. Grumble somewhere else. Eejit.)

Compared to a city like San Francisco, Toronto's Arts Commitment has been extraordinarily sporadic. Then we got hit with SARS a few years ago, and the bottom dropped out of the tourism industry. The Lord of the Rings musical was supposed to save it, but didn't, cause it was bad. So lately they've been scrambling. They finally gave some money so that Toronto got a proper Opera House and they've added a swanky new crystal by that hoity-toity architect to the Royal Ontario Museum... but the latest and greatest volley is this brand new arts fest that lights up Toronto for ten days in June.

And when I say "lights up" I'm not kidding. Among some of the events is a light show above the waterfront condos that is user-controlled. There's floating art installations in places like the train station;
there's also a new piece by Leonard Cohen with music by Philip Glass; Not the Messiah, a not-so-reverent piece conceived by Python Eric Idle, and any one of a number of other artistic fooferaws happening around the smog-choked city.

Last night, thanks to my sister, who's been working her patootie off for his festival for the last six months, I went to the opening party.

And there were friends of mine there relaxing, and we chatted with my parents, and they raved about Eric Idle, and it was all very nice, and a perfect gateway to a weekend of enjoying the arts.

Except...

This is the writer version of the kid with the broken leg watching through the window while everyone plays in the snow.

What can you do? Pages is pages. Enjoying the writing, though it tortures. Spoke to a bunch of students from top colleges and film programs around Toronto yesterday. You never know at the time if it's going to pay off for one of those people, but you just hope it does.

I've been thinking about karma lately, and how to make mine better. I'm sailing along pretty good right now, all tickety-boo, and so my "yeah, okay" filter - that's been closed on account of busyness lately, has turned into a right spigot. And hey, I even got called a "thinking blogger," which is nice, I think, once I take the time to figure out what it all means. I'm not buying a timeshare in Jacksonville, I'm telling you that right now.

See what happens when you're in a city where weird art things are going on all around you and the sun is out? You get all soft and suggestible.

And sure, six pages wasn't great, but it was six! pages!...I'm closer and closer...and provided that tomorrow goes well, I'll be in good shape on my script.

So if you're a Torontonian this week, I hope you're enjoying Luminato. What do y'all think of the crystal?

But if you're like me, and you're shackled to your deadline, all I can say is, Russel Smith aside, the whole explosion of regular media interest in the whole blood/brain/cat/net barrier this week has been something to behold. Still..this is the best LOLCat joke ever. Alex put it on Facebook but he didn't blog it. So it's mine. Sucker.

Come on. That's some awesome right there, my son!

Hey one more thing. Does this mean we can all stop talking about awesome Ronald Reagan was?

Blood Ties in Canada: Now With Actual Air Dates!

PLEASE NOTE: this post has been EDITED because dates have CHANGED.

For Canadian fans, the series I worked on in Vancouver, Blood Ties, is finally getting its homegrown premiere...

Since it's on a bunch of local terrestrial stations, there isn't one date and time -- each station is programming locally. Nevertheless, the dates and times are...

Citytv Toronto and Winnipeg - Mon @ 8PM, starts August 20

Citytv Calgary and Edmonton - Thurs @ 8PM, starts August 23

Citytv Vancouver - Sundays @ 8PM, starts August 26

*the reason why the dates were changed was so that for the premiere, they could run both halves of the 2 hour pilot movie. So for this first broadcast, it will be 2 hours, followed in subsequent weeks by the regular 1 hour eps.

I'm sorry if you don't receive any of these Citytv's on your cable or satellite (although I think they're all available on cable and satellite,) and I don't have any word as to whether or when the show will air on Space.

Still, good news all around. I managed to get a peek at some of the last batch of episodes I worked on -- and they're really, really strong. I'm thrilled with the eps I wrote -- probably among the first things I've ever written where the translation from page to screen was better than I thought it would be.

Now, probably a bit more radio silence from me. I really do have to pound out a draft. Later.

You Think I'VE Got the Canadian Industry's Number?

JIM HENSHAW iz up in my grill, pwning! my 'tood. Seriously, even if you're American and care not a whit when I start going on about the industry in this country -- you'll want to read this one just because... well... it's so... focacta. And every word is true.

In the words of the immortal LOLCATS, I can has induztree?

If you think about any film industry in any other nation, it tends to center in two or three places, for all kinds of logical business reasons.

Not here.

The concept of Regionalizing production may satisfy politicians who want to see their constituents tax dollars spent locally. But you can't build a viable film industry that way. In fact, it's a sure-fire recipe for making sure it never happens.

Imagine asking most of the production companies in Hollywood to relocate to Pismo Beach if they want their project green-lit. Consider what Woody Allen or Spike Lee's films would look like if they had to be shot in Newark. Take your life in your hands and tell Robert Rodriguez he's giving up Austin for Padre Island.

And maybe give some thought to the "suppliers" of the industry. The people who have no say in what gets conceived or made. They rent cameras, build props and costumes, or sustain state of the art post houses. Now imagine how their profit margins (which have always been thin) are impacted by having to serve customers who have no choice but to work in areas where such operations are not resident because they couldn't survive and everything has to be shipped in.

This week a Producer friend said, "They're spreading things so thin, nobody can survive anymore." She's right. And as far as I'm concerned that's the plan. The juicy side effect is that the Bureaucats also get to murder some of us in the process.

As Sting and Andy Summers taught me on Sunday and Monday, "It's Murder By Numbers, One Two Three, It's as Easy to Learn as your Eh, B, C's..."

Cough. Cough.

WOW, THIS city sure is smoggy. It's hard to believe that less than forty-eight hours ago I was sitting on Locarno Beach, watching windsurfers framed against a blue-blue sky.

Here in Toronto, the sky's a kind of sickly white and mustard yellow. The light hitting the ground is a bit chunky. Even the greens of the trees are a bit...well...muted.

And you breathe in, and there it is...the unmistakable scent... of ass.

How the hell do you Angelinos do it? I feel like I want to put on a mask.

Save me, Al Gore. Save me.

Alright, Alright. I Take It Back...

SWEET JEBUS, this is a different city when the sun is out. Even the drivers seem less crazy.

I managed on this trip to avoid most of the places I haunted when I lived here in the winter, and visit some of the places I'd stayed away from. So no Commercial Drive, but a whole lot of Yaletown. I also learned for certain that GM Place and BC Place are not the same thing (really, you could have made that clearer,) had a nice lunch at Sophie's Cosmic Cafe (Hippies Please Use Side Door,) bought a couple CD's at Zulu, naffed some truly excellent oysters, paid three bucks for a tiny minibar can of Pringles, learned to hate the Canada Line construction, discovered a new favorite girl drink; talked shop and traded stories at the Fringe Cafe, and even got told a pretty good industry joke:

Q: What's the difference between a working Canadian screenwriter and a pizza?
A: A pizza can feed a family of four.

Heh heh. Oh, and then to top it all off, an all-too-brief drink with some of the fabulous writers from J-Pod. Good times. Good times.

I like Vancouver in the spring. That much is true. But now it's back to Toronto, a waiting set of notes, working through the weekend and batting away the smog with my hands.

Shit. Maybe I should delete the pizza joke. If I leave it here, I can't tell it to people individually. Moral dilemma...blog or life?

Now there's a question to contemplate on the plane.

So long Van. I'll give Toronto your usual regards.

(I'm not gonna hock the loogie, tho.)

The Police, Or Busting the Surprise With That Pesky 'Ol Series of Tubes

PRACTICE MAKES perfect. We've all heard that since we were in short pants. But recently, this wonderful series of tubes has been getting me twitterpated.

What if all the info floating around out there just makes things worse?

I muse on this (I can't help it, staying in a hotel makes me all muse-y) largely because of the events of the last few days. It's got a screenwriting application -- but it'll take a few 'graphs to get there, m'kay?

So, Sunday night I went to see the fan club show for THE POLICE at GM Place in Vancouver. It's billed as the first time the band has played together for 25 years, even though that's stretching the truth a bit. Somewhere on a dusty VHS tape I still have a recording of the set they did at the Amnesty International show back in 1986. But that's probably too Poindexter-y a point to make.

Moving on...

GM place was fun and kind of eerie looking. They had only sold some of the floor and some of the stands -- 4000 total, so the entire show was dwarfed by a maw of empty seats staring down at you.

It started low key, with the three band members coming out and saying 'hi' and 'thanks for coming to our final dress rehearsal.'

They explained that there probably would be mistakes, and that they might even have to stop and start a bit as the night wore on. Then they went backstage, and a few minutes later the lights went down and they ripped into "Message in a Bottle."

It was great to see them. I had an ear-to-ear grin on my face most of the show. I had great seats, dead center floors, about fifteen rows back.

The set is stripped down, minimal...most of the effects are limited to lighting and live projection above -- one screen for each member.

They walked through the set and there were glitches, but none that could make them stop. Stewart Copleand in particular showed a rangy, puckish energy that really make you believe that he's been dying to be able to play these songs again, this way, for a very long time. He bounced around from giant gong to percussion (put to its best use on "Wrapped Around Your Finger" and "King of Pain,") and hit the drums hard. That's the thing the fifteen year old me always loved about Copeland..he beat the shit out of those drums. When that hormonal anger crested, somehow watching him do that helped.

Andy Summers scowled his way through the whole performance. He kept bringing the guitar tech on -- he obviously wasn't happy with the way the guitar sounded. And to be fair, it was pretty low in the mix. You also read a lot into these situations, and part of me thought, "wow, Summers really has the hardest job here..." remembering all those solos and whatnot.

Which is entirely separate from my realization that drummers are to rock and roll what writers are to film and tv. Sure we don't get respect, but take us away, buddy. See how you fuckin do then.

Sting, for his part, seemed loose through the first part of the set. He wasn't pushing his voice, so a lot of the old Police material that was sung in that high falsetto -- well, for the 2007 version you would just have to get used to the 56 year old, down octave version. But he also experimented with singing ahead of the beat, and giving the songs a more jazz-inflected feel.

A few of the songs seemed to be played a bit slower than you wanted. Especially "Truth Hits Everybody", which I remember flailing around to in my basement bedroom more times than I care to recount, back in the day. Yes, his guns were buff. But this is not a band of 25 year olds anymore. Copeland's youthful face, set against his completely gray hair (good for him for keeping it) was an often potent reminder of just how much time has passed. As was the projected images of Iraqi devestation combined with imagery of playing children during "Invisible Sun." I had to reach back to remember that this song was originally written about Northern Ireland. Now Eire is at peace, mostly. And the song takes on new meaning. Plus ca change...

Anyway, by the second half of the concert, things had kicked into a different gear. Copeland's energy became infectious. Summers cracked something that could forensically be described as a smile. By the time they finished up, they seemed satisfied, and relieved, and ready.

Time was that would be it. We would wait and wait for the news reports on the first concert. But that was before the series of tubes, you see. I got on the tubes briefly Sunday night and saw that there was a lot of carping and disappointment. Sting was singing too much like his jazz days, the band was sloppy, etc, etc.

Flash ahead to last night.

The lights went down to the sound of "Get Up, Stand Up," and a few moments later, there they were, kicking into "Message in a Bottle."

Except...

Holy SHIT. The song was faster, the bass more muscular. Stewart still beat those skins like a red headed stepchild, and Andy actually cracked a smile. Maybe because his guitar sounded good.

The set list was exactly the same...but the show was completely different...there was nothing eerie about GM Place now. The din was deafening, the band was louder. And the songs that had seemed slow now found their tempo. Sting lay aside the jazz phrasing and accepted the mantle of rock singer ...maybe the falsetto was gone but that doesn't mean he didn't hit the high notes. The bass chugged along in the mix, and songs like "Don't Stand So Close To Me" reached for what I thought was a nice blend of time gone by..the chorus had notes of the '86 remake, but the verse was pure Zenyatta Mondata.

People ate it up. They tore through everything...the songs that clicked the night before were even better. And even the mistakes were fun. Sting, setting up the call and response for "Walking on the Moon" started in a key so bizarre that the incredulous expression on Copeland's face said it all. But they got past it. They got past it all. This band, who seemed to be forever defined as the band who didn't seem able to get past anything. One after another, like a freight train, they delivered the goods on some of the tightest, smartest, most muscular pop of the 1970's and 80's -- from the era when Pop was smart.

By the way, Sting, I never did thank you for Nabokov, The Sheltering Sky, and Jung.

All in all, the two shows were like night and day. Because, of course, they were night and day. One was a rehearsal. (Yes, they charged for the tickets, but at $50 instead of $250 a pop,

I wonder if in our desire to lift the curtain in entertainment -- not just the gossip sites, but the ET insiders, and the Aint It Cool Previews and reviews of early drafts, and forensic pick-aparts of test screenings and trailers; the endless machinations of trying to divine spoilers for TV shows by their upcoming guest stars and TV loglines -- have we turned into a bunch of people ripping the paper off the presents before Christmas morning?

And what happens to we who actually, you know, need to work some stuff out before we push our little darlings out into the world to be judged? What happens when we don't have the cover to do that anymore?

Can anything live up to scrutiny before it's truly on its feet? Time was, your Chicago or Toronto tryout would proceed in the shadows, giving you the freedom to work things out, to tinker, to make things better. Now, you've got negative reaction the moment you do your very first, pre-pre-preview. And I'm worried that it's not making anything better. I think it may be making people less willing to test. Which would be disastrous, because the last thing we need is more first drafts out there.

Also, the minute we spend more time trying to keep things from getting out, rather than make things good -- something's lost. Take Battlestar Galactica. The way they managed leaks of Starbuck's fate and the shocking reveal in order to protect the true ending of the season - well that was a post internet, 2007 style P.R. masterstroke. But at the end of the day, don't you think that time might have been better spent if Ron Moore and co. could have just taken more time to make the show?

In the end, all the pre-hype over SNAKES ON A PLANE couldn't make it a crossover hit.

I think of the movies I saw when I was first into The Police, like the one I went to see at a sneak preview with my Dad back in 1981. It ran one Saturday night two weeks before it opened, and from the opening frame, this thing, this thing I had never heard a word about -- with a guy with a hat running from arrows and afraid of snakes and fighting guys with a bullwhip...

..I mean, I went insane. I spent two weeks babbling about this show that no one had seen yet, and got to say, "just you wait, just you wait..."

So there, the impulse to be the first to weigh in, it was there, even then. It's just that the lack of info everywhere made it easier for things to be a surprise.

I miss surprises. Don't you? Truth?

After all...Truth Hits Everybody, y'know.

(And there's no names on the photos, but you can see a whole selection of Vancouver Police photos on Flickr .)

Bow Down Before Your New Comedy Overlord

THERE'S NOTHING like being able to read the entire Sunday New York Times in a captive, I'm not going anywhere anyway context. And a four hour flight to Vancouver certainly qualifies. So whilst I parse the very pleasing shade of yellow in my hotel room, and compose my note to the Gods of boutique hotels: "Dear Sirs," it reads, "It's 2007. Gouging people for internet in their room is simply not cool," I would like to draw your attention to a superior profile of the patron saint of misunderstood TV writers everywhere, the driven and prickly Judd Apatow (40 Year Old Virgin, Knocked Up.)

There's so much that's great about this profile, especially if you're somebody who's just starting out. There's a lot of great lessons and a lot of perennially-nagging questions every writer has to face, including "how do I balance this weird obsession I have with making strangers laugh with the fact that I frequently ignore or neglect people who are close to me in the service of that?" Martin Amis, of course, famously opined on the subject that writers couldn't really have relationships with other people since they're always more or less having a wank. You can see Apatow's struggling against the writer-turtling impulse, and it's kind of bracing. But from a craft point of view, here's a bunch of other stuff you'll hopefully get out of the article:

1) It takes a long time.

Apatow spent years studying comedy, going to comedy clubs, interviewing comics like Garry Shandling (now one of his best friends) and Jerry Seinfeld. He haunted comedy clubs, honing, honing, honing that craft. And still, it took him a long time to find his voice, and even longer to translate that voice from critical darling and audience poison to being the new face of comedy, 2007 edition. (Along the way he got to see his roommate, Adam Sandler, blow up bigtime.) I see so many people who want what they want right now -- and get frustrated by not making after working for a year or so, that I think (I hope) Apatow's a bit of a cold water reality check. If you want to be the next Apatow, you gotta want it like he did, and I don't see that around too much.

2) Good enough is not good enough

A lazy comedy writer is a shitty comedy writer.

3) Trust the people you trust, and don't worry about the other people.

They're probably going to think you're a weirdo anyway.

Some choice excerpts from Stephen Rodrick's profile:

On casting:

Once everyone sat down, Goldberg switched on a DVD of “Superbad” auditions. For half an hour a parade of pretty faces read lines about scoring fake IDs and hooking up. Eventually, the brother of a famous movie star read for the part of Fogell, the school dweeb. He delivered his line a little too perfectly.

“Who would think this kid would have trouble getting girls?” Rogen said. “I want to have sex with this kid. I bet he’s getting pleasured right now, right below the frame line.”

Everyone laughed except Apatow, who kept devouring an overloaded plate of macaroni and cheese and chocolate cake. Apatow has few vices, but he self-medicates with food. The progress of “Knocked Up” could be traced by the expansion of Heigl’s prosthetic belly and Apatow’s real one. Rogen started picking at his fingernails waiting for the boss to chime in, but Apatow remained quiet. Another actor’s audition was cued up. This one was the talented son of a pop icon. Apatow finally put his fork down and sighed. “This isn’t going to work,” he said. “On film, he is going to look like an Adonis.”

He turned to Rogen and Goldberg and spoke slowly, as if trying to get a point across to two special-needs children: “Look, you guys have to be hard, you have to be brutal with this. You have to do open auditions in Vancouver and Chicago, see a thousand guys and look for the weird kid and see which one you can teach to act. They have to be the characters. We’re not looking for the kids who can do Froot Loops commercials. This is not how we found Seth.” (The part of Fogell would eventually be filled by a newcomer, Christopher Mintz-Plasse, who was found after the casting director, Allison Jones, a longtime Apatow regular, created a MySpace profile and asked kids to send in their own videos. Mintz-Plasse was one of 4,000 who did).

On conduct:

Apatow’s childhood hero was Steve Martin. On a summer trip to L.A., Apatow persuaded his grandparents to drive by Martin’s home until Apatow spied his hero in the driveway. Martin wouldn’t give him an autograph, so Apatow wrote him an angry letter saying it was his patronage of Martin’s projects that allowed him to live the high life. A few weeks later, Martin sent Apatow a copy of his book “Cruel Shoes” with an apology: “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was speaking to the Judd Apatow.”

On being such a weirdo stress bunny that you cause yourself back pain:

Apatow talked to his therapist about the anxiety attacks. The therapist told him that they were a sign of a larger problem: he was neglecting his emotional needs by burying himself in work. While Apatow’s 1997 marriage to Mann and the subsequent birth of their first daughter eased his discomfort, it didn’t vanish completely. He still found it difficult to set aside his comedy persona and just be a family guy.

I have met a few well-adjusted, pain free, non-neurotic TV/Film comedy writers in my time. Most of the time, they're not funny. The few who were, I'm not entirely convinced they weren't also serial killers. Part of the fun of reading the Apatow profile is "spot the personality." The guffaw of recognition, followed by the existential dread of what that recognition really means. All in all, not bad for a Sunday read.

And online, you can see clips of Apatow and Seth Rogen, as well as an archival recording of a teenage Apatow interviewing a pre-Seinfeld Jerry Seinfeld.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go see The Police now.

Thursday Morning Yes/No

With apologies to the succinct reviewing style of David Moses...

YES, I still don't get fanfic, and think the 'fanfic community' believes a lot of weird and contradictory things.
NO, it doesn't mean that I don't appreciate fandom and fan enthusiasm.
YES, I saw that CTV got the NFL contract.
NO, I don't know what it means.
YES, I know that the XM outage didn't just affect me.
NO, I did not like the Heroes finale. Like most.
YES, now that the season is over, I'm looking forward to being outside more.
NO, I have not quite finished my outline.
YES, I am still going to Vancouver on Sunday.
NO, I will not be commenting on the controversy over CBC airing that Altar Boys show.
YES, I was an Altar Boy, and it makes me sad that the obvious genius of Altar Boy Show + Andy Jones won't be widely seen.
NO, as a Catholic, I was not offended.
YES, I realize that I just sort of commented on it.
NO, that's not all I think about the matter.
YES, that's all I'm going to say here.
NO, I'm not kidding.
YES, maybe if you find me and buy me a whiskey in Banff I'll tell ya.
NO, whiskey is not the same as bourbon.
YES, as an American, I'm pretty offended by Congress' caving in on Iraq.
NO, I'm probably not as upset about it as Keith Olberman is.
YES, he is still my newsman hetero man crush.
NO, this does not mean that I've forgotten Ira Glass or Dan Rather.
YES, I saw The Best Years on Monday.
NO, I did not think the reviews it got were fair.
YES, I'll probably watch it again.
NO, I did not manage to successfully PVR both hours of the LOST finale.
YES, I'll find another way to get it.
NO, I don't want to know what happened.
YES, I know this post today is a bit lame.
NO, I don't really care.

Enjoy your day.

As Canadian As...a Bunch of Sickos!

READER'S DIGEST or someone years ago sponsored a contest to try to come up with a Canadian analogue to "As American as Apple Pie..." There were lots of entries, but the one that ultimately won was, "As Canadian as...possible under the circumstances, really."

I thought of that as I read the little emailing from Michael Moore this morning. He was talking about the reception for his film, "Sicko." This was reported in the papers a couple days back, but it was interesting to hear his take on the reception to the film:

At the press screening for "Sicko," the Wall Street Journal reported that hardened reporters and critics wept. Even those who have been harsh to me in the past, or who have not agreed with my politics, were moved. Aside from my stated desire that "Sicko" ignite a fire for free, universal health care (and a larger wish that we, as Americans, do a better job of treating each other with a true sense of solidarity and respect), I continue to hope that I can make a contribution to the art of cinema and give people a good reason to get out of the house for a few hours.

At my festival press conference, the only negative word came from the Canadians. Two critics didn't like all the nice things I said about their health care system. Yes, Canadian health care has its flaws, but when I asked the two critics if they would exchange their health care cards for mine, they said "No!" Of course they wouldn't. Canadians live longer than we do and their infant mortality is not as high as ours. Their system is underfunded because their leaders have been trying to push for more American-style health care.

Ah Michael, you've discovered the secret contrarian heart of the Canadian people. Not nice. Polite. There's a difference. I've said it before. I'll say it again: a nation of disgruntled postal workers, one step away from the hockey fight to end all hockey fights.

In a little over a month I'll have been in Canada thirty years. And that contrarian, maddening, party pooper streak that so often infects the film and TV industry here, as it does most industries, well...I'm not sure I understand it any better than I did when I first got here.

But it's fun to watch someone else get blindsided by it. And it's fun to see it reduced and recontextualized in one sentence:

"would you trade yours for theirs?"

"Well, no..."

"There you go."

Doctorow Waxes Poetic, But Does He Say it All?

FRIEND OF the blog Radio 3 Steve passed along this link to a rather good editorial that Cory Doctorow wrote for Locus in defense of (shudder) fan fiction.

The whole thing's worth reading, and there's much in it I can't disagree with. A couple excerpts:

Two things are sure about all fanfic, though: first, that people who write and read fanfic are already avid readers of writers whose work they're paying homage to; and second, that the people who write and read fanfic derive fantastic satisfaction from their labors. This is great news for writers.

Great because fans who are so bought into your fiction that they'll make it their own are fans forever, fans who'll evangelize your work to their friends, fans who'll seek out your work however you publish it.

Great because fans who use your work therapeutically, to work out their own creative urges, are fans who have a damned good reason to stick with the field, to keep on reading even as our numbers dwindle. Even when the fandom revolves around movies or TV shows, fanfic is itself a literary pursuit, something undertaken in the world of words. The fanfic habit is a literary habit.

In Japan, comic book fanfic writers publish fanfic manga called dojinshi — some of these titles dwarf the circulation of the work they pay tribute to, and many of them are sold commercially. Japanese comic publishers know a good thing when they see it, and these fanficcers get left alone by the commercial giants they attach themselves to.

I love Cory Doctorow. I've followed his career with amusement, occasionally envy, and always respeck, since we ran in semi-similar circles in Toronto. I really enjoy his writing -- and I think he's done great work in all his various advocacy projects.

And the editorial frames the debate in such reasonable terms, it makes it hard to disagree with it. Until you cogitate on all that he leaves out. First, he deals a bit with fanfic writers' relationship to the original work:

The question of respect is, perhaps, a little thornier. The dominant mode of criticism in fanfic circles is to compare a work to the canon — "Would Spock ever say that, in ‘real' life?" What's more, fanfic writers will sometimes apply this test to works that are of the canon, as in "Spock never would have said that, and Gene Roddenberry has no business telling me otherwise."

This is a curious mix of respect and disrespect. Respect because it's hard to imagine a more respectful stance than the one that says that your work is the yardstick against which all other work is to be measured — what could be more respectful than having your work made into the gold standard? On the other hand, this business of telling writers that they've given their characters the wrong words and deeds can feel obnoxious or insulting...

Writers can't ask readers not to interpret their work. You can't enjoy a novel that you haven't interpreted — unless you model the author's characters in your head, you can't care about what they do and why they do it. And once readers model a character, it's only natural that readers will take pleasure in imagining what that character might do offstage, to noodle around with it. This isn't disrespect: it's active reading.

Okayyyy...First, he starts off by relating how when he saw Star Wars, he went home and immediately became a fanfic writer, retelling the stories in various forms. He was six.

Well, I was a little older, and I did the same thing. We all did. The difference is that eventually Doctorow chafed against that and wanted to tell his own tales. This is the creative impulse and the path of a writer. I won't say something loaded like, "he grew out of it" because I'm not really making that value judgement -- merely charting that just as we all start out female at one point, we also all start out as derivative fanficcers.

The other thing, of course, is that he spends his whole editorial defending the cause of the fanfic writer against the nasty writer, and does nothing to disavow or examine the rather unsavory parts of the practice.

The cause of art, in my opinion, is not helped by trying to "fix" unhappy endings into happy endings. But that's a judgement call. Doctorow talks about writers needing to expect their work to be interpreted -- but there is a significant difference between interpretation and the impulse to "fix" that which is not broken, and claim you've helped somehow by doing so.

And all this became an issue only when the internet could zip all this stuff around and disseminate it widely. So long as it was a DIY thing, what did it matter? Now it can be distributed widely, and is...and the whole argument made: "oh it's for me, and for a few people, it's not meant to be read widely..." is disingenuous at best, and flat-out-fiction (badly written fiction) at worst. Come on. It's meant to be read, kids. You want it read. You want the validation. Why not just admit it?

Even in my original fanfic rant -- which, predictably, was taken deadly, deadly seriously (sense of humor is not the hallmark of the fanfic writer) I powerwashed away all the copyright shmoppyright stuff. I reduce it down to the unfortunate, inescapable truth: if you have a good idea, execution is all, and if you are a good writer, even an amateur good writer, you should put that idea out there in your best, most original form you can.

Where I hold contempt is on the issue of professionalism. Now, understand what I'm saying here -- I don't mean people who get paid versus people who don't. That's not the mark I'm looking for. I'm talking about a set of conducts and understanding about how you deal with other writers' work, ideas, credit, and your own behaviors. I know writers who get paid lots to write prose and screenplay who aren't pros, and I know more than a few amateur writers who I would not hesitate to call professional.

Doctorow left out the really ugly side of fanfic: a certain lack of ethical behavior which manifests in the refusal to take responsibility. It means either being ignorant of, or unwilling to accept, the general rules and definitions of the real world as it relates to writing. It means not understanding original vs. derivative, and making vast and incorrect assertions about how people who get hired are no better than fanficcers. It means misunderstanding law. It means reacting childishly when challenged, and it means retreating to high dudgeon when someone who worked damn hard to create something expresses trepidation with you mucking with it -- which, I'm sorry kiddo, is a perfectly reasonable response.

I think J.K. Rowling is perfectly justified in getting upset if some kid Google searches and finds an erotic Harry Potter story. That's not cool. And I think that "the ugly turn" that inevitably happens in fanfic communities -- where the line gets crossed from "honoring" the work to "fixing" it; or when (especially in TV shows, but I've seen it with novels too) deluded ficcers start accusing the writers of stealing from them...

...Well...that's why we feel the way we feel, and that's why even people like Tanya Huff or John Grisham or Stephen King or other writers who won't speak out about fanfic are never going to be really cool with it, either...because we all know that those people are out there, part of the community, and no one IN the community ever says how crazy they are.

Since I took on fanfic, I got a bunch of emails calling me an asshole. Not the first ones I've ever gotten, by the way. Daddy'll take that freight. I've had friends gleefully send me links to livejournals and blogs burning me in effigy. I've gotten the stale, "you should be so lucky to have fanfic written about your stuff," the "you worked on a show based on a book so you're no better than we are" and all the other predictable arguments. But tellingly, not one fanfic writer has written to say something like, "You're a jerk, but you're right about one thing. When they start accusing writers like Doris Egan (House) of stealing from fanfic, that's crazy."

Not one.

Doctorow can wax poetic on fanfic all he wants. But there's a wolf in that henhouse, and so long as it's there, there can never be peace.



Okay, now I have to disappear down the outline rabbit hole. I'll see you when I'm on the other side.

The Best Years

GLOBAL BOWS their new drama, The Best Years, created by Aaron Martin (Degrassi: The Next Generation) tonight at 10 PM ET. I haven't seen a frame of it, but Aaron's a good writer and a great guy. When he came into my class to talk to the students a few years back, I remember thinking, "this guy looks like he's got the right temperament to be a showrunner."

Here's an interview with Martin, to go with the picture of his comely cast members.

In the article, Martin talks about how the development process on The Best Years wasn't really all that difficult. Which, you know, is maddening and jealousy inducing for any writer. Then again, in the interest of full dislcosure, I should say that once upon a time I had a show in development with Global and Blueprint Entertainment, (the production company) and it was probably my best development experience to date -- right up to the point where the show wasn't picked up. Smart, passionate, engaged execs who gave great notes that made the thing better. I'm hoping that Aaron benefitted from the same experience, and that The Best Years fills a nice Felicity-shaped hole and runs for five years.

An excerpt from that interview linked above:

Five years have passed since Felicity went off the air, and there hasn't been a college-based show that has surpassed, or even come near, its level of success.

"When I went and developed this show, looking back at why so many college shows don’t work is because you really need a strong central character to make a college show work," Martin says.

The show focuses on Samantha Best, played by Charity Shea (Alpha Dog), who accepts a full scholarship to a prestigious college in Boston where she befriends a group of fellow students also staying at the campus dorm (the rich girl, the athlete, the actor, the bartender, the smart guy).

I like the scholarship angle. She not only has to learn college -- she's got to learn to negotiate trust after a life in foster care. Good hook. Good Luck -- tonight, 10pm, Global.

Linkslutting The Upfronts

WELL, IT'S all over for another year. And by that, of course, I mean it's just beginning. Now they just have to go out and make the programs.

Here's a roundup of some of the more interesting coverage I've seen about the upfronts.

One of the strange trends seems to be the number of Sci-Fi and Fantasy shows on for the fall, proving just how tortured TV's relationship with this type of programming is. (They don't want to marry it, but hey, when the chips are down, they'll always go for the SF booty call.) For the advertisers' first blush view at this trend, the NYTimes has this reaction. The most interesting passage of that seems to be:

The prevalence of supernatural plots “is reflective of increasing anxiety — personal, economic and national” that pervades the American mood, said Mr. Rash, who was in New York last week to attend the networks’ presentations.

The broadcasters also introduced spooky series for the 2006-7 season, Mr. Rash noted, but they made the mistake of offering plot lines “that were too close to home,” tackling subjects like domestic terrorism, kidnapping and hostage-taking.

Tellingly, none of those shows — which included “The Nine” on ABC, “Vanished” on Fox and “Kidnapped” on NBC — are returning.

Most of the coming new shows “are playing to viewers’ desire to be in fantasyland,” said Shari Anne Brill, senior vice president and director of programming at Carat USA in New York, part of the Carat division of the Aegis Group, adding, “The real world has become such a horrendous place that people are looking for magic to avoid the tragic.”

The series for 2007-8, Ms. Brill said, are “either about the fantastic world of the spiritual and the supernatural, or the lifestyles of the rich and heinous.”

Meanwhile, if you want to see clips of some of the newly announced shows, here's a link you'll like. Bill Carter of the NY Times also has a video report from the upfronts here. (The Carter clip focuses mostly on FOX, but also is notable since it features clips from two highly anticipated shows: The Kesley Grammer-Pat Heaton laffer "Back to You," and the N.O. Police show "K-Ville" (where "K" stands for "Katrina.") Actually, to tell you the truth, if you go to the video page for the NYTimes, Carter's day-by-day wrapup with clips is probably the best, most succinct distillation of what everyone's doing and how the advertisers reacted.

Much as I admire Mr. Carter's insight into the TV business, I'm afraid my writer-crush, Times division, still goes to Virginia Heffernan, whose daily blog from the upfronts was a snarky delight, and who turned in this report wrap-up on Saturday. Heffernan's article is the first time I heard about a certain CW show that I'll be tuning into, just because I've had a tiny bit of experience with the subject matter:

Setting up the preview for a show about a modern American family that moves to rural South Africa to escape its troubles, she described its audience in “American Idol” terms: the coveted (and perhaps imaginary?) “whole family.”

In spite of its suggestion that South Africa, of all places, might offer a break from modern life, “Life Is Wild” drew me in, probably because it seemed to split the difference gracefully between the two off-the-grid stories I liked as a kid: the happy, brainless “Adventures of the Wilderness Family” and Paul Theroux’s disturbing “Mosquito Coast.”

This could be interesting, or a right cringer. South Africans, if this show's a bowser, be sure to let us know.

Heffernan goes on to make a fine, "hear hear" point, triggered by the onscreen return of Cane's Jimmy Smits.

As a master of the medium, he had a presence that made clear what television has sorely been missing: experienced stars who really know how to command the small screen.

For a few seasons now, television has been pervaded by film actors (in dramas) and amateurs (in reality shows). Is it too much to ask that we get professional TV actors who know the particular demands of the medium — the minimal rehearsals, complex blocking, long hours and last-minute rewriting — in leading roles?

Entourage right now is playing out that hoary old storyline about the tension and lesser status of TV stardom, but for my money, an actor like Smits is always more interesting than even a Pacino -- precisely because he can create compelling art on a TV schedule, and offer a well rounded, poignant character study across TV's more expansive canvas. Smits' Presidential Candidate, Matt Santos, on the last two seasons of West Wing, went from polyanna congressman to Presidential so subtly that it almost banished the ghost of Bobby Simone altogether. Likewise, Mr. Gandolfini, I hate to say it, but I'm not too sure your movie career is waiting on line one.

It's been reported before, but if you're interested in the number of Brit actors on U.S. TV this fall (it's a real noticeable trend this year) Zap2It's got the roundup here .

Lisa De Morales notes that, contrary to popular thought, the serial drama isn't dead. Repeating it is. DeMorales also notes something that sort-of occurred to me when I saw ABC's schedule. They're really going after women. I felt guilty thinking this. But DeMorales is a woman, so all I have to do is link to her and I'm golden. See how that works? Wheeee!

Of course, The Futon Critic has a full schedule, night-by-night with clickable details on every page. Nice.

And Diane over at Unified Theories riffs off a San Francisco Chronicle piece about the children left behind -- the unbought and unloved pilots.

It's always intriguing to think of the what ifs. If pedigree doesn't ensure success, and neither does a good pilot (hello Aaron Sorkin's Studio 60), and neither does audience testing, what is the best indicator? Goodman's article suggests the networks need the numbers of audience testing, even if they mean nothing, to back up their decisions:

All those potential hits killed, all those misses on the air each season. Programming will never be an exact science, but it sure makes me wish the audience could at least have access to the dead pilots to see if our guts agreed with the network choices.

Wow. You mean, rather than give people stupid dials and ask loaded questions in artificial environments, we actually enable some mechanism where all viewers have direct input into which shows get on the air? That would never work, AND... it sounds suspiciously like... communism.

People never know what they're hungry for. In fact, the whole ludicrous suggestion reminds me of that famous exchange between a wise TV father and his well meaning but misguided eldest daughter:

Homer: Are you saying you're never going to eat any animal again? What about bacon?
Lisa: No.
Homer: Ham?
Lisa: No!
Homer: Pork chops?
Lisa: Dad, those all come from the same animal!
Homer: Heh heh heh. Ooh, yeah, right, Lisa. A wonderful, magical animal.

Other than that, all I have to say is Jack Davenport as a swinger (Alan Poul's Swingtown) sounds...interesting, especially if you've seen the original British Coupling. And to steal a line from Heffernan, in many ways the best thing about the Grammer-Heaton show: It's got Fred Willard in it!

Fred Willard!

Now that's some heap awesome. And yes, Dix, that is Moon Bloodgood with Kevin McKidd (Rome) in this Journeyman photo.

Nothing Ever Works.

RIGHT NOW, I'm spending a holiday Monday at least partially futzing or fussing over the following things:

• The Apple Cinema Display I bought less than a month and a half ago has issues with the power cord. I've tried it with two computers, and it won't turn on. I'm going to have to find the time to get this thing serviced.
• My Macbook Pro, my primary computer, has an issue with the soundcard that has recurred after being replaced in February. Last time, the speakers didn't work. Now, it won't accept a Microphone Input.
• My Macbook, my backup computer, had the battery fail. I bought a new one, and Apple was supposed to ship a replacement. It never arrived. So I'm going to have have to have a half hour on the phone about this too. (Apple, love your design but your quality control is the pits. And dealing with Apple Canada as opposed to Apple Cupertino is like the difference between getting help on your homework from Jessica Simpson rather than Stephen Hawking.)
• My Sirius satellite radio, which I got in Vancouver and worked great, does not work in my Condo in Toronto. Despite the fact that I have line of sight to the sky from the south and the west and the lake and line of sight to the CN Tower, the bastard just does not work. I read online that some people have had the same process not being able to read the satellite at all from the sky. I don't ever pick up the satellite. Some times I can get reception. I got two days worth earlier this week. Now I get bursts of programming followed by "acquiring signal" endlessly. Customer service has been no help. No one can tell me if there's anything I can do to improve this. I went so far as to do a little experiment, attach the antenna to a broomstick and put the broomstick outside the window so there is clear line of sight to the sky, with no building in the way. Zero bars. From the satellite. In the sky. I paid for something that I'm now getting zero use out of. This completely sucks.
  
• The XM radio, which usually works fine, today will not find a signal despite the fact that the antenna's in exactly the same place it always is, and I'm looking AT the CN Tower.

Each of these things will require a bunch of time on the phone, going through scripts as people who don't understand and cannot fix the various problems make me jump through hoops wasting time I do not really have before telling me, a) Okay it's busted and we'lll send you a new one/refund your money or b) Okay it's busted, and um...screw you.

I hate everything.