Radiation by Fiona Rae

I’ve never met Oliver Driver, but I’m liking the cut of his jib. Not only did he have an excellent clown fight on Serial Killers on Friday (“Hey, when you get the chance to smack a clown, you take it.”), but he fronted Frontseat on Sunday in a discerning and occasionally self-deprecating manner.

Okay, so we might be a bit biased towards new arts show Frontseat, as its producer is a friend of Public Address and may even be related to one of us, but dammit, it actually went out and did stories, which is more than you can say for mainstream television, which contents itself with visual press releases for whatever’s in town at the moment.

Actually it’s not quite true that I haven’t met Oliver Driver, he sat at the same table at the bNets a couple of years ago. After the prizegiving, I scarpered to talk to people I knew, and when I got back he was sitting in my chair with a woman humping his leg and I had to grovel at both their feet in order to extricate my bag from under the table. Ah, the bNets.

In other news, the show has ended but the website lingers on: Idolblog is contenting itself with stories about Ben and the others, including an excellent spoof cover of the single (wouldn’t you love to see the alternative shot they must have taken of Michael?). They also have a story about going to a VIP concert featuring the Idols and meeting John Barnett and Andy Shaw from SPP.

The Idolblog phenomenon has parallels with Lord of the Rings, which early on wasn’t happy with theonering.net, but finally invited Erica Challis to see sets in Wellington. It’s just not a good look to be serving your biggest fan with a trespass notice.

After being initially threatened by the internet, production companies, especially in the US, have realised that fans, and especially the fansites, drive the buzz about shows and that, as much as they’d like to, they can’t control everything related to their productions. You can probably measure success in how many websites spring up (and in the US they do so, alarmingly quickly). It’s fair enough that sites shouldn’t publish copyright pictures, but it’s good to see SPP welcoming the Idolbloggers.

Speaking of not being able to control everything, here’s a site that loves The West Wing so much, it wants to kill it. Don’t Save Our Show is a site dedicated to the Aaron Sorkin-executed West Wing and wants NBC to remove “John Wells' unrecognisable version from the air”.

Speaking of press releases, I won’t bore you with the full script of a press release I got from TVNZ about Shortland Street, which is part of a package I receive every week. It featured quotes from actor Michael Galvin regarding the new nanny character – however, if you turned to page 19 of the Sunday News (the 16th), you’d be able to read it almost word for word – except for the part where the writer, Ellen Davies, says that “Michael told the Sunday News.”

TV Gal on Zap2it.com, a Buffy and Angel lifer, laments the passing of Angel and counts down her 15 favourite eps. Some are spoilers for us (check the date before reading on), but many are old ones. She points out that the network was the big bad for Angel, giving it four different time slots in five years.

Matt and Trey are releasing South Park’s greatest religious hits on DVD at the same time as The Passion of the Christ will be released. The New York Post calls their spoof ep “The Passion of the Jew” a classic in this story. Hope C4 gets the new season soon.

The CSI franchise rolls on in the US, and I must say, it’s more fun that Law & Order don’t you think? The same way they introduced CSI: Miami, they’re playing team tag with CSI: New York -- David Caruso will go to New York to see investigators (Gary Sinise and Melina Kanakaredes) there. I doubt we’ll see the New York franchise until next year; it was a coup getting Gary Sinise, I’m picking he’ll be the thing that saves it.

The BBC’s Panorama programme has broadcast a mock terrorist attack on London and copped some flak for it. But even better than that is the news that Spitting Image is planning a comeback. And I’ve had emails in the past about the Sunday Theatre slot being full of god-awful thrillers and such; the new controller of BBC2 has promised a return to landmark drama and documentaries.

Lastly, I guess the Havo’s Quality Time must have been kicking action girl Sydney’s butt, hence Alias’s move to Monday nights at 10.30pm – but how many disease-of-the-weeks does TV2 have up its programming sleeve with which to fight Havoc? The 200-pound tumour? That was just sick medical porn – it almost makes ordinary porn look healthy.

Mention of new reality shows, or reality shows in general, always makes me feel like Blackadder whenever Baldrick says “I have a cunning plan.” Imagine that sardonic tone: “Oh God.” American Idol? Oh God. Fear Factor’s coming back? Oh God, no. The Player hosted by Nicky Watson? Oh God, no, please.

However, some sicker individuals than me are actually able to sit through entire hours of this crap without attempting self harm afterwards. Ant Timpson still loves that Paradise Hotel:

You should have taken my advice and stayed with Paradise Hotel, which last week aced itself by being one of the most evil slices of reality TV by inviting all of the show’s previous losers (who have sat at home watching the ongoing show in a fury) back on for a limited time. Cue verbal assaults and threats of physical violence. It made the temper tantrums of Temptation Island look like outtakes from an Olsen twins flick. Sick, very sick.

The Apprentice is solid entertainment. Burnett knows how to put reality TV together like no other producer. He turns it into good drama.

Oh God.

Robyn Gallagher is very excited about Big Brother, which Prime has taken up (TV2 is probably too busy with American Idol):

Two of the housemates are parents, and already it’s been rumoured that Aphrodite and Igor are secretly married. Not only that, but Krystal the ex-stripper revealed that her stage name was Delta (not the other way around).

This year the old executive producer Peter Abbott has left and former McLeod’s Daughters producer Kris Noble has taken over, but I suspect we'll be the same old nudie shower antics and spa pool shenanigans. But that's how I like it.

Oh God. What can I say? I find reality TV, in general, utterly, monumentally, stupendously, stratospherically boring. I just don’t care about a bunch of people I have no wish to meet playing meaningless games for money, people whose only distinguishing features are their deep shallowness and their utter self-absorption. It’s no surprise that the US, the most self-absorbed nation on earth, is the progenitor of most of this garbage, and when it wasn’t their idea, they’ve taken one, run with it and spewed it back. An hour watching Survivor is an hour you’ll never get back. And before you say it; my only interest in watching NZ Idol was because it featured New Zealanders.

On the other hand, the US, the most self-absorbed nation on earth, can produce the brilliance of Six Feet Under and The Sopranos, the American Dream confronted, investigated and utterly fucked around with. Then of course there’s Buffy.

Speaking of the Whedonverse, here’s an Ain’t It Cool News report from sci-fi awards Saturn Awards, where LotR won a few, and also Joss Whedon for Angel and Firefly.

Also this story from the NY Times about spoilers. The whole internet is one big spoiler for us, as we’re behind the US on most shows, but interesting nonetheless.

Loathe as I am to give away journalism’s little secrets, looking on the NZ On Air website is a good way of checking out where the money’s going and what programmes we can expect in the distant future. South Pacific Pictures got over $1.8m in December to make a children’s drama called Maddigan’s Fantasia; The Gibson Group (The Insiders Guide to Happiness) got over $1.2m for a comedy series called Facelift and Great Southern Television just got a squidge over $281,000 to also do a comedy series called The Unauthorised History of New Zealand.

Btw, has anyone got the hang of TV3's new weather graphics? I'm buggered if I have. The temperatures pop up like shooting gallery ducks at the fair, which makes me think they should be accompanied by a series of clangs and pings -- and the offer of a free stuffed animal to induce me to carry on watching. They sure need something.

I know there are Angel fans are out there. They sneak in every now and then with comments, they swap tapes like a secret society (I should know) and every now and then they bump into each other and – it’s like gaydar – divine a fellow fan. Some are even men, which is unusual, as men and drama don’t always mix.

They’re definitely there, because the boyfriend tried to buy Angel season 4 on DVD for my birthday and it was all sold out. “Our distributor doesn’t seem to have any left either,” said the guy behind the counter. Presumably, TV3, which is half-way through showing season 4 late on Wednesday nights, hasn’t noticed this straight commercial conflict, although in the US DVDs are held back until the series have done their dash repeating on cable – we could buy or rent Buffy and Angel on DVD well before the US.

It was Andrew Dubber who alerted us, “Wow. Recommended.” he said after a marathon weekend watching the second half of the season, and if it’s anything like last Wednesday’s episode, omigod. It had more of a Buffy feel, with Gunn and Connor digging up a demon and Gunn quipping, “Sometimes you just gotta keep whacking,” when it took a little while to kill the little bugger.

In classic Whedon style, giant rifts are being wrought in the gang by the newly-minted Angelus. His weapon? The truth. Mix it up with some great lines (he prefers a chase before catching his victims: “Isn’t there any fast food left in LA?”), a bit of kung-fu fighting, and then a shock ending: Cordy’s gone over to the Dark Side! She stabs Lilah in the neck with the Beast’s dagger! Now who’s top bitch?!

I do know it seems like a secret club though. You either get it or you don’t. It’s not like ER, where the parameters are defined and the world is easily understood. It hasn’t been easy for Angel to pick up new viewers in the US, ultimately its undoing. Plus, it costs quite a lot for all that latex on people’s faces.

We’re a Ben household; Michael should be investigated for the murder of several songs, including “Dock of the Bay” and “One”, the latter being a world-weary relationship song that cannot be sung by a 17-year-old. I didn’t think they’d be retreading the same songs, and outfits, last night, although I guess five completely new songs is a big ask. Idolblog was running hot on Ben last time I looked. However, having been completely wrong about Camillia, I’ve probably jinxed Ben already.

If you just can’t get enough Idol, American Idol starts straight after NZ Idol ends. And in shock news just to hand, a new local arts programme is starting on the 16th. It’s called Frontseat, it’s hosted by Oliver Driver and is produced by Gemma Gracewood. Also, Kim Hill is talking to John Clark (writer, humourist, actor, Fred Dagg) on Wednesday night.

I wrote a couple of weeks ago (in e.g.) about how reality shows are taking over from dramas now in the US (12 of the top 20 shows are reality). Here’s a slightly tongue-in-cheek story about how the pilots for new series are decided upon. Remember, these are the new shows that you and I will be seeing next year …

Jolisa sends this link about what happened in writer Keith Hollihan’s building when The Apprentice came to visit. And here’s a Guardian story about the aftermath of a Channel 4 reality TV visit to the small northern town of Silsden. And you’ve gotta love the French farmers. Why write letters, when violent protest will do? They’re threatening to wreck the set of reality show La Ferme Celebrites, or Celebrity Farm, because it’s an outrage to their noble farming tradition.

Thanks to Heather for the link to her blog freshtrifle.blogspot.com. Sorry it’s taken a while to get to that, Heather.

The Letterman list is fairly boring again, except David Byrne appears on Wednesday, maverick senator John McCain on Thursday and Hugh Jackman on Friday.

And thanks to everyone who wished me a happy birthday; it was, although we saw average comedy and had an average meal. But hey, at my age, a night out’s a night out, you know?

Greg Proops just had to do a whole routine about Shrek didn’t he? I was so embarrassed. But then I realised, no wait – he’s got Dubya. That’s a whole lot more embarrassment right there. But, oh god, he was right. Are we so starved for entertainment that we have devote whole live television shows to a sheep?

Shrek’s cave, Shrek’s view for god’s sake. They stopped short at showing Shrek’s poop on Holmes, but I swear I saw some when they were inspecting Shrek’s food source, which was – no really – the grasses growing outside his cave.

Holmes huffed and puffed his way around the high country like a bag of lard, and then huffed and puffed his way around the television shearing shed. “What more is there to say?” he asked at one point, and I had to wonder. What indeed. It’s a friggin’ sheep! But Holmes, who has clearly never heard of letting the picture tell the story (and is that a simple story or what?) waffled desperately on. Apparently, his every waking moment has to be filled with speech of some kind.

Possibly the only interesting moment was when Shrek’s owner revealed why he’d chosen to have Shrek shorn with the good old manual blades, rather than the vicious electric kind. He didn’t want to stress the sheep too much, which I think is farmer talk for, ‘it would be a really bad look if a sheep that hasn’t been shorn for six years karked it of shock right there on television’. Personally, I think it would really have livened things up.

And what about all those little kids holding up signs reading “Shrek Rocks”? That is just sad. Haven’t they heard of Playstation down there? Anyway, enough! Argh! It’s just a friggin’ sheep!

I am so busted. There I was thinking I was an ordinary mother of two living a happy life in Pt Chev doing a few blogs about the telly and then a weird guy with deformities and a cowboy hat walked into the bedroom where I was lying in a heroin-induced stupor and said, ‘time to wake up little girl’ and I come around to find I am Damian Christie! Bring on the dwarves …

Which is a nice segue into this email from Ant Timpson:

I can’t believe you haven’t devoted any pixels to the most rancid piece of reality TV ever to come slurping down the pike.

Paradise Hotel is, bar none, the most compulsively watchable, slickly packaged and masterful edited, hunk of excrement ever to grace the ugly glowbox.

Watch in awe at the insipid, shallow, vain, petty monster -- and that’s just the host! It’s also the only show that confuses its audience into thinking they’re losing their minds, what with Prime and Sky 1 both showing the show slightly out of sequence, you never know what you’re watching isn’t future history past. And don’t even try to follow the show’s logic. They changed the format halfway through due to budgetary cuts! They’re making it up as it goes along. I’m serious! It’s quite incredible.

All this plus my fave show coming soon -- The Littlest Bachelor. Yes you heard right. The Bachelor with midgets and dwarves. And then in the surprise twist ala Average Joe they bring in the full height people. Can you wait?

Also one local women’s rag already spoiled the end of the new Trump show. Doesn't anyone subedit those turdrags? They’ve spoiled Survivor in the past but never have they ruined a show that hasn’t even started screening.

I actually did have a look at Paradise Hotel on your recommendation Ant, but about 20 seconds in I had a brain aneurysm and fell into a coma. When I come round (again), I found I had the intellectual capacity of Paris Hilton. Damian Christie is actually writing this blog.

Which segues into this link from Chris, about the reality spin 20/20 in the US put on an item where couples were vying, on camera, to adopt a baby. Weirdly, spoon bender Uri Geller is threatening legal action, claiming the idea comes from his unpublished novel. Even more weirdly, Geller has the patent on the idea.

James writes that he’d like to take credit for the MTV Blag show mentioned in the last post in connection with Brent Hansen:

I sat next to Brent at last year’s bnet NZ music awards for the entire evening, and having discussed various other topics (mostly our mutual upbringings in Chch), eventually came to the topic of my presence: “So how are you involved in all of this [the bnet awards]?” he asked. “I'm not,” I replied honestly, “I blagged my way in -- I'm actually just the librarian at the Metservice.” Oh how he laughed! I wonder if I can get a look-in on the profits?

Paul writes that he just doesn’t get Nip/Tuck:

I watched the first couple but there isn’t anyone that I empathise with or anyone I could give a rat’s arse about (to put it bluntly). Not the kids, not the patients, not the doctors, not the girlfriends ... what's the point? Now, Buffy, that’s a different matter. Have just ordered Season 2 on DVD from Aus cos it’s on sale. Mmmmm Willow.

And that James Griffin had promised that “Big Hairy Balls”, the Serial Killers ep on Friday was good:

… and by the gods he was right! More like that. Yes. Got it in one. Excellent comedy – wouldn’t have been out of place in a series like Frontline I would suggest. Boffo, a good one.

Lastly, I’ve just seen the first ep of The Insiders Guide to Happiness, which starts May 20, and I can report good things. It’s a sort of weddings-funerals-anything crossed with Chaos Theory, Karma and Wellington. The ep was a bit more serious than I thought it would be and it has a challenging criss-cross of characters, events and even timelines, but hell, we’ve seen Pulp Fiction and Memento. Heck, even episodes of ER have been told backwards. We can cope.

Former Straitjacket Fits and Bike singer/songwriter Andrew Brough revealed in the Flying Nun documentary last year that he made a bit of dosh these days from having his music played on Aussie soaps. “Down in Splendour” gets played on Neighbours and -- wey-hey! -- he gets to eat.

The cheque’s in the mail then for Salmonella Dub and a few others, thanks to The Secret Life of Us, which regularly uses New Zealand music: two Salmonella songs on Tuesday and The Datsuns’ “Sittin’ Pretty”.

Does it matter though that “Sittin’ Pretty” featured in a scene where one of the characters was listening on his headphones while making squelchy noises with his trouser snake? What are we to make of this? The Aussies think The Datsuns are wank-worthy? Or is it some not-so-subtle comment on the people who listen to NZ music? Still, I’m sure The Datsuns aren’t too proud to pick up the cheque.

Excellent Secret Life of Us on Tuesday btw; they’ve mastered the trick of portraying issues on a conversational and non-proselytising level (in fact you hardly know they’re issues) AND they get to take Es and go dancing. Is it the only show in Australia that features an Aboriginal character (played by the lovely Deborah Mailman) who isn’t a farm hand or travelling around the outback? Might be.

The plastic surgery on telly phenomenon continues, in Britain, Channel 5 is planning a plastic surgery show that features “live” operations, with surgeons giving “director’s commentaries”. Here’s a Guardian story.

The logical progression would be MTV’s I Want a Famous Face, where punters get surgery to look like a celeb. Actor-comedian Doug Benson (I don’t know who he is either, but he does quite funny movie reviews at this website) is quoted in Entertainment Weekly: “After the surgery, you look in the mirror and you go, ‘Wow. I’ve got Brad Pitt’s face … if he was ugly.’”

Meanwhile, MTV is also going to produce more global format shows, including one narrated by 80-year-old English actor Leslie Phillips called Blag, where unknowns attempt to gatecrash celebrity parties. The new shows are an initiative by … ta-da … Kiwi Brent Hansen, who is now MTV’s International Head of Creative. Dude!

Meanwhile, James Griffin – yes, that James Griffin -- writes that he’d like to apologise to Rose, from the previous post, for depressing her with the series he wrote called Serial Killers:

In fact, Rose’s critique has fired up something in my last few functioning synapses and has provoked me into thinking about something that both intrigues and saddens me (even more than her hurtful words). And that thing is ...

The way Rose can go, with such ease, from saying she doesn't like Serial Killers to saying “it's lamentable that we as Kiwis have such a natural feel for the irreverent, subversive, risk-takingly humorous, and yet rarely does that translate into good television comedy.” One show becomes the scapegoat for the failure of an entire industry to find the Kiwi funny-bone and whack it until the tears roll down our cheeks.

What's sad about this, obviously, is that it's bloody well true. We make so little television comedy that every time one comes along, if someone doesn't like it, it becomes an indictment on us all -- and journalists up and down the country drag out their old ‘why aren't we funny?’ articles, change a few names and wheel it out again … what I'm really saying here is that wouldn't it be lovely if Rose could say she didn't like Serial Killers, with it's “half-baked, cringe-worthy stereotypes” and its “poor imitation of the jittery camera work” (which is much more Frontline than The Office, by the way), then compare it to the two or three other cracking New Zealand comedies which are more irreverent and subversive and risk-takingly humorous which she did like? Wouldn't that be wonderful? Wouldn't that be the sign of a truly grown up television industry in this country?

But until that glorious day, when the networks of this land bestow money upon the comedy makers like mana from heaven and we can make all these great series, until then Rose, you'll have to make do with the occasional little honest attempt that comes along, trying to put a smile on your dial. It’s the best we can do, really.

James also says that, in his humble opinion, tomorrow (Friday’s) episode, “Big Hairy Balls” is really good.

God, he’s right, we just don’t make enough of anything, especially at the moment. But wait, isn’t that – it can’t be. It is! A new local drama series! Omigod! Folks, I’m going to see an advance screening of The Insiders Guide to Happiness, the new series from The Gibson Group, who brought you The Strip, on Monday (3rd). Will keep you posted.

Chicago Sun Times critic Phil Rosenthal writes about the voting in the US for American Idol, which points out that they don’t reveal how many are cast over there either. Contains spoilers re who has been voted off, if you care.

The Letterman list is quite boring, except:
Friday (30th): Julianne Moore and Todd Rundgren
Tuesday (4th): Hillary Rodham Clinton and The Roots
Wednesday (5th): Musical guests Loretta Lynn and Jack White (Hope they do “Portland Oregon”, which starts: “Well, Portland Oregon and slow gin fizz, if that ain’t love then I don’t know what is … uh huh.”)

Lastly, I had a laugh at this story and graph, written by a couple from Television Without Pity, about The Curse of the Ziering. Sadly, David Boreanaz made the cut, although I have a suspicion it might be true. Hush my mouth!