July Roundup, '17
Let's just dive right in, shall we? Not a whole lot of ground to cover this month...
Watch this shit:
- I'm Sorry
A comedy writer who keeps it really real finds herself in odd scrapes with folks who keep it really fake. And she says "fuck" a lot! What's not to love?
- Midnight, Texas
A psychic, who regularly hangs out with his dead pothead grandma, moves to the creepiest of all creepy towns that happens to be inhabited by all sorts of sexy folks. Psychics, ghosts, vampires, witches who may or may not be lesbians that have talking cats, and since it's based on Charlaine Harris novels... a murder mystery as well! It's been too long since we've had some good True Blood-esque TV and, dare I say it, I think Midnight might even be more enjoyable. After all, "Midnight is very different in daylight." (That line was way too good for me to not quote.)
There is one big issue, though. A huge pet peeve of mine. Tattoo artists who don't have tattoos. That should never be a thing. Ever. Ever ever ever.
Said tattoo artist also happens to be gay. And an angel, which is not the problem. The problem is, but hopefully won't be: he's in a relationship. If him and his man friday never get affectionate (as damn near every straight actor playing gay tends to never do), then I'm gonna spend way too much time being pissed off about it. So, NBC better save me from wasting all of that time and energy by making two people in a relationship fucking kiss. Please and thank you.
This one slipped through my cracks. Didn't actually know anything about it until Netflix flashed it on my screen and said "Hey, watch this!" It turned out to be a pleasant surprise. Jason Bateman's been a low-key criminal for ten years, eight of which his partners spent ripping off their boss. When bossman finds out, a whole mess of people get killed, but Jason sweet talks his way into moving his family to the Ozarks where he's sure he'll make millions of dollars by doing... some kind of shit with drugs. I don't know, it was confusing. He's really stoic and he knows way more about money than you or I. Also, he's married to Laura Linney who was fucking this dude who gets thrown off of a building (which we see happen, up close and way too personal... fun) and his kids hate him. Basically: Think Breaking Bad minus cancer.
- The Last Tycoon
Behind the scenes of a 1930's Hollywood movie studio. Quite literally behind the scenes, in fact, with the Dust Bowl migrants living in the backlot. Also, America's Sweetheart has died. And Hitler's trying to control films while still murdering people, which Frasier's cool with.
Oh, and I almost forgot about the aortal defect our main character has that will cause his heart to just randomly explode some day. Can you feel my eyeroll through your screen?
Don't watch this shit:
I'm giving major side-eye to whoever wrote this pilot. The first five minutes amounts to "women in power and their pesky feelings about things," while minutes six through ten are "See?! I TOLD YOU lame, nerdy, 'smart' guys can get girls! They even joke about math problems before they do. lolz"
Said nerdy guy cums and goes just in time to 1) get his professor killed, 2) get chased by men in black, 3) convince some rich dude we're supposed to care about to give him the time of day, and 4) save the world from... asteroids, folks. Asteroids. All of which covers the first fifteen minutes. I could not stomach a sixteenth, to be honest.
Ya' wanna know what really pisses me off? When you try to modernize the past and you do it horribly. No one said the word "shitbag" until the 1940's and they sure didn't use it in the Elizabethan era. It makes me as angry as a sentence beginning with "Ya' wanna" would've probably made Shakespeare.
This series is created and written by Craig Pearce, who co-authored Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet, which I thought meant great things for the show. The problem is, though, that all he really did for the film was cut and paste. The source material was already there. He takes the creation upon himself this go around and does it without Baz. Which leaves us with not-so-interesting stories featuring the folks from jolly old dressed up like lost boys who paint their faces with neon. It's a fucking Ren fair on acid.