When I Grow Up

An addition to the list of People I Want To Be When I Grow Up:

Mark McKinney. Not only worthy of rescue from the Studio 60 Island of Death, but insanely enjoyable in Slings and Arrows. I don't remember his years on Saturday Night Live, but there's the whole Kids in the Hall thing. I'm adding him to the emulation list, which needs reviewing anyway.

By the way, if you haven't watched Slings and Arrows, you're doing yourself a disservice of the highest order.

Oh, and I broke my foot over the weekend.

This is the Jump.

You Have Failed Me For the Last Time (Probably.)

Dammit, Aaron Sorkin, you and I are through. I'm breaking up with you. It was good for a while; we had a lot of good times, you and I. Your friends Tommy Schlamme and Snuffy Walden were cool to hang around with, and they brought a lot to the table, but it's just not working anymore.

I just got done watching the series finale of Studio 60, and this is the decision that I have made. Much like actual breakups, I miss the way things were, but you can't reclaim the past. The potential for greatness remained, but it's just not the same. Suddenly, there were obvious axes to grind and morality to preach and a really boring/irritating relationship arc to get bogged down in. Everything was so promising, and for a while, I thought it could be like it was in the past, but alas... Somewhere, buried, is the stuff that made me want to work on a Sorkin show so badly I'd stab a man, but it's not that sort of relationship anymore. Lately, all we do is fight, and I rail against the fates asking why things can't be the way they used to be. I'll pop in the West Wing DVDs, or hunt for Sports Night, or even gain some solace in the bits of S60 that were good. All it does, though, is prompt me to ask why it can't be like that all the time.

This is all probably a pointless excercise: I'd probably come back to Sorkin, if given the option. You don't forget that kind of thing, and there's always, quietly, the hope that you can get back to where you were when things were good. Josh Malina's going to come walking down the hall, talking quirkily with Brad Whitford, and it'll be like nothing ever changed. But you can't count on that, and I've gotten mad too many times at Sarah Paulson and Matthew Perry barely salvaging conversations that real people don't have to fall back into it that easily. Sorkin's going to have to prove to me that it can consistently be like it used to be, or that we can at least meet somewhere in the middle. Perhaps I'll see other television shows for a while, but when the name comes up on my screen, it's likely that it'll still hurt. We'll see. I don't wish him ill - I just want it to be better.

Sorry, Aaron, but it's for the best.

Dammit, why couldn't that show be good? I really liked... everything I've said in previous posts. We almost made it. Damn.

This is the Jump.

Studio 60 (or: A Slave to Duty)

Now, I know I touched on this before, in the letter to Mr. Sorkin, but I feel it bears repeating. Studio 60 is a... show with a lot of wasted potential. This week's previouslies reminded us of the following things:

• Reality shows are for dumb people. Didn't you hear? If you like reality shows, you're functionally retarded. Isn't that cute? (Subtext: "Hi, I'm Aaron Sorkin, and I hate reality shows because I blame them for people not liking my shows. For some reason.")
  
• Danny and Jordan entered a relationship that made me uncomfortable a few times, but then got together, and I genuinely hope that's not going to be a terrible thing. (Subtext: "Hi, I'm Aaron Sorkin. I seem to have written these characters into a corner by making one of them a pretentious douchebag, and the other a terrifying, unstoppable cruise missile of 'love.' Or maybe 'unholy obsession.' Oh, fuck it, let's get together and hope people go with it.")
  
• Matt and Harriet broke up, because they're both irritating, sanctimonious bastards when they're together. (Subtext: "Hi, I'm Aaron Sorkin. Have you met Kristin Chenoweth?")
  

The lesson? "Hi, I'm Aaron Sorkin. I hate."

Oh, my, do I have more to say after the jump.

Let's ignore, for a moment, the bizarre vendetta that Mr. S has against reality television and against people that "don't get" his show. That's pathological and weird, and he's creepy in that sense. What's weirder and creepier and pathologicallier is the bizarre-ass allegory that Johnny Cokefiend has constructed. Matthew Perry is acting his ASS off in this show. I know! Who could've predicted that? But Perry is going to be senza ass, because he acted it clean off in pursuit of... what? Aaron Sorkin's crazyface? It's cheating if you get to write the words for both the character who's ostensibly "you," AND the character who you've pitted yourself against. But you're not even doing it right - you get to make Ma(aaron)tt Alb(sorkin)ie this witty genius and a platform for your ire, and you write him all petty and bitchy. And we have no idea why HarriettotalynotKristen Chenowethayes gave this dickbag the time of day, because he's a baby, and she's... got no redeeming qualities. But your show claims that she's a genius comedienne. Who can't tell a joke. No wonder nobody cares about your show - your main "romantic" storyline doesn't make any fucking sense.

What's even more infuriating is that not only is Perry doing a genius job with this mish-mash of a Sorkin Therapy Session, between great silent reactions, really good chemistry with everybody (specifically Bradley Whitford, Timothy Busfield, and the girl who plays Suzanne the PA), but so is everyone else!

Bradley Whitford, when not saddled with the weirdness of Jordan obsession is funny, per usual, and a delightful producer of shows. He and Perry are best of friends, and you can tell. He pedconferences with the best of them, and gives - at worst - interesting line readings.

Timothy Busfield is my favorite, if for no reason other than the time I took the Warner Bros. studio tour, and we went past the West Wing set. Allison Janney was talking to some production person and studiously ignoring the tram. Timothy Busfield takes the opportunity to wander out of the "White House," and shout "Allison Janney, ladies and gentlemen!" at the tour, and starts applauding. It was terribly funny. ANYway, I could watch Cal operate a TV show for an hour. That'd be good times. They nailed that part of the show last Monday, with the zooming all over the studio during the dress rehearsal. Which was then ruined by Weirdo Jordan being bizarrely insecure about the boobs on the guest artist. I don't get it.

They stopped showing us the sketches that aren't funny, and just started showing us the funny that surrounds the sketches that may or may not be funny. The pitch for "Dolphin Girl," two weeks ago was very funny. Nathan Corddry and Sarah Paulson wander in and pitch it to Matt, and it's spot on. This week, Nathan and Nate Torrence really want a sketch called "Metric Conversion" to be in the show. A sketch called "Metric Conversion" does not strike me as having a ton of hilarity potential, but we don't have to see it. We do, however, see Tom and Dylan be tremendous in their attempts to get it on the show. ("BIG SKETCH," yells Dylan, awkwardly, and I watch that over and over, because it's FUNNY!)

Ed Asner as Yoda of NBS - great times. Steven Weber talking to the Chinese parents of a viola prodigy that wants to get into Tom Jeters pantaloons - exceptional times, all the way around, if a bit repetitive. It was the same story ("What will happen if I'm just honest with Mr. Zhang Tao this time? The same as the last time? Hopefully the Harsh Truth will cause him to respect me again."), but it was well-played. Also the viola prodigy wanting all up on Tom was well-played.

But Amanda Peet has this thankless job of being this bizarro network executive with no sense of propriety. She's handling it admirably, and looks like she's having fun with it, but it's absurd. Even leaving out the weird giving-in to the stalkeration of Bradley Whitford's Danny Tripp, and the insane arguments that she had against dating him (not: "I'm your boss," or "You're stalking me," or anything, it was "I'm scared of feeling," or something. Briefly, "You're a recovering cocaine addict," I think. I don't recall. I passed out from irritation.), she's a loon. And Aaron Sorkin, well, Aaron, it's pretty clear you're just writing based on things you've heard about pregnant women. "I hear the're hungry all the time! And for weird foods! Oh, and their hormones are doing things! WHERE'S MY TYPEWRITER? I have a PREGNANT LADY to write! Genius!"

GOD.

So much potential. Sorkin's a good writer. But there's so much that's weird with it. Just stop being weird. STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP.

Watch it. It's good. It'll probably be canned, and that's a shame, because maybe Aaron'll stop using it as a canvas for weirdo allegory. Because it's way too much insight into the terrifying world of Aaron Sorkin, and eventually, we the audience get tired of saying "OKAY. We get it, you did all this stuff. Isn't it funny that a lot of this happened in real life. If you keep winking at us, we're gonna think you're some sort of predator. Knock it off."

And I like the show. Yeesh.

This is the Jump.

Dear Aaron Sorkin:

Please get over yourself, and start writing witty, non-preachy... everything for your otherwise delightful Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Guy in a lobster outfit for no readily apparent reason? Good times. Brad Whitford and Matthew Perry? Also good times. Amanda Peet? Less good times, but redeemable. How the fake Studio 60 is smarter than the rest of television and the world? Bad times.

What you are actually saying is this: "I, Aaron Sorkin, am the best thing to happen to TV since Philo Farnsworth. I am smarter, cooler, and braver than the rest of you. Watch how I wield my Microsoft Word of JUSTICE and RIGHTEOUSNESS! Observe my characters! Try to discover when they're saying things I WANT TO SAY! They'll usually be saying these things to straw persons, so there isn't any compelling counterargument! Fake Studio 60 is smarter than everything else on Fake Broadcasting System; by extention REAL Studio 60 has more intrinsic value than anything else on television, movies, or God forbid, the Internets!" and then you cackle slef-righteously in your volcano lair. At least, that's how I see it.

Just write. Perhaps it's because you're too close to the medium, and these things stand out. I don't know. I just know I like a lot of what you do, and I don't consistently like this. I'm not giving up on you, Mr. Sorkin; don't give up on me.

You can still be smarter than us, you don't need to tell us.

Ars sine humilitas nihil est,

C-Dog

This is the Jump.