Thursday, September 27, 2012

Three Short Essays about Television


I. After Three Downs, Pun the Ball!

The Hail Mary tate of grace at the tate finals revealed a tate of confusion about the tate of the nation. Tate’s attorney pled tate’s rights as a tate wrestling champ with the right tate of mind but the nation tate wanted to tate the obvious and throw the tate flag and have the tate bar examined, they wanted the head of tate in the tate pen as the law clearly tates. In the turning of tate’s evidence they saw a police tate, a welfare tate, a tate of disrepair, and wanted an official tatement with a tate seal of a tate crime so we could steer the ship of tate away from lawless rocks and an unfair, ineluctable tate. The golden tate warrior was now flagged golden tate bare for jumping to conclusions off the golden tate bridge after a ball shaped like a tater.


II. The Most Intelligent Movie Critic in the World

Every Saturday night he’ll wax poetic about a dying Dirk Bogarde, say, melting in Venice while Mahler plays sunset music to pagan and quite insane Alices, or talk about the tracking shot from the horses at St Marks Square like he was born for it, in that unctuous Alec Baldwin way, say it’s Summertime not Summer and Smoke or The Long Hot Summer, the final answer. Or he'll say things like he first learned that life was doomed, shame-ridden and messy from Written on the Wind, but thankfully he unlearned all of that in Imitation of Life. Or he'll defy us to name a movie that's made today as realistic and profoundly moving as Sunrise, with its “Melies mise-en-scene like a silent movie music video”, or he'll visibly wince at “the disappointment he still feels in the pit of his stomach over Antonioni’s American work.” Or in wistful tribute to Irving Thalberg intone “no movie is an island, but they are best as peninsular insularities,” or, charming us with the sheer force of his Baldwinality, suggest “what is the point of movies, really, after 2001: A Space Odyssey?’

Recently he’s been replaced by Drew Barrymore, who's the opposite, completely starry-eyed and hopelessly cynical at the same time, and always looking sideways nervously on the off-chance Lionel might appear with a truncheon.


III. The Most Intelligent Movie Critic in the World at the Corporate Karaoke Function

Following faux-Gaga and faux-Jay Z he tried “coffee is for closers” to mollify the hedge fund traders who screamed for “I Wanna Be Sedated” but really wanted all the shame and humiliation they feel every moment of every day visited like a Sicilian’s revenge on any turkey in a suit damn fool enough to take the singing stand before they pony up enough charity money to feed a mid-sized third world country. It only got a dull squint of momentary attention before they asked him to croon “Singing in the Rain.” Holding an Amstel Light he reflected back with the air of complete calm every arrow of insanity in the room, and with a voice that implied “the problem with pearls is that they tend to attract swine” said with puckered lips “I couldn’t help but be impressed at your sign out front: ‘leave your brass balls at the door.’” But it was clear by then they wouldn’t let him slum as a 30 rock-ribbed republican, because they’d memorized the phone call and demanded a eye contempt citation and a million dollars as limousine liberal admission. But all that was a ruse. Deep down they knew you have to be real to be funny and people stopped being real in 1997, and when the going gets funny the funny turn into Alec Baldwin.