Post by LillyKat on Jul 27, 2007 13:09:40 GMT -5
Tour with perky nun, whiney Cryer, fake fruit
July 26, 2007
JOEL RUBINOFF
RECORD STAFF
BEVERLY HILLS (Jul 26, 2007)
As TV networks unveil their fall offerings and parade their stars before the press, Record critic Joel Rubinoff is there to ask the tough questions, dig behind the media facade and, with a ferocity that belies his diminutive stature, be first in line at the buffet table.
The biggest surprise from yesterday's gruelling bus tour of six TV sets in nine hours isn't that the Heroes special-effects team uses jarringly realistic dummies to simulate mortal injuries among its cast.
Nor is it that Kyra Sedgewick, Kathryn Morris and Calista Flockhart -- 40-ish stars of TV dramas The Closer, Cold Case and Brothers & Sisters, respectively -- are so skinny and frail-looking in person your instinct is to prop their mouths open with a toothpick and force-feed them a roast beef sandwich.
Or that Sally Field, at 60, looks almost exactly like she did as a teenager -- perky, vivacious and so girlishly giddy you keep expecting her to announce plans for a sequel to The Flying Nun (yet to materialize, alas).
No, what really threw me for a loop is that Two and a Half Men star Jon Cryer -- 21 years after the teen flick Pretty In Pink made him a household name -- boasts a high-pitched adenoidal giggle that recalls his ubergeek icon, Duckie.
"I'm on the highest-rated sitcom on television right now, but they're not calling me Alan -- they're calling me Duckie!" moans the 42-year-old Emmy nominee of the character most likely to be referenced on his tombstone ("Fare thee well, Duckie").
He sighs with confusion: "I have no explanation."
The second biggest surprise is that Kitchener native Jeremy Ratchford's masterplan for an all-Three Dog Night musical episode of Cold Case -- the hit crime show on which he plays hard-boiled Det. Vera -- has yet to be soundly rejected by his producers or co-stars as . . . er, ridiculous.
"Oh, that would be great!" insists a likeably earnest Kathryn Morris, outfitted in an AC/DC T-shirt to promote her own musical cause. "And we should do Debbie Gibson, Tiffany . . . all those mall bands.''
But what really gets her excited as she perches on a desk in the show's low-tech police room is building an entire plotline around a single AC/DC tune.
''I've always had this dream to do this episode about the song Back In Black," she confides as Ratchford -- suspecting he may have competition -- observes our conversation from across the room. "It would be great to show how the song has hung in there for all the decades."
What? This is even wackier than my own idea for an episode based exclusively on the music of the 1910 Fruitgum Company or, better yet, the Bay City Rollers. Before I can interrogate further, however, I'm herded unceremoniously back on the tour bus for another labyrinthian journey through Los Angeles's traffic-clogged avenues to the sets of:
The Closer, where I rifle through deputy chief Brenda Johnson's famed junk food drawer and discover a package of M&Ms, a couple of Tootsie Rolls and an empty package of Ding Dongs.
Heroes, where I tour Mohinder's artifact-strewn bedroom, cringe at a series of bloodied prosthetic limbs and talk to the artist behind the series' haunting futuristic portraits.
Brothers & Sisters, where I poke at plastic fruit, open refrigerator doors and tramp through phoney bedrooms to ascertain the legitimacy of my surroundings.
"Hey, this apple is fake!" I yelp to no one in particular, convinced I've uncovered a scandal in Nora Walker's impeccably designed kitchen. "And the tap doesn't work!"
Alas, no one cares, too busy bugging Emmy-nominated Field about what dress she'll wear on awards night (how about her old habit from The Flying Nun?) and trying to juggle the contents of six swag bags filled with cheesy T-shirts, unsightly baseball caps and logo-stamped pens that leave ink blotches on all your correspondence.
Among the days other revelations:
Angus T. Jones, the 13-year-old half-man from Two and a Half Men, is fast approaching puberty, which could, presumably, necessitate a name change (Two and Three-Quarters Men?)
Adult co-star Charlie Sheen's gaunt physique, furrowed brow and perpetual five o'clock shadow suggest he may, in fact, be living in his car.
Heroes' Hayden Panettiere -- subject of the show's famed catchphrase, "Save the cheerleader, save the world!" -- isn't a cheerleader, has no desire to save the world and becomes visibly annoyed if anyone implies she's anything like emotionally unstable tabloid peers Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan.
"I think they probably expect me to be some snobby, over-the-top-with-my-head-in-the-clouds teenage girl who stays up past her bedtime, spends all her money and does drugs," grouses the outspoken 17-year-old of the public image commonly saddled on young actresses.
And?
"I'm a young female in this business, which is no easy thing to do. You're either too fat, too skinny, too tall, too short, too blond or too brunette. It's never OK -- never! The only thing you can do is be yourself.''
But what this day was really about was getting a first-hand glimpse at the nuts and bolts of TV production, a Wizard of Oz-styled expedition that punctured the small-screen facade with boisterous exhibitionism and strategic aplomb.
It is in this spirit that I hand out the following citations:
Most depressing set (tie): Cold Case and The Closer, for dilapidated homicide divisions festooned with beat-up, coffee-stained desks, crappy vinyl chairs and broken-down vending machines I haven't seen since the '70s.
Most impressive set: Brothers & Sisters, for a painstakingly constructed decorators paradise filled with hardwood floors, state-of-the-art appliances and tasteful artwork. It's like pornography for homemakers.
Creepiest set: Heroes, for its culture-specific accents and brooding artwork positioned around atmospheric set pieces -- including a newly constructed Irish pub -- that resonate with history and purpose.
Most generic set: Two and a Half Men, the only show we visited filmed in front of a live audience, which necessitated simplistic living room and kitchen simulations that could have been plucked from any sitcom of the past 20 years. Where's the beef?
jrubinoff@therecord.com
TheRecord.com
Full article link
July 26, 2007
JOEL RUBINOFF
RECORD STAFF
BEVERLY HILLS (Jul 26, 2007)
As TV networks unveil their fall offerings and parade their stars before the press, Record critic Joel Rubinoff is there to ask the tough questions, dig behind the media facade and, with a ferocity that belies his diminutive stature, be first in line at the buffet table.
The biggest surprise from yesterday's gruelling bus tour of six TV sets in nine hours isn't that the Heroes special-effects team uses jarringly realistic dummies to simulate mortal injuries among its cast.
Nor is it that Kyra Sedgewick, Kathryn Morris and Calista Flockhart -- 40-ish stars of TV dramas The Closer, Cold Case and Brothers & Sisters, respectively -- are so skinny and frail-looking in person your instinct is to prop their mouths open with a toothpick and force-feed them a roast beef sandwich.
Or that Sally Field, at 60, looks almost exactly like she did as a teenager -- perky, vivacious and so girlishly giddy you keep expecting her to announce plans for a sequel to The Flying Nun (yet to materialize, alas).
No, what really threw me for a loop is that Two and a Half Men star Jon Cryer -- 21 years after the teen flick Pretty In Pink made him a household name -- boasts a high-pitched adenoidal giggle that recalls his ubergeek icon, Duckie.
"I'm on the highest-rated sitcom on television right now, but they're not calling me Alan -- they're calling me Duckie!" moans the 42-year-old Emmy nominee of the character most likely to be referenced on his tombstone ("Fare thee well, Duckie").
He sighs with confusion: "I have no explanation."
The second biggest surprise is that Kitchener native Jeremy Ratchford's masterplan for an all-Three Dog Night musical episode of Cold Case -- the hit crime show on which he plays hard-boiled Det. Vera -- has yet to be soundly rejected by his producers or co-stars as . . . er, ridiculous.
"Oh, that would be great!" insists a likeably earnest Kathryn Morris, outfitted in an AC/DC T-shirt to promote her own musical cause. "And we should do Debbie Gibson, Tiffany . . . all those mall bands.''
But what really gets her excited as she perches on a desk in the show's low-tech police room is building an entire plotline around a single AC/DC tune.
''I've always had this dream to do this episode about the song Back In Black," she confides as Ratchford -- suspecting he may have competition -- observes our conversation from across the room. "It would be great to show how the song has hung in there for all the decades."
What? This is even wackier than my own idea for an episode based exclusively on the music of the 1910 Fruitgum Company or, better yet, the Bay City Rollers. Before I can interrogate further, however, I'm herded unceremoniously back on the tour bus for another labyrinthian journey through Los Angeles's traffic-clogged avenues to the sets of:
The Closer, where I rifle through deputy chief Brenda Johnson's famed junk food drawer and discover a package of M&Ms, a couple of Tootsie Rolls and an empty package of Ding Dongs.
Heroes, where I tour Mohinder's artifact-strewn bedroom, cringe at a series of bloodied prosthetic limbs and talk to the artist behind the series' haunting futuristic portraits.
Brothers & Sisters, where I poke at plastic fruit, open refrigerator doors and tramp through phoney bedrooms to ascertain the legitimacy of my surroundings.
"Hey, this apple is fake!" I yelp to no one in particular, convinced I've uncovered a scandal in Nora Walker's impeccably designed kitchen. "And the tap doesn't work!"
Alas, no one cares, too busy bugging Emmy-nominated Field about what dress she'll wear on awards night (how about her old habit from The Flying Nun?) and trying to juggle the contents of six swag bags filled with cheesy T-shirts, unsightly baseball caps and logo-stamped pens that leave ink blotches on all your correspondence.
Among the days other revelations:
Angus T. Jones, the 13-year-old half-man from Two and a Half Men, is fast approaching puberty, which could, presumably, necessitate a name change (Two and Three-Quarters Men?)
Adult co-star Charlie Sheen's gaunt physique, furrowed brow and perpetual five o'clock shadow suggest he may, in fact, be living in his car.
Heroes' Hayden Panettiere -- subject of the show's famed catchphrase, "Save the cheerleader, save the world!" -- isn't a cheerleader, has no desire to save the world and becomes visibly annoyed if anyone implies she's anything like emotionally unstable tabloid peers Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan.
"I think they probably expect me to be some snobby, over-the-top-with-my-head-in-the-clouds teenage girl who stays up past her bedtime, spends all her money and does drugs," grouses the outspoken 17-year-old of the public image commonly saddled on young actresses.
And?
"I'm a young female in this business, which is no easy thing to do. You're either too fat, too skinny, too tall, too short, too blond or too brunette. It's never OK -- never! The only thing you can do is be yourself.''
But what this day was really about was getting a first-hand glimpse at the nuts and bolts of TV production, a Wizard of Oz-styled expedition that punctured the small-screen facade with boisterous exhibitionism and strategic aplomb.
It is in this spirit that I hand out the following citations:
Most depressing set (tie): Cold Case and The Closer, for dilapidated homicide divisions festooned with beat-up, coffee-stained desks, crappy vinyl chairs and broken-down vending machines I haven't seen since the '70s.
Most impressive set: Brothers & Sisters, for a painstakingly constructed decorators paradise filled with hardwood floors, state-of-the-art appliances and tasteful artwork. It's like pornography for homemakers.
Creepiest set: Heroes, for its culture-specific accents and brooding artwork positioned around atmospheric set pieces -- including a newly constructed Irish pub -- that resonate with history and purpose.
Most generic set: Two and a Half Men, the only show we visited filmed in front of a live audience, which necessitated simplistic living room and kitchen simulations that could have been plucked from any sitcom of the past 20 years. Where's the beef?
jrubinoff@therecord.com
TheRecord.com
Full article link
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