Post by Naj on Oct 18, 2004 18:46:22 GMT -5
Prime time's kings
Posted on Mon, Oct. 18, 2004
Prime time's kings rule their domain with hollow grimness
BY MATTHEW GILBERT
Boston Globe
Entertainment TV can be America's baby blankie for the masses, the great collective quaalude. Even charging-gurney medical shows such as "ER" can pacify viewers, as humane doctors fret like nervous parents over poor and rich patients alike. When they're not flirting at the nurses' station, that is.
But if today's most popular series offer comfort to viewers, it's a cold comfort indeed. Dominated by the work of two producers, Jerry Bruckheimer and Mark Burnett, prime time has become a kind of existential maze, with stabbings and backstabbings lurking around every corner. These two power brokers are lords of a distinctly unromantic, every-man-for-himself TV atmosphere, where sentiment is considered a liability. While Burnett has pioneered the survival-of-the-fittest angst of "Survivor" and "The Apprentice," Bruckheimer has developed a unique crime-solving formula steeped in a sci-fi, "Brave New World" aura. His shows, from the "CSI" trifecta to "Without a Trace" and "Cold Case," are as warm and fuzzy as latex gloves.
Yes, Bruckheimer's realism and Burnett's reality are the face of TV 2004. This week, these two honchos and their factory-like production houses hold eight of the Top 15 Nielsen shows between them. Their formidable influence extends to a collection of copycat series, including "Medical Investigation" and "NCIS," two shows with "CSI" complexes, and "The Benefactor," which is "The Apprentice" for dummies. You know you're at the top of the TV game when you've been shamelessly ripped off.
JERRY'S KIDS
Bruckheimer's TV presence is the most awesome, as he has managed to revive an entire network — CBS — while solidifying his own small-screen brand. His new "CSI: NY" has become an instant hit, and he has agreed to create five new shows for NBC, CBS and the WB. His "CSI" formula has grown so popular that even when he releases inferior material — and "CSI: NY" is murky nonsense — it's hoisted directly to the Top 10. He's also eclipsing $%&^ Wolf's "Law & Order" in the ratings, as his sleek series make Wolf's whodunits look old-fashioned. Bruckheimer proved his Hollywood alpha status long ago, as a movie producer with sharp commercial instincts. Now, he has small-screen audiences eating out of his hand.
His fictional TV shows (he also produces "The Amazing Race") are surprisingly different from his feature films. While movies such as "Armageddon" and "Pearl Harbor" are laden with weaponry and special effects, a show like "CSI: Miami" doesn't rely on fiery explosions — only the odd ruptured appendix. His movies are big, dumb adrenalized fun; his series are grim bits of freakish mystery. On a Bruckheimer procedural drama, the only special effects are extreme close-ups of and zoom shots into dead bodies and body parts. It's the little things that mean a lot on these shows — what angle the bullet entered the flesh, which direction the blood squirted, whose DNA was on the carpet fiber. The detectives who piece together these cases are all fine thinkers with an almost fetishistic interest in the most minute details. It's all as muted as "Top Gun" and "Beverly Hills Cop" were loud.
And the Bruckheimer detectives are cool characters with little bedside manner — introverts, even, if you consider William Petersen's Gil Grissom on "CSI: Crime Scene Investigation." They're the brainiest folks on TV, as they piece together the most unpredictable crimes imaginable.
They're also the most poker-faced collection of TV detectives ever. The newest member of the Bruckheimer bunch, Gary Sinise's Mac Taylor, is a slow-burning fellow who doesn't appear to have any muscles in his face. And Kathryn Morris' Lilly Rush on "Cold Case" is severe and inscrutable, if charismatic. Compare Anthony LaPaglia and Marianne Jean-Baptiste on "Without a Trace" to Tony Shalhoub and Bitty Schram on "Monk" — it's like comparing cold coffee to fruit punch. Not long ago, when prime time belonged to David E. Kelley, lovably eccentric characters and their tics were in vogue. But Bruckheimer's popular sleuths are affectless creatures haunted by private demons we can only vaguely understand.
Despite their emotional hollowness, Bruckheimer's TV products have an impressive machine-like precision to them. They're intelligent and superior examples of the forensics genre, not just in their calculated sprinklings of offbeat clues, but in their eye-catching aesthetics. Most TV series are flat-looking, overly bright affairs. These shows have depth and are saturated in rich color, from the lurid Miami sunshine to the nighttime neon of Las Vegas. They may not have a lot of heart, but they're thrilling when they take a fantastic voyage through a right ventricle.
MARK'S MARKS
Burnett's shows, too, are models of their genre — slick, highly picturesque, unromanticized. "Survivor" and "The Apprentice" surely owe a debt to MTV's "The Real World," as they borrow that show's slick editing, its confessional interviews and its imposed story arcs. But Burnett has taken the MTV style to new heights of Sartrean hell. Not only are "real people" living together on his shows, but they're pitted against one another in a competition that could change their lives forever. "Survivor" and "The Apprentice" are the best reality shows on TV; but they don't make you feel particularly good about human nature.
The heavy stress with which Burnett's reality players cope makes the randy sex play on "The Real World" look innocent. Will my best friends turn on me? Will I be part of an alliance or left alone to fight for myself? Is he or she flirting with me to get ahead? Yes, yes and yes. While Burnett shows culminate in wins, they're all about losing — friends, money, integrity. They're about not trusting anyone and proceeding with a lone macho ruthlessness, even when the victors are women.
Burnett and Bruckheimer have turned modern alienation into something entertaining.
They've managed to engage viewers who've seen enough terrorism and war footage in recent years to be suspicious of pabulum. Their show are compelling anatomies of society's ills, from dog-eat-dog personal and professional politics to the perversity of evil and murder.
While capturing our attention, they don't offer us easy escapes
Posted on Mon, Oct. 18, 2004
Prime time's kings rule their domain with hollow grimness
BY MATTHEW GILBERT
Boston Globe
Entertainment TV can be America's baby blankie for the masses, the great collective quaalude. Even charging-gurney medical shows such as "ER" can pacify viewers, as humane doctors fret like nervous parents over poor and rich patients alike. When they're not flirting at the nurses' station, that is.
But if today's most popular series offer comfort to viewers, it's a cold comfort indeed. Dominated by the work of two producers, Jerry Bruckheimer and Mark Burnett, prime time has become a kind of existential maze, with stabbings and backstabbings lurking around every corner. These two power brokers are lords of a distinctly unromantic, every-man-for-himself TV atmosphere, where sentiment is considered a liability. While Burnett has pioneered the survival-of-the-fittest angst of "Survivor" and "The Apprentice," Bruckheimer has developed a unique crime-solving formula steeped in a sci-fi, "Brave New World" aura. His shows, from the "CSI" trifecta to "Without a Trace" and "Cold Case," are as warm and fuzzy as latex gloves.
Yes, Bruckheimer's realism and Burnett's reality are the face of TV 2004. This week, these two honchos and their factory-like production houses hold eight of the Top 15 Nielsen shows between them. Their formidable influence extends to a collection of copycat series, including "Medical Investigation" and "NCIS," two shows with "CSI" complexes, and "The Benefactor," which is "The Apprentice" for dummies. You know you're at the top of the TV game when you've been shamelessly ripped off.
JERRY'S KIDS
Bruckheimer's TV presence is the most awesome, as he has managed to revive an entire network — CBS — while solidifying his own small-screen brand. His new "CSI: NY" has become an instant hit, and he has agreed to create five new shows for NBC, CBS and the WB. His "CSI" formula has grown so popular that even when he releases inferior material — and "CSI: NY" is murky nonsense — it's hoisted directly to the Top 10. He's also eclipsing $%&^ Wolf's "Law & Order" in the ratings, as his sleek series make Wolf's whodunits look old-fashioned. Bruckheimer proved his Hollywood alpha status long ago, as a movie producer with sharp commercial instincts. Now, he has small-screen audiences eating out of his hand.
His fictional TV shows (he also produces "The Amazing Race") are surprisingly different from his feature films. While movies such as "Armageddon" and "Pearl Harbor" are laden with weaponry and special effects, a show like "CSI: Miami" doesn't rely on fiery explosions — only the odd ruptured appendix. His movies are big, dumb adrenalized fun; his series are grim bits of freakish mystery. On a Bruckheimer procedural drama, the only special effects are extreme close-ups of and zoom shots into dead bodies and body parts. It's the little things that mean a lot on these shows — what angle the bullet entered the flesh, which direction the blood squirted, whose DNA was on the carpet fiber. The detectives who piece together these cases are all fine thinkers with an almost fetishistic interest in the most minute details. It's all as muted as "Top Gun" and "Beverly Hills Cop" were loud.
And the Bruckheimer detectives are cool characters with little bedside manner — introverts, even, if you consider William Petersen's Gil Grissom on "CSI: Crime Scene Investigation." They're the brainiest folks on TV, as they piece together the most unpredictable crimes imaginable.
They're also the most poker-faced collection of TV detectives ever. The newest member of the Bruckheimer bunch, Gary Sinise's Mac Taylor, is a slow-burning fellow who doesn't appear to have any muscles in his face. And Kathryn Morris' Lilly Rush on "Cold Case" is severe and inscrutable, if charismatic. Compare Anthony LaPaglia and Marianne Jean-Baptiste on "Without a Trace" to Tony Shalhoub and Bitty Schram on "Monk" — it's like comparing cold coffee to fruit punch. Not long ago, when prime time belonged to David E. Kelley, lovably eccentric characters and their tics were in vogue. But Bruckheimer's popular sleuths are affectless creatures haunted by private demons we can only vaguely understand.
Despite their emotional hollowness, Bruckheimer's TV products have an impressive machine-like precision to them. They're intelligent and superior examples of the forensics genre, not just in their calculated sprinklings of offbeat clues, but in their eye-catching aesthetics. Most TV series are flat-looking, overly bright affairs. These shows have depth and are saturated in rich color, from the lurid Miami sunshine to the nighttime neon of Las Vegas. They may not have a lot of heart, but they're thrilling when they take a fantastic voyage through a right ventricle.
MARK'S MARKS
Burnett's shows, too, are models of their genre — slick, highly picturesque, unromanticized. "Survivor" and "The Apprentice" surely owe a debt to MTV's "The Real World," as they borrow that show's slick editing, its confessional interviews and its imposed story arcs. But Burnett has taken the MTV style to new heights of Sartrean hell. Not only are "real people" living together on his shows, but they're pitted against one another in a competition that could change their lives forever. "Survivor" and "The Apprentice" are the best reality shows on TV; but they don't make you feel particularly good about human nature.
The heavy stress with which Burnett's reality players cope makes the randy sex play on "The Real World" look innocent. Will my best friends turn on me? Will I be part of an alliance or left alone to fight for myself? Is he or she flirting with me to get ahead? Yes, yes and yes. While Burnett shows culminate in wins, they're all about losing — friends, money, integrity. They're about not trusting anyone and proceeding with a lone macho ruthlessness, even when the victors are women.
Burnett and Bruckheimer have turned modern alienation into something entertaining.
They've managed to engage viewers who've seen enough terrorism and war footage in recent years to be suspicious of pabulum. Their show are compelling anatomies of society's ills, from dog-eat-dog personal and professional politics to the perversity of evil and murder.
While capturing our attention, they don't offer us easy escapes
