I suck at the 21st century. Completely and utterly. Even with all that technology at my disposal I entirely missed Zac Levi's tweet that he was at a film premiere in Sydney until six hours after the event. I suck at stalking my favourite actors even in my own city. Sigh. Mutter.
Lucky escape for Zac, I suppose, and I'm too old for that sort of thing anyway. Not old as in I've reached sufficient self awareness to realise my actions are wrong and childish and that an actor's autograph will not bring happiness. I mean old as in I'm not a teenager any more and people look at me funny. That kind of old. The sad and pathetic kind. Sigh.
I suppose I can say I had a fine night indoors watching telly instead. Yeah, that sounds just great, doeesn't it. And I didn't, really, because himself was thumping and bumping about (I did something wrong, don't know what) and the corellas were weeping and lamenting terribly outside my window because some fiend cut down their nesting tree. We all got sad together.
So I wasn't as engaged with the telly (while I was missing CHUCK! In SYDNEY!) as I might have been. Burn Notice was same old, same old, I don't even bother playing the Burn Notice bingo any more.
The Glades I did like. I'm starting to like Mr Passmore very much, being an amusingly candid interviewee (as opposed to relentlessly on message American actors) and I like the show. It's not stand out fabulous in anyway but it's a very solid, reliable, amusing, does what it says on the tin cop show and is that so bad? I like smart, snarky cops and this boy has charm.
I honestly don't know why they don't just give up and let Matt just play it as Australian. Amusing to see an Australian being very Oz when he's supposed to be an American cop, as opposed to Oz actors being grimly fake American cops with extra grimness in local shows. Probably why the local shows fail and our boys keep popping up in Yank shows. Ah well, at least the Glades is watchable.
White Collar. Not, imho, as much fun as the evil fashion designer episodes of Strange Report, The Saint or, especially, Adam Adamant, but, well, shrug. It's like they know the tropes but just can't to really put their own special spin on it.
Though they try, and watching it this time around, having been softened up by Mr Passmore and no ads, it's fun. The boys are fun to watch together, being all snarky and yet incredibly intimate, with all the touching, patting, pushing, shoving, etc. There must have been notes from the powers that be because I don't recall seeing the boys being quite so familiar with each other in S2 (or maybe that's just me watching it with grumpy goggles). Dammit, I like the touchy-feely.
Still, it's cute, and I loved Neal and Elizabeth on the shopping trip in the evidence warehouse. So adorable. Poor Peter, outnumbered, just a touch. I love the way Neal is playing with the watch and suddenly Elizabeth is buying Peter expensive watches. Nervous much, Mrs Burke? You probably should be.
That Neal. One might almost think that he was checking out the opposition. One might think, but Neal is never really shown to be quite that calculating.
The show is still very choppy and changey though with Neal. One minute he's doing happy dances in the office because he's working a case with Peter, the next he's all misery and hostility and begging Mozzie to find a way out of the deal he's made with Peter. So much for Neal's promises about not trying to run or find Kate, or do certain promises not count as lies, not if he had his fingers crossed behind his back?
On first viewing it was annoying and frustrating, now it's just confusing, that Neal presents all puppy eagerness to Peter, yet broods and snarls in his off hours. Hmmm.
I'm not sure where they're going with that, the whole thing where you can't decide if Neal hates or loves Peter. I know they think that's their hook, but it's damn frustrating, because it does make it look like everything Neal ever says to Peter is a lie, all the smiles and pretence at a very intimate friendship, if the extreme brooding is his true self.
And then the show runners insist Neal has never lied to Peter. Really? A lie of omission, a white lie, a false smile, is still a lie.
Either that or Neal really does find himself extraordinarily fond of Peter, and this brooding is just a symptom of his inner disquiet, that every day he enjoys with Peter is a step away from the man he thought he was. Some sort of existential crisis.
Or maybe, deep, deep down there's a part of him that knows the thing with Kate rang false, but, to borrow from Leverage, like all true believers when presented with contradictory evidence, they cling even more tightly to their beliefs and lash out to those who would dare prove otherwise. Like Peter.
Or maybe the writers just haven't figured out the show and characters yet. In which case, I wish they would. It sort of wanders all over the place in both tone and motivation.
If they did want to have a big reveal about either Neal or Peter's true purpose, then, usually, the thing is to make them the ever faithful companion, to make their true motives all the more shocking in the moustache twirling finale.
Right now Neal just comes across, to me, as somewhat dishonest and all teenaged petulance, the way he goes behind Peter's back all the time. I've no problem with Neal changing his motivation as circumstances change him, but right now his mood seems to go wherever the wind blows. Are we watching White Collar or Hamlet here?
I agree with a friend's recent lament, though, that modern television shows are no places for narrative or organic story development. Studios give notes, advertisers must be appeased, actors aren't available, other so-called talent is pushed, one demographic is chased at the expense of all others (usually the folks who were actually enjoying the show), not to mention industrial action, bad press, the influence of the net (for good or bad), etc.
Shows that have a definite vision, they may not last, they usually don't, but at least in their short life they stay true and say what they meant to say. They are remembered, and treasured by the chosen few (insert St. Crispin’s Day speech here, the rallying cry of the embattled cult tv fan).
But, whatever. It's sunday night and lite and breezy police procedurals seem to be the order of the day. No writing novels in crayon and agonising about it to their girlfriends for these boys.
And that's okay, too, because constant death and grim and more death and more grim, like on Spooks or Supernatural, well, pretty soon it just all becomes too silly and a bit of a joke.
If only they could somehow marry the two genres, have a little light with the shade, and vice versa. But not in modern day television, I suspect. Ah well.
Oh, I was wondering if I was going to cop any flak for Friday (I really was having a bad panic attack re bullying) but no, they're just going to give me the steely silent treatment again. This'd be great, if I'd not forgotten my usb drive, dammit.
Maybe if I stare at the beige wall for long enough I'll be able to pass through it, and onto freedom!
Ah, Neal, quit your griping. An electronic tag does not a prison make. You have it sweet, so be a good boy and smile like you mean it.
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