Filed under: TV Shows | Tags: arrested development, pushing daisies, top list, firefly, wonderfalls, the tick, battlestar galactica, gilmore girls, extras, undeclared, freaks and geeks, coupling, best tv shows, best of television, millennial list
Despite my best efforts to not sink into lethargy and dribble away my better-spent time watching television, I can never seem to pry myself away from the glittering glisten of a shiny new season box set. And thus, I’ve frittered away countless days watching season after season, series after series, pining for the quell to a confounding cliffhanger or unanswered quandary. But alas and alack, not all of those questions could be answered. Nay, many of my favorite shows are among those that have lived and died in the 2000s, and so – ah, yes – they shall be chronicled in list form.
10. The Tick (2001-2002)
This quirky brainchild of a half-baked show, spawned from the cult comic book created by cartoonist Ben Edlund (and, inversely, a short-lived animated version), garnered less than a few rave reviews from the critics. However, a dutiful crew of bandies have kept the legend alive, making sure that a blue body-suited Patrick Warburton (perhaps better known in the Seinfeld universe as Puddy the face-painter) made it to DVD.
09. Wonderfalls (2004-2005)
The wonderfully pretense-free Wonderfalls operated on its own oddities, condoning the likes of apathetic twenty-somethings in less-than-turbulent times. Protagonist Jaye – a likably dispicable underacheiver with a penchant for talking to inatimate objects – somehow begs the audience to cheer for her through her trials and tribulations of mediocrity. Think Dead Like Me’s George Lass with a bit more wit and it’s clear to see why it’s a tragedy that this little engine that didn’t feel like it never stuck.
08. Coupling (2000-2004)
It’s no wonder creator Stephen Moffat employed his own wife in order to write this hilariously uncomfortable British romp of a sitcom, nor is it a surprise; Coupling thrives off the chemistry of its quirky components – why, couples, of course. It’s Ross-and-Rachel riddled with sexcapades and stickiness, all topped off with quick writing, dry wit and a hideous laugh track. Perhaps America just wasn’t ready.
07. Firefly (2002-2003)
Take Joss Whedon, Nathan Fillion, and experimental spaghetti sci-fi and throw them into a kettle-drum of a spaceship. Add a few felonies and that Whedon whimsy to the mix and you’ve got a cult classic that never deserved (though, understandably got) the axe. At least those fine folks in following managed to snag a DVD release, complete with four never-aired episodes the ‘verse just couldn’t do without.
06. Undeclared (2001-2002)
It’s surprising to learn that two – yes, TWO! – of Judd Apatow’s star-studded series perished before season two renewal, perhaps because, well, no one was actually a star just yet. After the untimely demise of the exorbitantly clever, bleak, and nostalgic Freak and Geeks in 1999, Apatow employed the help of a few familiar faces and chronicled the lives of many an awkard college freshman in the incredibly enjoyable and under-appreciated Undeclared.
05. Extras (2005-2007)
Ricky Gervais’s cringe-fest chronicling the pathetic happenings of hapless movie extras made us all appreciate a bit of unadulturated dry humor. Juxtapose Extras‘ brilliance with the tongue-in-cheek laugh-track-ridden show-within-a-show our protagonist unwittingly creates, and you’ve got a hideously hilarious gem (riddled with the likes of many a self-effacing celeb).
04. Gilmore Girls (2000-2007)
Say what you will about the apparent chick-fest that is Gilmore, but don’t you dare glare at those gleaming smiles and frothy-colored DVD cases and judge this series by its cover. Truly, not many more shows pack the heft, heart, and hilarity this one so earnestly offered up before we sadly had to bid adieu to our favorite dysfunctional family (that somehow, seemed to function just fine).
03. Pushing Daisies (2007-2009)
I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, Daisies didn’t deserve to go. However, cancellation upset was no stranger to the talent behind this lush and lovely dramedy, as former Wonderfalls alum – Bryan Fuller and Lee Pace – bled their hearts into this little ditty as well. But it’s condolence enough to have those two fateful seasons archived in bursting, blooming box sets, as this ever-resting series is a simple joy to obsessively rewatch.
02. Battlestar Galactica (2004-2009)
There are no casual BSG fans. Nay; to know Galactica is to love it, and to love it is to live it. There’s nothing about this show that doesn’t catch you and keep you, love you and leave you. Alright, so I’m being ridiculously dramatic, but it’s perhaps warranted – and this not-so-guilty-pleasure has its cultish following clamouring for more. So if you can swing the ridiculous overpricing of the multiple half-season DVDs, you might just understand what everybody’s frakking about.
01. Arrested Development (2003-2006)
I don’t mean to be bold, but there are few things that will ever be able to stack up to the likes of AD. From the lunacy to the brilliance, the quirky to the questionable, the innuendos that stretched the seasons to the incessant pop-culture references, nothing can compare to the odd integrity of it all. And perhaps that’s exactly the way it should be. Rest in peace, Bluths, if you can.
Filed under: Movie Reviews | Tags: 2000-2009, best movies of the 2000s, decade, millennial, son of rambow, top films, top list
As I stoked through the ash and rubble of a plethora of naively nostalgic millennial lists begging to define this decade’s most contrived/artistic moments, I thought to myself, “I, too, can be prematurely trite and naive!” And thus, I delved into work, dutifully posing my new kitten in textbook-pensive sleeping position upon my stomach and donning my uber-geek-chic glasses that are just slightly too large for my face. I began typing in Murder-She-Wrote fury, stopping only to argue the semantics of the decade’s epoch with Boyfriend (“There was no year 0, therefore, a decade ranges from 01-10!”). And thus, I have conjured the likes of my ultimate list of films that shaped this decade: My Y2Kate. And while I’m big-headedly naming things after myself, I’ll subject you to my scroll, derived deep from the depths of my sacred Netflix account. The envelope, please:
About a Boy (2002)
Almost Famous (2000)
Adaptation (2002)
Amelie (2001)
Batman Begins (2005)
Before Sunset (2004)
Born into Brothels (2004)
Capote (2005)
Catch Me If You Can (2002)
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (2007)
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)
Gangs of New York (2002)
Ghost World (2001)
Gone Baby Gone (2007)
Goodbye, Lenin! (2003)
Half Nelson (2006)
High Fidelity (2000)
Hustle & Flow (2005)
In America (2002)
Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Kill Bill (Volumes 1 & 2) (2003-2004)
The King of Kong (2007)
Knocked Up (2007)
Lars and the Real Girl (2007)
Little Miss Sunshine (2006)
Lost in Translation (2003)
Love Actually (2003)
The Man Who Wasn’t There (2001)
Me and You and Everyone We Know (2005)
Millions (2004)
No Country For Old Men (2007)
O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000)
Old School (2003)
Once (2006)
Pan’s Labyrinth (2006)
Persepolis (2007)
Pieces of April (2003)
The Prestige (2006)
Punch-Drunk Love (2002)
Rachel Getting Married (2008)
The Royal Tennenbaums (2001)
Shaun of the Dead (2004)
The Squid and the Whale (2005)
Son of Rambow (2007)
Stranger Than Fiction (2006)
There Will Be Blood (2007)
Up (2009)
Waitress (2007)
Wet Hot American Summer (2001)
The Wrestler (2008)
Honorable Mentions: Sin City (2005), Moulin Rouge! (2001), Superbad (2007), Adventureland (2008), The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004), The Departed (2006), Big Fish (2003), Children of Men (2006), Spellbound (2002), Slumdog Millionaire (2008).
…What might be yours? Join the self-important party!
Filed under: Movie Reviews | Tags: clueless, forgetting sarah marshall, i love you man, jason segel, john hamburg, judd apatow, paul rudd, stella
It’s undeniable – Paul Rudd made falling in love with your former step-brother no longer “icky” when he charmed the wits out of every brain-dead tween in the 90’s hit Clueless back in the days of yore. And strangely enough, despite having depicted hapless husbands, nauseating newscasters, and sleazy summer camp counselors, he’s still everybody’s favorite guy. So perhaps it’s Rudd himself who lends a large helping hand to his newest love-child, I Love You, Man, because frankly, he’s just that damn likable. Sure, Man brings on the laughs – aided wholly by newly-wraught comic vet Jason Segel of How I Met Your Mother fame – but it’s certainly no side-splitting feat of fury that will keep you quoting for weeks.
What’s light and fun about I Love You, Man is that it doesn’t try too hard, which allows to film to glide through you – and, perhaps, over you – while trying to evoke just enough chuckles to get by. Rudd’s character is dopey while still dashing; he’s earnest and completely hopeless. The plot is nothing devastatingly brilliant nor is it painfully dull – it’s just a blip on the radar of weekend enjoyment. Director John Hamburg’s connections with those Stella fellas and Judd Apatow really ties the knot, while the film’s renowned names give it the extra jounce it needs to contend with the big boys. So while I kicked back and enjoyed a number of hearty, heartfelt laughs, I couldn’t help but notice that Boyfriend was less than impressed. Upon inquiring, he rated it, “a poor man’s Forgetting Sarah Marshall.” Yes, but Honey, in that film, Paul Rudd was so terribly underused.
Filed under: TV Shows | Tags: alice, buck, californication, dexter, diablo cody, john corbett, showtime, t, the l word, toni collette, united states of tara
Despite the fact that my three other roommates and I have less than a few bucks to expend, when it came to making the pressing decision as to how to manage our cable bill, we knew there were two highly pertinent staples we simply could not thrive without – the creature comforts of DVR and the premiere premium channel Showtime. Luckily, between bouts of Dexter, The L Word, and Californication, we were able to catch wind of the latest tour de force to grace elitist television – United States of Tara, an obscenely expertly-crafted tour through the wry, perplexing states of mind that plague a D.I.D.-stricken housewife. The latest feat of Oscar-winner/creator Diablo Cody, this succinct twenty-five minute saga rages on like fire and fury, tugging at the heartstrings of the modern American family.
Tara (played by the profoundly talented Toni Collette), is an artist who is slightly more than right-brained – in fact, her brain takes on a life of its own. After facing a carefully-concealed trauma at boarding school decades ago, the mother of two teenagers and wife to the explicitly patient Max (John Corbett) began to take on a myriad of starkly-varying personas, or “alters,” which wreak havoc when stress should arise. There’s T – a perverse, perverted teenager with a zest for trouble, Alice – a goody goody housewife straight from Levittown, and Buck – a Vietnam vet with a penchant for cigarettes and spirits. But Tara is far from a one-woman show; the ensemble cast is compulsory for the story’s survival, and it boasts the most genuine, rollicking, and tender slew of characters any well-rounded piece could ask for.
When the recent season finale reared its foreboding head, we sighed and sunk into ourselves, warmed by the heart and hilarity of it all, and we began to wonder just how we’d make it until 2010 without tattered Tara in our lives. We then began to wonder what the hell we have Showtime for anymore.
Filed under: Events, Music | Tags: hoboken, indie rock, jenny lewis, maxwell's, morgan nagler, Rilo Kiley, swim, the whispertown 2000, vanesa corbala
Roommate and myself, having been longtime fans of indie-rock-woman-thrush Rilo Kiley, have followed the band in a near biblical way since they first graced our ears back in the early years of collegedom. Having frequented many a show, we soon became privy to their comrade band Whispertown 2000, a raspy, melodic grass-roots ditty fronted by Jenny Lewis’ longtime compadre Morgan Nagler. Having witnessed the near-birth of the band, we opined that the folksy quartet made for a kitschy guilty pleasure, but that the sparse and waivering vocals, tweedle-dee-picked guitar, and sloppy instrumentation colored the band green and a bit wet behind the ears. However, there was something there – something underlyingly wonderful to it all, something that made you tap your toes in bed at night and mimick Morgan’s flustering blustery voice. We quickly shed all notions that Whispertown 2000 was not a band to be taken seriously, and we began to listen to them with the car windows down for all the world to hear.
The year 2006 brought the band’s debut album, aptly titled “Livin’ In a Dream,” so we archived the archaic analog bootlegs we had snatched from early shows and enjoyed the stereophonic version for a change. The band would continue to tout about under the success of their high-profile friends, telling tales of mountain men and wishing wells while making the underground world stamp and stomp along. But in 2008, [The] Whispertown 2000 (strangely adding an article prefix) released “Swim,” a taut, tight wall of sound reminiscent of swaying cattails and sullied whiskey jars, and they began to join the big leagues.
So after years of favoring the west coast, The Whispertown decided to join forces with indie darling Maria Taylor (formerly of Azure Ray) and hit Maxwell’s in Hoboken for a short set. We followed suit and made the trek, only to be bowled over by their impressive growth and full sound mirrored by depth of soul and purpose. Their songs spoke of woe and hope, death and depravity – both haunting and sweet. The intertwined voices of Morgan and songbird Vanesa Corbala creep out of clarity bell to the sandy soot of New Mexico and echo off the Rio Grande. It was a beautiful poison that sank into our ears for that short half an hour – and their appearance, an adorable candid Polaroid of Morgan flexing her musical marksmanship, and a delectable sliver of Maxwell’s fried brie made the trip more than worthwhile. Throw back a six pack in the afterlife!
Filed under: TV Shows | Tags: anna friel, cancelled shows, charlotte charles, chi mcbride, kristin chenoweth, lee pace, pushing daisies, tv on dvd, TV Shows
One of my latest vices that has kept me stark awake into the countless wee hours of the bitter night is a show I always meant to watch while it was originally airing but was never able to nail down. In my true nature, I hauled derriere to the nearest Best Buy, keen-eyed and armed with a modest gift card in order to find the program that had wearily escaped me for far too long. And there is was, gleaming in all its glory, a prize waiting to be claimed – the first season of Pushing Daisies. I scooted home, clad myself in comfies, scuttled into bed and pressed play. And thus, a new chapter began – one dripping with sweet, unfiltered imagination, brilliance of imagery, classic kitschiness, and transcendental fantasy, all tied up neatly in one clean, tidy bow. Sure, Daisies is incredibly silly, but its goofball charm is what makes it so likable – it’s operating on a realm completely its own, which makes it easy to turn a blind eye to its wacky nature.
Daisies revolves around the unexplainable magical powers of its protagonist Ned (Lee Pace) – a grown manboy with achingly sweet charm and the ability to revive the dead with the touch of his adorable finger. However, his graveyard dance comes with a hefty price tag – for every soul he brings back to life for over one minute, another person must perish (“It’s a random proximity thing.”) With the help of a pessimistic private eye with a penchant for the green, Ned hones his trade into a business, reviving murder victims in order to reap in the rewards. Through his work, Ned is happenstantially reunited with his long-lost love – a girl named Chuck (Anna Friel) that he knew as a child. However, Ned and Chuck are doomed to remain star-crossed lovers as they cannot touch, lest Chuck – who met her maker once already – kick the bucket for all eternity.
What makes this show so appealing is that it is so incredibly easy to become swept up by its sugary sweetness while still enjoying the bitter twinge of it all. Daisies is perfectly cast – Pace and Friel’s chemistry is so contagious that the audience finds themselves caught up in its clockwork, and Chi McBride (Ned’s business partner) and Kristin Chenowith (the pining and paltry waitress suffering from unrequited love) offer such hilarious and bright turns that their mark is incurably indelible. Sure, the show suffers from internal formula syndrome, and sure, it may turn a bit Scooby-Doo as the gang solves mystery after wacky mystery, but it’s all presented with such inventive writing and empathetic allure that the occasional absurdities hardly seems to matter. Sadly, however, all adorable fairy tales must come to an end, and I’m dismayed to report that Pushing Daisies is, in fact, pushing daisies – it was nixed prior to season three taping. Too bad Ned couldn’t revive this gem with the touch of a finger.
Filed under: Movie Reviews | Tags: australia, baz luhrmann, brandon walters, down under, hugh jackman, Movie Reviews, nicole kidman, thanksgiving
A great many eons ago, also known as Thanksgiving, 2008, my tiny nuclear family decided to combine forces and canter off to the local cinema in order to take in the latest of familial-friendly flicks. And thus, we agreed upon Australia, a legendarily-long saga drawn to life by the keen but clandestine mind of the eclectic Baz Luhrmann. The film, aproposly titled from its largest master, throws a supercilious British heiress (a somewhat likable Nicole Kidman) into the depths of down under on the cusp of the Second World War after her prize husband, who owned a cattle-rearing lot, is killed. Enter dreamy drover Hugh Jackman, who’s got a bit too much grit between his teeth, and let the calamity unfold. As Kidman befriends the local aborigines, learns the dangers of the desert, and promises to make good of her late husband’s secret livelihood, she grows exponentially along with the rapidly-changing country in times of peril.
The first half hour of the film is exhaustingly Luhrmann – quick shots, nauseating close-ups, and awkward slow-motion bits that charmed audiences in Moulin Rouge! and Romeo & Juliet fall flat against the backdrop of death and poverty in war. However, the movie quickly matures with its characters, and its subsequent two hours are swooping, sweet, and haunting. The story thrives on its nearly preposterously-dynamic characters, who fuel the film with fiery intensity at every turn. And somehow, it all seems to work.
Australia is far from flawless – its length is daunting, especially after the audience is placed through apparent climax after climax, nail-biter after tear-jerker, and numerous calms after many storms. Villains are created and quelled too quickly, and an exhausting amount of dangers threaten a happy ending in constant rapid succession. However, the film is powerful, both in a cinematic and empathetic sense, and the once-floppy characters truly drive home sweeping bouts of emotion. The real treat of the film, however, is not the gorgeous costumes (which received an Oscar nod), the epic battle scenes, or the A-list Hollywood royalty employed, but rather the movie’s most diminutive star – Brandon Walters – as the orphaned aborigine who ultimately wins the hearts of Kidman and Jackman. Walters, an Australian native, had never graced the silver screen prior to this flick, but his haunting depth of character makes him the film’s most apparent gem. Overall, Luhrmann’s flick is worth the viewing, though it may not be worthy of earning a spot in your collection. If nothing else, it will make covet Nicole Kidman’s wardrobe and help you pick your next vacation destination.
Filed under: Events | Tags: allie moss, be ok, bess rodgers, david ford, girls and boys, holiday hop, ingrid michaelson, newton faulkner, the chain, the yule logs, tla, town hall
Since my last writing exploit, I’ve had the pleasure of seeing a stellar talent of epic proportions perform twice in my neighboring cities of New York and Philadelphia. Along with my two fellow comrades (and former roommates), I set sail for the TLA in late November in order to see our latest musical obsession, the very lovely and talented Ingrid Michaelson. We became turned on to Ingrid for a myriad of reasons; I listened to her hauntingly sing-songy debut album ad nauseum during my stint at a local bookstore, and my roommate became familiar with her when she unknowingly befriended Ingrid’s back-up talent’s brother. The love grew deep and thick, so I scored tickets and scooped them up for a belated birthday night on the town. The theme of the first night revolved around a ballroom bash, so we donned some fancy duds and enjoyed the sweeping sounds of David Ford (whose incredible, one-man looping tracks left us in awe), Newton Faulkner, and Ingrid herself. Little did we know, our friend’s sister is the ominous talent on many of our favorite tracks, including the catastrophically beautiful song The Chain. After the pitch-perfect show, Ingrid happily posed for some of our personal Polaroids, and David Ford chivalrously walked us to our car.
Last night hailed her second annual Holiday Hop, which was conveniently hosted in her home state of New York. We reprised our roles and meandered to Town Hall to sit sandwiched between obscenely obnoxious chatterboxes and inebriated superfans. Regardless, the show was incredible, boasting cellists, a full choir, and a harmonizing Christmas quartet (Ingrid and company sporting red pinstripe shirts and faux mustaches). Despite the nose bleed seats and 11:00 venue curfew, we had an excellent view and a packed night. And the best part? My old pal at the performing arts center I worked at for years just booked her for next year’s agenda. It’s good to have pull.
Filed under: Movie Reviews | Tags: casino royal, daniel craig, gemma arterton, james bond, judi dench, marc forster, martin campbell, olga kurylenko, quantum of solace
In my true nature, I did indeed draft Boyfriend in order to scurry out and take in the newest of the re-birthed James Bond vehicles, in which Daniel Craig dons his best and most dashing of Bonds. The series – which, although it has only produced two films thus far, can still very well be pegged as an impending catalogue – promised a new foundation for the 007 empire with its starkly incredible debut Casino Royale just two years ago. Martin Campbell, the film’s director, brought forth a more humanistic – at times even fumblingly adorable – James with brick wall Craig, and we quickly washed away any trace of those dreadful Pierce Brosnan years with his nauseating cleft and gummy-toothed grin. The story was deep, dark, wet behind the ears; it was raw, twisting, enthralling. It was slick enough to slide right through you, but gritty enough to get caught up in your innards. It was a new Bond, a rebirth, an homage, and a new hope. Alright, so perhaps I really just loved this former flick.
However, not much of the same can be said for the second installment. With a new director at the helm, the film falls flat in story, jumbled in cinematography, and short of the finish line. Sure, I entered the movie theatre expecting to love it, no matter the actual outcome. And thus, I did not outwardly dislike the film whatsoever, but I did indeed find it to be quite a bland Bond, despite the efforts of thousands of over-the-top explosives. Bond himself seems to awkwardly adopt the “shoot now, ask questions late” theory and takes it nearly to the grave, and his leading lady (Olga Kurylenko) falls shy of being memorable due to a lack of epic flashbacks and general empathy. And just when we begin to think a new, more relatable Bond girl (Gemma Arterton) is going to be added to the mix, she is disappointingly retired long before she could reach her prime.
The problem with Quantum is that it feels underwhelming; it’s short on story, high on explosives, and riddled with drawn-out action sequences. We do not feel for the characters with the exception of Bond, and it becomes otherwise forgettable in the end. A friend and I agreed that this film would have been more excellently utilized as an epilogue in a Casino Royale two-disc special edition, and not as a full theatrical release. It would have greatly benefitted from a few meatier flashbacks as well as about a half an hour of grounded plot. And of course, we all could use a little more Judi Dench. Couldn’t we?
Filed under: Everyday | Tags: christmas shopping, freelancing, ocean, rock band, star wars, substitute teaching
Aye, I have been whisked away from the blogging stratosphere in order to attempt a move toward my impending careers (notice the plural). I have thus spent my every waking moment freelance writing articles of all makes and natures, substitute teaching heathen children of all shapes and sizes, and nannying for one very imaginative five year old with an undying love for Fruit Roll Ups and the complete Star Wars saga. However, I have been able to squeeze in some semblance of a social life, most of which has included employing Boyfriend to feed me, take me Christmas shopping, and provide me with a wholesome place for an occasional nap. In between bouts of career stalking, I’ve been busy hunting bargains online and signing for packages, shipping suitcases across the continental United States, slaying all other opponents in Rock-Band-to-the-death tournaments, and baking an array of seasonal goodness. It’s been hectic, yes, but I am proud to announce that my Christmas shopping, which took on a mind of its own this year, is nearly completed and has been adorably wrapped with ribbons and personalized tags. And now the rest of the state of New Jersey is sitting pretty in a snowglobe, while I watch the freezing rain collect in the ocean, and wonder how long it will be until we’re all underwater.
