Archive for the ‘Teleholics Anonymous’ category

The Swan Tunes In: Justified

March 24, 2010

I’m a notoriously tough hombre to convince of anything, but after a mere two episodes, I’m ready to say this straight out…

Justified is the best show on television right now.

The words “right now” are key to the above sentence, because TV’s best drama (and, not coincidentally, another FX series), Sons of Anarchy, is presently on hiatus. When Sons returns, it will give Justified a worthy challenge. Although, the nature of things being what it is, I’m guessing that FX will work it so that Justified will have completed its first season by the time Sons resurfaces for its fourth. No point in cluttering up the schedule with too much great TV.

In one key measure, Justified already surpasses Sons of Anarchy — its focus on one exceptionally conceived character. Sons, an ensemble drama with a ginormous cast, has a boatload of players and personalities to deal with each week, and its ostensible lead character, motorcycle gang leader Jackson “Jax” Teller, is rarely the most interesting element in the show. Justified has done a terrific job of populating its supporting cast, but they’re exactly that — supporting cast. Everything hinges on the man at the center of the action (and of almost every scene): Raylan Givens, Deputy United States Marshal, played to understated perfection by Timothy Olyphant.

The character of Raylan — adapted for TV from a trio of short stories by legendary thriller scribe Elmore Leonard — is a pastiche of several disparate elements. He’s one part Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry (the cop whose philosophy is “Shooting’s all right, as long as the right people get shot”), one part Dennis Weaver’s McCloud (the Stetson-wearing, smarter-than-he-looks walking anachronism), and one part Tommy Lee Jones’s relentless Sam Gerard (from the films The Fugitive and U.S. Marshals). There’s also a lot in Raylan that’s pure Elmore Leonard, especially his penchant for pithy dialogue. Leonard can be a difficult author to translate to the screen, and to television in particular, but the creative team behind Justified hits all of the right notes, at least so far.

Here’s the set-up. While posted to the Marshal Service’s Miami field office (where his cowboy hat and boots make him as inconspicuous as a McDonald’s on the moon), Raylan’s latest gunning down of a suspect earns him a swift reassignment to a faraway jurisdiction — Harlan County, Kentucky, where Raylan was born and raised. (I wondered at first why the Marshals Service would maintain a presence in this hillbilly backwater. The reason became clear in the second episode: there’s a federal prison there — the U.S. Penitentiary at Big Sandy.) Raylan is less than enthused about his new station — he’d sworn when he left Harlan that he’d never return — but he accepts his medicine with wry resignation.

Moving to Harlan reunites Raylan with an old acquaintance, no-nonsense Chief Deputy Art Mullen (Nick Searcy), and provides him a pair of junior associates, former Army Ranger Tim Gutterson (Jacob Pitts) and tightly wound Rachel Brooks (Erica Tazel). The move also places Raylan in uncomfortably close proximity to his ex-wife Winona (Natalie Zea) and his high school girlfriend Ava (Joelle Carter), who’s since married the brother of Raylan’s childhood pal Boyd Crowder (Walton Goggins), now a small-time thug running a white supremacist gang. Raylan’s first case in his new/old digs brings him into conflict with Boyd, who thinks he may have an edge on his former friend, but is proven wrong. (“If you make me pull, I’ll put you down,” Raylan warns Boyd, who eventually makes him pull and gets put down, albeit not fatally.)

Justified works for two reasons. First, the writing (initially by Graham Yost, who developed the series with input from Elmore Leonard) is stellar. Second, Timothy Olyphant owns the lead role, taking a character that could veer off into shallow caricature and making him multilayered, conflicted, and believably human. Olyphant’s Raylan is no superman — he’s tough, cool, and beyond competent at what he does, but he gets outmaneuvered by the bad guys at times (even though he wins in the end) and is guilty of occasional grotesque lapses in judgment (while transporting a prisoner, Raylan lets the felon drive while he surfs the ‘Net on his iPhone, resulting in predictable misfortune). Most importantly for television, Olyphant makes Raylan compelling and likable, guaranteeing that viewers will keep tuning in to see what he does next.

(And — speaking strictly from a disinterested heterosexual male perspective, mind you — I suspect that many female audience members will find Mr. Olyphant easy on the eyes.)

Clearly, two episodes do not a Hall of Fame series make. It remains to be seen whether Olyphant, Yost and company can maintain — and continue to elevate — the high level of quality they’ve established to this point. The show is going to need to flesh out its remaining characters, who at this point are little better than names, faces, and attitudes. It also needs to find ways to keep Raylan’s off-the-job life interesting once the “hometown boy returns” storyline plays out.

But I’ll say this: I can’t recall the last time I enjoyed two hours of scripted television as much as I enjoyed the first two episodes of Justified. The creators of this show have bought themselves a ton of good will with their opening salvo. Now we’ll see whether they’ll build on it, or burn it.

Justified airs on FX Tuesday nights at 10 p.m. Your Uncle Swan gives it nine tailfeathers out of a possible ten, just in case he needs a feather to fan himself with when the action gets heated. If you like tough, hard-boiled drama, you should check it out.

(Caveat: As FX’s series often do, Justified pushes the envelope of adult content — language, violence, etc. — as far as basic cable and the FCC will permit. You’ve been warned.)

It’s my bracket, and I’ll cry if I want to

March 18, 2010

At this writing, the 2010 NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament is only three games old, and my bracket is already busted.

Stupid BYU.

Picking the 10th-seeded Florida Gators over the 7th-seeded Brigham Young seemed like the right decision, given BYU’s 17-year drought. The Cougars last won a first-round game in 1993, with seven consecutive early exits since then. They chose this tournament to get off the schneid. Florida stretched the game to two overtimes, so it’s not as though they weren’t a viable pick.

On the positive side, my usually sound eye for March Madness upsets led me to choose 11-seed Old Dominion over #6 Notre Dame, and ODU came through big time. The Fighting Irish are always an iffy pick at the NCAAs, and this year proved no exception.

I was seriously tempted to take #15 Robert Morris over #2 Villanova. I didn’t pull the trigger on that one, but the fact that Morris took ‘Nova to overtime affirms that my spider sense about that game was justified.

Looking ahead, my Final Four forecast is — for the first time in recent memory — comprised of the top seeds from each of the regionals: Kansas, Kentucky, Syracuse, and Duke. I’m climbing way out on a fragile limb to predict that Syracuse will best the Kentucky Wildcats in the championship game to win top honors for the second time this decade. It kills me to go all-in on a Jim Boeheim-coached team, but I’ve got a feeling about this one.

We’ll see whether that feeling is clairvoyance, or indigestion.

[DAY ONE UPDATE: Thursday, March 18]

The tournament’s first 16 games are in the books. I went 12-4 on the day. My picks are in boldface below.

Predicted correctly:

  • East Regional: #1 Kentucky over #16 East Tennessee State; #3 New Mexico over #14 Montana; #11 Washington over #6 Marquette.
  • Midwest Regional: #1 Kansas over #16 Lehigh; #6 Tennessee over #11 San Diego State.
  • South Regional: #2 Villanova over #15 Robert Morris; #3 Baylor over #14 Sam Houston State; #10 St. Mary’s over #7 Richmond; #11 Old Dominion over #6 Notre Dame.
  • West Regional: #2 Kansas State over #15 North Texas; #5 Butler over #12 UTEP; #13 Murray State over #4 Vanderbilt.

Predicted incorrectly:

  • East Regional: #9 Wake Forest over #8 Texas.
  • Midwest Regional: #14 Ohio over #3 Georgetown; #9 Northern Iowa over #8 UNLV.
  • South Regional: No misses. (Yay, me!)
  • West Regional: #7 BYU over #10 Florida.

[DAY TWO UPDATE: Friday, March 18]

My bracketology skills rocked today. I correctly predicted 15 of the 16 games on Day Two of the tourney. Bow before me!

Predicted correctly:

  • East Regional: #2 West Virginia over #15 Morgan State; #4 Wisconsin over #13 Wofford; #10 Missouri over #7 Clemson.
  • Midwest Regional: #2 Ohio State over #15 UC Santa Barbara; #4 Maryland over #13 Houston; #5 Michigan State over #12 New Mexico State; #10 Georgia Tech over #7 Oklahoma State.
  • South Regional: #1 Duke over #16 Arkansas-Pine Bluff; #4 Purdue over #13 Siena; #5 Texas A&M over #12 Utah State; #8 California over #9 Louisville.
  • West Regional: #1 Syracuse over #16 Vermont; #3 Pittsburgh over #14 Oakland; #6 Xavier over #11 Minnesota; #8 Gonzaga over #9 Florida State.

Predicted incorrectly:

  • East Regional: #12 Cornell over #5 Temple.
  • Midwest Regional: No misses
  • South Regional: No misses.
  • West Regional: No misses.

Put it all together, and my record in Round One is 27-5. Not perfect, by any means, but pretty darned good.

I’m especially pleased to note that the Bay Area showed up in the first round, with both local teams that made the tourney — Cal and St. Mary’s — winning their initial games. St. Mary’s and Gonzaga also represented my alma mater conference, the West Coast Conference, brilliantly with their two wins.

Great tournament thus far. Bring on Round Two!

Idol 2010: Your Top 12 finalists, America

March 16, 2010

When last we left those crazy kids on American Idol, there were twice as many of them. Now that we’re down to the Top 12, let’s see how the competition has shaped up.

First off, my prognosticating skills positively reek this season. In forecasting the six female singers who’d make it this far, I batted a meager .500 — which would be a stupendous batting average, actually, if this were Major League Baseball, which it isn’t. I guessed correctly that we’d still have Crystal Bowersox, Siobhan Magnus, and Katie Stevens with us. I’m somewhat, yet not entirely, surprised that Paige Miles has survived. I am flabbergasted to still be looking at Didi Benami, and especially Lacey Brown, whom I thought should have been one of the first eliminations.

I did slightly better with the male contestants, accurately choosing four of the final six: Casey James, Lee Dewyze, Andrew Garcia, and Michael “Big Mike” Lynche. That the cute but out-of-his-depth Aaron Kelly has pulled enough votes out of America’s grandmas and tweens to get to this level doesn’t shock me. That Tim Urban — who has the least talent of any contestant of either gender, possibly in the history of the series — hasn’t yet been shown the door is less a surprise than it is a crime against civilization.

Of the people who have gotten the boot, the greatest disappointment for me was Lilly Scott, whose hippie-chic coffeehouse style made her, at the very least, interesting. That latter word I’d also have applied to Todrick Hall, who wasn’t the best singer in the bunch, but had a certain flamboyance (in the literal, not the encoded, sense of the term) that made him stand out. But… life moves on.

That said, here’s how I’m ranking the chances of the dozen left standing.

12. Tim Urban. Hokey smoke, Bullwinkle — how did this guy get this far? Perhaps the most ironic point about young Mr. Urban is his name, given that he’s about as urban as I am hillbilly, which is to say, not much at all. Unfortunately for viewers, Tim consistently attempts to prove this irony — for example, by attempting a reggae version of the Rolling Stones’ “Under My Thumb.” If you’re going to pull off a Rasta-inflected treatment of a bluesy rocker, I think you might have actually wanted to have met a Jamaican.

11. Lacey Brown. Not only can the girl not sing a lick, but everything about her screams “fraud,” from her stagy mannerisms to her clunky, melodramatic phrasing. Should have been sent back to Denny’s with a name badge and a book of order tickets weeks ago.

10. Didi Benami. My opinion of Didi hasn’t changed one iota since we discussed her with the Top 24. I find her affected cheerleader personality grating, and her singing, while not dreadful, is merely ordinary. I suspect that she’ll place higher than tenth, but these are my numbers, and that’s the one I’m giving her.

9. Paige Miles. Paige has a ton of voice, and one of these years, she might be capable of using it effectively. Right now, she’s just a cheerful kid playing with a big, dangerous toy.

8. Aaron Kelly. Randy Jackson was off his nut when he compared Aaron to Justin Timberlake — except for the fact that, as I observed a while back, Aaron would fit perfectly in a remake of The Mickey Mouse Club, where Justin (along with Britney, Christina, J.C., Ryan, and a gaggle of their peers) got started. In terms of talent, Aaron’s more like the Jonas Brother who got cut from the varsity squad. Nice try, son.

7. Katie Stevens. It’s almost a shame that Idol‘s producers put Katie through to the main cast this year. If she came back in a couple of years with some seasoning, a little maturity, and a smattering of life experience, she might be a real contender. At 17, she looks like an overgrown veteran of Toddlers and Tiaras. Or Katharine McPhee’s baby sister.

6. Casey James. Bucky Covington, The Sequel. Coasting on flowing locks and scruffy charm. He’s all hat and no cattle. Kara lusts for him, though, and the ladies will enjoy gawking at him for yet a while longer.

5. Andrew Garcia. I’m probably the only person in America outside of the immediate Garcia family who rates Andrew this high. The fact is, despite his struggles in recent weeks, I like the unique quality of his voice. Someone once said that his greatest treasures were words he left unspoken. I’m guessing that Andrew wishes he’d left unsung that acoustic cover of “Straight Up” from Hollywood Week, because he’s been trying — and mostly failing — to live up to it ever since. If the guy who busted out that transcendent performance ever resurfaces, Andrew could soar to this height. If not, he’ll be eliminated. Soon.

4. Lee Dewyze. I sense that the folks at 19 Entertainment would like to see Lee erupt into the next Chris Daughtry. Frankly, I don’t think he’s got Daughtry’s ability, or — just as significantly — Daughtry’s self-assurance. Lee has solid potential, but his nerves and inner demons stand in his way. Being able to do it is one thing. Being able to bring it with moxie and fire on a ginormous stage with a live audience and millions of people staring through their television screens is another kettle of fish entirely. I don’t think Lee’s kept his bait warm.

3. Big Mike Lynche. Kara DioGuardi said on Jay Leno’s show last night that she thinks Big Mike will win this season. He’s certainly fun to watch — although, to be frank, I don’t think his voice is all that special — and he’s a great story, what with the loving wife and the adorable newborn at home. It’s possible that the two ladies ahead of him may end up splitting a lot of the same voting demographic, and Mike could slip past them. I’m just not convinced yet that America wants another Ruben Studdard.

2. Siobhan Magnus. Let’s put it right out there: This chick is seven kinds of weird. But underlying the bizarre fashion sense, the nose ring, the odd facial expressions, and the ditzy-kooky Cyndi Lauperesque personality, she has two things that I admire: a terrific singing voice, and her own genuine style. I never know exactly what Siobhan is going to do from one week to the next, but I’m always positive that it will be worth watching, and hearing. I don’t know what a Siobhan Magnus record album would sound like, but I know it would be entertaining.

1. Crystal Bowersox. I believed the first time I heard her sing that Crystal would win Idol this year. Nothing I’ve heard since has altered that early opinion. Crystal knows exactly what her musical niche is, and she’s eminently comfortable inhabiting it. She may be the most complete performer, right out of the gate, that Idol has ever embraced. Which may be the one challenge that could derail Crystal — the audience’s sense that she’s not growing or changing much from one week to the next. Now, that worked once — Taylor Hicks brought a singular kind of talent to the Idol party in Season Five, and rode pretty much the same pony he came in on all the way to the title. Taylor’s lack of popular success in the years since, however, shows how quickly the public tires of a one-trick pony, even if the trick is a good one. Crystal would be well advised to whip out a new trick now and then, just so the audience doesn’t get bored.

That’s how I’m seeing it thus far. But as noted, I’ve been wrong before. Recently.

A couple of additional observations…

New judge Ellen DeGeneres has added an entertaining element to the show. Ellen’s natural likability overcomes the (often glaringly evident) fact that she doesn’t know music from a performing or technical perspective. Then again, neither do most of the people casting votes, so Ellen often speaks for them. If it were up to me, I’d rather have experts offering the commentary, but this is TV, after all.

Idol has been remarkably free of controversy this season. While it’s true that there are a number of suspect performers left in the Top 12, it’s equally true that none of the people dismissed in the first half of the competition represented a tragic injustice. What that means for viewers is a lack of suspense. Unless some contestant unleashes a supernova of musical brilliance heretofore unhinted, Idol 2010 should come down to a playoff between Crystal and Siobhan, with either Lee or Big Mike a distant third.

We’ll update once again when the field has been pared to the final few.

SwanShadow… out.

What it was, was Oscar

March 8, 2010

Congratulations! We survived another Oscarcast. Observations follow.

At least it wasn’t Ray Milland and Rosey Grier: The two-headed host — Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin — turned out to be a dreadful idea. Not because either was terrible, but because they simply didn’t work smoothly and effectively together. I don’t know whether Martin and Baldwin were poorly rehearsed, or just suffering from awkward chemistry. One host or the other would have been adequate, if not especially scintillating — Martin hosted the awards solo in 2000 and 2002, in not-particularly-memorable fashion — but the combination fell flat.

The sound of one man yawning: None of the major awards turned out to be a huge surprise, unless you really thought the Academy was going to pass up a chance to stick it to notoriously unpopular James “King of the World” Cameron by honoring his ex-wife Kathryn Bigelow and her magnum opus. The favorites in each of the big categories triumphed.

Double the displeasure: Expanding the Best Picture category to ten nominees was, as expected, a pointless drag on the production. No one really thought that there were more than five real contenders; namely, the films represented in the Best Director category — the victorious The Hurt Locker, Avatar, and dark horses Inglourious Basterds, Precious, and Up in the Air. Padding the show with twice as many introductory film clips merely took up air space.

Up with people: In a refreshing change, all four of the acting winners gave engaging, entertaining speeches. (I can’t prove it with verified test results, but I suspect that Jeff Bridges’s Dude-esque ramble may have been… what shall we say… chemically enhanced.) Equally refreshing, all four were people that most viewers would be glad to see win.

Sore loser: Quentin Tarantino, who looked as though Kathryn Bigelow had vomited in his lap when she won Best Director and he didn’t. I dig your films, QT, but your sportsmanship sucks.

Spare me the song and dance: We didn’t have to sit through performances of each of the Best Song hopefuls this year. A welcome omission, because seriously, when was the last time all five of the nominated songs were actually good? On the other hand, someone thought it made sense to stage an elaborate interpretive dance number incorporating music from the Original Score nominees. (Funny, I didn’t realize there was breakdancing in Sherlock Holmes.) Redeeming the moment, winning composer Michael Giacchino (Up) gave one of the night’s best acceptance speeches, encouraging young people to pursue their creative impulses and not allow naysayers to convince them that they’re wasting their time.

Didn’t work: The trend, continued from last year’s Oscarcast, of having each of the Best Actor and Best Actress nominees regaled with a speech by another celebrity. With the rare exception of an unexpected star turn by someone like Oprah Winfrey (who feted Gabourey Sidibe, nominated for Precious), these fawning tributes only serve to make both audience and nominees uncomfortable.

Worked, in kind of an off-kilter way: The tribute to recently deceased writer-director John Hughes, which culminated in the appearance onstage of numerous actors and actresses who became stars via Hughes’s legendary run of hit films in the 1980s. Cool to see these folks together in one place, but man… are we all getting old, or what?

Speaking of getting old: I understand why they do it, but I grow annoyed with the increasing insertion into the Oscarcast of no-talent young stars with no genuine cinematic credibility (i.e., the ubiquitous Miley Cyrus), just to draw in the teen audience. Uncle Oscar says: Get off my lawn, you meddling kids.

The death of me: I’m always curious to see who gets tagged with what I call the “Dead People Gig,” introducing the memorial segment honoring movie folks who’ve shuffled off this mortal coil since the last Oscar ceremony. This year, it was Demi Moore pulling double-death duty (she was also one of the participants in the John Hughes tribute). James Taylor performed an acoustic rendition of “In My Life” while the clips rolled. For once, there was no moment of shock generated by the appearance of someone I didn’t know had died. Interestingly, Michael Jackson — whose filmography consists basically of The Wiz — made the cut, while Farrah Fawcett — mostly known for TV work, but she did make several films, including such “classics” as Logan’s Run and Saturn 3 — missed.

Fashion forward: Oscars 2010 proved rather low-key on the sartorial front. Understated glamour was the norm this year, so there were fewer what in the name of Vera Wang was THAT? moments on the red carpet than at previous Oscarcasts. The most egregious offenders were Sarah Jessica Parker, whose strapless gown came equipped with an enormous silver breastplate that resembled a leftover centerpiece from an office Christmas party, and Charlize Theron, wearing what looked like two pink-frosted cinnamon rolls stuck to her bosom. Best-dressed of the evening included several of the usual suspects — Kate Winslet, Helen Mirren, Meryl Streep, and Queen Latifah. Jennifer Lopez’s lovely pink dress would have gained high honors, if not for its ridiculous train. Likewise, Best Actress winner Sandra Bullock lost points for her garish lipstick.

The voice of choice: As she did last year, voice actress Gina Tuttle contributed a pleasant and unobtrusive announcing job. And if Gina ever gets tired of that gig, Oscar producers… I’m in the book.

Vancouver memories and Canada dreams

March 1, 2010

I miss the Winter Olympics already.

Miscellaneous thoughts and observations from the 21st Winter Games in Vancouver…

The start of the Games was overshadowed by the death of Nodar Kumaritashvili, a luger from the former Soviet republic of Georgia, in a crash during a pre-Games training run on the day of the opening ceremonies. All of the sliding events (luge, bobsleigh, and skeleton) were subsequently altered, with the men starting from the (lower) women’s launch point and the women starting at the junior-level gate. Even with these adjustments, we saw a higher-than-usual number of wipeouts in these events, even among the most skilled competitors.

The Canadian women’s curling team had a member who was five months pregnant. Seriously, if you can do it at a world-class level when you’re heavily gravid, it’s really not much of a sport.

Speaking of curling, a shout-out to local Sonoma County company Loudmouth Golf, suppliers of wackily patterned pants for the Norwegian men’s curling squad. Seriously, if you can do it at a world-class level wearing ludicrous trousers, it’s really not much of a sport.

Canadian Joannie Rochette skated the short program of her life, less than three days after her mother’s sudden death from a heart attack. Joannie’s free skate was equally dazzling, netting her a bronze medal and the adulation of millions.

Bode Miller skiied home with a complete set of medals — a gold in super-combined, a silver in super-giant slalom, and bronze in the downhill. In so doing, he actually managed to seem slightly less full of himself than he did four years ago in Torino, where he was a total bust.

Memo to NBC’s Bob Costas: Put. The Just for Men. Down. Although, to Bob’s credit, his dye jobs looked better in Vancouver than they did two years ago at the Summer Games in Beijing.

Shaun “The Flying Tomato” White and Jeret “Speedy” Peterson busted out impossible-seeming aerial moves in the snowboard halfpipe and freestyle skiing, respectively, proving that if you want to be really good at anything, you need a snappy nickname.

Women’s halfpipe starred its own pair of tomatoes — silver medalist Hannah Teter and bronze medalist Kelly Clark.

Thanks to Bill Demong, Johnny Spillane, and their Nordic Combined teammates, Team USA won three medals in a class of events where no American had so much as sniffed the podium in, like, forever.

Has there ever been a more amazing female figure skater than South Korea’s Kim Yu-Na? If so, I must have missed seeing her. In technique, in artistry, and in power, Yu-Na was so many light-years ahead of the rest of the competitors that I almost felt embarrassed for the field.

Lost amid the highly deserved excitement over Apolo Ohno’s becoming the most decorated U.S. Winter Olympian ever was the fact that his close friend Shani Davis won Team USA’s only speed-skating gold, in the men’s 1000 meters. Shani added a silver in the 1500. The most heart-warming story in speed skating came via J.R. Celski, who earned a bronze in 1500 meter short-track (thanks to a spectacular wipeout involving two Korean competitors) in his first competition after a horrific injury last fall.

We love Steve Holcomb and the Night Train, the gold-winning team in men’s four-man bobsleigh (and yes, that’s how they spell it at the Olympics). Steve’s celebratory “Holkie Dance”? Not so much.

Smackdown of the Games: Evan Lysacek’s win over the Ivan Drago of figure skating, Evgeni Plushenko.

Russian President Vladimir Putin was so incensed by his country’s lack of gold medals in Vancouver that he called for the ouster of Russia’s sports ministry. Tough sledding (pun intended) since that Soviet machine went away, eh, Vlad?

Proving that she does, in fact, know her shin from Shinola, Lindsay Vonn overcame a much-publicized injury to bag gold in the downhill and bronze in the super-G. Her teammate Julia Mancuso took home a pair of silver medals, in the downhill and super-combined.

Seth Wescott repeated as the only man ever to win gold in Olympic snowboard cross, a sport that I am convinced recruits its participants from insane asylums.

Halfpipe bronze medalist Scott Lago was sent home by the U.S. Olympic Committee, after photos appeared on the Internet showing Scott and a female companion engaging in risque business with his medal.

Memo to NBC’s makeup department: The technician who worked on the broadcast crew at the figure skating events needs to be fired.

Hannah Kearney and pink-tressed Shannon Bahrke displayed knees of steel as they pounded to gold and bronze, respectively, in women’s moguls. Bryon Wilson notched a bronze in the men’s version. How anyone could stand up after that event is beyond me.

Silver was the color of the season for Team USA hockey, with both the men’s and women’s teams coming in second to the homestanding Canadian squads. The USA men drove the Maple Leafers to overtime in the gold-medal game, with a last-minute goal by Zach Parise of the NHL’s New Jersey Devils. Buffalo Sabres goalkeeper Ryan Miller battled valiantly between the pipes, earning recognition as the hockey tournament’s Most Valuable Player.

Perhaps the most shocking moment of the Games — aside from the Kumaritashvili and Rochette tragedies — occurred in the men’s 10,000-meter speed skating event. Dutch skater Sven Kramer lost the gold medal following his disqualification after the Netherlands’ coach, Gerard Kemkers, directed Kramer into the incorrect lane for the race’s final lap. An understandably angry Kramer appeared inconsolable after the race. If the Dutch have an equivalent to the witness protection program, Kemkers is probably in it right now.

I don’t believe ice dancing is really a sport — it’s more of a competitive exhibition — but silver medalists Meryl Davis and Charlie White did us proud nonetheless, as did fourth-place finishers Tanith Belbin and Ben Agosto.

Neither of our teenage figure skaters, Mirai Nagasu and Rachael Flatt, came home with a medal (they finished fourth and seventh), but both gave their finest performances to date. Watch out for Mirai in 2014 — she’ll be on the podium for sure.

Will we ever forget the image of the malfunctioning hydraulics on the Olympic cauldron at the opening ceremonies? Good on the Canadians for poking fun at themselves by revisiting the misfire at the end of the Games.

And oh yeah… how did we ever watch the Olympics before HDTV?

Idol 2010: Your Top 12 guys, America

February 25, 2010

In yesterday’s post, we examined the 12 female competitors comprising the feminine half of this season’s cast of American Idol. Today, it’s time to smell the testosterone. As in our previous list, we’ll give you the performers in order of their initial appearance in this round, as well as noting the song each presented.

Twelve men trod the stage. Who will survive the first cut?

It could be…

Todrick Hall (“Since You’ve Been Gone”) — It was a good thing Seacrest told us at the beginning what the song was, or I wouldn’t have had a clue. Todrick’s an exciting performer, and he’s a decent enough singer, but this shot practically defined self-indulgence — shouty and spasmodic just for the sake of being “unique.” Nevertheless, the night would have many lower points than this. Take, for instance…

Aaron Kelly (“Here Comes Goodbye”) — Aaron can sing a little, but he’s as nervous as a goat at a Jamaican cookout. This is another of those cases, like Katie Stevens among this year’s girls, where I’d rather be hearing this individual’s fully developed talent two or three years from now, instead of a kid struggling to make the giant leap today. Right now, Aaron would make a cute Mouseketeer if Disney revived The Mickey Mouse Club. Beyond that? I predict a career in casual footwear. Which is more than I can say for…

Jermaine Sellers (“Get Here”) — To quote the often incoherent Randy Jackson of previous seasons, “That was all pitchy and weird, dawg.” As several of the judges noted, this was a peculiar choice of song for a guy with Jermaine’s voice. I’m not sure what he was trying to accomplish with this twisted rendition, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and hope that he did not, in fact, accomplish whatever it was. Because if this is actually how he hoped this would sound? Ouch. But not nearly as ouch as…

Tim Urban (“Apologize”) — Good googily goop… what was that? Oh, yes — this was the guy they brought back from elimination after some other kid got booted from the Top 24. If this is the best Tim can do, the producers should have checked out whether someone — anyone — else was available. Or maybe they should have just gone with 11 male singers and a bye week. Or something. Because this was eleven kinds of wretched. Tim needs to “Apologize” to everyone who watched this episode. Including…

Joe Muñoz (“You And I Both”): Did he sing? I must have dozed off. Neither awful enough nor good enough to keep me awake. Next! Unless next means…

Tyler Grady (“American Woman”): Now this was awful enough to keep frozen corpses awake. Tyler reminded me of a kid on his 21st birthday getting his first drunk on in a karaoke bar after watching a dozen episodes of That ’70s Show. If there’s small justice in the world, he’ll be one of Thursday’s first cuts. If there’s large justice, he’ll be one of the first cuts, and get kicked hard in the seat of the pants on his way out of the studio. Perhaps by…

Lee Dewyze (“Chasing Cars”): There were some seriously off-key notes in Lee’s performance, and yet, there was something about the overall effect that I rather enjoyed. Unlike the judges, who see Lee as the new David Cook, I see Lee as the new Elliott Yamin — not because he sounds like Elliott (he doesn’t, at all), but because he’s a diamond in the rough who has the potential to blossom and grow, and really develop into something special as the season goes along. Assuming that he gets the opportunity, instead of…

John Park (“God Bless The Child”): God bless us all for enduring this. I fully expected Billie Holiday to rise from the grave and smack John to the floor with her skeletal, zombified hand. You have to have soul — and preferably, old lived-in soul — to sing this song. John’s a kid from the ‘burbs with a nice voice. But for sultry jazz? Just… no. Which brings us to…

Mike Lynche (“This Love”): A odd song choice for Big Mike, but he made this work fine. As Ellen Degeneres pointed out, he threw in a few off-pitch moments, but it was a fun, charming, likable performance. Do I want to hear several more like this one? Probably not. After all, we already had Ruben Studdard. And I also thought we already had…

Alex Lambert (“Wonderful World”): Isn’t this the same dude who finished in second place last year? Oh… different A. Lambert. That A. Lambert, bizarre as he was, had at least a smidgen of talent and personality. This A. Lambert, not so much. I’m sure he’s a pleasant kid, but he’s nervous and awkward and dances as though he needs directions to the men’s room, desperately. There’s the door, junior — close it on your way out. And take that mullet with you. Speaking of hair, here come the abundant tresses of…

Casey James (“Heaven”): Although he’s not a country singer, Casey reminds me physically of Bucky Covington from a few seasons back. I’m trying not to allow that unfortunate resemblance to prejudice me against him. (Kara DioGuardi slobbering lustfully all over him every time he comes out doesn’t help, either. Get a grip on your biological clock, Cougar Town.) He’s an engaging performer, and easily the most comfortable on stage among all of the men, but his voice is — alas — merely adequate. It’s clear that the producers want him to succeed, and in the face of a mediocre male cast, he probably will. Probably even longer than…

Andrew Garcia (“Sugar, We’re Going Down”): When Andrew broke out an acoustic rewrite of Paula Abdul’s “Straight Up” during Hollywood Week, I thought to myself, “Now here’s something interesting.” I didn’t like his acoustic rewrite of Fall Out Boy quite so much, but still, I found it more pleasantly ear-catching than almost anything else that preceded it. I hope Andrew’s got something in his bag of tricks besides acoustic rewrites, though, because he’s ridden that horse about as far as it will run.

Simon Cowell recently predicted that a female contestant will win Idol this season. I’m predicting that he’s right, because the guys didn’t impress me in their first time out. Several of them, truth to tell, need to be sent packing posthaste. Since only two get the boot this week, the fastest exits should be granted to some combination of Tim, Tyler, Alex, and Jermaine.

When we reach the halfway point of the competition, your Uncle Swan believes you’ll be stuck with these six gentlemen, like ’em or don’t: Casey, Lee, Andrew, Mike, Todrick, and… (do I have to pick six? yes, because I said I would, darn it) maybe Joe. Not one of them will make the final pairing, which will deliver 100% hot girl-on-girl action to decide American Idol 2010.

Six weeks from now, we’ll find out whether I have any idea what I’m talking about.

SwanShadow…out!

Idol 2010: Your Top 12 girls, America

February 24, 2010

It’s that time again, isn’t it?

Frankly, I blew off last year’s entire season of American Idol, because I just couldn’t drag myself through the whole sordid ordeal again. Besides, was it going to get any better than Jordin Sparks? Most likely, not.

But it’s a new decade, and your Uncle Swan comes back refreshed, reinvigorated, and ready to rock. Let’s see how quickly this season’s class of mediocre vocal talents can strangle all this enthusiasm out of me.

Listed below (in order of appearance on last night’s telecast, with the song performed by each) you’ll find the 12 female wannabes whom The Powers That Be at 19 Entertainment have chosen to inflict on us, and my impressions thereof after Week One of the competition. (Because, seriously, no one cares about anything that happened on the show before this week, aside from FOX and its advertisers. Except for the “Pants on the Ground” guy, and that fad lasted the entire 15 minutes it deserved.)

Ladies, if you please:

Paige Miles (“All Right Now”) — Paige has a great big voice, and (mostly) knows how to use it. I agree with Simon that this brassy rocker wasn’t the best choice of song, just because it’s harsh and belty and not well suited to displaying vocal range. But she’s certainly no worse than most of the contestants in this year’s distaff group. I’d like to hear her sing something that shows more softness and subtlety. And quickly, before she’s voted off. Which could be soon, but not as soon as…

Ashley Rodriguez (“Happy”) — Whew… not all that impressive. Her voice isn’t the grand, glorious instrument that Paige has — although she thinks it is — so she needs to avoid material that calls for that type of voice. There was just too much instability in the sound, not in terms of pitch, as much as in confidence, or lack thereof. She won’t be around long. I predict, however, that she will be around long enough to witness the exit of…

Janell Wheeler (“What About Love?”) — Ye gods. If you’re going to sing a song by Ann and Nancy Wilson, you’d better be able to bring it large. Janell? Can’t. Doesn’t belong here, period. Absolutely painful to listen to. She’ll be one of the early eliminations, if not indeed one of the very first two. Which is to say, she’s no…

Lilly Scott (“Fixing a Hole”) — Lilly is a tough call. I’m not crazy about her voice, and she picked a dreadful song (I loves me some Beatles, but that tune sucks swamp water, Sir Paul). Still, there’s something quirky and appealing about her sound, and her neo-hippie persona. I can’t see her winning the competition, but I could imagine some indie label wanting to market her CD. Even more, I could hear her oozing from the speakers at my friendly neighborhood Starbucks. Which is more than I can say for…

Katelyn Epperly (“Oh Darling”) — I agreed with Ellen on two specifics: Katelyn tends to oversing (she pushes her voice too hard, for you non-vocalists in the audience), and she’s interesting. She’s another one that I don’t think will get close to sniffing the finals, but she could stick around for a few weeks because she’s cute and perky and blonde. Like Frieda in Peanuts, she gets bonus points for naturally curly hair. Earning negative points tonight, on the other hand, is…

Haeley Vaughn (“I Wanna Hold Your Hand”) — Concluding the Beatles set on a self-consciously goofy, screechy, ultimately ridiculous note — that’s Haeley. I give her credit for trying to do something a little different, but there’s good different and there’s… well… what the devil was that? different. This, alas, was the latter. Fortunately for Haeley, she was followed to the stage by…

Lacey Brown (“Landslide”) — She was the last cut before the Top 24 last year, and if I recall accurately, the girl who edged her out hit the door before anyone learned her name. Lacey did nothing tonight to convince me that she deserved a second chance. Her version of “Landslide” would have Stevie Nicks turning in her grave like a rotisserie chicken in the supermarket deli, were it not for the fact that Stevie is still alive. Although, if she was watching Idol tonight, she might have died from embarrassment. Lacey’s a goner.

Michelle Delamor (“Fallin'”) — Michelle makes her living singing at corporate events, and her performance experience shows. She was the first contestant to take the stage tonight who both looked and sounded as though she knew exactly what she was doing here. That said, her overly polished style has the faint whiff of theme park tameness about it. I liked everything she did, then I completely forgot almost every element of it the moment she hit the wings. Could be a top contender if she can unleash some originality. Some edge. Some… something. But I’ll take Michelle any day over…

Didi Benami (“The Way I Am”) — I have to begin this by acknowledging that I find this woman annoying, simply on the basis of her affected, overly melodramatic personality. Even given that, I didn’t care for this performance at all. Worse, it put me to sleep. What was I talking about just then? Oh, yes…

Siobhan Magnus (“Wicked Game”) — I always dread it when someone on Idol busts out one of my favorite songs, because they murder it more often than not. This, however, was a lovely (apart from that first low note, which was beneath the lower end of Siobhan’s tessitura) rendition of the Chris Isaak classic — a song I wouldn’t have imagined a young female singer doing much justice. A pleasant surprise, and one that I quite enjoyed. She’s my second favorite of the night, right after…

Crystal Bowersox (“Hand in My Pocket”) — Crystal is the hidden talent in this year’s Idol class. She’s not trying to be anything but what she is, and that something is completely unlike anything any of the other girls are doing. Is that going to hurt her in the long run? I don’t know. It worked for Taylor Hicks. Then again, whatever happened to Taylor Hicks? The last I heard, he was road-tripping the rubber chicken circuit in a touring company of Grease. Is that the path Crystal wants to follow? We’ll see. (Note for next week: Lose the harp, unless you want to be busking on streetcorners again soon.)

Katie Stevens (“Feelin’ Good”) — With the exception of the aforementioned Ms. Sparks, I never like the kid singers on Idol. Katie’s no exception to that rule. Yes, she can sing, but in that sort of theatrical, too-old-for-her-britches way that pageant girls sing. There’s talent in there somewhere, but it’s talent I’d probably rather hear when she’s 27 than at 17. She’ll get a lot of the grandma votes, though, so expect her to survive for half the season, at least.

Taking what we’ve heard so far, Uncle Swan boldly predicts that the following six ladies will still be tripping the light fantastic with Seacrest and the crew at the halfway point: Crystal, Siobhan, Michelle, Katie, Katelyn, and Lilly.

Drop back in six weeks, and we’ll see how I did. But first, swing around tomorrow, and we’ll break down the 12 guys who are also vying for the title of American Idol 2010.

SwanShadow… out.

Hero of the Day: Jon Miller, Hall of Famer

February 1, 2010

Today, SSTOL offers a laurel and hearty handshake to San Francisco Giants voice Jon Miller, who today was announced as the 2010 winner of the Ford C. Frick Award — meaning his induction this summer into the broadcasters’ wing of the National Baseball Hall of Fame.

“The Big Kahuna” — as his broadcasting partners lovingly refer to him — joined the Giants’ on-air team in 1997, replacing another beloved local legend, Hank Greenwald. Before coming to San Francisco, Miller was the voice of the Baltimore Orioles for 14 years, preceded by brief stints with the Oakland Athletics, Texas Rangers, and Boston Red Sox. He’s also been the play-by-play announcer for ESPN’s weekly Sunday Night Baseball telecasts since 1990.

Big Jon’s trademark humor and literate style have endeared him to Giants fans, as well as the national audience. It also doesn’t hurt that he’s a genuine Bay Area native — born in The City and raised in the East Bay. As an even more narrowly specific local angle, one of Miller’s first broadcasting jobs was doing the evening sports news at Santa Rosa’s KFTY-50 back in the early 1970s. (A youthful Kahuna appears at 1:19 in the linked YouTube video clip.)

Among Miller’s signatures is his pronunciation of the names of Latin ballplayers, for which he uses a pitch-perfect Spanish accent. He frequently tosses an “Adios, pelota!” into his home run call when, say, Pablo (Kung Fu Panda) Sandoval crushes one over the left field wall at AT&T Park.

The Kahuna is under contract to broadcast Giants games for at least the next three seasons. Here’s hoping the newly minted Hall of Famer enjoys another couple of decades calling baseball by the Bay.

The final bullet

January 19, 2010

Books live forever. Authors, sadly, do not.

Robert B. Parker has been my favorite novelist since 1977, when I checked out Mortal Stakes, the third novel in his now-legendary series of books featuring the one-named private detective Spenser, from the Novato High School library and immediately fell in love. (In a purely platonic and literary sort of way.) I quickly went back and read the two preceding novels in the skein, The Godwulf Manuscript and God Save the Child.

My life has never been the same.

Parker ultimately wrote more than 50 novels, 37 of which feature Spenser — a character which spawned a television series and two separate batches of made-for-TV feature-length films. (More about these later.) Not content with that success, in recent years Parker created two more popular detectives: Jesse Stone, the alcoholic former baseball player-turned-L.A. cop who becomes police chief in the tiny (fictional) Massachusetts town of Paradise; and Sonya “Sunny” Randall, a petite, blonde female investigator (Parker created Sunny to be played onscreen by actress Helen Hunt, in a project that never materialized).

When not writing mysteries, Parker also put his hand to Westerns (his novel Appaloosa was recently made into a worthwhile film starring Ed Harris, Viggo Mortensen, and Renee Zellweger) and non-series crime fiction. My favorite of his one-shot books, Double Play, focuses on a tough guy named Burke who’s hired by Branch Rickey and the Brooklyn Dodgers to be Jackie Robinson’s bodyguard during the barrier-breaking athlete’s rookie season in the major leagues.

Early in his career, Parker was frequently compared to Raymond Chandler, the seminal American detective novelist. (Parker, in fact, was commissioned by Chandler’s estate to complete the late author’s unfinished Philip Marlowe story, Poodle Springs. He also wrote an entirely original sequel, entitled Perchance to Dream.) Quickly, though, Parker evolved his own style — terse, breezy, fast-paced, light on plot, and rife with punchy dialogue. His prose became less musical than Chandler’s, but also lacked his predecessor’s ponderous edge. I always thought Parker wrote a lot like Hemingway might have, if Hemingway drank less and possessed a sense of humor.

Parker’s work electrified the once-moribund hard-boiled detective genre, spawning a tsunami of disciples and imitators. (Some of whom, such as Robert Crais and Harlan Coben, turned out to be much better writers than Parker… but you always have to credit the guy who got there first.) Not only did he redefine the style and sensibility of the American private eye novel, Parker also established (in the fourth Spenser book, Promised Land) one of its most recognizable tropes — the silent-but-deadly sidekick — in the person of Hawk, Spenser’s enigmatic comrade-in-arms. (Crais’s Joe Pike and Coben’s Win Lockwood, along with innumerable other characters less effectively framed, owe their very existence to Hawk.)

As his work gained popularity, Parker developed a Hollywood connection that would define the latter half of his career. In the late 1980s, ABC Television produced Spenser: For Hire, a primetime action drama starring Robert Urich and a pre-Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Avery Brooks, which ran for three seasons. After the series’s cancellation, Urich and Brooks went on to reprise their roles in several TV films — these grew progressively worse as the budgets got tighter. (Brooks would also star in a deservedly short-lived ABC spinoff, A Man Called Hawk, whose connection to Parker’s novels was tenuous at best.)

Parker had minimal input into the TV versions of his characters — he famously resented the casting of the boyishly handsome Urich as the rugged ex-prizefighter Spenser — but enjoyed the royalty paychecks nonetheless. Eventually, the entire concept received a Parker-approved reboot via a trio of teleflicks produced for the A&E cable channel, this time with veteran actor Joe Mantegna in the lead role. (I never quite understood why Parker preferred the diminutive, distinctly Italian-in-heritage Mantegna as his burly Irish-American hero — Urich, at least, had the physical presence if not the acting chops — but there’s no accounting for tastes.) The low-rent Mantegna films flopped, rarely appearing even in reruns.

Over the past few years, Tom Selleck has assumed the role of Parker’s other hero, Jesse Stone, in several telefeatures for CBS. Selleck, ironically, was Parker’s first choice for a never-made theatrical Spenser film, before the ’80s Urich series. (As fine an actor as Selleck is, I don’t love him as Jesse Stone, who in the books is in his mid-30s — about half Big Tom’s present age.)

Critics knocked Parker, especially during the latter half of his career, for his increasingly sparse plotting. (Many of the Spenser books are “mysteries” in name only, in the sense that the focus of the stories is rarely “whodunit.”) For his fans, however, Parker’s work was never about plot, but rather about his characters. Those of us who have been reading about Spenser, Hawk, and Susan (Silverman, Spenser’s longtime relationship partner, whom he meets in the second novel) feel as though they are real people, and that we know them as intimately as we know folks in the real world. The same can be said, albeit to a lesser degree, about Jesse Stone and Sunny Randall and their respective supporting casts. While often providing few — and in truth, contradictory — details about their lives (i.e., Spenser famously refers to memories of his mother in a couple of Parker’s early books, memories later retconned out of existence when the author subsequently decided that Spenser’s mother died in childbirth), Parker made the reader believe that his characters lived and breathed and pondered the vagaries of life.

Certain themes recur frequently in Parker’s fiction. Chief among these could be described as machismo — the unwritten code of masculine honor to which all of his heroes (including the female Sunny Randall) subscribe. (I told you before: Hemingway with a sense of humor.) By way of contrast, Parker was also one of the first writers of hard-boiled fiction to frequently feature gay characters in a positive light — Lee Farrell, a Boston police detective, and Tedy Sapp, a bouncer and occasional Spenser backup, are minor recurring characters in the Spenser books who are openly gay, as is Sunny Randall’s best friend and confidant Spike. One of the early Spenser novels, Looking for Rachel Wallace, centers on a feminist author and activist who is by her own acknowledgment a “militant lesbian” — Rachel reappears as a trusted associate later in the series. (Parker’s two sons are both gay, and his son Daniel portrays Lee Farrell in one of the Mantegna-era Spenser movies.)

Even more notably, Parker’s lead characters are in some degree defined by their conflicted relationships with their significant others. Spenser and Susan’s partnership is briefly interrupted early in the series when she leaves him for another man, an event which culminates in the atypical novel A Catskill Eagle. Both Jesse and Sunny have ex-spouses with whom they are still in love, but can’t for various reasons sustain a committed relationship with. (It’s said that Parker and his wife Joan themselves had an unusual marriage, living together in the same house, but in separate quarters.)

Parker’s personal interests often colored his fiction. You didn’t have to read many of his novels to know that Parker loved cooking (Spenser was a kitchen gourmet at a time when that would still have been considered unmanly), physical exercise (one of his few nonfiction works is a primer on weight training), literature (Spenser’s dialogue, in particular, is loaded with literary allusions — Parker held a Ph.D. in English, and was formerly a professor at Northeastern University), and dogs (Parker’s book jacket photos frequently pictured him with his German shorthaired pointer, the model for Spenser and Susan’s Pearl in the later-period books; Sunny and Jesse both also own canine companions).

It’s sad to think that there won’t be many new tales of all of my old friends forthcoming. A new Jesse Stone novel is set for release in a few weeks — it’s already on my Kindle wish list. I don’t know the status of the next Spenser book (Parker had unleashed a new Spenser more or less annually since the mid-’70s), or whether there’s another Sunny story in the pipeline. I’ll just have to content myself with rereading the existing books, most of which hold up just fine for second and third reviews.

It’s even more sad that I’ll never know Spenser’s first name.

RIP, RBP.

Globetrotting

January 18, 2010

Yes, the clatter of keys you heard during last night’s Golden Globe Awards telecast was indeed yours truly typing notes. What follows represents my more cogent observations. (Lucky for you I edit out the blather.)

Ricky Gervais as host: Fail. Ye gods, man — penis jokes and endless plugs for your own DVD box set? How old are you? I usually find Gervais pretty funny, but this may have been the most excruciating awards show hosting job since David Letterman’s infamous “Oprah… Uma” turn at the Oscars. A little bit of I-don’t-give-a-fig shtick from a comic is okay, but not when said comic clearly doesn’t give a fig, for real.

Feel-good moment: Mo’Nique’s acceptance speech. Coming from someone who will probably never win another acting award in this lifetime, the happiness seemed genuine and heartfelt.

Winner who looked terrific when she usually doesn’t: Toni Collette. She should wear that same gold dress to every occasion, forever. Has anyone actually seen the show for which she won?

And the Miss Nepotism trophy goes to: Alfre Woodard’s daughter, Mavis Spencer. Every year at the Globes, the daughter (and 0n rare occasion, the son) of some well-known show biz personality gets assigned the task of handing the awards to the presenters, so they can in turn hand them to the victors. Past trophy-toters have included such future stars in their own right as Laura Dern, Joely Fisher, Freddie Prinze Jr., and Rumer Willis, who did the honors last year.

Making my daughter the Dexter fanatic giddy: Wins for Michael C. Hall and John Lithgow, from said series. Hall rocks a black knit cap, having recently lost his hair to chemotherapy.

Grizzly Adams sighting: No, wait, that’s William Hurt.

Funniest line of the night: Sir Paul McCartney, referring to himself as “that guy from Rock Band.” Good on ya, Macca. Sir Paul’s crack about animation being “not just for children, but also for adults who take drugs” was a close runner-up.

And the band played off: I love both Meryl Streep (Best Actress in a Comedy for Julie and Julia) and Pete Docter (director of Best Animated Feature winner UP!), but please, people, know when to shut up.

One ramble that worked: Robert Downey, Jr. (Best Actor in a Drama for Sherlock Holmes), who admitted that he didn’t prepare a speech because his wife “said Matt Damon would win.”

Put. The Ambien. Down.: That would be you, Harrison Ford. Are we keeping you up, grandpa? Or would just a little hint of enthusiasm kill you? By the way, your date needs a Double-Double from In-N-Out Burger on the way home.

Star whose attire came closest to a superhero costume: Drew Barrymore. Unfortunately, the superhero Drew channels is Maggott from the X-Men comics. Whose idea was it to sew gigantic leeches onto Drew’s dress? At least this year, she wore underwear.

Winner whose name will give the engraver the biggest chuckle: T-Bone Burnett (Best Original Song). I propose that every year, there should be at least one nominee named after a cut of beef.

Speaking of meat: Kevin Bacon wins.

I don’t want to be in the front row: When Gerard Butler is on stage. I’m afraid he’ll get spit all over me.

The only cat in America who can still rock velvet: Samuel L. Jackson. You go on with your bad self, Sam. Just stay off airplanes.

What is best in life: The Governator being assigned to introduce clips from a movie whose title he can’t pronounce. That “Ahbeedah” looks like a pretty good flick, though.

Winner who looked awful when she usually looks… well… awful: Chloe Sevigny. Don’t blame your escort, Chloe — given the chance, I’d have stomped on that hideous, oatmeal-hued monstrosity of a gown too. You’d have done better if you’d borrowed one of your fundie-Mormon frocks from the Big Love wardrobe department. You’re a fantastic actress, but hire a stylist.

Aw, yeah: Halle Berry. Can she just stand there for the entire show?

Lifetime Achievement Award: Martin Scorsese. I’m not a huge fan of his films — the only Scorsese pictures I really liked were After Hours and The Color of Money — but he’s a monumental directing talent who also seems like a genuinely nice man. James Cameron will never win one of these awards, because he’s an obnoxious, pompous jerk (or so I’m told by people who’ve worked on his set).

Cleans up nicely when she’s of a mind to: Jodie Foster.

Surprise of the night (at least to me): Glee wins for Best TV Comedy. Excellent show, and deserving, but not the sort of thing that usually wins awards (***cough***Mad Men***cough***).

Wondering out loud: How shallow is the nominee pool this year if Sandra Bullock wins an acting award?

The wrong guy to give an award after three hours of sitting at a table drinking: Jeff Bridges. ‘Nuff said.

The wrong guy to give an award, ever: James Cameron. And I say that as someone who, for the most part, enjoys his films — with the exception of Titanic, which apart from Kate Winslet is nearly unwatchable. Giving him honors, however, just encourages his egomania.

Oh, by the way, Jim: It’s the talented women who age well. The skeletal blondes, not so much.