Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Tell Them I Hate Them

Oh, HBO. How far the mighty are falling. With only Larry David and his still funny Curb Your Enthusiasm to prop up your entire fall schedule, what will you do?

Do you even watch these fucking shows before you put them on the air anymore? First there was John From Cincinnati to nearly drown your reputation as a producer of excellent drama. Running parallel to that was the once mildly entertaining Big Love, which this summer wanted so desperately to be the next Sopranos that they forced gunplay and gambling into the equation. Nevermind that Bill Paxton doesn't really have the appeal to pull off being the grand patriarch-sex-machine to three smitten wives. And those three wives of his have enough cuteness that it almost reaches critical mass. When left to their soapy domestic squabbles, Barb, Nicki, and Margie are plenty enjoyable and the show hums along. But this season wasn't so much about Bill juggling and walking the righteous path as it was about him being a wannabe Tony Soprano. Believing he was righteous as he conned and stole and manipulated, proclaiming himself the good guy as he sank into seedy deals and kidnapping. But it didn't fill the Sopranos gap, it just made me pine for Tony and Christofah all that much more.

Now, while Showtime heats up with a new season of Weeds and gives us a still-lovable David Duchovny going off the rails in Californication (<--they stole that title from RHCP), HBO sadly trots out their new sex-filled drama Tell Me You Love Me.

I know, I know. It sounds immediately promising, doesn't it? Sex-filled. Graphic sex, they promise us. What's not to like? Echoes of Elaine's infamous "He took IT out" ring through our heads as a wife pathetically jerks her husband off -- as therapy homework -- with his cock actually visible to us viewers! Another guy pathetically jerking off alone. (no visible cock) Visible Ball shots while the only two semi-attractive people bloodlessly screw. Graphic can be good, people. But graphic doesn't equal good, and this show proves it. I've definitely seen more passion in straight up porn than in the sex on this show. It's all just pathetic sex.

And, as someone who's put a lot of time and effort into trying to make material filled with freaky-fun sex, this all upsets me. No wonder we're so puritanical as a society about sex. If these are the graphic depictions of sex we have parading around as entertainment, we should be ashamed of sex.

The show as a drama? Remember thirtysomething? Remember how everyone hated thirtysomething? Yeah, this is MUCH worse. Supposedly, these are realistic depictions of marriage. This is exactly why I'm staunchly single. I hate all these characters. I particularly despise the two blondes that I can barely tell apart. I have a blonde hangup anyhow. I don't like them as a general rule. And this show proves the adage that they all look alike. Milquetoast, myopic motherfuckers with too much money and too little moxie.

I can't even post a picture to show you how much they resemble each other. Okay. Yes I can.

Kinda gross, isn't it? And here's what separates their characters: One is not having any sex, and the other is having lots of sex but doesn't have a baby. That's all we know and need to know about them. They are women defined by their womanly problems, with similar haircuts and similarly pointy-faced mates.

I've already said too much about these losers. A new season of Dexter starts at the end of September on Showtime. You know, that's the show about the serial killer who kills serial killers. Fitting. Because between the firepower of Dexter, Duchovny, and Weeds, I have a feeling that Showtime is poised to slaughter HBO.

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