I didn't mind the first Desperate Housewives
I watched. The characters are cartoonish not but irretrievably so. Some of the stories were a little obvious -- one of the women trying to buy off a little girl who saw her with her paramour -- but some felt a little realer. Emotionally true, if still a little fakey.
But what on Earth is going on with these 1950's housewives? One of the women was a high powered exec, now she's not only taking care of her three little boys -- which I can believe -- but keeping her house spotless? In real life most of us let the house get a little messy when there are 5 year olds around -- unless we can afford a housekeeper. I can't believe any retired exec would care to do the window wiping herself. And so forth for the other women. None of them have jobs. All of them seem to have money. And they're all plotting to get or keep the various men around them.
Is this some weirdly submissive fantasy for the (I imagine largely female) audience? They suffer through a day at work and come home to fantasize about staying home all day keeping house? Ugh.
And this show is a hit. Worth speccing, even, if what I'm told is true.
With so much money at stake in producing national evening TV, I'm convinced now that it takes major personalities with clout to push anything remotely innovative onto the networks. Only a series creator like Wheaton could turn an episode of Buffy into a musical, or Abrams create a series set on a deserted island, or George Clooney to push for a live broadcast of ER.
But I've enjoyed watching the caliber of TV shows finally start to pull themselves back from out of the ditch. Lost, in particular. Some of my friends thought the monster in Lost's was dumb, and I kind of agree -- it was too much to swallow too soon; Alias introduced a funky machine that barely hinted at the wild direction the entire series would eventually take. For Abrams to "give it up" so soon, there must be some major "oh my god"s and "Oh shit"s coming down the pipeline.
As for Hit Trash, though, how about other "heralded" shows like Life As We Know It? At first, I thought it was kind of okay, but now it's coming off as cliche and predictable. Just like forming the knot on a coat tie, there are only so many directions a plotline on teenage angst can go. I've resorted now to fast forwarding just to the male fantasy plot of making out with Marguerite Moreau (who cares if she has man hands?), even though if the roles were reversed, the tranquil America we know would cease to exist.
Maybe next year's crop will be better. I keep hearing TV has entered a golden age. Cool. Show me the gold.
Back to Complications Ensue main blog page.