A Hopeful Revolution; 24 Ticks Down

In 2008, Huntington, West Virginia, was cited in a government survey as being the unhealthiest city in the nation. Enter British chef Jamie Oliver, determined to make a difference here the same way he did in his home country: by instituting a new menu in the city’s schools. This time around, the process is being documented for the purposes of a worthwhile new reality show dubbed Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution (ABC, Fridays, 9pm).

Naturally, an outsider showing up to change the system doesn’t sit well with some of Huntington’s residents, and the local radio host isn’t helping matters by spewing his anti-health food stance on the air. There is resistance from the community and the school, the latter having its hand forced by imperfect USDA guidelines and tight budgetary restrictions. Some of the conflict, though, does come off as a bit manufactured. It’s hard to believe that the cooks who run the kitchen at the elementary school—don’t dare call them lunch ladies—would really be so averse to making kids healthier, even if it means they have to work a little harder. Or that they could deny that the processed food they serve (pizza for breakfast, mashed potatoes that harden like cement) is not good for them.

The kids aren’t necessarily helping the situation, either. They’re less than gung ho about the menu changes; much of the fresh food Oliver prepares is left on their trays. Speaking of which, for a town struggling with a fifty-percent obesity rate, it seems to me that those trays could be much smaller. Even when Oliver is handing out healthy food, it still looks like it’s in too high a quantity, and the fact that much of it ends up in the trash can anyway only makes things worse.

There are times when Oliver feels like a British version of hyperactive Extreme Makeover: Home Edition host Ty Pennington. He pulls stunts such as dressing up like a pea pod or having a year’s worth of fat delivered to the school parking lot. (Thankfully, no one gives him a megaphone.) But you certainly can’t fault his intentions as he comes across the Atlantic with the hopes of making a small ripple in a very big pond. His passion and emotion are clearly evident as he attempts to help a community that seems largely uninterested in helping itself. One of Oliver’s demonstrations perfectly sums up what he’s up against: showing kids how chicken nuggets are made, the tykes are disgusted to learn that it’s the leftover parts of the chicken—bloody bones, skin, fat—that are ground up and shaped into patties. But dressed up with a little batter and deep-fried, they still have absolutely no problem eating them.

Something I’ve been having a hard time swallowing is the current season of 24, an absurd mess whose last episode had me rolling my eyes and laughing out loud countless times. Let’s see, there was Chloe pulling a gun on an NSA agent because no one was listening to her; a rookie CTU field agent who defied orders and ran out into the open during a gunfight to save a wounded comrade, only to end up getting killed himself; Dana strangling a parole officer and hiding him inside a vent at CTU headquarters; and, seconds later, learning that Dana is yet another CTU mole (she must be the eightieth in the show’s history).

Mercifully, Fox announced yesterday after weeks of speculation (including rumors that the show would move to NBC) that this will indeed be 24’s final season. Star Kiefer Sutherland said in the press release, “While the end of the series is bittersweet, we always wanted 24 to finish on a high note, so the decision to make the eighth season our last was one we all agreed upon.” Obviously, he’s been working on a different show than I've been watching, because this hardly constitutes going out on a high note. Unless the back half of this season does a complete about face, this will 24 going out at its absolute worst.

There’s no question that this is one of the most groundbreaking shows of the last decade, changing the way serialized stories are told. It was also instrumental in changing how programmers schedule this type of show, giving way to nonstop, repeat-free airings over a shorter time period. Which is why it’s so sad that 24 has to end on such a creative low. A movie franchise is imminent (a script is already being worked on that would have Jack Bauer battling baddies in Europe), so this definitely is not the last you’ll see of 24. Let’s hope that, in its current form, the writers are able to pull things together just enough to make this season more than the atrocity they’ve weaved so far. After 192 hours, loyal fans deserve at least that much.

Breaking's Back

Compared with what we’re used to seeing on the absolutely brilliant AMC series Breaking Bad (Sundays, 10pm), last night’s third-season premiere was relatively quiet. Guilt and retribution were at the center of the episode, in which we saw the repercussions of the midair plane collision that capped off last year.

Walt (Bryan Cranston, who also directed the episode) is a mess, though somehow he claims that he’s happy in his marriage when wife Skyler (Anna Gunn) confronts him with divorce papers. Seems she’s at least partially figured out what Walt has been up to all these months (she thinks he’s been dealing marijuana). In a last ditch attempt to keep her from leaving him, he tells her some of the truth, confessing to being a meth manufacturer, but conveniently leaving out the part where he’s either killed someone himself or simply been on hand as he watched someone die. Guess the guilt wasn’t eating at him that badly.

Meanwhile, Jesse (Aaron Paul)—whose girlfriend was one of the people that Walt stood idly by while she took her last breath—is suffering from an avalanche of guilt. He supplied his newly sober girlfriend with the drugs that killed her, causing her grief-stricken air traffic controller father to neglect his duties and send the two planes into the same flight path. Jesse has proven to be a paragon of recidivism in seasons past, so his stint in rehab likely won't leave him cured, especially with the deaths of 170 people on his conscience.

If the episode didn’t offer up one of the show’s trademark out-of-left-field surprises, it ultimately didn’t matter. The dialogue is so crisp and the actions are so sincere (even if they are oftentimes completely messed up) that they test your ability to feel empathy for this group of extremely flawed characters. “Look on the bright side,” Walt tells a gymnasium full of distraught students in a rambling speech about survival, this is “just the fiftieth worst air disaster.” Far from consoling, but oh-so-typical of this wonderfully deviant series.

Midseason Roundup

The Marriage Ref (NBC, Thursdays, 10pm): The perfect example of why I don’t like to judge a show based on just one episode. The preview that NBC aired after the Olympics Closing Ceremony was horrendous and painful to sit through. The second episode improved considerably, but by the third episode, which featured Ricky Gervais, Larry David and, of all people, Madonna, the show had won me over. It’s a simple concept: married couples bicker over something petty (e.g., pampering a pet iguana, not being allowed to use the dining room table), celebrity panelists debate the merits of the argument, and host/referee Tom Papa decides who’s right. Jerry Seinfeld is an executive producer and will sit on the panel occasionally, though the show was actually better when he wasn’t there. Gervais and David, who joked about doing a sitcom together, were golden, and who knew Madonna could be funny? I went into this show with the lowest of expectations (especially after that awful preview) and have been pleasantly surprised. Considering this is one of NBC’s Jay Leno Show replacements, the comedy bar has more than been surpassed.

Parenthood (NBC, Tuesdays, 10pm): Oh, how I wish I could sing the praises of the latest offering from Friday Night Lights executive producer Jason Katims. Don’t get me wrong; it’s a good show, but I wanted it to be great and it hasn’t come close to that yet. Granted, we’re only two episodes in, so there’s still hope. Part of the show’s problem is that it has too many balls in the air, something that’s a boon for FNL but a bit of a detriment here. Craig T. Nelson and Bonnie Bedelia head a clan that includes so many sons, daughters and grandkids that it’s sometimes hard to know which kid belongs to which parents. Among the story lines: Sarah (Lauren Graham, almost completely transcending the tics that she worked to perfection on Gilmore Girls) and her teenage kids move in with her parents; Adam (Peter Krause, typically fine) and wife Kristina (Monica Potter) learn that their son has Asperger’s Syndrome; and Crosby (Dax Shepard) finds out he has an illegitimate son he never knew about. The cast is top-notch, and the writing effectively acknowledges that dealing with family can be the most trying thing we may ever do in our lives. This show definitely has the blueprint for success; now all it needs to do is get out of its own way and build something magical.

Undercover Boss (CBS, Sundays, 9pm): There’s been some criticism that this show, which sends executives from companies such as 7-Eleven and Waste Management to the ground floor, is too good to be true. On some level, I agree with that. It does seem rather suspicious that we have yet to see an employee who has a major gripe with the company. How is it that trash collectors and deliverymen seem happier to be doing their jobs than I am? What’s their secret? It is interesting to see what goes on behind the scenes at some of the country’s most famous businesses, though I’m unsure how long this novelty will prove to be entertaining. Already renewed for a second season—it’s this year's highest-rated new series—this seems like the kind of show that will get tired after a while, not unlike Extreme Makeover: Home Edition (you’ve seen twenty home restorations, you’ve seen them all). Besides, with so many people watching, how can the producers possibly keep this ruse going for long?

Minute to Win It (NBC, Sundays, 8pm): About as disposable as TV gets. This game show challenges contestants to perform seemingly simple tasks (empty a tissue box with one hand, bounce a ping pong ball across three plates into a fishbowl) in one minute or less as they attempt to win a million dollars. Like Deal or No Deal, you’re left wondering why the whole thing is so drawn out. The first half of last night’s two-hour premiere (I confess, that’s all I could get through, and yes, I know I’m contradicting what I said earlier about The Marriage Ref) only had six games yet managed to fill an hour of prime time. If you do the math, that’s about fifty-four minutes of filler. Host Guy Fieri certainly sells the enthusiasm, though that's hardly enough when everything moves so slowly. I don’t know about you, but I prefer my TV to have a little more substance than watching some guy bob his head hard enough to make a pedometer register.

Oscar at 82: In Need of a Facelift

I'm not sure why, but somehow I ended up watching many of this year's awards shows, from the Critics' Choice Awards to the Golden Globes to the Screen Actors Guild Awards to the Film Independent Spirit Awards. So by the time last night's Oscars came around, I had already seen the same winners give the same acceptance speeches several times over. With this being such
a predictable year, at least in the acting categories, the producers of the Academy Awards telecast had their work cut out for them in order to make the evening slightly entertaining. Unfortunately, all they were able to muster was just that: a slight entertainment.

Hosts Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin should have made the proceedings light and breezy. Instead, many of their jokes fell flat, such as Baldwin calling the Oscars the "biggest night in Hollywood since last night." Really? This is Oscar level humor? I found myself wishing that Neil Patrick Harris, who opened the show with a musical number and has in less than a year become an awards show staple, had stuck around and worked the same magic he displayed at the Tonys and Emmys. Martin and Baldwin's monologue was a lot of "Hey, there's [fill in the blank]," as they ribbed some of the celebrities in the front rows. There were a few light chuckles, no real gutbusters, and George Clooney, ordinarily such a good sport, was decidedly unimpressed with the shenanigans, sitting as he did for most of the night with a glower on his face.

Outside of a dance routine inspired by the nominees in the musical score category, and performed by a mix of former contestants from So You Think You Can Dance (telecast producer Adam Shankman is also a judge on that show) and a mind-blowing troupe called the Legion of Extraordinary Dancers, there wasn't a lot of energy in the room. Ben Stiller tried to spice things up, coming out on stage in full Na'vi regalia. A Paranormal Activity spoof with Martin and Baldwin in bed together was easily the night's funniest bit. As far as acceptance speeches went, Best Actress winner Sandra Bullock's was by far the most engaging; she honored the woman who gave her permission to follow her own path, showed genuine appreciation for her fellow nominees, and had fun with Meryl Streep.

With the exception of director Kathryn Bigelow's historic win, the rest of the major awards were a lot of been there, done that. Mo'Nique, Christoph Waltz, and Jeff Bridges (who can drone on like nobody's business) have another trophy to put on their shelves. And The Hurt Locker now bears the distinction of being the lowest-grossing film to ever win Best Picture, which means that most of the audience couldn't have cared less that it actually won.

Back to the show itself, though, it's amazing to me that after 82 ceremonies, Oscar hasn't found a format that truly works for it. I thought they were on to something last year when they presented the awards as a story, detailing the moviemaking process in the order it actually occurs rather than the hodgepodge we get most years. Is it too much to ask that, for just one night out of the year, the people responsible for captivating us on the big screen give it their all to make sure that their most prestigious awards ceremony is as satisfying as it can be? If you ask me, Oscar needs to fire his agent and look for better representation elsewhere.

Thank You, Vancouver (and NBC)

A two-week televisual vacation in Vancouver came to an end yesterday with the final two competitions of the XXI Olympic Winter Games—a grueling 50km cross-country skiing race and the host country’s glorious and oh-so-important overtime defeat of the United States to take the gold in men’s ice hockey—and the Closing Ceremony capping things off at BC Place, the indoor stadium that housed the magnificent kickoff festivities sixteen days prior.

If the Games’ launch was an austere tribute to Canada’s history, their close was more a celebration of its ability to laugh at itself, beginning with a mime-aided callback to the mechanical problems that kept the cauldron from being lit as intended in the Opening Ceremony. (Speed skater Catriona Lemay Doan finally got to put her flame to use.) There were giant Mountie statues on display, floating moose, inflatable beavers, and appearances by William Shatner, Catherine O’Hara, and Michael J. Fox. Yes, the Vancouver Games went out with tongue planted firmly in cheek.

Not to be forgotten, though, were the emotional highs and lows these Olympics produced. Injury-plagued Lindsey Vonn’s scream of pure relief after she won gold in the downhill. Apolo Anton Ohno’s winning three more medals to become the most decorated American Winter Olympian ever, doing it in a sport (short track speed skating) that is defined by its unpredictability. Figure skater Joannie Rochette’s strength and courage, taking to the ice just two days after her mother’s death and somehow delivering a bronze medal-winning performance as the world shared in her grief. Moguls skier Alexandre Bilodeau finally getting the monkey off Canada’s back, winning the first of what would become a Winter record fourteen gold medals on home soil, something the country was unable to do in two previous tries (Montreal in ’76, Calgary in ’88). Of course, I’m barely scratching the surface here; so many wonderful, unforgettable stories emerged from these Games.

NBC once again did an admirable, if predictably jingoistic, job covering this massive event. Bob Costas remains the consummate host and is arguably the best interviewer in the business today, able to cut through the bull when necessary but also be playful with guests when appropriate (his interview with the enormously personable Vonn on Saturday was a hoot). Some cost-cutting measures were evident: The network relied on the world feed for certain events, such as ski jumping and cross-country, leaving many of the decisions about what we were shown out of the NBC director’s hands. At least all the talent was on site this time, unlike in Beijing, where some events were called by announcers watching monitors back in Saturday Night Live's empty New York studio.

The network’s contract to broadcast the Olympics ends with the London Games in 2012. Bids are forthcoming for future broadcast rights, and ESPN is believed to be eager to put in a hefty offer. But I hope NBC is able to keep the Olympics. Soft returns from Torino in 2006 have since been supplanted by much larger audiences in Beijing and Vancouver. NBC even became the first net to beat American Idol a couple weeks back, thanks to a night that featured a quartet of American Olympic idols, including snowboarder Shaun White’s gold medal halfpipe run.

If nothing else, the Olympics add an automatic air of prestige to a network that has shown itself largely incapable of creating shows that might have the same effect. For a little more than a fortnight every two years, NBC is guaranteed to make the kinds of headlines it wants, ones that don’t end with a punchline.