I Won’t Watch (Girls), Don’t Ask Me

A friend suggested I blog about HBO’s Girls. But I can’t watch it. I saw the first couple of minutes of the pilot, and it was painful. I’m tempted to do a Sara Benincasa- style review  without having seen it, but I’m no Sara Benincasa, and besides it would take viewing more clips or reading more about it than I can handle.

I have my reasons:

1. Williamsburg – I lived there in the 80’s. When I moved into my floor-through apartment on Bedford between North 11th and North 12th, I think the rent was $250 a month, and the other tenants saw my arrival as a sign of end times. I was the pilot-fish of gentrification. These were days when you might go to a party at a loft and the fire department would show up to shut the whole thing down (true story). When whacky clubs opened for a day or two or neighborhood bars were occasionally taken over by large goth drag queens and various performance artists. Back then the arrival of Kasia’s – a place you could actual get a bite to eat – was a big deal indeed, and I frequently stopped by a tiny bakery between North 7th and North 8th for a danish or bagel in the mornings, and there were always the same old Italian and Polish regulars. There was some weird chemical plant across the street, and if I get cancer someday it will be from that.  Greenpoint and Williamsburg had the highest concentration of toxic material storage in the City, plus oil spills. Every once in a while the streets would flood bright yellow and there was a smell that even with the windows closed would seep from your nose onto your taste buds.

Despite its being America’s Bhopul, by 1990, I already felt out of place, supplanted by the younger more beautiful people moving in.

Continue reading I Won’t Watch (Girls), Don’t Ask Me

Your Saturday Book Review — Next By James Hynes

Once I was playing some forum game on a “writers’ site.” The topic was well-known books that could never have been published as first novels. I’d put James Hynes’ Next on top of such a list.

First off it is dark. And I mean really dark, and I can’t begin to tell you how dark without hinting at a spoiler. Let’s just say that second – it doesn’t exactly end on an up note. Third, the protagonist, Kevin Quinn is bound to be disliked – especially by a large proportion of those readers who have vaginas. The point of view is third person, but the view is directly inside of Kevin’s sad little mind. At fifty, he is sliding from middle age into old. He is bitter. Like many of Hynes’ characters, he toils in the lower rungs of academia. In his case a steady, but dull job at a university publishing house that eats away at him a bit more each passing day. He has a younger girlfriend, who he should be grateful for as he sounds like no prize, but he’s thinking of ditching. In fact he’s flown for the day from Michigan to Austin for a job interview he hasn’t told her about.  You get the idea.

But if you are of a certain age (over forty, under sixty) and from the United States, or familiar with its popular culture, you’ll get all of Kevin’s cultural references – The Partridge Family, Joni Mitchell, Whole Foods. You’ll find some of his musings and observations funny, and many true. And you’ll get that weird place where he is, and maybe, even if you have a vagina, you’ll forgive his jerkiness, and come to the realization that he is, not simply an “everyman,” but us. None of us would look good if our true-selves were revealed so honestly. If you believe as Joyce Carol Oates does, that the “art” of writing is the exploration of consciousness, and like Neruda that “we are all guilty,” you will forget yourself and simply see the day through Kevin’s eyes. Lose yourself in him.

I won’t say more, and I don’t recommend you read many reviews. Better to make discoveries for yourself, and if you have any fiction-writing aspirations of your own, read this book and consider it a master-class in fearlessness.

(If you are interested in reading a sample, or buying anything on Amazon within the next twenty-four hours, please click the title on the widget above, so I will get a few shekels. Thank you much.)

The Service Savvy Authors Would Pay For (If It Existed)

Part I – Nobody wants to read the great novel you wrote:

Without going into a whole history of digital self-publishing, let’s just admit the current situation sucks. Sure there are now self-published e-books regularly featured in The New York Times Sunday Book Review combined e-book and paperback top 25 bestsellers. Yes, there was a write-up in Slate last week on the phenomenal success of Wool, but aside from a very few winners, most authors are losers, and readers aren’t too happy either.
Continue reading The Service Savvy Authors Would Pay For (If It Existed)

Still Hating Smash

Caught me. Yes I did hate-watch Smash again, despite what I said last week.

I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed a television show with such an interesting cast sink so quickly. I said most of what I needed to say already, but let me reiterate one point: The writers need to keep track of what the viewers know and don’t know. They expect us to care which draft of Bombshell will be produced. But here’s the thing – we’ve never seen Bombshell. We’ve been told that one version focuses on Marilyn’s strength, and another on how she was viewed by men, and maybe there were other drafts out there, but we can’t keep track because it’s meaningless drivel. We’ve only seen a bunch of loosely connected musical numbers. We don’t have a favorite. We have no stake in which version Eileen decides on. We don’t care.  And this they make into a cliff-hanger ending! Viewers care about characters. A cliff-hanger usually involves the fate of a character, and it’s often a life and death situation.

As for the ridiculous sub-plots: Karen and her gang go to Greenpoint where they discover the book for Jimmy’s musical sucks. Kyle has a sad. They decide to just make it music, like Rent. That’s it. Problem solved. It’s like the writers think DRAMA is actors singing real loud. Also why do they have to explicitly tell us what they are referencing every time they reference something? Why can’t anything ever be implied?

Then there’s Ivy’s story, now separate from everyone else’s story and other characters from last season. Ivy meets her her leading man, a Jim Carrey-like clown (and they mention Jim Carrey in case we don’t get it) who thinks he’s doing a comedy until Ivy awes him with her “acting.” Who was this written for? Is this supposed to appeal to theater-geeks who are tired of television and movie actors thinking they can do live theater? Didn’t we go there last season with Uma Thurman?

I’m starting a poll. I don’t think we’re going to see more than three more episodes of this disaster. I’ll go with two. Any challengers?

Might I suggest anyone who wants to see a GREAT behind the scenes show about theater (or theatre) check out Slings and Arrows, available at Netflix and other places? Enjoy this sample:

Uprising, Activism, Fictional Deaf Kids and a Need for Real-World Service

The Switched at Birth all-ASL-episode, Uprising, is rightly getting a lot of kudos. As a fan of the show, I found it brilliant. It showed the various characters being exactly who they are in a crisis – Melody trying to temper her own idealism with pragmatism, but immensely proud of the kids, John whose first concern is simply his “girls,” Regina guarding her own secret. And those are just the adults. You have Bay being Bay, a young woman with great heart, and Daphne using those strategic skills she’s honed playing sports, asserting leadership, finding her voice as well as her identity.

If you are not familiar with the show, you can watch it or read reviews elsewhere. Like some of the reviewers, I was struck by how political the episode was, but I wasn’t surprised. The program has done a remarkable job of introducing deaf culture to its audience. While I haven’t heard (or read in subtitles) the word “audism,” it’s implicitly in the working vocabulary, and on the fingertips of many of the deaf characters. Continue reading Uprising, Activism, Fictional Deaf Kids and a Need for Real-World Service