Sunday, May 22, 2005
Desperate Snobbery
Occasionally, one or another of The New Yorker's writers tries so hard to turn his or her nose up you wonder whether they break their neck in the event. In this week's "On Television" column, Nancy Franklin certainly comes close in dishing an entirely gratuitous slam at Desperate Housewives:
"Unyielding dullness"? This from the television critic? Desperate Housewives is one of the most original shows on television. It is hilarious. Unless and until she retracts her unaccountable trashing of the Housewives, Nancy Franklin is not fit to review television for people who enjoy television. It is a top show for a reason.
The magazine's movie reviewer, however, has acquired a big fat target this week. Anthony Lane's review of Sith is hilarious, at least if you've already seen the thing.
And don't miss:
"A gay, gold-plated Jeeves"? Bwahahaha!
CWCID: Mrs. TigerHawk.
[ABC]’s series “Desperate Housewives,” whose juicy title belies its unyielding dullness, became an instant Sunday-night hit upon its début, in October...
"Unyielding dullness"? This from the television critic? Desperate Housewives is one of the most original shows on television. It is hilarious. Unless and until she retracts her unaccountable trashing of the Housewives, Nancy Franklin is not fit to review television for people who enjoy television. It is a top show for a reason.
The magazine's movie reviewer, however, has acquired a big fat target this week. Anthony Lane's review of Sith is hilarious, at least if you've already seen the thing.
What can you say about a civilization where people zip from one solar system to the next as if they were changing their socks but where a woman fails to register for an ultrasound, and thus to realize that she is carrying twins until she is about to give birth?
And don't miss:
The general opinion of “Revenge of the Sith” seems to be that it marks a distinct improvement on the last two episodes, “The Phantom Menace” and “Attack of the Clones.” True, but only in the same way that dying from natural causes is preferable to crucifixion. So much here is guaranteed to cause either offense or pain, starting with the nineteen-twenties leather football helmet that Natalie Portman suddenly dons for no reason, and rising to the continual horror of Ewan McGregor’s accent. “Another happy landing”—or, to be precise, “anothah heppy lending”—he remarks, as Anakin parks the front half of a burning starcruiser on a convenient airstrip. The young Obi-Wan Kenobi is not, I hasten to add, the most nauseating figure onscreen; nor is R2-D2 or even C-3PO, although I still fail to understand why I should have been expected to waste twenty-five years of my life following the progress of a beeping trash can and a gay, gold-plated Jeeves.
"A gay, gold-plated Jeeves"? Bwahahaha!
CWCID: Mrs. TigerHawk.
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