Cranking 'Em Out

I've always admired those creative types that consistently turn out new work at a rapid rate. Folks like Woody Allen, Steven Soderbergh, Stephen King, Louis CK, Dave Sim. People like these—and several others—who produce new works in their respective field at least once or twice a year (or in Sim's case, once a month). Prolificacy is something I've always looked up to. Hell, even with creative types whose work I hate, I've still been impressed with their productivity.

Some of it's motivated by compulsion. No matter how many times he's announced his "retirement," King clearly just can't stop—or slow down—writing. Woody Allen has said in interviews he makes a movie every year because it takes his mind off his life and feels restless when on vacation for too long (he also comes from a background in television, where you don't have the luxury of waiting for inspiration to strike before creating—you have to produce content week in, week out, no matter what). Some of it's dictated by the rules of the field. Monthly comics, like television, have to produce on a fixed schedule. And some of it's motivated by good old-fashioned work ethic. Louis CK announced that he's going to start from scratch with material every year, and come up with an hour's worth of new material annually. (Even amongst other professional stand-ups, this is unheard of.)

Whatever the reasons—and look, I don't know these people personally, so I'm not interested in engaging in too much mind-reading armchair psychology—there are creative types that are known for being unusually prolific in their medium, and it's something I've found incredibly inspiring and compelling.

This is not to say that the output of these people is always gold (there are many films by Woody Allen that I've found seriously rushed and underdeveloped), or that I don't appreciate, admire or enjoy the work of those artists who meticulously take their time with seemingly forever to complete their projects (the Kubricks, the Malicks, the Flauberts, the Brian Wilsons and Lauryn Hills). It's just that when contemplating my own work, I've always wanted to be in the former camp in terms of creative output.

I'd rather write and stage 20 plays or more in 10 years that are hit-or-miss than two in the same timeframe that are considered (by either myself, the audience, critics, or some combination of all three) masterworks.

Although I'd like to consider myself prolific in the playwriting field, it really seems I'm just on par with the scene (my buds and colleagues Qui Nguyen, Derek Ahonen, Joshua Conkel, and Jeff Lewonczyk among many, many others, are all staging one new play a year or more). I guess for folks like us, it's inconceivable to do less. I mean, we love doing this, we can do this, and we're fortunately in a position where we can get our work staged the way we want it staged. So what's the alternative? Just not write?

Lately, however, I've wondered about the advantages of taking considerably more time to work on a new script or project. Now that Nosedive is over 11 years old, we no longer have Something To Prove (we've done over 20 shows in 10 years and have two new shows lined up for the summer; I think we can be seen as an actual theatre company at this point). We can afford to take time between productions.

Also, at this stage of the game, I don't want to just be producing solely for the sake of producing: writing a play simply because we've got an open slot in the upcoming season that needs filling.

In other words, I don't want to just be marking time.

And again, hey: I'm still a huge fan of Stanley Kubrick. Maybe there's something to taking a substantial amount of time in creating something. So maybe, after 11 years of writing and producing theatre at a steady clip, it'd be worth looking into being more meticulous with the next project.

Besides, wouldn't it be fun to spend over a decade producing two to three new works a year, then go into hiding for a year or two (or three), then unveil some new long-in-the-works secret project?

(This isn't to say that I'm against revising or rewriting, but just that the revision process is still part of the fast turnaround—a month writing the rough, a month putting it away and working on something else, then a month revising.)

Well, it doesn't seem to be sticking. I've quickly found that "taking my time" rapidly devolves into "procrastinating writing," which in turn rapidly devolves into "not writing at all."

It's not that I've run out of or am having a tough time coming up with ideas. Quite the contrary. I've currently got a number of ideas I'm contemplating. But I'm really only doing just that: contemplating. I've been procrastinating, dragging my feet, waiting for one of these ideas to grow on its own before making a decision to cultivate (translate: write) one.

Yeah, clearly this method of creating just isn't for me. In some ways, at this stage in the game, I wish it were. But I don't think I have it in me.

So, although this season—Blood Brothers, Captain Moonbeam & Lynchpin, and possibly Infectious Opportunity—has already been written (not counting if we're invited back to the Vampire Cowboys' Saturday Night Saloon), there's currently nothing yet written for 2012. Which means that needs to change. And soon.

This also means I need to make sure this isn't just a case of me marking time: it means I need to follow Louis CK's philosophy of keep working, keep producing new material, but make sure every new work is better than the last.

We'll see how this goes.

Back to work.

Breaking for nobody,

James "Spaceball One" Comtois

Thumbs Down. Wait! Thumbs Up...?

As I've already nattered on at length about my enjoyment and fascination with film and theatre criticism, I was incredibly pleased to see that the deliberately dumbed-down version of At the Movies was scrapped (dumping Ben Mankiewicz and Ben Lyons) and brought back up to snuff by bringing on two critics, A.O. Scott and Michael Phillips, who actually think and care about movies. I also really liked reading this brilliant essay by Noel Murray at the AV Club rightfully praising the re-revamped show.

I particularly dug and related to this section:

"Some cineastes have blasted Siskel & Ebert for their thumbs-up/thumbs-down reductionism and their dispatching of movies in three minutes of conversation, but those nay-sayers likely didn’t watch the show week-in/week-out. I’d argue that Siskel & Ebert did more to foster a broad interest in artful cinema than any critic ever has.

At the least, they showed that it was possible to talk about the movie business on television without having it be all about money or gossip. It just about crushes my soul when I tune in the red carpet coverage on Oscar night—or even the cable news coverage on nomination day—and suffer hosts who clearly haven’t seen or even heard most of the movies they’ve been assigned to cover. The guiding principle of most movie coverage on television is that viewers are interested in celebrities, not the work that makes celebrities."

Emphasis mine.

So I was definitely disheartened to read shortly thereafter that At the Movies is being cancelled. That this announcement immediately follows the news of Variety letting go of its chief film critic Todd McCarthy and its chief theatre critic David Rooney made the cancelation of the series all the more upsetting.

However, all is not lost. Roger Ebert has just announced that he and his wife, Chaz, are in the planning stages for producing a new film criticism show. He offers some details, but only some. Fortunately it sounds less of a "pie in the sky" plan and more of a "we actually have a few balls rolling" deal. This makes me hopeful.

I also agree with Mr. Ebert when he writes that he and his wife "believe a market still exists for a weekly show where a couple of critics review new movies."

There has to still be a market for a show where people talk and think about the work that makes celebrities, not just the celebrities themselves (or rather, what the celebrities are wearing). There has to be a market for a show where reasonably intelligent people to cut through the thick fog created by the PR machine and go, "this movie is Garbage!" (and let me tell you, it's refreshing to watch the archived shows and hear the late Gene Siskel exclaim that about a film with such conviction; it's almost unheard of in this day and age where the bulk of mainstream commentary on film is so soft-pedaled). And there has to be a large enough demographic out there that actually cares about movies, and wants to think about what to go see.

Anyway, I am hopeful.

I guess that's it for me for this week. Have a good weekend, folks. I'll catch y'all on Monday.

Not knowing where to shove his thumb,

James "Suggestions?" Comtois

More Exciting (And Mythical) Than Chinese Democracy

About. Fucking. Time.

Thanks for bringing this to my attention, Miss Xua!

Needing his copy,

James "Doug" Comtois

"I don't think we have the stomach to evaluate this."

Thanks to Isaac for pointing this out: Bill Moyers interviews David Simon, co-creator of The Wire, one of the best (if not the best) television shows ever, in a very lengthy (read: awesome) and candid (read: worthwhile) segment.

Check it out here.

The two of them talk about inner-city crime and politics, storytelling and the future of journalism.

And of course Bill's favorite character on The Wire is Bunny. That just tickles me.

Your socially conscious couch potato,

James "Lazy But Righteous" Comtois

About Fucking Time: The State Actually Available On DVD This Summer

Seriously, guys? You mean it this time?

So. July 14. Of this year. I'm gonna hold you to that.

Dipping his balls in that shit,

James "Baloney Sandwich Feet" Comtois

My First (And Most Likely Only) Blog Entry About Battlestar Galactica

I was hoping to write about the finale of Battlestar, but I've realized that every time I sit down to write something about the show, I end up writing about five or six pages on what I find wrong about the show before I can even begin to explain that I do in fact like Battlestar and think it's, y'know, good.

So I'll try to make it as brief as possible before getting into an exhaustive and rambling rant about all the reasons why the show frustrated the living hell out of me.

Okay, no fuck it. I think I can explain my two main problems with it:

1. The series was structured for HBO-style 12-13 episode season arcs, not 22+ episode arcs, and

2. The writers were clearly making shit up as they went along.

I mean, when a show like Arrested Development (which was a network sitcom, for frak's sake) clearly maps things out several episodes in advanced, why couldn't Ronald Moore, David Eick & Co. do the same (especially when they saw they had a huge hit on their hands)?

When the show was good, it was very good. When it wasn't, it was spinning its wheels and dragging its feet (which became incredibly frustrating for a show that was designed around making the viewer really want to know what happened next).

So, did I like the final episode? Ssssssssort of.

It did what the rest of the series did for me: simultaneously delivered on many things and failed to do so on many others. So here are some scattershot thoughts (all chock-full of spoiler material):

The big showdown between Cavil and Galactica?
Excellent.

Cavil blowing his brains out?
Kick-ass.

Landing on Earth (or "Earth")?
Rock on.

Roslin's death?
Sad and bittersweet and fitting.

That they didn't use the final episode as a back door pilot for its upcoming spinoffs?
Thank Gods.

Finding out the deal with the imaginary Caprica 6 and imaginary Baltar?
Not so sure, but I'm glad they at least resolved that shit.

The resolution of the whole "final five in the opera house?"
See above.

That them landing on "Earth" resulted in the formation of our civilization?
Yyyyyyeah, okay, that's...kinda cool, I guess.

Lee suggesting they just become savages (and apparently managing to get 30K+ people to agree)?
Uh...

Hera turning out to be important just because she's ostensibly "Eve" (not even just the first person, just the first person modern-day humanity found)?
Sigh...

Kara just disappearing?
Go fuck yourself.

Feel free to offer your thoughts below. Again, I realize whenever I start writing about the show I make it seem like I'm not too wild about it, which isn't accurate at all. Hell, just the fact that its creators took a pretty cheesy sci-fi show from the late-70s that was an allegory for Mormonism and revamped it into one of the coolest television shows since, well, ever, is quite an impressive feat. I'm glad this is a show I followed, even if I do have reservations.

Still wanting to know the deal with Daniel,

James "Watchtower-Peddler" Comtois

Twin Peaks Episode 29 (David Lynch, 1991)

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As with all of these entries, this contains spoilers. But this one much more than most, since I’ll basically be discussing in excruciating detail how this show ends. So if you haven’t seen the series, and plan to, now’s the time to walk away.

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Okay, this may seem like a cheat. Yes, I'm going to be talking about the final episode of Twin Peaks, not the film, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (or even the 90-minute pilot). I know it's not a movie, and not even necessarily something that classifies as part of the horror genre. Hell, I'm not even really going to be talking about the television series: I'm going to be talking about an episode.

Hopefully you'll all forgive me in time.

In the meantime, let's talk about Lynch at his creepiest, which is really saying something. (Although my friend and Nosedive vet Matt Johnston has argued that Episode 14, the episode that reveals Laura Palmer's killer, is the scariest, the show's finale is the one that really does me in. Which isn't to say that Episode 14 isn't utterly terrifying.)

Well, the reason why I'm bending my self-created rules here slightly is two-fold: one, I've just re-watched the Twin Peaks series finale more than a few times (so I'm familiar enough to natter on about it) and two, because for me, it's one of the scariest things I've experienced on screen.

Seriously, folks. Those last 20 minutes freak me the hell out.

In the spring and summer of 1991, with the network reshuffling the show's schedule and the mystery of who killed Laura Palmer resolved, the once ultra-popular show Twin Peaks was dying a slow and painful death. Only the die-hard fans were really watching at that point (and again, ABC was making it damn difficult for them, as it kept getting preempted and having its time slot changed).

Now, there are different stories about what the goal of the series finale was: either an attempt to scam the network into giving them a third season, an attempt for fodder for a film (to be shot after Fire Walk With Me) or, as Onion AV Club film writer Keith Phipps put it, "a 'fuck you' to the network that caught fans in the crossfire." Considering the fates of Audrey Horne and Pete Martell, as well as the show's conclusion, it's tough to argue otherwise against that third scenario.

(In an interview with co-creator and episode co-writer Mark Frost on the Gold Edition DVD Boxed Set, he had kinda-sorta mapped out a story arc for a third season, but neither he nor anyone else involved with the show believed the show had a snowball's chance in hell of getting picked up for another season, so the point was more than a little moot.)

Whatever the goal was, due to the cancellation of the series and the dismally received prequel film, this is the note the Twin Peaks story ends on, and what viewers are left with.

And boy, what a dissonant, jarring note it is.

In this episode, Special Agent Dale Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan, in the role he was born to play), tracks down his former partner turned psychopath Windom Earle (Kenneth Welsh), who has abducted Coop's girlfriend Annie (Heather Graham), and takes her into the Black Lodge (that weird red-curtained place where Michael J. Anderson talks and dances backwards).

Sure, there are other plot threads that the show wraps up (or at least acknowledges), such as the Mike, Nadine, Big Ed and Norma love square, the whole Ben Horne versus the Hayward family plotline, and Bobby and Shelly's engagement. But the real guts of the show are in those final 20 or so minutes. (Is anyone as shocked as I am that this aired on prime time network television in 1991? My brain still can't quite process this.)

Agent Cooper enters the Black Lodge to save Annie and confront his old nemesis. And that's where the nightmarish weirdness begins and doesn't relent until the closing credits roll. Hell, there's almost too much to discuss in this, so why not just see for yourself? There are so many aspects about it that are jarring, from Laura Palmer's shrieking doppelganger (was Cooper running away his undoing? Didn't Deputy Hawk warn him a few episodes back that the Black Lodge ensnares those who enter with false courage? Am I comfortable thinking about the show's beloved hero possibly succumbing to cowardice during the moment of truth? I am not. I am not.), to Cooper's white-eyed manically laughing doppelganger (did I ever think in a million years that Kyle MacLachlan could actually succeed at being scary? I did not. I did not.), to evil killer Bob (Frank Silva) sneaking right up to the camera while the strobe lights go off. Hell, even the inhuman-sounding laughter that Bob and the Little Man emit makes my skin crawl.

Simultaneously slow-paced and intense, concluding the story arc between Coop and Earle and throwing continuity and logic to the wind, I find the Black Lodge sequence one of the most truly terrifying I've seen.

What I find most disturbing about the Black Lodge sequence is not necessarily the weirdness, or the "anything goes" feeling it has, but that it leaves you with the sinking feeling that Dale's not going to escape or save the day. Within minutes, you can see the show's hero is in way over his head and trapped in a place to where he doesn't know the rules. And again, when he starts and runs away from Laura's screaming doppelganger, I can't help but think that that was his undoing. Not a pleasant thought.

And of course, there's that concluding scene.

Finally coming out of the Black Lodge with a bloody (and unconscious?) Annie, we see Dr. Hayward and Sheriff Truman sitting above a sleeping Coop in his room at the Great Northern. Coop gets up, asks how Annie is, and says he needs to brush his teeth. In his bathroom, he starts squeezing the toothpaste out into the sink, smashes the mirror with his forehead, and lo and behold, we see Bob's reflection in the shattered mirror. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a clip that has Coop's flat and insincere line delivery of: "I wasn't sleeping."

Also notice Laura's death scream when he smashes the mirror:

There really is also something about the producers' credits appearing over Coop's face that's bone chilling. They almost say, "That's right, fuckers. This is how we're going out." And aside from a dissatisfying prequel film released a year later (dissatisfying mainly because it's a prequel), this is it for the Twin Peaks storyline. Our hero has been either possessed or simply replaced a la the pod people from Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and that's it.

It's not very often you get a television series that concludes with evil being victorious (and damn near nonexistent on network television in 1991), which makes this episode all the more shocking. But it does succeed where many horror films fail in conveying the sinking feeling that all is not right with the world, but very, very wrong.

You can actually watch the entire episode here.

Brushing his teeth,

James "Smooth Criminal" Comtois

Reviewing Plays, Watching Homicide

My first play to review for Martin for the year was supposed to be tomorrow, but it's review dates have been pushed back a week. I was expecting this to be a jam-packed week, but with the show to review being pushed back and tonight's scheduled production meeting also being pushed back, it's looking as though next week (with seeing Eddie Izzard on Monday, Welcome to Nowhere on Wednesday, Notes From Underground on Thursday and the play to review for nytheatre.com on Friday) will be my jam-packed theatre-going week (or live performance-going week).

Until then, I'm getting a lot of time to engage in my latest addiction: Homicide: Life on the Street. Yeah, I just started the show last week. I'm already halfway through the third season. Although it has some convolutions and the signs of stupid network tinkering, it's pretty damn good.

And can someone tell me why Andre Braugher hasn't been picked up by just about any and every television show and film as their leading man since? I mean, he's absolutely amazing.

Yes, Isaac and Nosedive, I'll get to work on The Wire soon, I promise. Just think of this as primer.

And yes, I did indeed enjoy myself at last night's sold out production of Blue Coyote's Happy Endings. Matthew Freeman's entry within the evening, "The White Swallow," is a particularly silly beast.

In the meanwhile, we have this to look forward to (I plan on attending the opening night party, but seeing the show next week).

As well as, of course, this.

Andre Braugher's Newest Fan,

James "Go Pembleton!" Comtois

The 300th Post

Although I can't say I'm 100% wild about the Sopranos series finale, I also can't say I'm surprised.

What made the show intriguing to watch was also what made it frustrating and insufferable: David Chase and his writers refused to offer the payoffs you extected and defied logical narrative arcs. Sometimes this worked beautifully, like when a major character would be killed off in the first five minutes of an episode. Sometimes it most certainly did not, like...well, the entire fourth season.

Heather Havrilesky from Salon offers a pretty good analysis here. The subhead of the article says, "David Chase gives fans the finale they deserve." She may be incredibly right about that.

And that's my 300th post.

Not talking about the Tonys 'cause I didn't watch them,

James "Sir Postsalot" Comtois

Damn Fine Cup of Coffee

The second season of David Lynch and Mark Frost's groundbreaking television series Twin Peaks has finally been released on DVD, six years after the release of the first season.

About. Time.

And of course, now that the second season is now available, the first season is out of print. Go figure.

I recently spent some time watching most of the episodes (8 through 14 and 23 through 29) in the second season (the video rental place near my apartment apparently had the middle episodes checked out, which was kind of fine by me, since I don't remember those middle episodes - after wrapping up the Laura Palmer case and before really starting the Windom Earle arc - being that good) and reminding myself why I loved the show so much.

(David Foster Wallace talks at length about how much seeing Blue Velvet for the first time opened mental doors for him he didn't know existed. Twin Peaks did that for me in the 8th grade; when it had originally aired, I hadn't seen anything like it before. Or since, to be honest.)

Watching these episodes again for the first time in 10 years (I had first seen them when they had originally aired and again in college on very badly dubbed videotapes), I would agree with the sentiment that some of the cast members and critics assert that, for good or for bad, Twin Peaks was pretty instrumental in opening the doors for a number of disparate shows ranging from Lost (very long-running singular story arcs) to Desperate Housewives (suburban prettiness on the outside, ugliness behind closed doors) to The X-Files (duh). Hell, if you had to do one of those shitty "sound byte" descriptions, Desperate-Housewives-Meets-X-Files wouldn't be a too-far-off description.

I was also amazed at some of the stuff they got away with showing on a prime time network television show back in 1990/91. Some of the more violent scenes (like the protracted scene where Laura Palmer's killer beats his newest victim to death) you don't even see on network television nowadays (even though primetime fare - the CSI and Law & Order franchises, for example - has become much more accepting of ultra-violent material).

And let's not forget that final episode. Holy crap, that's some scary. Not to mention some chutzpah; the only other television series that I know of (aside from maybe the final, unaired episode of Action) ending on such a deliberately dark and unsatisfying note.

Yes, the show had some problems when they finally had to reveal Laura Palmer's killer (much earlier than Mr. Lynch and Mr. Frost had wanted) and yes, it probably couldn't have sustained that much interest for a third season (apparently only die-hard fans were watching the show by the end). But overall, the show still holds up and is worth a look for both former fans and the uninitiated.

Now if only they could release the original Pilot on DVD. Sigh...

The Little Man From Another Place,

James "Deputy Hawk" Comtois