Don't Call It a Closet

One thing that happened during the depression of the 1930's was that entertainments (films, plays, etc...) became more and more lavish.  The thinking being that people wanted to visit worlds that lifted them out of their burdensome existence and placed them someplace grand and rarefied--financial security being so very rare.  It was a sound principal, and many of these flicks made a profit because of it.

However, the unrich patrons were not being duped by anyone.  If you read some news-clippings from that period, the ticket-buyers were well aware of the placebo effect of a few hours spent admiring mansions bedecked with women in festive ball-gowns, all wondering how to get Cary Grant to kiss them before the big fade out.

Our own Great Recession has been a whole lot less egalitarian.  There are no cleverly crafted distractions, no attempts to massage the knotted minds of those who are struggling.  Of course, without a prevailing studio system that really can't happen now.  Instead, what has cropped up is a newfound favoring of the Arts & Leisure & Design & High Fashion crowd as entertainment.

There's just one problem: It's disgusting.

Because these endless articles and shows and websites seem to exist solely to delineate the impenetrable line between the having much and the having little.  And those persons connected to the super-wealthy (who may or may not be such themselves) don't want to be thought of as aspirational, merely exclusive.

Take a recent Home and Garden article in the NYTimes.  A woman who is known for her exclusive and expensive home-cleaning service is supposedly having her apartment profiled by the paper of record.  But instead of descriptions of her wainscoting, we get a description of the intensely comprehensive method her cleaners use for her famous clients.  She mentions how her people will actually take apart cabinets and dressers, simply to clean the runners.  This is nuts.  But she defends her insanity, saying some people have specially designed closets by, for example, Linda London, and these can cost as much as $20,000.

So far, so wasteful: but here's where it gets better.  Someone from the Times must have contacted Ms. London about her services being mentioned.  And she insisted on correcting these erroneous statements.  She does not design closets, but "dressing rooms."  Moreover, the cost for these rooms is typically far above $20,000.

Apparently the suggestion that she would create a storage space for only twenty grand would give the impression that she works for paupers.  I think the oxygen must be pretty thin way up on Ms. London's high horse, if she thinks such comments are appropriate in this economic climate.  Or, truly, anytime ever.

But her attitude is indicative of a whole culture gone flooey.  You're either a someone who's worried about the possible posting of an eviction notice, or someone whose fiefdom might as well be littered with signs that read, "No peasants allowed."  Certainly not in the dressing room.

Things Nobody is Telling You

 

Dear subscriber:  Please no questions.

I have decided to start a new informative feature on this here interblog.  These missives will attempt to explain (or simply demonstrate) how something that should be dandy is actually a minefield of problems.  That is, all the things you should know but wouldn't because nobody is making them explicit.

The first party up for review is the DVD/Online Media subscription service--Netflix.

Here are some things you should know: They still throttle.  A lot of people are under the impression that because of the class action suit, which they paid a lot of money to settle, the activity of throttling had ceased.  (By the by, throttling is when Netflix denies film titles that are in demand to customers that the company feels is using the service too frequently.  That is, getting a large number of DVDs per month.)  But all they did was re-word the service agreement to allow for throttling without impediment by law.  You see, what they mean when they say subscribers can have unlimited rentals is: Please limit yourself, or we will.

No. 2: You will not have access to new Warner Bros. and other studio titles until one month after they are released.  Netflix made a deal with WB to delay renting their latest films in exchange for making more of their back catalog (i.e. the films you've already seen or made the choice to avoid like plague) available for instant viewing.  WB feels this delayed gratification will cause subscribers to rush out and purchase their DVDs.  And while you're out you may as well get it on Blu ray, and come back in a couple months for the Special Edition, and a year after that for the Anniversary Edition...

The above is correlative to No. 3:  Instant viewing is mostly crappy.  By that I don't mean the titles, but rather the execution.  Whether watching on your home computer or HDTV, unless you have a connection that is Microsoft HQ-speedy and wholly free of glitches, the picture and sound are fuzzed and twitchy at best.  The fault of connection speeds cannot be laid at Netflix's door.  But I would rather they stick to their primary mandate--mailing your film choices quickly and seamlessly--than depreciate that service just to amplify the number of movies that you can watch stutter and pixelate on your new big screen TV.

(Feb. 2011 Update: Netflix's instant viewing is a lot better now, even with only a moderately speedy connection.  There are also many more HD titles that look pretty good.  If you're going to go with only an Instant subscription, I can't argue against it.)

No. 4:  Many Fox titles you receive will be stripped of their special features.  Fox, and its affiliate studios, have taken to removing the extras you typically find on DVD releases in exchange for bare-bones presentations.  In many cases, though, the Netflix pages for these films will still indicate that these special features are on the discs.  I know many people don't care about extra features, but these films also won't contain Director's Cuts or Extended versions of the films themselves--that is something customers might well choose over theatrical versions.  The reason behind this: Fox wants to sell (not rent) its wares.

No. 5:  Netflix's customer service is sorely (and surprisingly) lacking.  Sorely, because the reps you speak to either have no clue about which disc side is up, or are pretending to know nothing.  Either way, you're screwed.  Surprisingly, because there is no way to communicate with customer service via the Netflix website or by email.  This seems more than passing strange for an internet-based megalith.  But it does mean there's no electronic paper trail when a rep tells you over the phone that they have no knowledge of why Warner Bros. flicks aren't available, or what might be happening to the Fox films.  Both statements that have been interpolated to me.

So, caveat emptor.  But if you're looking for a sort of, kinda solution...  What I've done is drop my Netflix membership from three titles at a time to one.  And I've picked up the cheapest Blockbuster rental option.  This way I can get any WB films immediately, and Fox titles with their special features (though I get these on Blu ray--no extra charge on Blockbuster, four dollar surcharge on Netflix).  I now pay an extra two bucks per month, but I get the perks and avoid most of the headaches involved with these services.  Or you could just subsist on rabbit ears and YouTube.  That might be the most Zen choice of all

Team Conan Rules All

Oh, NBC.  Tsk, tsk, tsk.

Now is the time for all good men (and women) to come to the aid of this great host and our once-great talk-show institution.

P.S.  The fact that he declared that he would not want to screw over Jimmy Fallon and the Late Night franchise in order to keep a bowdlerized Tonight Show marks him as one helluva stand-up guy.  Just name the time and network, Mr. O'Brien.

This Man is Not an Island

Not interested

I really like travel magazines.  I subscribe to Condé Nast Traveler and Budget Travel.  I also regularly pick up other pubs at the news stand.  During the winter months these magazines all go bug-eyed for tropical locales.  Specifically islands.  And I don't get it.

I mean, I get why someone spending months in the tundra of, say, Minnesota would want to hie him or herself to a sunny beach.  (Though that's not a place I would ever go near.  I grew up in Florida, so I abhor the beach.)  But, why the fixation on islands?

Reading through a random article, here are some of the wonderfully fun things to do on your vacation: Spend a night in a thatched hut on the beach.  Cavort with gigantic robber crabs and other sea life.  Find a tree with coconuts, then knock one down, crack it open and enjoy the raw milk.

Why would I ever want to do these things?  I'd sooner make a list of ideas that represent a waste of vacation time--and put those three near the top.

Trust me, that thatched hut is not going to keep out wind, rain, or bugs.  Those crabs don't want you around, and they will claw your toes to prove that point.  I have tasted fresh coconut milk--it is not worth even half the effort that will go into trying to split that damn shell.

In the same article--I kid you not--the author describes tossing pebbles and watching them skim along the water in the shallow reefs.  So apparently the activity you did as a child when you were completely bored is, on an island, a greatly fun entertainment.

I guess those rocks are made all the more zippy when you realize this is something you get to "enjoy" not far from your $1,000-a-night island suite.

How suite that is?  I don't wanna know.

Polanski: Guilt Reproved, Innocence Undone

Here are the facts: Roman Polanski, at the age of 43, drugged and raped a 13 year-old girl at a Hollywood party.  He admitted to the crime.  A deal was worked out with the judge, prosecution, and defense.  The judge claimed to have second thoughts about this agreement before sentencing.  Mr. Polanski, fearful that he might spend more time in jail, fled the country.  For over thirty years since he has lived in comfort in France and traveled unhindered through Europe.

That free ride may be reaching its vanishing point.  Because he was recently apprehended in Switzerland and is awaiting extradition back to the United States.

And now all manner of hell has broken loose.

Celebrities, directors, and film-world-luminaries have banded together to sign a petition requesting Mr. Polanski's freedom.  These individuals--many of whom are prodigiously talented--represent the very zenith of privileged arrogance.

The commentary has been mind-boggling: Whoopi Goldberg, from her gilded perch on The View, attempted to school her audience on the difference between Mr. Polanski's actions and what she termed, "rape rape."  Ironically, by attempting to somehow vitiate his crime, Ms. Goldberg came up with an apt description of Mr. Polanski's transgression.  It was Rape Rape.  He committed rape by forcing a non-consensual sex act upon another person.  And he committed statutory rape by having sexual contact with a minor.  There is no sidestepping the truth of law in either case.

The famed French intellectual Bernard-Henri Levy has suggested that enough time has passed for we puritanical Americans to just let this one slide already.   He allowed that Mr. Polanski, "perhaps had committed a youthful error."  A youthful error at the ripe and dewy age of 43?  Comments like these bring to mind the Marquise de Merteuil's riposte in Dangerous Liasions: "Like most intellectuals, he is intensely stupid."

Do yourself a favor, take a look at the list of individuals carping for a convicted criminal's unearned freedom: here.  Or maybe you shouldn't.  Because no doubt it can be difficult to reconcile an admiration for a person's art with a disdain for their impecunious morality.

Filmmakers need conflict, trauma, misdeeds, even rape and murder.  No one wants to see a film where the world is pleasant and everyone is nice to each other for an hour and a half.  Audiences want to see this underbelly as well--in fiction and reality.  When tragedy occurs, we open our eyes and ears for every arduous detail.  But it never stops there.  We don't just want crime; we crave punishment.  There is something particular, even peculiar, in the American character that causes us to empathize with the victimized.  So we yearn for justice, desire it so deeply it goes beyond walls, living in the bloodsong beneath our flesh.

Maybe the judge was going to circumvent the deal to which he had agreed.  Maybe he was going to make an example of Mr. Polanski.  We'll never know.  What we do know is that a repulsive crime was committed.  A crime that demands--even unto the passage of decades--some true measure of justice.

Sore of Beauty: SOB

Okay, so I finally got around to watching the premiere of The Beautiful Life: TBL on The CW.  And, aside from some passably decent acting, there is little to recommend.  But that's hardly worth mentioning (especially since the same can be said of Melrose Place, 90210, One Tree Hill, Gossip Girl, etc...).  Rather it is worth mentioning that, in a show about the fashion world, there is exactly one gay character in the large cast--and he's the villain.

The talent scout (played by someone whose name I refuse to even bother looking up on IMDB) is a conniving, lecherous, petty tyrant who attempts to use his influence to extort sexual favors from male clients.  It wouldn't be so galling if there were an even slightly more positive representative of the fairier sex.  Because I'm not one of those folks who insist that gay people can never be evil.  However, for a show set inside this particular milieu to only offer up this bottom-feeding creep as its token sop, seems an egregious statement.

One of the problems with accusing any bit of culture of being homophobic is that the term is bandied about too frequently and without much accuracy.  In this case, though, it fits.  Because the narrative does its darndest to make its poor models--and, by extension, you the viewer--afraid of this gay fiend.

In a previous post I surmised that this show's exec producer, Ashton Kutcher, is likely a smart guy and also potentially homophobic.  While this program hardly attests to his intelligence, it does seem to crystallize the last part of that description.

This show may be someone's idea of a beautiful life, but so far it isn't pretty.

Update: As of today (Sept. 25th) the show has been cancelled.  So, good work sensible viewers for not-totally-wretched TV.  Feel free to continue ignoring The CW every night except Thursday.

A Design Star Dream Deferred (Mine)

Something went seriously off the rails during TV time last night.  I'm not referring to Kanye's ego finally obliterating what little was left of his mind.  Rather I mean the outcome of a less-watched but equally dubious manipulation of the medium: the reveal of HGTV's Design Star of the year.

From the start the competition seemed to be Dan Vickery's (pictured above) to lose.  But I doubt many would have guessed he'd actually lose.  Dear reader, he did.

I have watched all four seasons of Design Star, having found it to be one of the least annoying talent competition shows.  But one thing that disappointed me during the previous three seasons: I didn't care much about who won.  By the time the show had whittled its way to a final twosome, I had always found them both deserving and ably talented.  However, I also knew I would not be watching the winner's show.  None of the previous six finalists were able to break through the blandness that inevitably settled in as we spent more time with each.  Thus I liked the show, but didn't care about the outcome.

That changed this year.  Neither Dan nor his co-finalist, Antonio, were blah.  But, to my mind, only one was deserving of the crown.  Dan's design skill and know-how trumped his competitors' efforts week to week.  Antonio served up a big, disaffected personality alongside relatively minor innovation and ingenuity.  The choice was clear.  Until logic went on a ski vacation with reason and Antonio was named the victor.

The whole megillah would have been easier to take, frankly, if there existed some transparency per the judges' decision.  In fact, this has been a major flaw since the show's inception.  The deliberations of the judges are rendered coy and inscrutable through the use of fast-cutting and never allowing any comment to be directly addressed to any contestant.  It comes across as a bunch of random ideas that shed little to no light on the final decision.  With this year being the first that the judges, rather than the home audience, pick the winner--that flaw has been rendered fatal.

For comparison picture a Project Runway where the contestant who showcases an ill-fitting skirt with a raw, unfinished hem is named the winner without any accompanying explanation.  It would be irritating, and could you still have faith in Michael Kors' design instincts?

The HGTV site has been inundated with angry responders.  So many, in fact, that the first batch of comments has been mysteriously removed and replaced by a more even-keeled selection.  As usual it's still descending into chaos, with Dan supporters railing against Antonio by calling him dirty (because of his tattoos) and talentless.  And people on the other side suggesting that Antonio is a better choice because he's not "so feminine."  Way to take the high road, people.

It's disappointing when something so right goes all wrong.  I don't watch any other programs on the HGTV network, but I was going to make time to give Mr. Vickery's show my attention.  Now I regret that I won't be able to do that and likely won't be watching Design Star again either.  I imagine the higher-ups won't feel too bad about the loss of another viewer--they're certainly not bemoaning their whole channel's loss of integrity.