Television - To Be or Not to Be in the Entourage

Let’s face it, this is not compelling drama. The plot line and story arc are as thin as the cocktails at an Amish wedding. But what drives this show –for good and for bad—are the characters. And this, even though the writers have failed to give them any depth. Quite simply, these characters are shallow.

And that is either the most profitable event of serendipity in history or a ballsy risk taken by the writing staff of this program, because somehow these boys are interesting despite the fact that they are not interesting at all. They seem like people we all know; they’re not superlative; they’re accessible, like guys you could comfortably hang out with.

That’s the point, right? The boys have a modicum of charisma and a reasonably chill attitude, so much so that you’d feel right at home doing bong-hits with them in their kitchen. They celebrate E’s breakup by rolling off to Vegas, and you’re right there wedged in the car with them. Throw in millions of dollars to waste like spare change, and you’ve got the ultimate plug-in fantasy.

At least, that’s the way it is through the first two seasons. If you’ve plodded through the show week by week, forgetting about it between seasons, you may not have picked up on the nuances of change. But if, like me, you’ve watched all three seasons back to back over the course of ten days, you may have returned to your pre-Entourage ennui –if not visceral hatred—of the shallow cesspool that is LA.

By Season 3, you decide that these guys maybe aren’t so cool. It might be fun to have them visit you for a couple of days, as long as they stay in a hotel and not your crib—but after that it would be best if they moved on. No sense ruining a good thing.

By Season 3, Vince’s laid-back affability transforms into a perennially glib, affected aloofness. E’s natural modesty and insecurity has grown into smarmy superiority. Johnny Drama remains the same oaf, but is no longer low-key; rather, he’s grown exagerrated to the point of obnoxious. Turtle, probably the least attractive member and therefore not subject to quite as much off-screen, ego-inflating attention as the others, has maintained his odd blend of confident humility. So far.

The character of Ari, played by Jeremy Piven, if not the most experienced actor in the cast at least the most adept, has somehow improved. It’s as if he has taken the journey in reverse. Starting out as the most exagerrated egomaniac in the show, he has come to embody the more endearing qualities of honor and respect. Great credit for this must be given to Ari having actually had compelling events written for his character.

Still, as much as these guys have come to make me smirk rather than grin, I’m eager to see Season 4. It is an addictive show. Perhaps I should get a life.

Society - Poriticarry Collect

Once there was a time when the Chinese weren’t a bunch of Politically Correct crybabies. They weren’t so insecure as to jump on any opportunity to scream and kick about some perceived slight. I used to think they were the only ones left who felt secure enough in their long history and incredibly massive unity that they were indifferent to harmless jokes and even outright racist slurs. In a word, the Chinese stood strong.

Sadly, that day appears to have passed and Rosie O’Donnell has caved in to pressure from a group of Asian American journalists for an apology. Certainly, the whole Chinese race –or agglomeration of races—hasn’t changed so much as all that; and probably not the whole of Chinese Americans, which makes this whining group of journalists something of a disgrace to their people.

In regards to the self-confidence historically displayed by the Chinese American community, could this be the beginning of the end?

The video of O’Donnell’s bit hardly seems that offensive to me. The humour of it is based on the comic concept of Surprise and Incongruity. Essentially, she improvised a Chinese news broadcast, using Chinese sounds, and speckled it with a few English words. I’ve lived in Korea and travelled around Asia, have worked and socialized with dozens of Chinese in The States, and I can attest that this actually happens in real life; and when it does, it’s only natural to laugh. For some reason, our brains are hardwired for such a reaction. Imagine Oscar Wilde speckling his speech with hip-hop slang. The effect would be similar.

And this is one of the reasons that the Politically Correct movement gets in my craw so much: It’s unnatural, the way they intend to manipulate and control human nature. They incorrectly imagine that they are going to change attitudes by attacking the language in the same way that totalitarian regimes believe that the suppression of speech controls the attitude of the population.

If Unity: Journalists of Color Inc. finds offense in O’Donnell’s use of “ching-chong” during her poor rendition of a Chinese language, perhaps they would be better served by teaching her Mandarin or Cantonese. But of course, what’s really at the heart of this is that this organization needs to find a cause to fight in order to justify their own existence. Now that Americans are somewhat more enlightened than a few decades ago, Unity: Journalists of Color Inc. has no choice but to find a racist under every bed. Otherwise, they would have to close up shop.

Cinema - Lucky Number Slevin

You know, I’ve always prided myself on an ability to predict the outcome in every mystery/suspense/intrigue film that I’ve ever seen. The subtle clues that the creators are obligated to include in order to make the outcome credible, like the careful buildup –but failure to show—a pivotal character’s presumed murder, have always screamed out to me for attention, announcing exactly what we can expect in the dénouement. This is a necessary weakness in the art of film; because if certain details aren’t provided along the way, we tend to feel ripped off; the entire purpose of intrigue being to engage the intelligence and attention of the audience.

The best way to mask a scream is by diverting attention to other sounds. And, like Orpheus’ battle of the bands against The Sirens, the most elegant diversion is through artful artifice, not by volume –which is exactly what makes Lucky Number Slevin an elegant film. The motus operandi by which this distraction is accomplished is blatantly explained in the beginning, when Bruce Willis’s character, Goodkat, describes a ruse known as The Kansas City Shuffle. “It’s when everybody looks right, but you go left.”

All the details necessary to ruin the surprise are provided, but they are eloquently minimized through shear distraction. Nothing is what it seems, and though we already know that to be the nature of a film like this, we are nevertheless caught up in it’s web, willing to believe the lies of the spider. Why not? They are delivered with so much charm.

The complete reversal of the protagonist’s role of victim to victimizer is executed with mastery and an underlying sense of justice that makes an evil act –or series of acts—unquestionably good. The film surpasses The Usual Suspects and The Sixth Sense on their very own merits, not least of which are the pensive soundtrack and gratifying cinematography. Classic actors Morgan Freeman (as The Boss) and Sir Ben Kingsley (as The Rabbi) provide their usual stade elegance and depth while Bruce Willis commands an ominous presence, which is exactly what he does best.

The subplot love interest between Josh Hartnett and Lucy Liu, while unavoidably gooshy, is nevertheless charming and, dare I say, envious, if for nothing else because of its union of two souls who happen to be true connoisseurs of James Bond.

Slevin represents the film debut of the young screewriter, Jason Smilovic. I’ve never seen any of his television work, nor do I suppose that I will, but I look forward to seeing more from him in the future.

Cinema - I Am a Sex Addict

The autobiographical docu-drama, I Am a Sex Addict, has a lot of merits, despite Caveh Zahedi’s painfully self-conscious presence in front of the camera. His manner has been compared to Woody Allen, but I would agree with that in only an abstract way. The self-effacing honesty is reminiscent of the Wood-man, but not nearly so irritating nor contrived. Yet, lacking Allen’s budget, it stands out as amateurish and requires the intent acceptance of a serious Indie aficionado to see it for what it is: A refreshing breath of truth, tinged with the kind of humour that makes you squirm in your seat, thinking, I’ve done something like that before. Or, I could have done something like that.

The tale follows Caveh’s spiral from prostitute fantasy to prostitute fetish, ending up on the ashes of two destroyed marriages and a number of failed relationships. After finally finding salvation in the basement of a Methodist church, sitting in the circle of a male-only sex addict’s meeting, Caveh embraces his epiphany and ends the film on a hopeful note: The tearful wedding ceremony of his third marriage. It’s from the dressing room of the church, just before the ceremony, that Caveh narrates a large portion of his story.

All in all, I’d say it’s a film worth seeing, though I found it easy to divide my viewing into two evenings. It doesn’t necessarily provide any insight into the world of whore-mongering, except maybe by making it look surprisingly normal, as if it were similar to a pentient for singing show tunes in the car. Caveh’s bug-eyed discomfort probably bespeaks his true reticence to expose the emotional misery that he intimates but never expresses convincingly. Indeed, the only time he doesn’t seem too uncomfortable is when receiving numerous simulated (?) blow jobs on camera, which makes one wonder if he’s merely substituted prostitutes with struggling actresses in the pursuit of his jollies.

On the surface it seems that this whole venture has been not much more than a therapy process for him. But combined with a mesmerizing score by Hilary Soldati and quirky animations by Bob Sabiston, the humour and originality make for an interesting voyeuristic experience.

Television - Olbermann Rocks

This is exactly the kind of honest, straightforward commentary that has been severely lacking in the media for decades. It's about time.