TV Diary 3

The Leaks is back from the dead like Dusty May era Michigan hoops. (Please, please, please look at Dusty May’s playlist. He’s a real sadboy.) I’m trying to use this thing more like a blog, sorry if you didn’t sign up for that, but making an actual blog would have been a shit ton of work that I didn’t want to do. Since that last time I wrote a TV diary in 2020 not much has changed except that I’ve been really out on scripted shows lately. There’s a lot of dogshit, expensive reboots and streaming service filler out there that I got tired of dedicating 10 hours to. Last year I think my breaking point was watching that dumb-ass HBO adaptation of The Last of Us which would not stop beating us over the head with the traumatic backstories of every single character with more than three seconds of screentime. (It’s The Leftovers without the patience; season 1 of Yellowjackets without wondering if one of the girls is gonna’ turn each other into the toppings at Cuts and Slices. Eating oxtail pizza should be a sin.) So I’ve mostly been sticking to my reality tv reliables, even though some of those are not what they once were. But at least they’re invested in multi-season storytelling and aren’t trying to convince me that Bill Hader is an auteur or some bullshit.

Survivor 

Survivor is in its We Don’t Trust You era. By that I mean, Future and Metro were obviously a lot better years ago, but even when they’re clearly worse, they’re still cooler than most things. Season 46 of Survivor, like the rest of the 40s, barely feels like the same show as David vs. Goliath or Cambodia or Philippines or Micronesia. No longer a strategic, psychological experiment that forced contestants of different classes, beliefs, and personalities to duke it out for a million dollars but instead Jeff Probst’s summer camp. But it’s still watchable because dropping a group of people on an island for a big sum of money is always a little fun, even if the recurring location in Fiji is basically a Hollywood set these days. The main problem is casting. Over the years Survivor has gotten more racially diverse, but everyone feels as if they could exist in the same social circles. A bunch of whiners that all seem like they pay four thousand dollar rent in Williamsburg. It’s why my favorite character this season is Q, a Black Memphis dude who you can tell the rest of the cast has never met anyone like before. 

Thank God Survivor Australia is keeping the real alive:

How they should be living on Survivor:

Shogun

Game of Thrones has done irreparable damage to TV. I’m through six episodes of Shogun and I’m not sure how much more of this CGI gibberish I can take. Every episode is basically: Character walks in a room. Blah, blah, blah. Another character walks in a room. Blah, blah, blah. A drone shot of a cartoon Japan. The white guy does some more blabbing. Cliffhanger. Repeat. 

The only Japanese-culture swagger jacking white guy I respect:

Mr. & Mrs. Smith 

Uh, amazing television. Donald Glover and Maya Erskine definitely, really, surely have fantastic chemistry. They have the greatest outfits. Oh my God, they’re like models but real people. 100%. This show takes the concept of the original Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie Mr. & Mrs. Smith, which was a husband and wife who didn’t know each other were spies and flips it on its head, with two spies who are instead faking the marriage part. Mind blown. So clever. We need season two immediately. Get to work Donald, please.

Dear Donald, don’t read below this. 

(The show is completely mid but maybe if he gets really into it he can stay out of the booth. He’s already announced new Childish Gambino music and we all have to do our part before that comes to fruition.)  

Curb Your Enthusiasm 

The other day I fired up the pilot of Curb Your Enthusiasm and I couldn’t believe that the jokes and rhythms of the show weren’t that much different than the ones in its final season, nearly 24 years later. Sure, Larry’s last hurrah isn’t as consistently funny as it once was, but it’s still all incredibly low-stakes bits of Larry being a jackass. The last episode is bad, Curb is always at its worst when it’s concerned with an overarching plot (well, except The Blacks and Seinfeld season). Yet I was still sort of emotional as I watched Leon and Susie and Jeff and Cheryl deal with Larry’s B.S. one more time. The last shot of them all on the plane arguing, as if that will be their lives ’til their day comes, stuck with me.

The Challenge All-Stars 4 

A level of washed that I hope to live long enough to experience. Like watching Gordon Hayward check-in to an OKC Thunder game or when they play that Fabolous remix of Drake and Cash Cobain’s “Calling For You” on Power 105.1. 

Vanderpump Rules 

Scandoval saved Vanderpump Rules. Scandoval killed Vanderpump Rules. Tom and Rachel’s affair gave the show new life, and it also tilted the show off its axis. It may never come back from that. Since they all stopped working at Sur years ago, the show has suffered finding an excuse to believably film them all hanging out without veering into Real Housewives-style producer organized trips and events, which is what the show has become. It’s faker than ever. They clearly all hate each other and are only around one another because it pays for their bills and botox. The current season feels almost as bottom of the barrel as eight and nine, where they were all obsessed with manipulating their image to present themselves as mature, therapy-going, better people. Fuck off. It’s a show about the worst, most selfish, and desperate group of transplants to ever be on reality TV, striving for a Hollywood dream that constantly slips through their fingers like a pile of sand. But I refuse to give up on it, because deep down, I know, a Vanderpump resurgence is as inevitable as KDB lifting that Premier League trophy.

Jujustsu Kaisen

The currently airing shonens are just not for me. I still watch, but it’s hard to be invested in a bunch of chess pieces.

Hajime no Ippo

Been plugging a few anime holes lately, Hajime no Ippo is a bit repetitive, as sports anime tend to be, but lives up to the hype. And the droning, ambient-ish songs on the soundtrack go crazy. Need tdf to flip this:

20 Women Vs. 1 Rapper 

I’ve watched too many episodes. A new migraine-inducing societal low, you can’t look away. Possibly a YouTube reality show bleaker than the game shows to the death in The Running Man. Who knows? Maybe that’s next? We already have the police state. 

Colin From Accounts/One Day 

The best rom-coms are on TV. I’m ready to put Colin From Accounts and One Day up there with Love Life season 2 and the first few seasons of Starstruck. I watched Colin From Accounts, a sweet Australian will-they-won’t-they, in 48 hours, which I never do. And burned through the gimmicky yet fully realized One Day, an adaptation of British author David Nicholls’ novel where each episode follows a random 24 hours per year in the course of a 20 year relationship, in about a week. Both had me invested in the relationships, especially One Day, since I’m now completely in the bag for Ambika Mod and Leo Woodall (the dude from White Lotus season 2 who looks like he was in a bathroom stall with the ’86 Mets). 

Summer House/Summer House: Martha’s Vineyard 

Both the white people Summer House and the Black people Summer House are cooking. The white one has been fun, despite the main plot being that Lindsay and Carl’s engagement is crumbling. Carl is channeling Vanderpump Rules by trying so hard to paint himself as the honorable victim, even though he’s so clearly the villain. (That might be Drake’s next move in his beef with Kendrick.) The other real storyline is the budding relationship between Ciara and newcomer West, who works at fucking Complex. He’s a sports guy not a rap guy, though, I sometimes forget that Complex does other shit. Well, he seems fine. Their mutual crush is a breath of fresh air for the show, and he’s Ciara’s type, which she admits to be white guys who have Black friends. Weird. Whatever. Black Summer House is even more fun. The girls are out of their minds and the guys are giant bozos, great TV. Alex, who is John Legend’s goatee wearing cousin, might be an all-timer. A wannabe R&B singer with no self-awareness and hides his fuckery behind meditation and speaking like he’s on his therapist’s couch. You are a star, Alex. 

Not entirely sure what to do with this newsletter, but it’s here so might as well use it. Send me what you’ve been watching!