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Mr. Tea
Let's Talk About Ceps
I'm three episodes in. What's amazing is how like Eraserhead it is! It's very slow but I'm enjoying it. Just makes you realize that there is really no-one to touch Lynch for the ability to evoke the sensation of nightmare. The kind that's more about the nausea of perverted reason than about fear per se. The creeping horror of sleep paralysis or a bad trip.
Also makes me think Stranger Things should've been called Actually Fairly Straightforward Things.
Also makes me think Stranger Things should've been called Actually Fairly Straightforward Things.
cwmbran-city
Well-known member
Norsemen - delicious, ridiculous & bizarre spoof of Viking life
2episodes in out of a series of 6 & its mint so far
2episodes in out of a series of 6 & its mint so far
Benny Bunter
Well-known member
baboon2004
Darned cockwombles.
Interested to hear more about what you two thought of Nanette. I certainly thought it was very interesting, and challenging, but at the end I wasn't really sure what impact it had had upon me (i.e. it certainly had an impact, but I was still unpicking what it was). Which is likely a very good thing - to be really challenged by TV is rare.
In this vein: after failing to get a grime reference about 'Marlo from the Wire' on account of never having watched it, I watched a few bits and pieces of The Wire on youtube to get myself up to speed. It was fine but I'm still unsure about bothering to put in the time to watch a whole series*. Can anyone explain why The Wire is better than The Sopranos and doesn't fall into the same traps (possibly the most mystifyingly overrated show of all time, imo - very watchable to pass the time and Gandolfini is brilliant, but ultimately presenting some pretty basic ideas about how the illegal economy works, and the clash of regular and fringe worlds, as earth-shattering revelations)?
Also watched a couple of episodes of 'Flint, Michigan' (which is being compared to a doc version of The Wire - make of that what you will). Interesting programme, though I felt something was missing, and I ended up drifting away and instead reading some articles about Flint, Wilmington and other small cities at the top end of the murder/violence per capita stats. Which were much more illuminating about the bigger picture. Whereas I kinda felt that the Flint programme was tending towards "difficult for the people living there, difficult for the police because of cuts, some corruption/water issues as well", rather than presenting the state of Flint as an admittedly extreme example which nonetheless still lies squarely within the logic of the late US capitalist idiom.
*Also, David Simon's reaction to the real life flashpoint of Baltimore's unrest/riots was so shit, patronising, conservative and utterly free of nuance that I'm unsure why I should expect much more from his TV series: http://davidsimon.com/baltimore/
In this vein: after failing to get a grime reference about 'Marlo from the Wire' on account of never having watched it, I watched a few bits and pieces of The Wire on youtube to get myself up to speed. It was fine but I'm still unsure about bothering to put in the time to watch a whole series*. Can anyone explain why The Wire is better than The Sopranos and doesn't fall into the same traps (possibly the most mystifyingly overrated show of all time, imo - very watchable to pass the time and Gandolfini is brilliant, but ultimately presenting some pretty basic ideas about how the illegal economy works, and the clash of regular and fringe worlds, as earth-shattering revelations)?
Also watched a couple of episodes of 'Flint, Michigan' (which is being compared to a doc version of The Wire - make of that what you will). Interesting programme, though I felt something was missing, and I ended up drifting away and instead reading some articles about Flint, Wilmington and other small cities at the top end of the murder/violence per capita stats. Which were much more illuminating about the bigger picture. Whereas I kinda felt that the Flint programme was tending towards "difficult for the people living there, difficult for the police because of cuts, some corruption/water issues as well", rather than presenting the state of Flint as an admittedly extreme example which nonetheless still lies squarely within the logic of the late US capitalist idiom.
*Also, David Simon's reaction to the real life flashpoint of Baltimore's unrest/riots was so shit, patronising, conservative and utterly free of nuance that I'm unsure why I should expect much more from his TV series: http://davidsimon.com/baltimore/
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baboon2004
Darned cockwombles.
Very worthy activities.
Unsure how discussions of old TV programmes are any different from discussions of old music, literature or poetry. Not looking for a debate anyways, just guidance.
Unsure how discussions of old TV programmes are any different from discussions of old music, literature or poetry. Not looking for a debate anyways, just guidance.
owengriffiths
Owen
If you like the sound of a work of fiction that is focused entirely on biblical levels of private sector shotting and public sector corruption- then the Wire is for you. The city depicted in the show is a living breathing thing. There are millions of characters in it, some of whom say one sentence in the first series then aren't seen again til five years later. Television often gets good when there are so many characters, and I can't think of any other show which has that many-3/4 of the filming budget must have gone on extras alone.
Benny Bunter
Well-known member
@baboon. On holiday now so dont have time to respond properly but I plan to watch it again when I get back and will share my thoughts. Also dont want to spoil it for those who havent watched it yet.
For now, I just thought it was a really masterful performance, the way she shifted gears halfway through and takes the audience with her with such difficult material was really really impressive. Havent stopped thinking about it since I saw it.
For now, I just thought it was a really masterful performance, the way she shifted gears halfway through and takes the audience with her with such difficult material was really really impressive. Havent stopped thinking about it since I saw it.
Leo
Well-known member
basically on board with both of benny's comments, and more a detailed explanation might be a spoiler than blunts the impact for anyone who still plans to see it. that said, in general terms, part of it as he says was the seamless transition from fairly straight-forward stand up to something much more, part of it was how it made me reassess self-deprecating humor, part of it was the brutally honest way the issues are addressed. lots of comics address discrimination, but none I recall by laying bare such harrowing personal experience.
as you said baboon, it was challenging and hard to unpack, tricky to put into words exactly. and I fear I've already said too much.
baboon2004
Darned cockwombles.
Thanks Owen, that's useful. I'm gonna give it a whirl for a couple of episodes, but tbh I'm not sure how into the millions-of-character concept I am. City as living, breathing entity sounds intriguing tho.
@Leo, Benny - yeah, that's kind of how I saw it. The shift in gears pulls the ground from under the viewer. Haven't seen anything like it before.
@Leo, Benny - yeah, that's kind of how I saw it. The shift in gears pulls the ground from under the viewer. Haven't seen anything like it before.
Corpsey
bandz ahoy
Sorry to be Mr that guy but you really can't judge the Wire on clips. Watch it from episode 1 and be prepared not to like it for the first few episodes. If you're not into it by the end of the first series then call it a day. Since you were mystified by the appeal of the Sopranos perhaps it won't be for you.
It's a very different show, though. To me the Sopranos was all about character rather than social critique. You might almost say the Wire is the polar opposite.
AFAIC those two shows are a cut above every other US drama wot I've seen. Both of them have their flaws and both went rather downhill towards the end (although the Wire season 4 is the best season IMO), but they do have that Victorian novel style gallery of memorable/legendary characters.
It's a very different show, though. To me the Sopranos was all about character rather than social critique. You might almost say the Wire is the polar opposite.
AFAIC those two shows are a cut above every other US drama wot I've seen. Both of them have their flaws and both went rather downhill towards the end (although the Wire season 4 is the best season IMO), but they do have that Victorian novel style gallery of memorable/legendary characters.
baboon2004
Darned cockwombles.
Dear That Guy,
I wasn't trying to judge it on clips, certainly. I'll try the first series, it's a sound suggestion.
I misspoke in saying that I was mystified by the appeal of the Sopranos - I got what it was trying to do, but didn't think it was that clever or emotionally engaging. A good, well-made show for sure, but that's all.
Not into Victorian novels, so maybe it won't be my thing. Six Feet Under is still my pick for the gold standard of US TV drama - it had its problems but regularly touched genius. Obviously the Wire is a very different kind of show, as you say.
I wasn't trying to judge it on clips, certainly. I'll try the first series, it's a sound suggestion.
I misspoke in saying that I was mystified by the appeal of the Sopranos - I got what it was trying to do, but didn't think it was that clever or emotionally engaging. A good, well-made show for sure, but that's all.
Not into Victorian novels, so maybe it won't be my thing. Six Feet Under is still my pick for the gold standard of US TV drama - it had its problems but regularly touched genius. Obviously the Wire is a very different kind of show, as you say.
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Mr. Tea
Let's Talk About Ceps
Sopranos was unimpeachable apart from when it dragged a bit in the unwisely extended last season, IMO. It was all about the characters and it did that brilliantly.
Never watched The Wire.
Any love for House Of Cards? I like it but apparently Spacey won't be in the next series. Even before his disgrace, though, I wonder if the show's wind had been taken out of its sails by being overtaken by real life.
Never watched The Wire.
Any love for House Of Cards? I like it but apparently Spacey won't be in the next series. Even before his disgrace, though, I wonder if the show's wind had been taken out of its sails by being overtaken by real life.
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rubberdingyrapids
Well-known member
i finally saw twin peaks the return. it started off promisingly, then became interminable (as drawn out as any recent prequel-sequel really), then found some threads of coherence in the last 5-6 episodes. i dont think it needed to be 18 hours, though when it finally ended, i did start to see the rest in a different, slightly more positive light, but im still pretty sure, that despite some good scenes and moments, it was massively padded out, like most modern american dramas. then again, maybe its designed just to upend the modern tv audience's ideas of watching modern 'prestige' tv, which it did, but on the WTF scale of david lynchs older stuff, the WTF factor was kind of middling. its like faded WTF-ery. they should have given him some money to make a film without a connection to a tv series he probably doesnt really care much about anymore.
Beyond Alienation
A minor Made in Chelsea squadron has been dispatched to the shores of Croatia for limpid summer romance, a rather dilapidated and dilatory expedition, the underlying shabbiness of which is somewhat disguised by the soft haze and bleached colours deployed by the post-production team.
The endless drifting episodes of this social drama since 2011 have produced diminishing and yet oddly rewarding returns: new generations are drafted in to mingle with seasoned veterans, and the newer and younger they are, the less distinguishing features they present: the blondes multiply, get goofier, gently plumier; the venal lads lesser snakes than their forbears, little adders slithering around in the wake of that old Boa Constrictor Spencer Matthews. The big chief in Croatia is Jamie Lang, the village idiot who peddles boiled sweets on the back of his family biscuit fortune. Somehow, the effects of these meaningless, recycling personal schisms and couplings are compounded over time; it becomes richer and more interesting by blank default.
It is still as gripping as it ever was, as it gets even emptier and even more vague and pointless. That's the logic of the thing: a hollow drift of non-events that simulate the motion of emotions, seem to suggest forward momentum, things happening that you cannot actually recall happening one minute after switching over to the rolling disaster that is the Ten 'O Clock News. The traumas add up to nothing even though they break like atmospheric ruptures in the weird psychic meteorology of these fabricated, yet existing, cliques. The dwarf stars that glide through the show now exist in a pretty strange place, acting out their lives like we all do but in a more extreme way, but without anything extreme (like unemployment or illness) actually happening to any of them. Being on TV is not even a big thing for them, simply another component in their surface self-actualization.
Sophie "Habbs" Habboo has just ditched perpetual goon Sam Thompson, but it's hard to even determine what effect this had on her if any: it was just a plot point in her summer, which happened to coincide with the filming of the Croatia junket, for which it was scheduled neatly in the first place. This is a complicated way to live. Habbs is self-employed, an entrepreneur; her job is that new thing, the CV staple that is The Social Media Influencer, a role she crafted on the back of a degree in Media, Communications and Cultural Studies, surely a legitimate way to use such a qualification. Her zone of influence is her Instagram account, upon which she reclines in expensive bikinis, skirts and drapes, gripping niche beauty products and fellow Made in Chelsea cast members, and friends. In her friction-less negotiation of tangled layers of reality and fiction -- emotional murmurs at the service of self-presentation/self-fashioning -- she is the latest exemplar of the Made in Chelsea condition that was once given the definitive model by the legendary Oliver Proudlock.
Proudlock -- HIMSELF! -- perfected the semi-detached exploitation of the reality soap platform, as he was quietly and proudly exploited by it, to pimp his own entrepreneurial ambitions that found their ultimate locus on his multi-platform ego-site, pushing his art and fashion label, and presenting the infamous "What is Proudlock wearing today?" blog that was an unintentionally comic take on the i-D straight up format. This was all achieved with some easy and even admirable aplomb. Proudlock was so self-conscious that he lacked any and all sense of self-awareness, let alone irony. Who can forget the episode when he turned up in a bespoke, skinny three piece tartan suit, personally dictated to his long-suffering tailor; part Helmut Berger in The Damned, part Rupert the Bear. Nobody could match the innovative chutzpah; he was a mere sideman on the show, but distilled its pure essence.
Maybe there is nothing wrong with this at such innocent, extreme points, like Proudlock. There was no crisis in this, none of the existential angst displayed by Donald Trump in his psychotic Twitter war with the forces of the Mainstream Media, a fight to the death to wrest control of his self-image. Proudlock and Habbs can do this without any internal turbulence whatsoever; they don't even seem to be surprised, let alone confused, by the spectral, multi-layered lives they now lead. They cannot be said to be unreal, even as they shed huge chunks of their identity to whatever notion of reality can be said to be left to navigate. But then, almost everybody does that now, to a greater or lesser extent, outside of war zones or rain forests or remote peasant tundra.
Made in Chelsea is a long way beyond alienation: Antonioni minus Marx. It began like this in 2011, when things were even less strange and displaced than they are now, although we do not seem to have moved on many mental inches, even though it feels and looks like a new paradigm of unreality. In some ways it is not even that far from the society dynamics, egotistical gymnastics and forced coincidences of Anthony Powell's A Dance to the Music of Time novel cycle, but way more condensed and missing the political and historical context. The principal, invariable mise en scene of Made in Chelsea is the chance meeting by some lovely Edwardian railings on an elegant Chelsea or Pimlico street, in the New London where you would never see a Quentin Crisp parading blind with mascara and dumb with lipstick on those streets anymore*. What a surprise! Fancy meeting you here, of all people at this time is this Megalopolis. Otherwise, events occur in specially selected and advertised eateries, boutiques and bars around town, a hi-gloss/glazy backdrop to engineered encounters, couplings and traumas that spill onto the gossip pages and Daily Mail online and actually overlap with lives conducted in a liminal fashion that are not at all radical or even postmodern as they might have seemed, or even been, in 1982, when this was a future, theoretical fantasy.
A minor Made in Chelsea squadron has been dispatched to the shores of Croatia for limpid summer romance, a rather dilapidated and dilatory expedition, the underlying shabbiness of which is somewhat disguised by the soft haze and bleached colours deployed by the post-production team.
The endless drifting episodes of this social drama since 2011 have produced diminishing and yet oddly rewarding returns: new generations are drafted in to mingle with seasoned veterans, and the newer and younger they are, the less distinguishing features they present: the blondes multiply, get goofier, gently plumier; the venal lads lesser snakes than their forbears, little adders slithering around in the wake of that old Boa Constrictor Spencer Matthews. The big chief in Croatia is Jamie Lang, the village idiot who peddles boiled sweets on the back of his family biscuit fortune. Somehow, the effects of these meaningless, recycling personal schisms and couplings are compounded over time; it becomes richer and more interesting by blank default.
It is still as gripping as it ever was, as it gets even emptier and even more vague and pointless. That's the logic of the thing: a hollow drift of non-events that simulate the motion of emotions, seem to suggest forward momentum, things happening that you cannot actually recall happening one minute after switching over to the rolling disaster that is the Ten 'O Clock News. The traumas add up to nothing even though they break like atmospheric ruptures in the weird psychic meteorology of these fabricated, yet existing, cliques. The dwarf stars that glide through the show now exist in a pretty strange place, acting out their lives like we all do but in a more extreme way, but without anything extreme (like unemployment or illness) actually happening to any of them. Being on TV is not even a big thing for them, simply another component in their surface self-actualization.
Sophie "Habbs" Habboo has just ditched perpetual goon Sam Thompson, but it's hard to even determine what effect this had on her if any: it was just a plot point in her summer, which happened to coincide with the filming of the Croatia junket, for which it was scheduled neatly in the first place. This is a complicated way to live. Habbs is self-employed, an entrepreneur; her job is that new thing, the CV staple that is The Social Media Influencer, a role she crafted on the back of a degree in Media, Communications and Cultural Studies, surely a legitimate way to use such a qualification. Her zone of influence is her Instagram account, upon which she reclines in expensive bikinis, skirts and drapes, gripping niche beauty products and fellow Made in Chelsea cast members, and friends. In her friction-less negotiation of tangled layers of reality and fiction -- emotional murmurs at the service of self-presentation/self-fashioning -- she is the latest exemplar of the Made in Chelsea condition that was once given the definitive model by the legendary Oliver Proudlock.
Proudlock -- HIMSELF! -- perfected the semi-detached exploitation of the reality soap platform, as he was quietly and proudly exploited by it, to pimp his own entrepreneurial ambitions that found their ultimate locus on his multi-platform ego-site, pushing his art and fashion label, and presenting the infamous "What is Proudlock wearing today?" blog that was an unintentionally comic take on the i-D straight up format. This was all achieved with some easy and even admirable aplomb. Proudlock was so self-conscious that he lacked any and all sense of self-awareness, let alone irony. Who can forget the episode when he turned up in a bespoke, skinny three piece tartan suit, personally dictated to his long-suffering tailor; part Helmut Berger in The Damned, part Rupert the Bear. Nobody could match the innovative chutzpah; he was a mere sideman on the show, but distilled its pure essence.
Maybe there is nothing wrong with this at such innocent, extreme points, like Proudlock. There was no crisis in this, none of the existential angst displayed by Donald Trump in his psychotic Twitter war with the forces of the Mainstream Media, a fight to the death to wrest control of his self-image. Proudlock and Habbs can do this without any internal turbulence whatsoever; they don't even seem to be surprised, let alone confused, by the spectral, multi-layered lives they now lead. They cannot be said to be unreal, even as they shed huge chunks of their identity to whatever notion of reality can be said to be left to navigate. But then, almost everybody does that now, to a greater or lesser extent, outside of war zones or rain forests or remote peasant tundra.
Made in Chelsea is a long way beyond alienation: Antonioni minus Marx. It began like this in 2011, when things were even less strange and displaced than they are now, although we do not seem to have moved on many mental inches, even though it feels and looks like a new paradigm of unreality. In some ways it is not even that far from the society dynamics, egotistical gymnastics and forced coincidences of Anthony Powell's A Dance to the Music of Time novel cycle, but way more condensed and missing the political and historical context. The principal, invariable mise en scene of Made in Chelsea is the chance meeting by some lovely Edwardian railings on an elegant Chelsea or Pimlico street, in the New London where you would never see a Quentin Crisp parading blind with mascara and dumb with lipstick on those streets anymore*. What a surprise! Fancy meeting you here, of all people at this time is this Megalopolis. Otherwise, events occur in specially selected and advertised eateries, boutiques and bars around town, a hi-gloss/glazy backdrop to engineered encounters, couplings and traumas that spill onto the gossip pages and Daily Mail online and actually overlap with lives conducted in a liminal fashion that are not at all radical or even postmodern as they might have seemed, or even been, in 1982, when this was a future, theoretical fantasy.
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