Project Film School: From Here to Eternity

 

Photo by keithsim@imdb.com - © 1953 Columbia Pictures

I had never seen From Here to Eternity (1953) except for the scene that everyone knows in which the lovers kiss in the waves of the Hawaiian shore. But I had heard that it won a lot of Oscars and was on many "best films" lists. So, of course, if one is attempting to catch up on classic films, this seems to be a film to add to the queue.

This film, directed by Fred Zinneman and written by Daniel Taradash, tells the story of several army men, and the women in their lives, in 1941 Hawaii. Montgomery Clift plays Robert E. Lee Prewitt, a private who joins a new unit but refuses to box for them. His new captain, Capt. Dana Holmes (Philip Ober), who is only interested in advancing his career and the glory that boxing brings to his unit, orders his staff to make Prewitt’s life a living hell until he agrees to box. The unit's second-in-command, Sgt. Milton Warden (Burt Lancaster), follows the Captain’s orders, but clearly has no respect for a man who doesn’t respect the military. The Sergeant begins to pursue the Captain's wife, Karen Holmes (Deborah Kerr), who struggles with issues in her marriage, namely, her husband’s philandering and her inability to have children. Meanwhile, Prewitt falls in love with Lorene (Donna Reed), a girl hired to entertain men at a social club. Plus, there’s Frank Sinatra in an Oscar-winning turn as Prewitt’s buddy Angelo Maggio, who clashes with a crude stockade sergeant, played by Ernest Borgnine. And let’s not forget that attack on Pearl Harbor.

What’s fascinating to me is that this grand movie with big stars, fantastic scenery, and immense themes about love and war is, at its core, about something very basic: people making life choices. In From Here to Eternity, each character has made choices that brought them to the film’s present-day situations. And, where they end up at movie’s end is a direct reflection of the choices we watch them make. [Warning: Spoilers follow for anyone who hasn’t seen the film.]

For example, Prewitt is emotionally damaged from having blinded a good friend while they were sparring at his old unit. As a result, he chooses not to box for his new unit, regardless of the torture they heap upon him. Lorene makes the choice not to get engaged to Prewitt because she has already decided her path in life, and it does not include being married to an army man. In desperation, she offers to marry Prewitt to try to keep him from rejoining his unit after the bombing, but you know that it could not happen, even if he were to survive. (When she talks about him on the boat while leaving Hawaii, she takes pride in presenting the false story—invented by the army or by her? I’m not sure which—about how he died a hero. She did not want him as he was.) And then there’s Sergeant Warden, choosing to give up a future with Karen (sexy rolls in the sand notwithstanding) to stay married to the army. Captain Holmes and Maggio make their life-defining choices, too.

And I think that is why this film has endured. We can see past the glamour of the screen and the historically pivotal timeline to focus on the characters. So while the film may be big, the characters’ lives are small. They are soldiers and housewives and working men and women like everyone else. They make choices based on their beliefs and fears and desires—choices that may or may not serve them well, but they are their choices to make. And we connect with the film because we all have choices to make, too.

Portlandia Dreamin'

Portlandia – This series on IFC isn't new (4^th season comes out in 2014), but, like too many things, it's new to me. Portlandia is a sketch-comedy co-created and co-written by Fred Armisen, Carrie Brownstein, and Jonathan Krisel (who also directs) and executive produced by Lorne Michaels. Armisen, Krisel, and Michaels all come with the Saturday Night Live pedigree, of course, but Brownstein, of the band Sleater-Kinney, is a newcomer to the TV world. And she is simply brilliant to watch. The series takes place (and is shot entirely on location) in Portland, Oregon, and it revels in the city's kooky reputation through equal parts silliness and stinging social satire.

The first episode sets the tone via a song that explains how the dream of the '90s (when people were encouraged to be unambitious and weird) is alive in Portland—the city where young people go to retire. Throughout each episode, Armisen and Brownstein play a series of recurring characters that mock and celebrate what makes Portland so unique. Having never been to Portland, I watch as an outsider. But like all the great shows, it brings me in just far enough so that its world starts to feel both familiar and entirely foreign to me (think M*A*S*H). The list of guest stars who have visited—either as themselves or a crazy character—is also impressive: Aimee Mann, Steve Buscemi, Eddie Vedder, Jeff Goldblum, Chloe Sevigny, Edward James Olmos, Kyle MacLachlan, and many more. When Aimee Mann plays herself working as the cleaning lady for a couple (played by Armisen and Brownstein) who are fans of her music, but have much to criticize about her cleaning, you know that something awesome is happening.

One final note: I love the series open. In the tradition of any successful open (the ones you watch with each episode), it creates a mood that perfectly matches the show. The music ("Feel It All Around" by Washed Out) feels both dark and happy and the video features locations around Portland shot in a greenish hue that's equal parts welcoming and odd. It's as much a character as the ones played by Brownstein and Armisen. It makes me want to go to there. Of course, despite the flannels still hanging in my closet, I'm not sure that my nerdy self could handle all that kookiness in person. But a visit would be nice.

Return to Reality

I know it seems I've gone all fancy-pants watching classic films and quality TV shows, but no worries—I still watch plenty of crap. I've been reticent to write about it, however, because, frankly, much of it is losing its appeal. It's not the genre's fault. I'm sure there's plenty of ridiculousness left to be mined. I think it may be my choice of shows.

Bravo has been my main destination for a quick reality fix, but it's become rather stale. There are mainly five types of shows on Bravo: the Real Housewives franchise, spinoffs featuring cast members from Real Housewives, a group of friends with a shared culture/lifestyle (e.g., Princesses of Long Island), a group of young people who work in the same industry/location (e.g., Below Deck), and the competitions (e.g., the Top Chef franchise). Aside from the competition-based shows, most of the Bravo series are filled with frequent full-cast events (dinner parties, product launch parties, work parties, etc.) interspersed with smaller get-togethers in which cast members talk trash behind each other's backs (ensuring a fight at the full-cast events). Which sounds awesome if you're into this kind of thing (which I am), except the stories have gotten so formulaic that there's nothing new or unexpected anymore.

And here's the other problem with Bravo and the other networks that produce reality shows—we've all known for quite a while that these shows aren't exactly real, but now the networks have gotten brazen about scripting and setting up each interaction. As a result, the same celebrity news sites that publish stories about the shows' stars now also post articles about the storylines that were completely faked (for example, see Radar Online). And it isn't only the news sources getting in on the big reveals. Individuals with personal knowledge about reality stars' lives, particularly those with an axe to grind, have taken to personal blogs and Twitter to spin their own versions of certain events. It's become an industry of she said/she said/he said/she said... Ultimately, you end up assuming that none of it is true.

So, am I going to stop watching? Hell no. Despite knowing all that I do about these ridiculous shows, sometimes there's nothing I want more than to immerse myself in nothingness at the end of a long day. Sure, sleep would be smarter, but then how would I have learned these two very unimportant things: 

• Joe Francis isn't just a soft-core porn peddler and exploiter of young women; he's also an asshole to all people regardless of age, gender, sex, or celebrity status. His offensiveness is equal-opportunity, as seen on Couples Therapy (VH1).
• Despite their varied backgrounds and belief systems about art and commerce, all contestants on Project Runway (Lifetime) are willing to smile pleasantly as the show spends increasing amounts of time shilling their sponsors' products during the challenges. (Yes, I'd love to give away Yoplait Frozen Yogurt from a cart and then design clothing based on the tasters' descriptions. Mmm...creamy dress!) No fear of selling out here.

And it doesn't get more real than that! (Well, actually, I guess it does. I'm going to search for some new shows. I will report back soon.)

Derek – Boy on Film

I love a good cry. I don't cry at everything, but when the right kind of TV show, movie, or book gets to me, I let my cry-flag fly. While watching Derek, I enjoyed little cries, big cries, and two deep, soul-cleansing, sob-filled cries that I had to hold in until the end credits rolled so that the boyfriend (who was also quietly crying) and I wouldn't miss any dialogue. It was the best. 

Derek isn't only about tear-inducing sad moments, though. In fact, this seven-episode dramedy on Netflix is ridiculously hilarious. The show is the latest brainchild of Ricky Gervais, who both produces it and stars as the title character Derek Noakes. It takes place in a British nursing home, focusing on its workers and residents. Like Gervais's The Office, Derek has a workplace-as-family theme and uses the mockumentary approach. I'll admit it—the first time a character spoke in their "interview," I had the thought that Gervais was just repeating himself, and (insert snarky tone) in such an obvious manner. I didn't wonder for long, though, because I was soon sucked deep into Derek's world.

Derek is kind and sees the best in everyone, from the home's elderly residents to his coworkers and friends. It's not difficult to see why he adores Hannah, the home's manager (played brilliantly by Kerry Godliman), who always puts others ahead of herself. But he also adores his friends Dougie, the home's caretaker and a tremendous sourpuss, and Kev, who has no job, no home, and spends most of his time talking about his own penis. Kev provides some of the show's most ridiculous moments, from the lewd names for body parts he paints onto crabs at the shore to the screenplay he has written (and tries to perform with Derek) about the beginnings of 80s rock band Duran Duran. (Yes, I was sold the minute I saw the episode description mentioned Duran Duran.)

Some critics have made a big deal about whether Derek, who is slow and has odd mannerisms, has an identifiable mental handicap, and thus, if Gervais is making fun of him. (Gervais has made it clear in interviews that Derek is not autistic, nor does he represent any particular condition.) Personally, I think those that are stuck on this issue are missing the point. What struck me about Derek is how the home's workers, and by extension, the show, treats everyone as three-dimensional human beings. It's just as easy to over-simplify and dismiss elderly characters—there are plenty of tropes, ranging from the forgetful or cute old man to the sex-crazed or wise old woman. What the show does quite brilliantly is portray all of these characters as full-fledged people, with a past that has shaped their present. We learn that Derek has a difficult past that isn't fully laid out for us, but can be seen as a darkness behind his eyes. (Gervais has featured the character in stand-up routines in the past, but much of the history developed there has not yet been presented in the TV show.) And I love the use of old photographs to give us a small glimpse into the elderly residents' rich life histories. 

Derek, like the nursing home itself, creates a place for those often marginalized and unwanted by mainstream society. Perhaps more people should be asking why characters like Derek and the home's residents are so rare. Derek's uniqueness (whether from a specific condition or not) and the issues faced by the home's elderly (separation from family, illness, and, most realistically, death) should be welcome on screen. For those who stick with the series, it's clear that Gervais is not laughing at the characters. He is giving us a chance to briefly join them as they laugh, cry, and celebrate life.

Breaking Bad or Making Happy?

I love well-written films and TV shows. As I watch, I may admire the talents of the performers or director or cinematographer, but I swoon over the story and the dialogue. I'm also a viewer with particular tastes, as most of us are, and I don't want to watch things that don't interest me. Unfortunately, this puts me in an odd position as a fan of smart writing because several of the most acclaimed TV shows right now—for example Breaking Bad and Mad Men—do not fall into my wheelhouse.

The reality is that I like to feel happy. It's not that I deny that tragedies happen in real life—in fact, it may be because of how I respond to tragic real-life events that I value happiness so much. I can't help but be overly affected by terrible stories about the abuse, neglect, and harm that people cause. It's in my nature, perhaps because I'm a writer, to try to visualize and understand what I see. So when I learn about terrible things, my brain takes in all of that information and goes over it again and again to try to make sense of it, or to find a way to refocus it in a light that leaves room for eventual happiness. And in real life, there sometimes isn't any.

So when I'm faced with a fictional film or TV show that explores the darker side of our nature, immersing the viewer in a world that may be fascinating but is also ugly and uncomfortable, I don't want to engage. This is especially the case with TV shows, which bring you into their world week after week. I have watched difficult documentaries and dark films, and even appreciated the experience afterwards, but I can't keep coming back every week to tragically flawed characters in situations that bring them closer and closer to their worst selves. Because the challenge of writing a dark character isn't to see them try to get back to good, but to see how far they will go toward the bad. I remember watching The Sopranos years ago. I resisted for a while, but my ex-husband was a huge fan, as was my boss and half of my department at work. While I admired the talent that was evident in the writing (and all aspects of the production), I felt awful after each episode. My mood turned dark and my emotions felt raw. While some may welcome such a visceral reaction because it reinforces the amazing power of the show, I just wanted to take a shower and find a way to cleanse my brain.

And now I have heard endless praise about Vince Gilligan's Breaking Bad. I have no doubt that the writing is as exceptional as they say—aside from what I've read by critics, I also know huge fans whose opinion I trust. But after watching the pilot episode, I knew immediately the darkness was too great for me. I didn't go back.

I've also seen one or two episodes of Mad Men. I'll confess—it started to pull me in. I even set my DVR to record the series. But each time I had a chance to watch something without the kids, I chose anything but that. It wasn't because I didn't appreciate what it offered—including that I could finally join my friends and the greater TV community who can't stop talking about it—but because I never wanted to get that depressed. And from what I continue to read about the storylines and events, it was inevitable that I would feel that way.

I want my shows in the fictional world to be joyful. I don't mean cheesy sitcoms in which huge problems are completely resolved within 24 minutes (though I sometimes still like those shows, too). I want shows that intrigue me, entertain me, and challenge me—sometimes even bringing me to sadness. But I want them to ultimately take me to a place where I feel happy about life. This sometimes makes me feel like a poor student of the writing craft because I am limiting my exposure to what I might learn from, but I can no more deny my interests than those who write highbrow editorials about the demise of our culture as evidenced by Jersey Shore. I figure at least I recognize that it's a matter of my personal taste that I won't watch certain shows rather than being someone who dismisses a show as "bad" simply because it does not fit their narrow definition of "good." We can't all watch everything anyway, so I'll stick with what I like. If there's anything I've learned from most TV shows and films (both the happy and the dark ones), is that life is short. So I may as well enjoy it while I can.

Project Film School: 1982 — A Good Year for the Jew! (Part 1)

 

"I'm not an actor, I'm a movie star!"

I have jumped to the 80s for my next two films. As it turns out, both take place in the 1950s and, interesting to those of us of the Tribe, feature lead characters who are Jewish. Their being Jewish helps define who they are, but it doesn't limit them. (Three-dimensional Jewish characters in films not directly about Judaism? Always nice.) Both films are also quite excellent to my newbie eyes, and I'm ready to throw down some thoughts. First up: My Favorite Year.

My Favorite Year (1982) - How have I lived this long without having seen this film? Incredibly funny, clever, and sweet, this comedy has now wedged itself into my list of favorites. The film tells the story of Benjy Stone (Mark Linn-Baker), a young writer for a variety show in 1954 during the early days of television. Benjy is tasked with keeping an eye on a mostly "has been" matinee idol, Alan Swann (Peter O'Toole), who is an upcoming guest of the show and a known drunk. Thus begins an adventure that takes Benjy and Alan from New York clubs to Benjy's family's Brooklyn apartment, with quite a bit of troublemaking and drinking in-between. Ultimately, each character finds what he needs, but not necessarily where he expects it.

The variety show at the center of the film is based on Sid Caesar's Your Show of Shows. Mel Brooks, an executive producer of the film, was a writer on Caesar's show when matinee idol Errol Flynn was booked as a guest. Nothing crazy happened when Flynn came on the show, but it became the spark for the premise of My Favorite Year. In fact, several of the film's characters are inspired by actual staff from Your Show of Shows, including Benjy (a combination of Mel Brooks, Woody Allen, and Neil Simon) and King Kaiser (representing Sid Caesar). So, why am I over the moon about this film? The same simple reasons that make any film great: the writing and the production.

The writing: Fast paced, smart, and hilarious, the script manages to hit the mark on everything. As I watched, it almost felt play-like (and, variety show-like, of course) with its quick zingers and overlapping ideas and dialogue. Some films are meant to be cinematic art masterpieces—bringing you into a place and time through imagery and expansive scenery. The art direction and cinematography in My Favorite Year are not lacking—they immediately put you into the writer's room and clubrooms of the 50s—but at its core this is writer's film. Even the physical comedy begins and ends with words. And these words bring us to the biggest element of any successful comedy: quotability. Any film or TV show, especially a comedy, lives on through the continued quoting of its dialogue. I have wasted/enjoyed much time quoting my favorite movies and TV shows with friends. And if a line can get you laughing again each time you hear it, it is always worth repeating (and rewatching the film or show). One of the best from My Favorite Year involves a moment when Alan Swann wanders into a women's restroom. Already in there is crotchety costume mistress Lil (played by Your Show of Shows alum Selma Diamond.)

Lil: This is for ladies only!

Alan Swann: [unzipping his fly] So is this, ma'am, but every now and then I have to run a little water through it.

The production: From its directing to its acting, from its cinematography to its set design, it made me believe at every moment that what I watched was authentic. I was particularly taken with Peter O'Toole, who earned an Oscar nomination for his portrayal of the charming and troubled Swann. Ultimately, you expect any film to transport you to some time and place, but the best ones engross you in their world so well that you look up after the end credits and find yourself momentarily startled that you are no longer in that world. I guess my adoration of this film can be summed up by a line from the character Herb Lee (in his only audible line in the film): "Oh God, this makes me happy!"

Next up: Diner (1982)

Project Film School (or, How I'm Adding Some Class Back Into My TV Viewing)

School is in session.

I've decided to educate myself about American cinema. For a variety of reasons (wasted youth, television degree, job, kids, reality shows), I've missed out great films that I know I should see. But now, thanks to my DVR and Turner Classic Movies, I'm going to correct this travesty. And so begins…Project Film School.

Lesson 1: Notorious (1946) – This Alfred Hitchcock film starring Ingrid Bergman, Cary Grant, and Claude Rains is the perfect start to my education. It is a thriller about a young woman, Alicia Huberman (Bergman), who agrees to infiltrate the ranks of her father's Nazi friends in Brazil. Grant plays Devlin, Alicia's spy agency handler. Although he is falling in love with her, he initially chooses his duty over his feelings and pushes her into the arms of Alexander Sebastian (Rains), her father's old friend who once loved her and who is now plotting some unknown Nazi evil. Summaries and production notes abound online, so I won't describe the plot any further. Here instead are my various thoughts as a first-time viewer.

It may be Hitchcock's style or the style of the era, but I felt that parts of the film skimmed over the events that were happening. In particular, Alicia and Devlin's time in Brazil while they are awaiting their assignment passes by in moments, and yet we learn that they have fallen in love during this time. The film clocks in at about 100 minutes, so perhaps it's the fault of the bloated films of today that I expect each moment and event to be spelled out for me. Whatever the reason, I wasn't completely engaged during the first part of the film. But then, from the moment Alicia steals Alexander's basement key (where they search for the Nazis' secrets) until Alexander is left to face his Nazi cohorts after he has exposed their secrets, the tension level builds gradually scene by scene, making it impossible to look away.

I read somewhere that Bergman's character was written as a frivolous party girl who drank and slept around. Although Alicia is definitely not presented as a saint, the way Bergman portrayed her was softened to meet the Hollywood code. Much more was made of her drinking than her bed-hopping to signify her looseness, although she did indicate that her conquest of Alexander (as part of her assignment) was just one more name added to her list. Bergman played to all aspects of Alicia's character; it wasn't hard to believe that she could be beautiful and classy as well a slutty alcoholic. But it would have been interesting to see how, or if, she might play the character differently if freed from the era's production codes. And, as a result, how that might change the way we see Alicia's transformation from party girl to strong woman.

Grant's character appears much less complex at first—Devlin is a man with no particular past to define him. However, his attempts to balance his spy duties with his growing love for Alicia are anything but straightforward. As he pushes her into sleeping with Alexander in order to gain his confidence, Devlin refuses to tell Alicia whether he cares that she is with another man, and then later demeans her for being the loose woman everyone says she is. Of course my first reaction was, "Asshole!" But, after some righteous fuming, I realized it's not fair to write Devlin off too quickly. Could he have pushed her away so cruelly in order to protect her during her difficult assignment? If she is still in love with him, she might be more vulnerable and risk exposing herself to danger during the mission. Conversely, could he have been protecting his own heart by pushing her away? After all, the assignment was forcing him to stand aside as the woman he loved gave up her body and soul to the service of her country. It isn't until the very end that we learn he actually does love her as he rescues her from near death. Perhaps if the movie was shot today, it would include another 20 minutes in which Devlin confides to a colleague or bartender about the depths of his feelings for Alicia and why he must hide them from her. But, I think I prefer it being left to my own interpretation.

And now, I've checked Notorious off my list. I can finally stop singing Duran Duran's "Notorious" in my head (and sometimes out loud). Next up: My Favorite Year.

How Soon Is Sometime Around Midnight?

"Sometime Around Midnight" by The Airborne Toxic Event – When I heard this song on the radio today, I was reminded of how much I love it. A haunting story about running into an old flame, it breaks conventions by foregoing a chorus and instead building verse by verse into a desperation that tears at your heart. It was written by the band's lead singer Mikel Jollett, who had such a run-in with an ex-girlfriend and spent two days pouring his heartbreak into lyrics. I have never gotten through this song without crying.

Jollett did not begin as a musician, but was pursuing a writing career when a particularly rough time in his life (in one week, his mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, he was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease, and he went through a painful breakup) led him to focus on songwriting as a way to process his pain. Soon after, he joined up with a musician friend, and eventually others, to form The Airborne Toxic Event. The band became the breakthrough alt rock act of 2008.

I applaud and envy Jollett's writing talent in this song, both his choice of words and the song's structure. And although the song was both unique and perfect for the resurgence of smart, alt rock in the 2000s, it also evokes the moody New Wave acts of the 1980s like The Smiths and The Psychedelic Furs. (Is it any wonder that an 80s geek like me is in love?)

One last note before you rush off to hear the song (as you should if you've somehow missed it up until now). Just as it's important to read a good novel before seeing the movie version, it's better to listen to this song first before watching the video. There's nothing wrong with the video—it's well done and a fitting match to the music—but give yourself a chance to first focus on the lyrics and the band's performance, particularly Jollett's heartbreaking pleas. And get ready to cry.

Here's a version of the song without the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m53cWa-CdUg

And here's one of the song's videos: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UYPoMjR6-Ao

Un-chef-sessful

I'm going to take a moment to rant about last week's Top Chef finale. 

Top Chef is one of the few competition reality shows that I watch. It was the first of several skill-based competition shows that Bravo attempted to launch following the success of Project Runway (including the awful The Fashion Show that replaced Runway after it departed for Lifetime). But unlike Top Design and Work of Art, Top Chef is actually good and has lasted for 10 seasons.

Here's what's good about the show. The "cheftestants" are genuinely talented. These men and women can cook amazing dishes in a short amount of time, something that would challenge even the most seasoned chefs (as spinoff Top Chef Masters has shown). Each episode begins with a short quickfire challenge that requires the cheftestants to think and cook quickly on their feet. Much of the rest of the episode focuses on a big challenge and shows the cheftestants deciding on their menu, shopping for ingredients, and preparing their food. Near the end, after the judges and guests have tasted all of the dishes, the judging takes place. Some seasons have had more drama among the chefs than others, but that doesn't seem to matter. It's a successful formula whether the show has fighting personalities and a villain that everyone "loves to hate" or if all the chefs compete in a respectful rivalry.

Season 10 was particularly strong and featured a lot of talented competitors. So what went wrong with the finale? Well, everything. First, the finale was taped live in front of a gallery of more than 100 diners, including all previous Top Chef winners and members of the two finalists' families. Instead of seeing Kristen and Brooke, the two finalists, decide on their menu and then cook, we spent a lot of time watching the gallery, meeting their families, and sitting through a video retrospective of each of their experiences that season. (Thank you, but we're watching the finale because we've already watched this season.) As a result, we saw very little of what each finalist was cooking until it was served. And with that, one of the show's biggest strengths was left out of the final showdown.

The other big piece that was ruined—the competition. Typically, the judging begins after all dishes have been served and tasted. But in the finale, the judges had to pick their favorite dish after each round, and the first chef to win three rounds would be named the overall winner. After the first three rounds, Kristen was leading two wins to Brooke's one. When the judging began for round four, a quick check of the clock revealed that there was not enough time remaining for another round. And just like that, before the judges uttered a word, it was obvious that Kristen would be declared Top Chef. And so, my enthusiasm dried up like specks of culinary foam left under a heat lamp.

In the end, there was just one thing that made me happy. You know that feeling you get when you're upset about something, that it would be nice to know you're not alone? I googled "Top Chef finale." I'm not alone.

Listening, Laughing, and Crying – Part I

 

I listen to podcasts by connecting my phone to a special tape that 

plays in the tapedeck of my car. How cool is that?! (Don't answer.)

The great George Carlin once said, "All racquet games are nothing but derivatives of ping pong." And thus I say, all print media are nothing but derivatives of ancient clay tablets and all audio-visual media are simply derivatives of theater. As such, I feel well within my rights to talk about magazines, pamphlets, movies, plays, and anything else in a blog about books and TV. Which leads me to today's topic: podcasts. More specifically, I'm going to share with you the list of some of my favorites.

First, a few disclaimers:

1. This is by no means an exhaustive list. (Hence, the "Part I.")
2. I realize that many of these are technically radio shows, but I tend to catch them as podcasts. Let's not quibble.
3. I work for a public broadcasting company that is associated with some of these programs. However (and sadly, I must say) I have no direct connection to any of these shows.

And so, the list:

• Wait Wait…Don't Tell Me! – NPR's weekly current events quiz is the most fun you can have—ever. Three panelists from a rotating stable of comedians, columnists, and other writerly types join host Peter Sagal and veteran newsman/judge/scorekeeper Carl Kasell to answer questions about the week's news. The joy of being able to answer the questions along with the panelists is no less ego-building than knowing an answer on Jeopardy. Except Jeopardy is not nearly as cool because it rarely devolves into a raucous spate of fart jokes. Throw in one of Sagal's infectious giggles when something surprises even the ringmaster himself, and I become that person on the highway, laughing like an idiot while specks of morning coffee spray on my dashboard.

• Radiolab – Growing up, I did not like science. Eventually, I had to make my peace with it because my job required it, but I still wasn't a fan. Then, this program from WNYC completely brought me around. It turns out, there is nothing more fascinating than exploring the known and the unknown worlds within our own biology and the grand universe around us. Hosts Jad Abumrad and Robert Krulwich introduce ideas too fascinating not to examine, and they let us hear the stories directly from the scientists and experts researching those ideas. Want to have your mind blown? Take a listen. (No scientific expertise required. Just a curious mind.)

• Here's the Thing – In all honestly, when I first heard this WNYC show in which actor Alec Baldwin talks with performers, artists, and policy makers, I thought Baldwin was a terrible interviewer. The guests on the show are interesting choices—it's not always someone already making the rounds on other programs to promote a new project. But no matter what intriguing thing the guests have to say, Baldwin interrupts, talks over them, and shares his own life stories as if he were the guest. So why listen if Baldwin is so irritating? Well, you have to know how to approach it. I finally figured it out that Baldwin isn't interviewing his guests—they are having a conversation. And because he picks someone he is genuinely interested in talking with (and always seems to know plenty about already), he's able to discover things about his guests that you never knew. It's like you're at a party and you happen to be hovering near the sofa where Baldwin is engaged in a conversation with someone fascinating. Sure, Baldwin occasionally interrupts and steers the discussion to himself, but the conversation always shifts back. And the strongest guests seem to know how to get right back in there and make their point. And that's worth sticking around for.  

• This American Life – I know it's somewhat predictable to mention This American Life as it's one of the most popular podcasts in the country, but it's popular for a reason. This public radio program, hosted by Ira Glass, explores multiple stories along one theme each week and features everyday people as well as well-known contributors such as David Sedaris. My only problem with the show is that I never know if I'm going to end up laughing or crying or both. I'm always ready for a laugh, so that's no problem. However, I'm not nearly as willing to cry. It's not that I'm stoic—quite the opposite, in fact. I tend to be an emotional creature easily driven to sadness by a poignant detergent commercial, so the truly beautiful and heartrending storylines on TAL can break me entirely. Not that it's always a bad thing. Would I turn the show on after dropping the kids off at a birthday party? Yes. Would I turn it on while driving to my parents' house knowing their friend's daughter just married a wealthy Jewish lawyer? No. It's all about the timing.

There is more to come from me. In the meantime, tell me your favorites.

When Life Gives You Lemon

TV

30 Rock – Like many people, I said a tearful goodbye when the series' final episode aired last week. In its seven-season run, the show has been hilarious, goofy, and brilliant courtesy of an enviably talented team of writers, directors, actors, and anyone else associated with it. I'll miss many things about the show, but what I'll miss most, the person who I came back week after week to see, is Liz Lemon. No, I don't mean Tina Fey. I'm certain I'll be seeing the talented Ms. Fey again in many movies and TV shows. (In fact, I'm crazy-excited to see Admission, a new film starring Fey and the adorable Paul Rudd coming out this March.)

But unfortunately, as far as I know, this is the end for Liz Lemon, the smart, awkward, geeky head writer for the show-within-a-show at the center of 30 Rock. So, why do I love Liz Lemon?

• There is no stereotype when it comes to Liz. She's not fashionable or girly and she loves to eat, but she's attractive and it's believable that she attracts good-looking men. 
• She is unapologetic about what she likes, from Star Wars to reality shows to late-night cheese. (Mmm....who doesn't love late-night cheese?)
• She's a professional woman who gets things done, and yet she can lose all sense of rationality and want to turn an online war of words into a playground fist fight.
• She can be kind and loving, but also brutally honest and selfish, and she is known for holding a grudge.
• And, as someone hovering dangerously close to 40, I love having a character speak my language. (Thank god you're still there, Amy Poehler.)

Mostly, I love that Liz isn't afraid to be smart and (sometimes) a know-it-all.  She doesn't always get to be right or have things her way, but that's just the way life is. And for all of the only-on-a-TV-show ridiculous moments that make 30 Rock so inventive and fantastical, the Liz Lemon character is one of the most realistic women I've seen in a modern sitcom. And I'm going to miss her so much! Blerg!!

P.S. If you are also ever sad and missing Liz, and have a few hour or days to kill, visit her on this awesome site: Fuck Yeah Liz Lemon. (It's addictive. You've been warned.)

The Know-It-Somewhat

Books

The Know-It-All by A.J. Jacobs – I've always been drawn to the idea of intensive reading or studying. As a generalist by training and profession, I crave the chance to become an expert in something. You know those montages in movies where the smart lead character is preparing for a test—love them! When I watch Real Genius, I find myself wishing I were right there with them—and that's before they explode the professor's house using a military laser and popcorn. In real life, of course, studying and learning lacks the cool background music and time-shifting that gives it a near-romantic appeal, but the idea of learning and feeling smart is still captivating. That's why I was drawn to Jacobs' humorous memoir about his attempt to read the entire Encyclopaedia Britannica. I've just started reading, so this is not a review, but rather an introduction.

Jacobs's inspiration was simple. Although he once considered himself smart as he pursued an Ivy League education, he felt his intelligence slipping away over the years, in part due to his stint as writer at Entertainment Weekly. (Full disclosure: I have much love for EW, so I'm torn about this statement.) In any case, as Jacobs's brain filled up with pop culture knowledge, he felt the gaps in his academic understanding widen. So with limited support from his wife, friends, and father (who had also attempted this same feat once), he purchased the full leather-bound set and began with "A." As he plods along through his reading, Jacobs shares some of the facts that he learns and the personal connections he makes to the information, as well as his attempts to share this knowledge with friends and coworkers. So far I've learned that Bud Abbott stepped in when Lou Costello's regular straight man fell ill—and managed to turn it into a permanent gig (lesson to be learned: never call in sick) and that the Britannica isn't short on sex and violence. How can you not want to know more?!

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen – I'd like to acknowledge the recent 200^th anniversary (January 28, 2013) of my favorite book of all time. I reread this novel at least once a year. Like mac & cheese for the soul, it comforts me when reality has me staring into darkness. Suddenly, there is light in the form of clever Eliza Bennet and the remarkable story that she inhabits. It also doesn't hurt to occasionally picture Colin Firth while reading. That's a comfort all its own.

Real Houseparty Guests Get Paid

TV

The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills – This show has turned into a display of odd personal rituals (psychics, cleanses, life coaches) and dinner parties from hell. In seasons past, there were only a few events horrific enough to be considered hellish. (The episode with Camille Grammer's dinner party was officially titled "Dinner Party From Hell.") But this year it seems that every event featuring more than three cast members is automatically destined to become an explosive fight. Call me uninspired, but if I knew there was a good chance I'd be verbally attacked at a party, I'm pretty sure I'd stay home. Which begs the question: why do the Housewives keep showing up? 

The obvious answer that my reality-show-dulled brain finally hit upon is this: it's their job. The cast members are paid for their participation, both in money and publicity. I don't know what they are contractually obligated to do, but their status on the show won't last if they sit out from the dinner parties, garden parties, and psychic parties to which they are constantly inviting one another. Brandi Glanville, the source of much of the fighting this season, continues to diligently attend every event, despite the fact that she is likely to get verbally attacked and demeaned each time. It's telling that Brandi is the least wealthy of these women, having no family fortune, successful business, or rich husband. And so, this single mom and jilted ex-wife of Eddie Cibrian will likely continue to show up to party after party so that she can stay relevant and earn enough money to remain in this zip code. 

As for me, perhaps I shouldn't speak so quickly about the likelihood of me attending such events. After all, the money is a big reason why I show up for meetings at work...especially the unpleasant ones. And even if my meetings have snacks, they are nothing compared to the cuisine and wine (lots of wine) that the Housewives enjoy during their shouting matches. So maybe I would be willing to attend events featuring vicious personal attacks if I am then rewarded with a large paycheck and fancy cheeses. I'd do nearly anything for a good cheese.