Makin’ it up as he goes

A few months ago, after some waffling on my part, I decided that it would be OK to introduce The Daughter to the adventures of Indiana Jones. I wasn’t sure if she was ready for Temple of Doom yet, with its high levels of violence and gore, but I figured that she’s nine, and so was I when Raiders of the Lost Ark came out, and when I saw Raiders I hadn’t been prepared by having seen things like the Lord of the Rings movies, so one night we sat down to watch Raiders. Watching her react to that movie was as fun a Family Movie Night as I can recall.

The Daughter’s reactions to Raiders mirrored my own reactions, at least the ones I can recall, almost exactly. It was uncanny. At times she was on the edge of her seat, literally, quivering with the certainty that Indy was about to die horribly, starting with inside the Hovitos temple when Satipo has run off with the idol and Indy’s trying to climb out of the pit as the stone door descends, and again later when it looks certain as hell that Toht is about to use that poker to scar Marion for life. She laughed uproariously when Indy shot the Impressive Swordsman, and she tensed up later on when Toht’s chain-link torture implement turns out to be a coat hanger. She cheered Indy’s victory in the Desert Chase, and went “Ewwwwww!” when the Nazis’ faces started melting.

Next, of course, came Temple of Doom, which I waffled on allowing The Daughter to watch since it’s quite a bit darker and quite a lot more violent than Raiders. Of course, she loved the banquet scene, and she squirmed a lot during the bug scene; The Daughter is petrified of bugs in general, so this was highly effective. The rest of the movie she didn’t find all that scary, oddly enough. Hmmmm. (I did not let her see the plucking of the sacrificial victim’s heart, however. I skipped past that.) As always, I found Temple to be better than its reputation holds. Sure, Willie Scott gets to be too much at times, but it’s a fun movie.

Last up was Last Crusade, which remains the least of the three. Did so much of it have to be played for laughs? Did Marcus Brody, who had been implied in Raiders to be what Indy will become when he’s older, have to be turned into a complete buffoon? Was there really a purpose in having Indy seduce Elsa early in the movie, when he’s never been a seducer in the prior movies, other than to set up the fact that Indy and Henry Sr. both slept with the same woman? In fact, was there any purpose to having them sleep with the same woman at all? The chemistry between Harrison Ford and Sean Connery covers a lot of sins in Last Crusade, but wow, this should have been a better movie than it is.

Of course, watching the original three Indy Jones movies brought us to the most recent one. So. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. We finally got around to seeing it. My basic reaction through a lot of it was to wonder why on Earth so many people seem to think it’s crap on a stick, and then to see in certain places just why so many people seem to think it’s crap on a stick. Now, I don’t think it’s crap on a stick – it’s neither crap nor on a stick – but I can see where things in it would bug certain people with certain hangups about movies like this. Reflecting after the movie was over, one thought kept coming back to my head: “Wow, this would have been really something if they’d been able to get in just one more rewrite of the script.” There’s a lot of stuff in the movie that’s right, most of it, actually. But there are a few clunker moments and things that are left underdeveloped. By way of a food analogy: have you ever got a pizza from your favorite pizza place that, for some unknown reason, wasn’t quite baked all the way through? So while the whole thing’s generally satisfactory, there are bites of it that are doughy and underdone? That’s what I felt like watching Crystal Skull.

The movie takes place in 1957, when Indiana Jones is nineteen years older than the last time we saw him, in Last Crusade. His brown hair is now gray, he’s not quite as trim, his face is rounder, and his voice has a permanent rasp to it. But he’s still game for an adventure or two, and as the movie begins, he’s been dragged by force into this one. The opening scene tracks a convoy of military trucks across the Nevada desert as they arrive at a secret government base, which turns out to be, naturally, Area 51. The military convoy turns out to be Russians, and when Indy turns up, it’s not as a separate adventurer or anything like that. No, the Russians drag him out of the trunk of one of their cars. They’ve kidnapped him, because there’s a warehouse in Area 51 that contains a crate they’re looking for. (Actually, that warehouse contains lots of crates. Thousands of ’em, containing, we’re told, all of the darkest secrets of the US government. We get a glimpse a bit later of one of those crates, after it’s been broken open by accident during Indy’s escape; the crate contains what appears to be a chest made of golden wood topped with a pair of angels…but never mind that, the Russians want the crate that’s so magnetic it attracts gunpowder when Indy tosses it in the air.)

It turns out that these Russians, led by a female officer named Spalko, are looking for a crystal skull that, when taken to a mythical lost city in the Amazonian jungle called Akator, will somehow yield the ability to read minds the world over. The Russians will know American military secrets as soon as they’re conceived, irrevocably tilting the balance of the Cold War. That outcome, obviously, would be bad. Unfortunately, the film doesn’t do nearly enough to play up this angle, and the Cold War subtext of the film which is actually nicely drawn in the first half of the movie pretty much disappears in the second. That’s problem Number One.

The interesting development is that after escaping the Russians, Dr. Jones is branded a “person of interest” by the FBI because he “helped” the Communists get what they wanted, and he’s fired from his teaching job, and for a short while he’s followed by the US government. This could have led to some really interesting and fun complications; the only thing that’s more stressful for a hero than having to overcome the bad guys is having to overcome the bad guys while convincing the rest of the good guys that he’s really a good guy. (The current season of 24 has been milking this particular device for all it’s worth.) Unfortunately, this aspect of the plot drops out of sight soon after. That’s a shame.

So, Indy, having been fired, is contacted by a young man who goes by the name “Mutt”. Mutt’s got a whole bunch of chip on the shoulder attitude, but he needs Indy’s help, having been sent by his mother to get Indy’s help. Oddly, Indy doesn’t strongly follow up on the question of who this kid’s mother might be, but we learn later on exactly who she is: Marion Ravenwood, the original love of Indy’s life. Well, from there, it doesn’t take much to figure out that Mutt is Indy’s son as well. It turns out that Indy left Marion at the altar. Oops…and somehow, the producers of Crystal Skull failed to do the obvious and have Marion do the same thing she did the previous time she came into contact with Indiana Jones after a long period away from him: belt him across the jaw. No matter, though; the chemistry between Harrison Ford and Karen Allen is as strong as ever, and watching these two characters interact is one of the film’s finest pleasures. It’s too bad that Marion doesn’t have much to do in the film’s climax; she ends up just standing there a lot.

As long as I’m talking about the film’s climax, well…yes, the movie deals with aliens (or “interdimensional beings”), that are basically the exact alien that’s dominated the UFO culture ever since 1947. A lot of people didn’t like that an Indiana Jones film strayed so far away from the mystical-religious fantasy of the first three films in favor of sci-fi in Crystal Skull, but I’m not convinced, because I don’t think that’s what they did. In sending Dr. Jones into the Mayan milieu, it’s perfectly logical to bring aliens into the story, as many UFO researchers have done over the years, in suggesting that the Mayans were the beneficiaries of alien technology and that aliens played some part in that culture’s shockingly quick descent. Moreover, there is a lot of strong religious subtext underpinning much of UFO culture; you can’t miss it if you read into it, and so, one can definitely argue that in Crystal Skull, Indy still is very much working on mystical-religious stuff. Anyone complaining that this movie is Indiana Jones meets The X-Files must have missed all of the strong religious and spiritual content in The X-Files.

For that matter, a lot of UFO culture springs not just from mysticism but also from Cold War paranoia, which the film was trying to tie itself into. It wasn’t totally successful on this point, actually; the Cold War subtext is lost halfway through the movie, which is a shame. (For one thing, Raiders and Last Crusade didn’t lose track of their World War II subtexts.) It’s a shame that Indy’s quest, which should also have been a quest to clear his own name, was allowed to lose so much of that emotional urgency.

My other random complaints about Crystal Skull? Here they are, mixed in with some stuff I liked, because I actually liked the movie quite a bit:

:: I can accept the bit with Indy surviving the nuke blast by hiding in a lead-lined refrigerator. I’m fine with that, really. What I didn’t like so much was that the fridge got violently blasted something like several miles from its starting point. Now that I had a hard time swallowing. I would have liked this better if Indy had opened the fridge, pushed away a lot of wreckage of the house, and found himself standing in the middle of a bunch of radiation-suited guys who had come to inspect the results of the blast. I’m willing to accept a lot, but this pushed me just a wee bit.

:: Nice bit of scripting: we’re set in 1957, and Spalko tells Indy that they need his help finding the crate he had worked on ten years earlier. That would be 1947, which is when the first post-war UFO sightings happened.

:: Another nice bit of scripting: the twist on the classroom scene, which starts off the way the classroom scenes started in the earlier movies, but then whirls about with Indy’s firing. I loved that he’s still assigning Michaelson to his students; that’s exactly the kind of detail the movie had in spades for fans like me.

:: The next scene, in Indy’s house, was nicely done. I like that they didn’t turn the Dean into a mean jerk; he resigned in protest of Indy’s firing, and he’s there as Indy remembers his father and Marcus Brody. That Dean has a good line: “I think we’re both at that age when life stops giving us things, and starts taking things away.”

:: That brings me to the movie’s handling of Indy’s advancing age. I think the film handled this all very well. Some allusions are made to what Indy’s been up to since Last Crusade (he was an actual spy at some point, it appears), and Indy doesn’t spend the whole film complaining about things he can’t do anymore, but neither does he act in a way inconsistent with the fact that he’s now a 60-something action hero. He treats Mutt as a wise elder would, but he’s never condescending toward him.

:: Complaint time: the character Mac, who we first meet in the film’s opening, is a partner of Indy’s, until he’s revealed as a traitor five minutes later. In all honesty, this should have been that character’s last appearance. He keeps popping up throughout the movie, finally earning Indy’s trust again before betraying him again, and eventually dying because he can’t let the treasure go when the Temple is collapsing. After the first betrayal, he only clogs up the screen and takes attention away from characters we’re actually invested in. Mac should have gone away after the first scene.

:: Well-developed villains really aren’t the strong point of the Indiana Jones movies, but this one really shortchanges Colonel Spalko. We learn exactly nothing about her, except that she really wants the power of knowledge. That’s too bad, because I loved Cate Blanchett’s performance.

:: Who are the weirdly-made up warriors who are guarding Akator and the Temple earlier in the movie? We’re never told. They just pop up out of nowhere, twice in the movie. Huh?

:: I’ve read some commentary about the movie, although not a lot, prior to seeing it, and of the people I read (reviewers and bloggers alike), nobody gave away the visual punchline of the scene where Indy and Marion are caught in quicksand. (Well, not really quicksand, as Indy helpfully explains while they’re sinking.) Thanks, folks! Had I known what was coming I wouldn’t have laughed nearly as hard.

:: I do recall some people complaining about Mutt doing a Tarzan yell when he’s swinging on the vines, but I didn’t hear it – did they eliminate the yell for the DVD? Anyway, I’d have been fine with it, really, even though people complain about George Lucas having Chewbacca do a Tarzan yell in two different Star Wars movies. It shouldn’t have happened in Star Wars, but I have no great difficulty with it here; I’d simply assume that Mutt has spent some time as a kid in the movie theater watching Johnny Weismuller doing his thing as Tarzan.

:: The climax doesn’t work as well as it should, because there’s never that moment that came in the first three Indy films where the villain is undone because he (or she) has failed to understand something that Indy is only just now figuring out. (Don’t look at the stuff coming out of the Ark; don’t use the Sankara Stones in a way that Shiva wouldn’t have liked; at the Last Supper, Jesus would have been drinking out of a crappy tin cup.) So Spalko’s final demise isn’t really explained. I didn’t need Indy doing something, per se, but there’s no real explanation offered as to what befalls Spalko. It’s easy to figure out, but we shouldn’t have to put those pieces together. Indy could have shouted something like “Colonel, look at the size of that skull! Do you really think your brain is going to be able to handle what that brain knows? Much less thirteen of them?”

:: The wedding. Look, hasn’t poor Temple of Doom been rehabilitated enough yet that we don’t have to keep pretending that it never happened? It’s actually a pretty good film on its own, so if we’re going to have lots of little reminders of Indy’s prior adventures, can’t we acknowledge that one? Here’s how it should have happened. Hey, as Blogistan’s official script doctor for George Lucas, you can indulge me!

Just before the wedding, when the guy is stenciling Indy’s name on the door as the new Dean:

INDY: I can probably still get them to rehire you.

OLD DEAN: No, I’m looking forward to retirement, actually. Maybe write a book, or even go out into the field. If you can do it–

INDY: The field’s not what it used to be, old friend.

OLD DEAN: What is?

Indy finishes tying his bow tie.

INDY: Well, here we go!

A messenger enters, holding out a telegram.

MESSENGER: Dr. Jones? Telegram, sir!

INDY: Thanks. (looks at telegram) Shanghai?

OLD DEAN: You have an old friend in Shanghai, don’t you?

INDY: And a few enemies. (reads) “Dr. Jones: Regret unable to attend ceremony but I have found the lost tomb of Genghis Khan. Would appreciate your help. All the best, Short Round.”

He looks at the Old Dean, with that familiar Indiana Jones gleam in his eye….

OLD DEAN: Now, now, old friend, you’ve already broken this promise to Marion once. You’re not doing it again.

INDY: I guess you’re right.

He heads off to the chapel, but not before tucking the telegram in his pocket.

Then, later on after the wedding, as Indy and Marion are heading back up the aisle:

INDY: I know I promised you a honeymoon in Paris, but you know where it’s supposed to be beautiful this time of year? Shanghai.

MARION: Shanghai.

INDY: Yeah.

MARION: My father took me to Shanghai once. He was looking for the lost tomb of Genghis Khan.

INDY: Funny you should mention that…wait a second, I forgot something.

And that’s when he’d go back and grab the hat from Mutt.

:: I like that as soon as Indy learns that Mutt’s his son, he starts calling him “Junior”.

:: Maybe it’s that I live near Niagara Falls and am thus highly aware of the fact that going over it in any kind of open craft is certain death, but the waterfall scene bugged me even more than the refrigerator.

:: I chuckled when Indy said “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

OK, I think I’ve gone on long enough. Yes, it was a fun movie. Yes, it could have been a remarkable adventure film, with just a bit more work done on the script. I kind of wonder if the writers’ strike of a year ago played a part – maybe they wanted to take another pass at the script, but the strike came up and that meant that if they waited it out and then did their rewrite, the schedules of Spielberg, Lucas and Ford would have been another five years from converging. I wonder if the strike forced them into going into production with a script that wasn’t totally to their liking. But I could be wrong.

Anyway, like I said, Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull is roughly 85 percent of a terrific movie.

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Make Me Read!

I’m just about finished with A Farewell to Arms, which means that in the next day or two I’ll be reading Tigana. And that means that it’s time for my next poll of what I need to read after Tigana, which is where you all come in!

I’m thinking that I’m in the mood for a bit of horror, so I’ve chosen two titles from that fine genre. First is The Terror by Dan Simmons, and the other is It by Stephen King. Let the voting commence!

(A post on A Farewell to Arms is forthcoming, obviously.)

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Sentential Links #164

And away we go!!!

:: March is like November, but more hopeful.

:: A newspaper city room was a noisy place to work. Dozens of typewriters hammered at carbon-copy books that made an impatient slap-slap-slap. Phones rang the way phones used to ring in the movies. Reporters shouted into them. They called out “boy!” and held up a story and copykids ran to snatch it and deliverer it to an editor. Reporters would shout out questions: “Quick! Who was governor before Walker?” (Terrific post.)

:: What can you say about a movie whose emotional climax occurs in Salt Lake City?

:: William Randolph Hearst? He was the George Lucas of his day. (An older post, and one I don’t agree with, but still an interesting take.)

:: A few days ago, in the comments section, I revealed that the CGI stars as seen in that backgrounds of Battlestar Galactica were, for the most part, random. (See, I would have just assumed this…but not so the mega-obsessive skiffy fans who analyze shows like LOST and BG!)

:: He made a Swamp Thing blow up doll using a sex doll, papier mache, kudzu vine, and a viscous solution of egg whites and soy sauce. It really felt and smelled like the real thing. (How come nobody ever writes stuff like this about me on my birthday?!)

:: The king doesn’t need to be powerful to be important.

:: What do you think of Twilight Summarized by a Smartass? (Oh my God, the world needs this. SamuraiFrog, you MUST do this! It is a moral imperative!)

More next week!

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Asystole.

So, ER ended the other night. I didn’t watch it, or anything of this final season aside from a chunk of the first episode of the year, but I do note the official end of a show that for me ended four or five years back. Time then, I suppose, for one final summation of my love-hate relationship with ER.

I remember ER‘s first season, back in 1994, when it was replacing LA Law in NBC’s Thursday night lineup. Now, LA Law had also been a favorite show of The Girlfriend (later The Wife) and I, but it had petered out over its final few seasons, getting more and more lame as it went. What had really done LA Law in? Well, it was an ensemble show about lawyers, and as an ensemble show, it was designed so that it could lose characters if it needed to, by simply adding new ones. Sure, there were some members of the ensemble who were more important than others, but if done right, they could be interchanged. Only, it turned out, they really couldn’t. Once enough of the compelling original characters — the Harry Hamlin, Jimmy Smits, Susan Dey, and others — had left, the replacements turned out to be significantly less interesting, and the same problem afflicted the writing staff. So a show that started out with a neat and fresh look at the world of high-rolling legal eagles became a show that disposed of troublesome characters by having them step through elevator doors without realizing that the elevator wasn’t there.

Another show that started a year before ER did was NYPDBlue. It, too, was ensemble-by-design, but it fared much better than LA Law did. For one thing, NYPDBlue managed to hold onto one of the most important cogs in its ensemble wheel for its entire run (Dennis Franz’s Andy Sipowicz). For another, Blue was, over its entire run, far more successful than Blue in replacing departed characters with new ones. I’ve always felt that NYPDBlue never got enough recognition for keeping the chemistry right even with completely different characters coming and going through more than ten seasons.

What does this have to do with ER? Well, ER was also an ensemble-by-design show. Ensemble shows live or die by their ensembles. A show that gets canceled probably suffers that fate, in part, because its ensemble doesn’t have the right chemistry. (Sometimes, anyway. Look no farther than Firefly for a show that had awesome ensemble chemistry and yet felt the grim embrace of Network Doom.) ER was not, in my opinion, terrifically successful in maintaining its ensemble chemistry once original cast members started leaving, and eventually that — and some trends in the writing that bugged me greatly — contributed to me finally giving up on the show.

When did ER start to lose me? Well, I’ve long maintained that ER managed the odd trick of jumping the shark not once but twice, at least in my view. There were two plot developments that came about a year apart, if I recall correctly, that both put big dents in my enthusiasm for the show to start with, dents from which my enthusiasm would never recover.

The first was the major storyline feeding into the departure of Dr. Peter Benton. Benton was another arrogant surgeon, right from the show’s first episode, played by Eriq La Salle. Even though Benton was gruff and arrogant, he was also a good man; in one memorable moment he interceded to keep Dr. Carter’s life from spinning out of control. So, way back in season two, Benton had a brief affair with a woman from his neighborhood named Carla, an affair which ended quickly but not before producing a son named Reese. Benton and Carla would split custody, with occasional bad blood erupting, most notably when Benton used the court’s custody order to prevent Carla’s husband, Roger, from accepting a job that would have required him, Carla, and Reese to move to Germany.

Anyway, there would be some emotional stuff over the years regarding Reese Benton, who went through a difficult birthing process and who would later turn out to be deaf, forcing Benton to explore the ethics of cochlear implants. Well, in Season Eight, Eriq La Salle decided it was time to move on, so the show gave him one last big storyline. One night Carla and Reese were in a car accident. Reese survived with minor cuts and bruises, but Carla was killed — and thus we were plunged into a child custody storyline, with Reese’s step-father Roger and biological father Peter fighting it out for the kid.

Now, for one thing, this was all very “soap opera”. What made ER compelling much of the time was that, for most of the first half of its run, it managed to keep the soap opera stuff mainly in the background, in favor of the medical stuff. There was just enough soap opera to keep viewers caring and to keep the characters from being mere faces, but until the Reese Benton custody fight, it never overwhelmed the show. And of course there wasn’t much doubt about how it would end, was there? Peter would get custody. Everybody knew that. And sure enough, he did.

But.

Here’s where the writers first poisoned the well for me, because over the course of that plotline, it turned out that Peter was not Reese Benton’s biological father at all. So the story went from biological-dad-versus-stepdad to stepdad-versus-guy-who-once-did-the-dirty-with-mom. As soon as that was established, I figured, “Game over” — how on Earth can the fact that this guy thought he was the biological father for five years trump the fact that he’s not, while the other guy really was the child’s stepfather for those same years? I don’t see how it could; from that moment it made no moral sense for Peter Benton to get custody, and yet, that’s exactly what happened. The writers managed to make me lose sympathy for Peter. And they couldn’t even make it a kind of “karmic victory” for Peter by having Roger be a complete jerk who really shouldn’t have custody at all; no, Roger was a good guy, a hard-working successful guy who had loved his wife and been a good provider for his step-son.

And then, in a moment of transcendent awfulness that was the first time ER actually pissed me off, they had the defeated Roger come to the hospital, so he could give Reese’s Christmas presents to Peter so that he might give them to the kid. And Peter says, “Come over on Christmas and give them to him yourself.” Roger tears up — and well he should, since he’s just been colossally screwed — and says something like “Thank you, this means a lot to me.” What does Peter Benton say?

“I’m not doing it for you.”

And I’m thinking, “Way to go, writers. You’re letting Benton go out by making him a dick.” At least Benton took with him the awful Dr. Finch, a pediatrician played awfully by Michael Michele, an actress who seems to have two facial expressions.

The second shark-jumping, and for me the more serious, was the fate of Dr. Romano, which came two seasons later. Robert “Rocket” Romano (played wonderfully by Paul McCrane) was an enormously gifted surgeon, and he knew it, too; he knew everything and he pretty much seemed to hate everybody. He had little by way of social skills, he was horribly un-PC (“I swear ‘ER’ stands for ‘Everybody’s retarded’!”), and he basically went around saving lives because only he could and spewing unending gouts of cynical sarcasm that he got away with because he could save those lives by virtue of his amazing surgical skill. Not unlike Dr. House on House.

But Dr. Romano would also show hints of humanity every so often. Once he burst into the ER in a panic, cradling a critically injured patient in his arms: his own beloved dog. He exploded into rage when he failed to save a fellow doctor’s life. He was in love with Dr. Elizabeth Korday, which he mostly accepted was doomed to be unrequited but which he allowed to show by being her confidant in some very dark moments.

After Romano was established thereof, the writers threw an astonishing twist at him: in a weird accident involving a helicopter, Romano’s arm was chopped off. It got reattached, but he had to spend months in rehab trying to get it to work so he could return to surgery perhaps. However, it didn’t work, and the arm began to die, so Romano had it amputated. All this played out over a year or more, and it was a fascinating arc for a fascinating character, as Romano became more and more hostile toward his co-workers while he tried to figure out just what kind of doctor he could now be. Still a doctor, but no longer the god-like surgeon? It was a fascinating place to take a character.

That was when the writers decided it was time for a curveball. They had Romano outside the hospital, in the alley, one day, as another helicopter was lifting off from the helipad on the roof. Some kind of mechanical failure happened, the helicopter literally dropped out of the sky…right onto Dr. Romano. End of Romano. That happened early in the episode, and the rest of the episode featured characters constantly wondering where the hell Romano had got to, right up until the final fade, which showed a big crane lifting the wreckage of the helicopter. Presumably, minutes after the fade to credits, someone says, “Hey, is that a body under there?” So the guy whose life had been irrevocably altered by a helicopter mishap was now ended in another helicopter mishap. Yuk, yuk, yuk. To me, that felt just like LA Law‘s dropping Rosalind Shays down an elevator shaft. Romano’s death felt like a joke, from the visual of the helicopter crushing him (it looked just like the 16-ton weight that was always crushing people on Monty Python’s Flying Circus) to the fact that the hospital would pay tribute to Romano by putting his name on the AIDS clinic when he’d been depicted as being at least mildly homophobic. Yuk, yuk indeed.

Of course, it wasn’t just specific plot points that annoyed me with the show, and besides, there would be others to come along. It was the ensemble. Doctors started coming and going with such regularity that the show felt like it had a revolving door on it, and at times the cast ballooned to the point where characters would get a few minutes each of screentime per show. Many of the new doctors were just plain nowhere near as interesting as the ones from the early seasons — the afore-mentioned Dr. Finch, for example. Did any regular viewer ever count Dr. Dave Malucci as a favorite? Shane West, a talented actor, was pretty much wasted when he was brought on as a doc who was little more than an older version of the flirting-with-delinquency kid he’d played on the far better written Once and Again.

Not just that new characters weren’t that interesting, but they’d also get tossed aside ridiculously quickly, pretty much the second the writers realized they didn’t know what they were doing with them. Thus it was that Susan Lewis disappeared overnight the second time. Dr. Korday got less and less screen time until the writers finally had her go home to England. Nobody cared about Dr. Malucci, but even so, his firing was a lame, out-of-the-blue moment. And so on.

The stories got jacked up to ’11’ all the while, too; while early seasons would end with a sense that life would continue and that not all things are resolved, later seasons would end with Dallas-esque cliffhangers of the “Who will live! Who will die! Come back in October to find out!” variety. One season faded to black as three characters were in a car that went off a bridge and into the water; another ended with a doc being trapped beneath the thundering masses at an antiwar demonstration. In fact, my actual last straw with the show was one of those cliffhanger episodes, when a bunch of criminals burst into the ER itself and shot the place up. The Moldavian Wedding Massacre worked on Dynasty because, well, that was Dynasty. On ER, it was just stupid. I never watched an entire episode after that.

And it wasn’t just cliffhangers and bad ensemble stuff, either. ER just settled into a monotonous sameness over time. In the early seasons, they knew how to change things up in ways to keep things interesting, but when they would do that in later years, they would always do it in exactly the same ways. For some reason, the showrunners became fascinated with the idea of the big-city ER docs going off to work in squalor in Africa, an idea which was interesting the first time but became less so each time they did it after that (and it was a lot). You could also always count on the Big Name Guest Star to show up to play either the Seriously Ill Person, from whom one of our docs would learn some kind of life lesson, or the Colorful Family Member, which would yield some soap opera stuff. James Cromwell. Bob Newhart. James Woods. Sally Field. Alan Alda. Lather, rinse, repeat. Some of these episodes were actually pretty good, strictly speaking, but there would still be this air of “been there, done that” hanging over them.

Why did this all bother me as much as it did? Because when ER was good, it wasn’t just merely good. There was a reason that the show took the country by storm back in 1994, and it wasn’t just all the WHOOSH steadicam stuff and the rapidfire medical dialogue and the bloody trauma stuff. It was, for all its new-ness, a very good show. It was, week in and week out, for four or five years at least, just a great thing to watch. One of its masterstrokes was to show not just doctors in different specialties at work but to include students in the mix, so that Dr. Carter became our “gateway” character to this world. Some of those individual episodes still stand out for me and, I suspect, many other people who remember the show from back then. “Love’s Labor Lost”, for example. This was the first time the show departed from its general formula of lots of patients in an hour to follow one case. A mother in labor is wheeled into the ER, and as Dr. Greene tries one thing after another, her labor spirals out of control until it’s a tossup as to whether he can save mother, baby, or either. He saves the baby. The mother dies. It was a brilliant episode that had ramifications for Greene’s character that would play out for years to come.

Season two brought a storyline focusing on a troubled Dr. Ross that culminated in one of the most riveting hours of teevee I’ve ever seen. Ross is on his way home, in a downpour, when he’s stopped by a kid whose brother has become trapped in a drainage culvert. And still later on that year came a heartbreaking episode in which one of the EMTs they deal with regularly is severely burned in an apartment building fire. There were a lot of episodes like that, back when ER was great. And yes, it was. Even after it started to lose me, it had some moments. The episode in which the ER staff learns that Dr. Greene has died was, for me, a far more fitting sendoff for that character than the episode a week later that backtracked and showed the last month of his life. (The episode opened with Dr. Carter reading a letter to the ER staff from Dr. Greene, who had gone to Hawaii to spend his final days. Only at the end of the letter does Carter notice the handwritten postscript from Dr. Korday — Dr. Greene’s wife — that Mark had died. Carter posts the letter on the bulletin board, and the rest of the show depicts a day in the ER when everyone has to mull over Greene’s passing, until the end of the show, when we flash forward six months or so to see the letter still on the bulletin board.) The show’s two-hundredth episode was a late standout, showing Drs. Carter and Pratt treating the same patients twelve hours apart.

Obviously, since I haven’t watched ER in several years (the “ER Massacre” happened, I’m not going to miss it now that it’s gone. For me it was already gone. But I still salute it for what it once was.

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Unidentified Earth #62

First, the housekeeping. UI 59 was identified by Aaron as the Beartooth Highway, a road that winds through the alpine country between Montana and Wyoming in the vicinity of Yellowstone. Yay, Aaron! But UI 58 remains Unidentified, although Aaron is again on the right track. Perhaps what is throwing him off is the fact that the objects built here for the filming of the movie that was shot here are now no longer there? Anyway! And thus far, zero guesses on last week’s UI 61. I guess we’re not burning it up on that one, huh?

And now for the newest installment!

Where are we? Rot-13 your guesses, please!

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Sunday Burst of Weirdness

Oddities abound!!!

:: Everybody remembers the theme song from Dallas, right? And everybody remembers the opening credits to the show, right? The way they were presented? Well, if not, here’s a refresher:

One of the best teevee theme tunes ever, in my opinion.

But anyway: what if, say, Star Wars had been done this way?

Or…Star Trek: The Next Generation?

Would they have done a “Who shot Darth Vader?” thing?

:: Lynn links the latest whacko theory: Mother Teresa was a man. (Of course, the story is dated April 1…and it links, for “further information”, a story at The Onion, so….)

:: As dumb as I find the fighting in hockey to be, this video made me laugh a lot, for some reason. Maybe it’s because there’s something inherently funny about watching goalies, with all the extra crap they have to wear, going at it…combined with the slippery ice…I dunno, but I laughed. And two of these involve Sabre goalies!

:: It turns out that getting married in the Electronic Age can have some potentially unpleasant consequences. I wish I could help, but I don’t know either Bruce Sterling or his wife. But seriously — really?

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Just don’t tell my father….

Kevin Drum is nonplussed by something he read in the WSJ: a Canadian named James Stewart who got freakishly rich by writing calculus textbooks. As Kevin says, “You can earn millions writing calculus textbooks? Seriously?”

Well, this isn’t much of a stretch, is it? Here’s the guy’s website — he has written a number of texts, which seem to have each gone to multiple editions, which implies that his textbooks have been adopted by more than a few math programs around. Calculus is, I assume, one of the more frequently taken courses in colleges throughout North America. Many kids take Calc I just to get their math requirement out of the way, and many, if not most, of the science majors require Calc as part of the major. And you can probably throw in high schools that offer their own Calc course for seniors.

So if this guy has written a text that gets used in, oh, just ten percent of the undergraduate programs in the US and Canada, that’s a hell of a lot of copies of his book being moved every year. And I’ll bet his text gets used a lot more than that. One of Kevin’s commenters notes that Stewart’s book is used at Penn State University. That’s a big campus, right? I’ll bet the number of kids who have to buy that book every year at Penn State is in the hundreds. And I remember how awfully expensive textbooks were when I was in college, nearly twenty years ago; I wonder how much they are now? Shudder!

Maybe this doesn’t seem at first glance like a field one should be able to get filthy rich in, and one probably can’t these days, since Stewart may be dominating the market with his books. But this certainly seems to fall into the category of “Nice work if you can get it.”

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Yee-oww!!!

Well, it finally happened the other day: my first power-tool related injury. Yay, me!

No, I didn’t lose any digits or suffer significant blood loss. But the middle finger of my left hand has seen better days, let me tell you! What happened was this: I was cutting a small piece of wood on the miter saw. Unfortunately, I failed to note the presence of a nail in the piece I was cutting, which was my major mistake on this procedure. Of course, the whirling blade of the saw hit the nail, causing the tiny piece of wood to buck. One piece, on the opposite side of the saw from me, shot off in a straight line, while the other attempted to shoot off in the exact opposite direction. Its trajectory was blocked, however, by the tip of my middle finger.

The impact actually caused my fingernail to split right down the middle about a quarter of an inch, and of course there was some bleeding. It didn’t hurt much, though — it went straight from normal to “really numb”. I quickly ascertained that nothing was broken inside there, as I was able to wiggle the finger without any pain, but I could already see the large bruise forming underneath the nail, and within an hour, the whole tip of that finger was starting to swell. I cleaned it out nicely, bandaged it, and went about my business. And I still had to get that wood cut down to what I needed for a job, so it was right back to the saw. Hey, if the horse throws you, you get right back on, no?

Over the next day or two, my finger proceeded to do this really neat thing where it slowly shifted colors from normal to red to blue to purple to black-and-blue and then started to fade back toward normal again. It was like having part of my body acting as a mood-ring, but where all of the colors stood for “Ouch”. By the second morning after the mishap, the finger had started to revert to normal size after some pretty impressive swelling, and now it pretty much feels normal except for the front part of the nail, which is still split, of course. Nothing to do about that except wait for that part of the nail to grow out. If the nail weren’t split, I probably wouldn’t even be wearing a bandage on the finger at all, but I discovered that the problem with having a nail split like this is that if it’s not bandaged, the jaggy split in the middle tends to snag on stuff, which is exactly as unpleasant a sensation as it sounds.

The upshot is that having this bandage on my finger makes typing a bit more of an adventure than it usually is. I’m hitting ‘backspace’ more often than usual. (For instance, in the just-concluded sentence, I originally had an ‘r’ in ‘often’.) Oh well, it’s the perils of the job, no?

But hey, I got the job done. Because, hurt finger or no, I’m a pro.

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Where I chickened out


Rainbow , originally uploaded by Four20moon.

Just saw this on Flickr. Last time I geared up to do some tie-dying, I briefly considered doing this, and then decided it would be too weird even for me. I’m glad that someone’s willing to go where I fear to tread, though!!!

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