Something for Thursday

Sometimes you need perfection, and for that, you need Mozart.

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“Always”: On the conclusion of CASTLE

So Castle has ended.

Finally…mercifully…ended.

I would rather it left leaving me wanting more, but as the last weeks of this season ticked by, I found myself actually hoping for the show’s cancellation. When it came, I felt a keen sense of relief, because not only was Season 8 mostly disappointing (and occasionally downright bad), Season 9 was setting up to be awful. Stana Katic was actually released from the show for Season 9, if it happened, so we were actually going to have Castle without Kate Beckett, and that would have been ridiculous. Best to get the thing off the air now, when it’s still in “stuck around too long” territory and not in the “completely bottomed out” region.

So what the hell happened?

A number of things. The worst was that the show was handed off to its third set of showrunners for Season Eight, and these folks simply weren’t nearly as good a group of writers as the previous showrunners, and certainly not as good as they show’s creators. That’s a big thing. Writing is everything, and in the last season, Castle just didn’t have the goods.

For one thing, they felt the necessity of having another Major Story Arc, so they somehow managed to resuscitate the Beckett’s Mother’s Murder thing, which had been long put to bed. The story they cooked up didn’t so much reestablish that as a mystery, but they posited another bad guy out there who had it in for Beckett for some reason, someone so scary that he terrified Senator Bracken, the guy who had actually engineered Beckett’s mother’s death. This person, a shadowy figure known as ‘Loksat’, was up to…well, we have no idea. Maybe this was explained, but I couldn’t tell you what Loksat’s plot was if you held a gun to my head. Loksat was known in intelligence circles, and…well, it was a dull and convoluted story that was never involving at all.

And then there were the complications this story involved. For reasons beyond comprehension, the writers decided that it would be a good idea to have Beckett leave Castle because she had to keep him safe while pursuing Loksat (while still being a Police Captain), so we had half a year’s worth of bullshit stories that had Castle aggressively courting his own wife, who had left him for reasons she wouldn’t tell him, and so on and so forth. This led to an awful lot of terrible shenanigans, some of which made me wonder if Castle had become a detective-story version of Three’s Company. This was all terrible, terrible writing that treated the characters like plot-device caricatures.

Castle has not always been perfect – case in point – but it was never this bad, either. Lots of folks attribute this to the fabled “Moonlighting Curse”, in which the sexual tension is the main driver of story and once you get rid of it, your story goes up in smoke. That might have been true with respect to Moonlighting, which was (let’s be honest) a shitty show in which the sexual tension was the only interesting thing about the characters, but that’s not some holy law carved in stone as many seem to think. There’s no fundamental law of storytelling that says that as soon as Castle and Beckett got married their status as an interesting couple had to be doomed, and the frustrating thing about the way it all unfolded is that the writers actually had a couple of interesting ideas but still screwed them up.

When Beckett “separated” from Castle, it further meant that he couldn’t hang out at the precinct and help the police solve cases. The writers solved this by having Castle become a licensed private investigator, and he took on his daughter Alexis as an assistant. This was actually a great idea, and would have been easily set up without the stupid bit about the separation: since Castle’s original permission to follow the precinct detectives came via his friendship with the mayor of NYC, simply posit that now there’s a new mayor who doesn’t like Castle, and boom! Problem solved! But no, instead the writers had Castle using his PI business as a way to “court” his own wife. This was a good idea whose execution was painful to watch.

Also painful was the use, then non-use, then use-again, of Castle’s father’s status as some kind of superspy. We never saw his father, but his new stepmother showed up just to help with the exposition of Loksat. That’s all that was ever done with any of that, except for referring to it in the context of Castle’s three-month disappearance a season or two ago (a very lame development in itself, which was the first canary-in-the-coal-mine incident that the show’s writers at that time were running low on ideas).

There were interesting episodes here and there in Season Eight, but on the whole, Castle went out on a deeply disappointing and silly note. Alas…there really could have been an interesting show spun out of two married detectives solving crimes. Castle could have morphed into an updated Hart to Hart, for example, or it could have done more with its occasional delving from murder mystery into spy fiction. Alas indeed. ‘Twas not to be.

Oh well. Castle still gave us four terrific seasons, a couple more decent seasons, then one “meh” season and finally a bad one. That’s more than we get from a lot of shows, and eventually I look forward to rewatching those earlier years. So many wonderful moments on this show, and I’ll always appreciate the way Castle managed to set a murder mystery show in New York City without also making NYC look like a horrible place of awful violence where only the crazy go. At its best, Castle was a witty and smart show that used its main character’s status as a writer to wink at the audience about the very tropes of storytelling that it was using. It was also a show with a very fine supporting cast, and a lot of great chemistry all the way around. It was fun and beautiful to look at and it had nifty premises and it gave me one of my favorite teevee literary jokes ever, when a guy survived being shot by virtue of the bullet encountering the copy of Brothers Karamazov in his jacket’s inside pocket, leading Detective Ryan to quip, “Good thing this guy likes Russian lit; if he’s a Nicholas Sparks fan, he’s dead right now.”

I plan to give the show a year or so to get the taste of Season 8 out of my mouth, and then? I might start rewatching it. The first five or six seasons, anyway. Because, you know.

Always.

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Symphony Saturday

Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky.

I’ve always had a difficult relationship with Tchaikovsky, but over the last few years, I find myself more and more attuned to him. His famous Piano Concerto No. 1 remains a work that vexes the hell out of me, but I like parts of it enough to outweigh the things I find difficult in it; the 1812 Overture and the Capriccio Italien remain fun potboilers, even if the former is really twice as long as it needs to be. Tchaikovsky’s symphonies, though? Well, even there I’ve always had trouble. For one thing, even though he wrote six total, it’s the last three that show up on frequent programs; in fact, until I did listening for this post, I’d never even heard the first three. I disliked the Fourth for years (only now changing my opinion), and the Sixth was nice but didn’t really do a whole lot for me. (I’ve yet to relisten to it for this series, but I’m looking forward to it.) What started my transition on Tchaikovsky (whose ballet music I have always loved) was the Fifth Symphony, which I’ve always liked and which a few years ago grabbed my heart in a way that few works ever have…but we’ll get to that.

Tchaikovsky was the consummate tortured Russian Romantic who poured the struggles of his soul into his art. His life was one of constant turmoil, and his relationships were stormy and too often ended in death or, in the case of his patron Nadezhda von Meck, the enigmatic and sudden ending of the relationship with no real explanation. Tchaikovsky was also homosexual at a time when that was not a thing to be, and some think that his death — from cholera which resulted from his drinking unboiled water during an epidemic — was at least partly suicidal.

From all this arose some of the most enduring and popular works of classical music ever written, including the last three symphonies. The first three, however, are interesting and fine works in their own right, so I decided to go ahead and just include them all in the course of this series. That’s partly why I took a break from these posts for two weeks: I had catchup listening to do!

So, what of Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 1? It was his first (obviously) real foray into the world of large-scale symphonic works, which he began composing shortly after entering conservatory. As a youthful work, it does show some signs of inexperience at times, but Tchaikovsky’s gift for soaring, singing melody is evident early on, and there are some very interesting uses of orchestral color as well. (Russian composers always seem to know how to use the orchestra in the most amazing ways.)

Tchaikovsky’s work on the symphony was not easy, though. Here’s a brief account, from Wikipedia:

Tchaikovsky started writing this symphony in March 1866. Work proved sluggish. A scathing review by César Cui of the cantata he had written as a graduation piece from the St. Petersburg Conservatory shattered his morale. He also composed day and night. All these factors strained Tchaikovsky’s mental and physical health tremendously. He started suffering from insomnia, from pains in his head which he thought to be strokes, and became convinced he would not live to finish the symphony.[5] A successful performance of his revised Overture in F in St. Petersburg lifted his spirits. So did a change of scene for the summer with his family. Nevertheless, he soon worked himself again into nervous and physical exhaustion by continuing to compose day and night. A doctor declared him “one step away from insanity,” ordering complete rest. Tchaikovsky complied.

Ouch. Tchaikovsky was also handicapped by teachers who criticized the work heavily for its awkward use of the traditional rules of sonata-allegro form, rules which Tchaikovsky felt too constrictive for his own natural abilities as a composer. Still, he finished the symphony, and now, hearing it recently for the first time — yes, it’s youthful. No, it’s not the equal of what was to come. But it’s still a fine work that I’m glad to have finally heard!

Here is Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 1 in G minor, titled “Winter Dreams”.


Next week, the Symphony No. 2 (which, as of this writing, I still haven’t heard!).

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Bad Joke Friday

I bought a pair of shoes from a drug dealer. I don’t know what he laced them with, but I’ve been tripping all day!

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Something for Thursday

Yes, I know you said that you didn’t want to listen to some showtunes sung by a big operatic baritone, but you’re wrong. Here’s Bryn Terfel!

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A shark runs though the river….

I thought I’d make a meme-thing. It’s below the jump, because it contains a naughty word.

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Animal Adventures

Here’s what happens when one cat gets to go outside on a supervised jaunt, leaving his brother and the dog behind:

Cane and Julio are unhappy that Lester is outside. #Julio #catsofinstagram #Cane #DogsOfInstagram #greyhound

Here’s what happens when the dog is waiting for me to finish my morning writing and take him out:

He'd say Good Morning, but he isn't up yet. #Cane #DogsOfInstagram #greyhound

Here’s what happens when I wake up the other cat from his nap:

Huh.... #Lester #catsofinstagram

Here’s what it looks like when the dog is not cooperative for his photo-op:

Uncooperative dee-oh-gee is uncooperative. #Cane #DogsOfInstagram #greyhound #overalls #vintage #Key #bluedenim

Here’s what happens on a lazy weekend morning:

Saturday morning: coffee, overalls, and a sleeping dee-oh-gee. #Ahhhh #overalls #pointerbrand

Here’s what happens when we’re at the park and the dog get hot and finds some water:

Cane loves water. #Cane #DogsOfInstagram #greyhound #ChestnutRidge #wny #OrchardPark

And here’s what happens when the dog actually cooperates for his photo-op.

Good LORD, that is one good-looking dee-oh-gee! Seriously, he is a FANTASTIC fashion accessory. #Cane #DogsOfInstagram #greyhound #overalls #Dickies #bleacheddenim

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Symphony Saturday (holding pattern edition)

Sorry to miss this feature the last couple of weeks! There’s a reason for that, though: I was finally going to address the symphonies of Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky, but just the last three, which are among the greatest symphonies ever written. But then I figured, I’ve never actually heard his first three symphonies, so I wanted to hear them first before I blogged about them. So starting next week, six weeks of Tchaikovsky!

In the meantime, we’ll back up a hundred years. Here’s Mozart’s Symphony No. 25 in G minor.

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Bad Joke Friday

A video delivery this time! Courtesy The West Wing.

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Something for Thursday

Today a brief suite from Elmer Bernstein’s score to the film Far From Heaven, a movie which seems to have dropped somewhat off the radar unfortunately. Bernstein died not long afterwards, following one of the great careers in film scoring. For this film Bernstein really captured the story’s sense of elegiac sadness, as several characters’ lives intersect in a way that leaves most of them unable to live the life they really want. A sad and beautiful score for a sad and beautiful film.

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