Praise of Folly

Is it "take your kid to work day?"

Depressurize from the little moppets' trying to eat your binder clips and downloading cartoon spyware onto your work computer all day by taking down your Arrested Development DVDs and watching the brilliant "Not Without My Daughter", written by Mitchell Hurwitz and Richard Rosenstock.

Keep an oculus on Eyes

While not as enamored with the première of Eyes as this reviewer, Erasmus nonetheless recommends giving it a shot (Wednesdays at 10 ET). Given genial Wings alumnus Tim Daly's presence as the lead, and the retro-style ads ABC aired, Erasmus was expecting a frothy, inconsequential romp of a show, perhaps à la the late Melissa George vehicle, Thieves.

In fact, Eyes takes itself a fair bit more seriously than the average over-the-top p.i./cop/robber show, mixing in a fair bit of nastiness, like the operative who was cuckolding his soft-hearted cubicle-mate. He'll not cause any more trouble, given that a co-worker (working as a mole for a potential buyer) blew his head off when he tried to blackmail her.

Erasmus's own gimlet οφθαλμος sees the potential for a glitzier version of Joe Gores' classic DKA Files p.i. series. At least that's what he'd shoot for, if he were writing for them. (Attention TV showrunners: call Erasmus. He works cheap.)

The review above indicates the second episode is weaker than the first, so stick around for a couple episodes before making a final judgment. Erasmus will. For now, however...

Placet.

Doctor Domus

Although he hasn’t been able to post much about it, Erasmus has been able to keep up with some TV. He’s distraught that Arrested Development is in danger of being cancelled, and hopes that Fox sees potential for long-term success in the show. Fox is an odd network, far more willing than any of the others to try out brilliant, off-beat shows, then yank them quickly when they don’t immediately pull ratings. (Often despite critical raves which often foretell slower, word-of-mouth success.)

One show which Erasmus is gratified to see doing well is House, M.D.. Not only is its cast, led by Hugh Laurie (of whom Erasmus is an enormous fan), Robert Sean Leonard, and Omar Epps.

Erasmus‘s enthusiasm stems from the fact that House is the most clever take on Sherlock Holmes since Monk. Dr. Greg House is Holmes (“house” is “homes”?) an acerbic, somewhat misanthropic genius obsessed with solving problems and addicted to drugs. His best friend, Dr. James Wilson (not Dr. John Watson, though Erasmus could have sworn he heard a character refer to Dr. Wilson as “Dr. Watson”) is an amiable type with marital irregularties. He commands a staff of interns (Epps, Jennifer Morrison, Jesse Spencer), who are all slightly unusual: a black guy with a past, a beautiful woman, and an Australian. They’re House’s own Irregulars.

Instead of means, motive, and opportunity, House chases etiology, diagnosis, and treatment, typically getting baffling results along the way that push him and his staff to greater feats of ratiocination, all under the terrible pressure not that a criminal will escape justice, but that a patient in their care will die.

If you haven’t yet seen House, watch Arrested Development. It needs the viewers more. Unlike many people of Erasmus’s acquaintance with regard to the late NewsRadio, you’ll be spared saying, “Man, that show was good. I wish I had seen it when it was first on.” And after doing that, tune in House, M.D. It’s a worthy, dramatic companion to Scrubs for all your doctor-show needs.

Last, Erasmus praises Hugh Laurie, perhaps piling Pelion of laud upon Ossa of recognition, but his American accent is by a wide margin the best done by a British actor in Erasmus’s memory. Absolutely faultless.

House, M.D., ave.
Mr. Laurie, ave.

Johannes Palustrus, R.I.P.

Erasmus is a rough contemporary, he guesses, of OGIC and Eric McErlain, but Johnny Carson's passing leaves him a bit sadder.

While the accoutrements of Carson's show never struck Erasmus as anything other than superannuated cheesiness from the earliest days of TV, Carson himself was a tarter, sharper figure than the gauzy, sentimental reminiscences now abounding would lead one to believe. Carson's supreme talent was not stand-up or acting, but interviewing. Unlike either of his two semi-heirs, Letterman and (particularly) Leno, he never made an interview about himself or felt the need to draw attention onto himself. He was happy to be a mirror reflecting the spotlight onto others, letting them display their best, most interesting selves (or personæ). He was brilliant at ad libitum asides, jibes, and ripostes. He was particularly deft at deflating the pompous or aggressive guest, a Nebraskan Groucho Marx.

He seems to have been a man of professional generosity, as the many comedians his show made are now volubly testifying. It's necessary to say "seems" all too often about Carson, as he was fundamentally a private, modest man by the standards of late twentieth-century celebrity. Aside from jokes about his many marriages, he shared very little of himself with his audience but nevertheless was so gracious, genial, and charismatic that virtually anyone who'd watched The Tonight Show during his long stewardship would have felt comfortable saying hello to him on the street.

Johnny Carson, an amateur magician of some talent, pulled off what may have been the greatest legerdemain in the history of celebrity: standing center stage, almost invisible, while everyone around him stood out in sharp, flattering relief.

John William Carson
(1925-2005)
Requiescat in pace

Siparium minisculum

As promised, Erasmus returns to his post, though sporadically. He only has time for a quick run-down of various televisual events of late.

• Erasmus was watching "Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité," perhaps the only Keen Eddie he had not yet seen and was struck again not merely by the high quality of the show's writing and acting (praised at length earlier hereabouts), but the sheer visual flair of the show. So many of its shots were simply gorgeous and visually informative as well, e.g., Eddie's conversation in the above episode with a French gangster who insists on explaining his fatalistic belief in astrology with a portion of a computerized version of a sixteenth-century star chart being projected onto his face. Not only dramatic looking, but a lovely representation of the derangement at the character's heart, both his terrible strength and his Achilles heel. Erasmus insists you proceed immediately to Amazon and purchase the complete series of Keen Eddie which has just been released on DVD. You will not regret it. Ave atque vale!

• Erasmus was happy to see both the very good USA Network series Monk and The Dead Zone recover their footing after slightly clumsy season beginnings. He remains utterly baffled at Bitty Schram's departure from Monk, finding either side's choosing to part ways hard to understand. He hopes that Miss Schram does well in the future, and that the show's writing staff deal with her departure and replacement adequately. Holmes always needs a Watson. Placet. Placet.

• Scrubs seems to be starting its season strongly. Erasmus did finally get a TiVo, so his viewing has been even more erratic than his posting. The show's premiere was good, and the competition for chief resident seems like a terrific premise for the second episode and beyond. Though we'll have to see. Most of you, dear readers, have likely already seen the second episode already. (Oh, and Erasmus must note that he's very interested in seeing Zach Braff's Garden State but hasn't yet been able to.) Placet.

• Last, Erasmus must note that he's developed an abiding fondness for the inspired idiocy (and often clever Cops allusions) of Reno 911! Placet.
  

Foyled Again, But No Curses

Erasmus somehow missed the first series of Foyle's War, but recently caught "Fifty Ships," the first episode of the second. To judge from the single episode, it's very nicely done, going to some lengths to capture the milieu of wartime Britain. To pick two examples, the rôle and resentments of the Auxiliary Fire Service were entertainingly worked in, as well as the phenomenon of "trekkers," people who fled urban centers at night for fear of bombing raids.

There were a few bits of language that sounded anachronistic (did they say "the death penalty" in the '40s?), but overall, the impression of faithfulness to the period was well-maintained. The plot was not bad at all, and the acting, particularly in the supporting rôles, was better than many BBC productions.

Special praise must go to Michael Kitchen as the eponymous Inspector Christopher Foyle, whose habitual subtlety and underplaying creates a quiet, solid heart to the show, a humanity that's never overwhelmed by the wartime drama.

Also, I'm indebted to the IMDb for informing me that Honeysuckle Weeks is indeed the born name of the actress playing Samantha Stewart. Miss Weeks has siblings named Perdita and Rollo, so her parents clearly did not feel themselves bound by onomastic convention.

Placet.

The Rundown (which is worth renting for Walken and more...)

Ok, Erasmus apologizes for the tumbleweeds blowing across the old Encomium Moriae here. He's been up to his earlobes in verb forms as he wades through a massive translation project. Some things briefly noted in the interim.

• 50 First Dates was substantially better than its ads appeared. While the premise is dingy—Drew Barrymore is a fetching Hawaiian lass who's developed a case of amnesia Mementoensis and hasn't developed Guy Pearce's self-tattooing skills yet—the movie takes the premise seriously and sticks to it reasonably well. Adam Sandler is fine. Erasmus is no fan of his (and was one of the few who came away from Punch-Drunk Love unimpressed, it seems) but has enjoyed a few of his movies. Rob Schneider's stoner shark-bait kanaka maoli is funny but his accent seemed Puerto Rican or Mexican half the time. Nevertheless, overall, placet. And the walrus trainer gets an ave.

• The Dead Zone and Monk are back and welcomed. Neither's in quite top form yet, although the former's eerie "Collision" had a couple of the creepier moments of episodic TV I've seen since the X-Files' heyday, with Johnny's flashbacks, the girl lurking around, and burn traumas. The latter seems to be relying a little too much on Adrian Monk's neuroses at the expense of the clever plotting which is their hallmark. But still:Placet placetque. (And nice to see Ajay "Samir Nagheenanajar" Naidu on Monk.)

• Dodgeball is pretty much what you'd expect from the ads. Which is, in Erasmus's case, good enough. Erasmus would have given the script another polish and cleaned up the ending a little bit, but it was still a very solid second-tier farce along the lines of Stiller's Zoolander, Vaughn's Old School, or Sandler's Happy Gilmore. Erasmus always enjoys Rip Torn, Stephen Root, and Christine Taylor. And the cameos are pretty funny. Special recognition to the send-up of ESPN's obscure-sports broadcasts. Gary Cole and Jason Bateman are pretty much spot-on, though Bateman could have been even more over the top and still dead-on satirically. Made Erasmus want to go watch Toby Huss & Orlando Jones's extended basketball-game call scene on the Bedazzled DVD. Placet.

• The Confusion by Neal Stephenson is a big, fun read like his Cryptonomicon or its predecessor in the Baroque Cycle trilogy, Quicksilver. For anyone who enjoys historical trivia and the history of science (including a fair amount of the dismal science), Stephenson's your guy. He's weaker on character and personality than ideas and window-dressing, so Erasmus doubts people will be reading him as a classic belletrist 100 years from now. But for big, fun, erudite page-turning fun—Tom Clancy for people with graduate degrees—you can't do much better. Ave.
  

With thanks for your patience and in hope that the Follies will play again soon, Erasmus remains,

Yr. obdt. srvt.

The final episode of what?

I had no idea!

Ok, Erasmus had an idea. But he apparently also has an inability to program his VCR, despite the fact he's done it 24,357 times in the past. So Erasmus missed Frasier tonight. D'ohh!

Jonathan Creek, "The Tailor's Dummy"

Brief post on last night's Jonathan Creek, "The Tailor's Dummy." Although elements of the mystery were fairly obvious, the solution as a whole was well-done and surprising. The episode was particularly satisfying because of the exceptionally good acting of the guest stars, particularly Maureen Lippman (and the principals were very good as well), and the tone of dread and menace maintained by the directrix, Christine Gernon, throughout most of the episode.

Ave.

Friends No More

Erasmus would not much of a pop-cultural commentator if he let the finale of Friends pass by without comment. Also, given the massive hype around it, it's a hard topic to avoid. Alas, as to the merits or content of the show, Erasmus is pretty much Invincibly Ignorant at this point. Erasmus was a big fan for the first couple seasons of the show, but then it hit a stretch where each episode seemed to be trying to top the last for quantity of sex jokes, which inevitably were vulgar and dull. When Erasmus, then a twenty-something with a fairly off-color sense of humor, sat before his TV thinking, "This is just... smutty," he got annoyed at the writers for making him sound like someone's grandmother and walked away.

Erasmus is reliably informed that the show revived itself and became creative and funny again. But he never found his way back. For the record, Erasmus always liked Monica and Chandler best of the Friends, and he's happy to hear that they're fictively wed. Ross & Rachel, whom Erasmus assumes will be united in some fashion in the finale, initially had a poignancy to their relationship, but it then sort of decayed into the on-and-off sitcom cycle Erasmsus has lit so many pixels on below. Joey and Phoebe seemed the Rosencrantz & Guildenstern of the show, goofball comic relief.

Friends was a good show, maybe even a classic. In ten or twenty years, it will be interesting to see if Friends gains the eternal syndicated afterlife of Cheers, M*A*S*H, &c. If so, Erasmus wishes he'd written a couple episodes, because the residual checks are going to be great...

Vale, amici.