Why I (Yes, I of All People) Watch the Vampire Diaries, And You Should Too

I'm no Twi-hard. I'm not a milf soccer mom overly obsessed with a fictional underage vamp or a teeny bopper shrieking adolescent. So it's considerably weird that I currently find myself a fan of The Vampire Diaries. A show by all rights I should not find as entertaining as I do.

Yes, it's a supernatural soap-opera with love triangles and the occasional brooding. But more than almost any other show, Vampire Diaries entertains me like few shows do. As Todd VanDerWerff at The AV Club put it, "I know we're not supposed to like things with vampires in them ... Twilight is stupid. True Blood is uneven ... We are tired of sexy vampires ... I know we thought it might be fun to check in on this show ... If nothing else, it would provide a great opportunity for mockery, or so we thought, right?" Wrong. As VanDerWerff and I both soon discovered:

"There are two kinds of TV ... There is the kind of TV that is deliberately trying to tell you some sort of story and create compelling characters you'll care about. It wants to build a world that's worth exploring and give you something edifying to think about every week... Your Mad Mens, and your Breaking Bads ... But there's another type of show, a show that simply aims to make you gasp with laughter at just how fucking audacious it is, at how much it is going over-the-top and doing crazy shit. The Vampire Diaries is the latter kind of show ... and ... it is REALLY GOOD AT THAT."

VanDerWerff I think oversimplifies the matter a bit; there's more tv shows than just those two types (and even if there weren't, Diaries doesn't really fit into that latter category), but he does make a fairly interesting point. There are multiple reasons we go to watch tv. To tv critics who spend all their time watching tv shows, it's understandable that the top notch dramas are what gets their blood rushing. However, these types of shows aren't the only ones out there. There are talk shows, game shows, reality tv, sitcoms, and even the news. But as VanDWerff goes on to point out, "This [second] kind of TV is, I think, HARDER to construct than something really well-wrought. It requires coming up with plot twists and insane character moments on a weekly basis, and it tends to burn out really, really quickly."

And ultimately, that's what proves to be most impressive about the series. It pulls off what many other less intelligent series fail to. It hasn't burned out yet. It hasn't gone off the rails. It's actually become more entertaining to watch and more solid of a show as the plot, and mythology have expanded and become more intricate. The themes have matured and deepened. The writers have nailed the structuring of episodes. In fact, what everyone is anticipating is for Vampire Diaries to finally jump the shark. Because sooner or later the show that goes for those crazy moments (and I'm overstating this a bit because Diaries doesn't just do crazy moments, although it does do a lot of them) tends to forget its characters in the name of the twists. For example, The O.C. was a surprisingly entertaining show for awhile there; it had some, almost too predictable, crazy moments but it was pretty fun while it lasted. But then in its third season it started to lose itself and become pretty painful to watch. The show started dragging its feet under the weight of the maddening soap-opera enveloping it. 

VanDerWerff is right when he says its harder to construct a series for this second type of show. Think about all the "well wrought" shows. Sure, great dramas like The Sopranos and Battlestar Galactica failed to stick the landing, but no one thinks about that. In stead, they remember all the great television these shows provided before that. But with the second type of show (the so-called "audacious" ones), no one remembers when (if ever) it was actually good and highly entertaining. They just remember when the show lost all sense of purpose and when its misguided attempts at audacity made the show ludicrous (e.g. True Blood). It's seen as superfluous; this novelty of a time gone by. Most people barely remember why Grey's Anatomy or Desperate Housewives were juggernauts for a time. That's because they dwindled over time. They couldn't sustain the forward momentum that's so difficult to craft. 

The "audaciousness" VanDerWerff ascribes to certain types of shows is perhaps a bit ill labeled. These aren't shows that are necessarily entirely intentionally trying to be audacious, but, rather, they're often situated in genres that force their hands. That require them to provide content and stories that constantly keep you engaged and, when done right, invested in the characters (or at least their scheming). Diaries does attempt some crazy stuff but it's very familiar with the genres its playing around with, e.g. soap, supernatural, thriller, etc. And it more often than not subverts cliches and formulas in surprising and inventive ways that maintain tension, suspense, and the "oh shit" factor.

But like the best series out there, Vampire Diaries really isn't about its central premise. The Sopranos wasn't just about the mob. Deadwood wasn't just about the Old West. Mad Men isn't just about the 60's. These conceits are Trojan Horses for exploring greater questions and themes on a range of issues, including gender, sexuality, identity, masculinity, community, power, and morality, among many others. That isn't to put Diaries on the same level as these shows, but to say that its far more intelligent than your average series. In fact, Diaries has more in common with Buffy the Vampire Slayer (who it takes a number of cues from) than True Blood. On the surface, Buffy was not the series you'd think would go on to influence a huge amount of series out there; it was primarily about high school and vampires. But Joss Whedon, the show's creator, used the series as vehicle for exploring a number of issues (including almost every single one of the previously mentioned), while never forgetting the characters at the heart of the story. Diaries explores a range of themes from loyalty and identity to community and sacrifice. And at the same time, it never ceases to be immensely entertaining, with crazy back stabbings (both figurative and literal), double crossings, and scheming.

Now getting back to a previous point, I'm man enough to admit that I can be a bit of a cultural elitist  sometimes. I like watching intelligent programming. I love Breaking Bad. I'm a fan of Mad Men. I'm enjoying Homeland right now. I'm obsessed with Game of Thrones. Even my comedy tastes skew to the more intelligent: Parks and Recreation, Louie, Arrested Development, Community, etc.

But I also like watching programs that are simply fun and that are good on purely an entertainment basis. I adore Doctor Who. I like popping in on Family Guy every now and then (even though it kind of sucks now). I'm also a fan of its Seth MacFalane counterpart American Dad (which is far superior to Family Guy). The Walking Dead still holds my interests. I find Adventure Time and Regular Show highly amusing. Like I said before, I was even a fan of The O.C. I stuck with Heroes for awhile, even when it began to derail. I (sadly) took guilty pleasure in The Jersey Shore for its first two seasons. In short, sometimes we watch television to be challenged; to think deeply and meaningfully. And sometimes we watch tv to be distracted. To watch something that is simply built as a piece of entertainment and is pretty good at it too.

The Vampire Diaries fits this latter category too a tee, and, despite some initially slow beginnings where the writers were getting the structure and tone of episodes down, it has proven to be one of the best crafted shows on television. Granted, there are far more intelligent shows. For example, I'm also currently watching The Wire. The Wire is brilliant; no one is denying that. It is incredibly rich, complex, and ambitious. And it's a show that forces to me think deeply about a myriad of difficult issues. But The Wire isn't a show that the word "fun" initially springs to mind about.  Sometimes it's nice not to have to deeply ponder meaningful issues; sometimes I simply want to watch a show, just to watch a show.

And The Vampire Diaries provides ample opportunity for that. The show is one of the best written shows on television. It knows exactly what it is, and it doesn't try to be anything more than that. It's a supernatural soap-opera, sure, but damn if it isn't wonderfully crafted. The show moves with the deliberation and speed of a freight train, delivering more storylines in a single season than some shows do in two. And yet it never short shrifts these stories, letting problems simmer long enough for them to be interesting, but never long enough for you to grow tired and bored. And yet in the midst of these plot contrivances, the show still manages to, as Carrie Raisier so wonderfully described it, "to squeeze in ... conversations about feelings and junk."

I started watching the series based on the recommendation of The AV Club (a site for pop culture obsessives who spend more time watching tv shows than any of us), and I found it highly surprising when Vampire Diaries popped up in their list of top tv shows for 2011. And it made me decide to take a look at the show. What initially started out as a guilty pleasure soon turned into a show I no longer found myself providing excuses to justify watching. I was actually enjoying the show on its own merits. The series does start out slow, and it took awhile for it to find its rhythm, but once it did it became an unstoppable force of ridiculous twists, reveals, and cliffhangers. However, unlike other series that use twists like these to keep the viewer coming back, but eventually go off the rails, Diaries successfully avoids letting the show lose itself. The twists are grounded  in logical character motivations, which means even though their crazy twists, they never make the show completely lose itself.

What do I mean by "logical character motivations"? I mean the characters and their reactions take precedence over the twists. Lets take Lost for example. Everyone was always talking about how Lost just kept adding ridiculous twists and events that were seemingly confounding. In some instances this was true, but more often than not Lost successfully pulled off its crazy reveals. For example, in the Pilot episode of Lost, a polar bear comes out of nowhere. This is really weird since our protagonists are on a tropical island. The moment works, however, because it has less to do with that crazy moment and more to do with how the various characters react to it. Which begins to give us insights into who they are. For instance, Sawyer shoots the polar bear; we didn't know he had a gun and he wasn't trusting enough to let the others know this. We have just learned a great deal about Sawyer that will become highly relevant further down the line. 

I recently watched The Sixth Sense. In a lot of people's eyes, The Sixth Sense is the only one of M. Night Shyamalan's films where his now infamous twist endings works. And it isn't just because the quality of his films in general declined after The Sixth Sense (although they did). It's because in his later films we don't care about the twists. The twists tended to be so outlandish, so unjustifiable, so damaging to the premise and characters we had just witnessed that they could never sit well with audience. The Sixth Sense is the exception to the rule because it actually grounds its twists (especially the now infamous end plot twist) in logical character motivations: *Spoiler Alert* Bruce Willis has just spent the film helping a kid who sees dead people (notable because he failed to save a patient who made similar claims who would eventually go on to shoot him). Now having made up for his previous failures and redeemed himself, he is able to move on and therefore realize that, yep, he's been dead the whole time. *Spoilers Over* The twist comes out of a series of sequential events that grounds the twist in the previous actions of the film, basing it in what's relevant to the protagonist.

When I say Vampire Diaries is intelligent; I don't mean it's intelligent like The Wire or Mad Men where it's challenging you to think deeply or providing a complex narrative. I mean that the show is smartly written. This probably seems counter intuitive at first: the show is about twists, supernatural phenomena, and soap-ish drama. But it's really good at playing with the formula: kill a character here, add a character there and watch as loyalties shift. Writing is a big deal when it comes to tv shows. True Blood is often compared (wrongly so) to The Vampire Diaries. Attractive people. Supernatural phenomena. Crazy twists. But True Blood squandered its interesting initial premise. In stead, it lost all sight of why it started in the first place (which was a bit thin to begin with), and then never really elevated itself above its initial flaws or falterings.

Lets take Boy Meets World as another example. The show everyone remembers Boy Meets World as is not the show it always was. The early years of the show are pretty bad to be honest. They read like bad PSA's. But people tend to ignore or overlook this. When they think about the show, they remember the later high school and college years. The times when the writers stopped underestimating their talent. When Eric (played by Will Friedle) got to say absurd and hilarious one liners. When at times the show allowed itself to be a bit surreal. The show (for the most part) had the same cast for its 7 year run, but not the same writers. Good writing can make or break a show. Bad writing is what burns a show out; it's the reason good shows lose steam and quality once they've been on the air for so long. Even before Steve Carrell left The Office, the show was going downhill. The show was more on the air due to the studio refusing to let go of a valuable program rather than the writers having more stories to tell about their characters. And for the past four or five seasons it has continued to precipitously decline in quality and enjoyability. Good writing can also turn around a show. Parks and Recreation and Angel had terrible first seasons but had amazing turn arounds in their second seasons, leading to each show having a series of high quality seasons of television afterwards.

And The Vampire Diaries has surprisingly good writing. It knows its characters; it knows the genre. The writers write themselves great openings for future conflict and character development. They make great use of callbacks. All the crazy is tied back to an emotional and character driven core. Or as Carrie Raisler nicely puts it: "On top of all that plot and all of those surprising moments, there ... [is] also a nice balance of quiet character moments sprinkled throughout." A point that I'll get into more in a bit is that shows that have "end of the world" type stuff going on on a daily basis only work if we're invested in the characters attempting to stop the crazy evil happenstances from taking place. Otherwise, you simply have characters that exist solely to conveniently move the plot forward.  But, as Raisler notes, the show does get us invested in its characters beyond simply the circumstances we find them in: "What ... [has become] abundantly clear ... is how stealthily the writers have built something with so much more meaning than simply story mechanics... What really resonate[s] ...  [is] so much more: It ... [is] the emotions, the relationships, and the ever-growing realization of just how much this ragged band of [characters] ... [will] do anything to take care of each other no matter the circumstances." On top of this, the story has a complicated sense of morality (both "good" and "bad" guys kill people, betray people, and do things to put everyone else at risk). The writers are supremely confident in the story they're telling and whenever you begin to doubt their ability to continue to pull off whatever they are attempting, they blindside you with story telling that is impeccably crafted, stridently entertaining, and never loses sight of the its emotional, character driven center that ultimately makes it all worth while. 

Diaries also boasts a solid cast that nails the great material they're given.  Most notable is Ian Saumerholder's work as (sort of) evil vampire brother Daman, and as Raisler so perfectly writes, "This isn’t Emmy-caliber work, mind you, but it is a scenery-chewing master class on how to have a hell of a lot of fun." Nina Dobrorev also does a nice turn as protagonist Elena, a character played against type; she's never the "damsel in distress". On the contrary, she's strong-willed, driven, and often takes matters into her own hands. The acting is incredibly solid, often impressively nuanced and emotionally resonant.

Diaries is ultimately a genre show, and like the best genres shows it elevates itself above its initial premise. As Zach Handlen put it, "The difficulty of a genre show is finding a way to balance obvious, general reactions ('Oh my God, zombies!' or 'Oh my God, vampires!', i.e., what basically anyone would say in a situation with zombies and/or vampires) and character-specific reactions." Yes, vampires are going to create crazy scenarios which would have any normal people scared, bemused, angry, etc. But when characters become mere pawns to be moved around at the expense of the plot, that's when shows dig themselves a shallow grave. We need a reason to care about characters beyond the mere fact that their lives are in danger on a regular basis. Because after a certain point a few key characters generally become untouchable. They have been through so much in the story and survived, that to kill them off simply becomes too unimaginable and difficult for the writers. We as the audience recognize this, and therefore we are usually not fearful about these characters dying. Periphery characters we don't care about as much or villains may die, but the protagonists essentially cannot. So how do you get people invested in a series? You give them characters they want to see on a weekly basis. Not just because they're in ridiculous situations, but because the writers have nailed the character, their reactions to scenarios, their personality, their relationship to other characters, etc.  This helps emotionally invest you in the characters and makes you want to spend time with them. Handlen goes on to say, "Part of the appeal of good TV is that we want to hang out with characters we see every week—we’re drawn back for the laughs and the excitement, sure, but there’s also that sense of getting comfort from familiar faces." Characters make a show, not its premise; writers that do justice to their characters and remember to tie their stories back to the characters will almost always tell better stories.

In sum: "It's impressive not only in its ambition but especially in its execution, as nothing feels rushed, and no one story is slighted." Vampire Diaries is a surprisingly ambitious, inventive, and well-written series, as well as one of the most entertaining and fun series currently on the air. And it has no creative peer that's attempting what it's trying to do (at least not as ambitiously, intelligently, or successfully). Now, I haven't started the fourth season yet, but I'm confident in the writers capability to continue to churn out not only one of the best genre shows on televisions, but simply one of the best shows.

Thoughts on Buffy The Vampire Slayer

Having finally wrapped up my summer long meandering watch of Buffy the Vampire Slayer's 7 (!) seasons, I figured it was only appropriate I shared some of my thoughts on the series.

Buffy started out initially as a better than average monster of the week series. Which would have been fine if the seemingly always brilliant Joss Whedon (creator, and, for most of the series run its, showrunner) hadn't had bigger things in mind. Blending genres, including drama, comedy, martial arts, horror, and, in one notable and memorable instance, musical comedy, the series quickly proved itself to be one of the smartest, funnest, and (just) best series on television. Asking methodical, thoughtful, and meaningful questions and fostering an intelligent and passionate discourse on everything from gender and sexuality to community and identity. And this was in the days when the internet was still a peculiar novelty to most people, and yet it still managed to draw an insane number of people to fansites and message boards. This discourse and these questions were all asked through Whedon's signature feminist lens and critique.

And although it faltered in later season (though, in my opinion, not as much as some of its detractors claim), it still continued to reach creative and intellectual peaks that other series could only look wide eyed and never even hope to achieve. In its much belied and often hated (even diehard fans are not wholly taken to it) 6th season the series produced "Once More With Feeling", its much talked about musical comedy episode, which is arguably the best episode the series ever did. Whedon wrote original and wonderful music that was organically introduced, spoofed genres and allowed the characters to openly express their opinions, having far reaching ramifications for the rest of the season.

So, in what some say was its worse season, the series still achieved its creative peak. But that's the sort of series that Buffy was. Never being content taking the easy way out of situations. Letting tensions and problems stew, and be explored from all angles before letting them come to an end. But more importantly, the series never forgot to do justice to its characters; never failing to take them seriously. Buffy was never about the big fights. The best scenes were of people talking just before going off to save the world from apocalypse. And because you cared about the characters and understood what was at stake for them and because they had been humanized (even the villains), it allowed you be more invested in the show and the characters.

Yes, Buffy was a flawed series (particularly after its 3rd season), but Television is a medium that often produces flawed shows. And despite its flaws, Buffy continued to be entertaining, smart, and relevant even after 7 years on the air. And the series was often such high quality that it continues that thoughtful discourse in Academia where the series is studied under its own category of Buffy Studies (seriously, it's a legit thing). The series is also widely regarded as one of the most influential tv series of all time. Many of the shows writers got there start on Buffy,where they learned the tricks on the trade. Buffy writers have gone on to do everything from Mad Men to Glee, from Game of Thrones to Spartacus. Battlestar Galactica. Homeland. 24. Fringe. Lost. If it's good and on television, it's probably got a writer who got their start on Buffy on it. And the number of people who cite Buffy as an influence on their series is astounding. Dead Like Me, Joan of Arcadia, Teen Wolf, Vampire Diaries, Doctor Who, Torchwood. Buffy made people realize shows about people saving the world on a regular basis could actually be quality television, and its legacy continues to be astounding.

So a lot of this probably doesn't seem like my thoughts but just me stating facts and nifty trivia about the series, but the simple matter is that I'm impressed that a tv series was capable of what Buffy did. And I think it earned everything it's achieved. The more interesting thing is that Buffy hardly got nominated for Emmys or many awards in general. The fact of the matter is that really great shows often get overlooked. Almost every drama these days follows the format The Sopranos established, but The Sopranos lost out most years at the Emmys to The West Wing. And most comedies these days follow the format that Arrested Development established, but it lost out two out of the three years it was nominated. In fact, Buffy wouldn't have survived with the ratings it had if it had been on any major network. It was on the WB, and Buffy's ratings were actually impressive for the network, even though paltry compared to ratings on ABC, NBC, and Fox. The WB in general has produced high quality shows. With lower budgets, but more loyal fans, writers are forced to be more creative, inventive, and dedicated to their series, and that produces greater quality programming. Veronica Mars, Supernatural, The Vampire Diaries, Grounded For Life, Smallville. They're all really, really good series, but have garnered/did garner minimal attention and that's a shame. Try not to let them and other quality shows be another Buffy the Vampire Slayer, a great but flawed, and under-watched but highly influential, series.

How I Finally Got Into Mad Men

I started to watch Mad Men awhile back while it was in its second season, and I simply couldn't convince myself to continue watching. I really could not put my finger on why it didn't appeal to me. It's literally the sort of show that is catnip bait for for diehard television and film fans. It's well-written, well-acted, the period details are spot on and enthralling, and when Mad Men is on top form, it really is undeniably the best show on television (Case in point: Nixon Vs. Kennedy, The Wheel, Three Sundays, The Suitcase, Shut the Door. Have a Seat, etc. A solid list of episodes I would be willing to argue are the best television I've ever watched). I decided to give it another go, and I've slowly but surely been meandering my way through the series. I've discovered a number of reasons to give pause for overtly praising the lauded status of the series: it can be too on the nose, too subtle for its own good, a frustrating slow burn where the show just seems to be repeating itself, completely drop plot lines that were seemingly of grand significance (I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about how they handled Meghan towards the end of season 4), and at times far too gimmicky in a: "hey, it's the 60's, aint' that quaint" sort of way.

But I've finally made it half way through the fifth, and most recent, season, and I'm becoming increasingly captivated by the series. And not just in a way that I appreciate its vision and how it attempts to achieve that vision, but rather in the more compelling and exciting way where I really do enjoy the series and look forward to the next episode. I believe that has to do with  (ironically enough, as I've chalked it up to being a flaw earlier) the slow burn aspect. The Sopranos and The Wire so famously pioneered the engineering of serialized dramas that took their sweet time with doling out their stories. (Matt Wiener, creator and showrunner of Mad Men, got his first big break writing for The Sopranos). Ever since, shows have taken their cues from this kind of storytelling, including the equally compelling and awesome AMC series Breaking Bad. Early on it could be frustrating because there wasn't a familiarity with the program and its aims. Mad Men needed to court my favors. Jon Hamm, Elizabeth Moss, Christina Hendrick, and the rest of the major players nailed their performances and I generally liked them. But there was a problem; one Noel Murray (of the excellent A.V. Club) explained well for Buffy the Vampire Slayer (another series I'm currently working my way through):

"By [this point] ... the Buffyverse has become so intricate and self-sustaining that ... the action is far more specific to Sunnydale and the characters we’ve come to know."

Which isn't huge deal until you consider this in the context of specific characters from Buffy, "We’ve hung out with Willow for three years now, so we can recognize this trait, because it’s a Willow trait, not the 'nerdy smart girl' trait it would’ve been in the early days of the character." Joan isn't just the unflappable, sultry head secretary. Peggy isn't just the starry eyed new secretary (now copywriter). Don isn't just the impossibly dapper, and brilliant ad man. Over time they've ceased to be based on familiar templates and taken on a spark of life unique to their individual characters, and we come to like them, even at times care for them. And that allows for later seasons to be that much better. It's telling stories that intrigue me about characters I want to see stories about. And it also builds upon the solid foundation its already built, using callbacks and our familiarity of the program, to make interesting insights, spot on character moments, and compelling conflicts. In fact, I occasionally get wary when the show introduces new characters and shoulders a great deal of storyline to them (especially when it's characters like Duck Phillips, Midge, or Faye Miller. They're characters I come to like, only for the show to write them off as if they weren't hugely important to begin with. The only upside to this being that these characters real purposes are to reflect back what we're supposed to see in the other more important characters).

Beyond simply its characters though (which in my opinion is perhaps the most important part of a show, right after writing), Mad Men really is superb television. This is mainly due to its storytelling capabilities (which some have rightfully noted has a literally quality to it). It's so confident and bold in everything it does that whenever you begin to question or doubt what's going on, it chooses to shatter your expectations. Take Shut the Door. Have a Seat, the brilliant season three finale, for example. The episode manages to destroy everything that's been built up over the course of three seasons. Betty asks Don for a divorce finally. Sterling Cooper is no more. Roger, Bert, Lane Pryce, and Don conspire to start up a new firm to save themselves from being bought up by a larger company that would see to them be useless cogs in a bureaucratic machine. It's a fresh new start for all of them as they take a select few former Sterling Cooper members and excitedly head towards an uncertain future. Wiener has essentially blown up everything we've come to know. There is no way to say where the show is going after this. It's lost one of its major sets and removed a number of minor characters (including surprising ones like faux-Bohemian Paul Kinsey and closeted art director Salvador Romano). There's no longer the ever increasing tension building towards Betty and Don's calamitous marital failure. The shows rewritten its genetic code without sacrificing quality, intelligence, or believability.

This wouldn't come off as completely audacious if it weren't for a glance at what the rest of television programming is doing. Consider one of the top watched television series, The Big Bang Theory. It's highly formulaic. The characters are types; there are clear beginning, middles, and ends with resolutions we probably could have figured out within the first ten to fifteen minutes. The jokes are someone setting up the punchline, which then someone else plays off of. It is something we've seen in sitcoms since the dawn of the sitcom. There's no experimentation. There's no deep character analysis or complicated/thought provoking decisions or stories. And sometimes that's not necessarily a bad thing. Some of the best sitcoms currently on television don't stray too far from television tropes. For instance, Cougar Town relies on banter playing off its characters, but it has enough quirk, inventiveness, and unabashed love for its characters that it rises it above the formulas. The same was true of Friends, which if nothing else took advantage of sitcom tropes to tell meaningful stories about its central characters. It's something to take note of for other shows who's only goal is to get to the syndication finish line without considering what's the point of getting there. TV is ultimately a business. One where shows need viewership to garner advertisers in order to survive. One where shows are more valuable to a studio in syndication than they are when they currently air because the rights to show the episodes in re-runs sell for far more than the studio could make off simple advertisement.

But Mad Men has the guts to tell the story it wants to tell without compromising, which at times can be frustrating (and at times can be to its detriment), but it's hard not to appreciate a show that's so wonderfully dedicated to making a unique vision in a marketplace that should have killed that vision. The truth of the matter is that people want to watch compelling and original television. They probably want it to relate whatever market niche they come from, but they they don't really want to see the same old, same old (at least, I know I don't). I've always felt for movies, studios had it completely wrong in trying to market movies that were essentially the movies they've always produced. People like familiarity, but they want you to take what's familiar and spin it on its head. If The Avengers recent success doesn't prove this, than I don't know what else will. It was a based in superhero franchises that as good as they were, in all honesty, had very cliched origin stories. When the studio went to Joss Whedon (who coincidentally also created Buffy the Vampire Slayer) they simply said put these superheroes together and have them fight the bad guy. Whedon said No. You are not going to to put them together and just have them fight the bad guy. You need to justify putting them together. You need to put them through the ringer in order to justify bringing them together. Justifying it made the film that much more fun to watch. Sure, it would have been cool to see Thor, Captain America, Iron Man, and the like battling evil together. But having them battle evil together not just because it's simply cool, but because it's justifiably necessary is all the more awesome. And justification is everything when it comes to pop culture. It's what distinguishes what we consider good, and what we consider bad. It's what we choose to watch, and what we choose not to watch. We justify. The studios justify. The creative people behind the work justify. And somewhere in that intersection a dialogue begins. Mad Men needed to justify itself. It needed to justify its existence beyond simply being a seemingly accurate depiction of the 60's and the way people lived through it. And I believe it has. It's become an intelligent, and complex character study not just of the character flagship of the series Don Draper, but of Joan, Peggy, Pete Cambell, Roger Sterling, etc.

The more Mad Men justified itself, the more confidently it strode forward, knowingly saying, "Hey, don't worry. We know what we're doing, and it's going to be good". The more I eased into watching the series, and began to appreciate and enjoy it. Here's hoping the rest of the series proves itself to be as justified as the first five seasons have.

Bad People or Bad Characters?

There is this peculiar phenomenon with fictional characters where people will question you liking a character who is a bad person. The thing is though that I find that there can be this great dichotomy where you can hate a character for being a bad person, but love them for being a great character. A character is not necessarily a bad character because they are a bad person. Lost's Benjamin Linus is perhaps the best character of the tv series; he's a despicable person, weak, selfish, and manipulative. But he is played pitch perfect by Michael Emerson. Battlestar Galactica's Gaius Baltar is a terrible person; he only cares about himself and his own self-preservation. He screws over the human race on more than one occasion. But James Gallis portrays him amazingly.

People are complicated and messy. I don't want to see one-dimensional characters in regurgitated, over used, PSA style storylines. Often times the "bad characters" are the best characters. Simply by the virtue of the fact that they are the most dynamic and believable of the characters being portrayed. I shouldn't have to answer for liking them. If anything, people should have to answer for not liking these sorts of character, and should be able to muster up answers that go beyond simply: "They're a bad person".

I Don't Believe What I Saw

I was recently watching the South Park episode where they spoof Inception. And during the episode one of the characters says, "just because an idea is overly convoluted and complex doesn't mean it's cool". The episode is pretty funny, noting some of the flaws of Inception's premise, but the problem is that all criticisms such as this forget the whole reason why Inception's premise is supposed to work in spite of its flaws: suspension of disbelief. Suspension of disbelief is the whole foundation of not just films, but art in general. When I look at the Mona Lisa, I know its just paint on a canvas, but I allow myself to get past this to appreciate the piece and how it creates a seemingly 3D image, even though it isn't one. Sure, entering the dreamscapes, how they're created, the concept of limbo, etc. are all flawed ideas, but if you can get past this the film presents an entirely entertaining and thrilling action packed ride, filled with interesting ideas, and cool set pieces.

Art is always going to be on some level unsatisfying because it is incomplete or flawed. Life is flawed, and unsatisfying, and art is supposed to reflect life. It's a cliched saying, but it holds credence because it's true. Planet of the Apes is a slightly farfetched concept. Apes aren't walking and talking like humans, and they don't rule over what we now know as the earth, but the film speaks to human's thinking their superior to others, as well as our ability to destroy ourselves by our own hands. Just because a film seems to have no basis in reality doesn't mean it lacks realism. Animated films have no "real" elements to them. Their CGI generated images or hand drawn pictures. But you're not going to tell me that Pixar hasn't made some of the most emotionally satisfying and humanistic films of the past 30 years.

And films are meant to be unreal. They are meant to tell wonderful and fantastic stories. Films are partially about escapism, entering a whole different world for a few hours. However, when you start to nitpick every little detail of a film, you are bound to lose your suspension of disbelief. Granted, when a film has so little going for it that nitpicking becomes so excessive then the movie just might be bad; but Inception certainly has more to praise than it does to scrutinize. It's got a great script, solid acting, dazzling action sequences, a wonderful score, and its far more thoughtful than your standard summer blockbuster fare.

This also reminds me of another Christopher Nolan film: The Dark Knight. The Dark Knight, to be honest, is a flawed movie. It is not nearly as good as the public at large has made it out to be. However, the film is far more important as a cultural phenomena than a film. As a film, it's probably a 3 or 3 and half star film out of 4 stars, but given the reception by the public and the cultural legacy it caries, it cannot, in my opinion, be denied its place as a 4 star film. People were able to see past the film's flaws in order to see some underlying greatness in the movie. We arbitrate as a society what culture is good and what culture is bad. Now Inception has certainly received a generally good welcome, but you will now and again see that critic, and its not even a thoughtful critic, but a trolling fanboy who has too much time on his hands who will note some minute detail that no one seriously cares about. I don't need to know how the technology works that allows them to enter the dreams. Who cares how Tom Hardy's character can project himself as another person? What does it matter that the effects of the first dream are only making everything spin around crazy in the second dream, and not the other ones? All that matters to me is that it's a great excuse to see an incredible action sequence with Joseph Gordon Levitt that's the highlight of the film.

You can either sink or you can swim. Suspend your disbelief or don't. But you're going to be hard-pressed to find good movies if you aren't willing to look past their flaws. Unless the flaws become truly insurmountable, just ignore them and go along for the ride.

Laughter vs. Tears: What Makes for the Better Film?

“People seem to think it’s more difficult to make movies without jokes in them,” Judd Apatow once sagely noted, “But that’s just not true.”

When you look at the Oscar nominated films, time and again they're dramatic films. The Academy and many film viewers alike have it stuck in their minds that dramas are far more serious and notable work, and like Apatow, I have to disagree. Comedies are just as difficult, if not more so, than their dramatic counterparts. It's easy to tug on someones heartstrings; it's much harder to make a person laugh. And not just laugh at a movie, but continually and excessively laugh at a movie.

Critic's were surprised at how funny the recent "raunchy" films Aptaow produced, wrote, and directed were. The films had a number of "gross out" moments that they suspected would turn off viewers and stop the films from being funny, but the box office proved otherwise and people laughed in spite of the fart jokes. Take for example, the recent, much talked about scene from Bridesmaids where a bout of food poisoning causes the bridesmaids to breakdown puking and shitting in a bridal shop. The scene is one of the funniest of the movie. Even my mother who you'd never suspect to approve of such a raunchy scene was laughing hysterically. Apatow realized that as long as these sort of jokes and scenes had a sense of realism to them, a heart to them, people would be laughing in spite of themselves. How is that possible? Because when comedy is done right, you will laugh like crazy, even if you're questioning whether you should be laughing as hard as you are.

When you watch a middling drama, you don't question it too much. You wish it was better, but you forgive it. When a comedy is middling, you regret watching it. A comedy is, for all intents and purposes, supposed to make you laugh. When it fails to achieve this, you can not forgive it. In fact, you're probably a bit peeved. This distinction is rather important because it's why comedies are so difficult to make.

However, comedies are short shrifted every year. The last real comedy to even win Best Picture was Woody Allen's Annie Hall in 1978. That was 34 years ago. Consider the Oscar frontrunners this year. Much like every year before, 2011's Oscar hopefuls are mostly dramas. Think about the comedies that stand even a small chance for nomination. The Artist potentially. Bridesmaids may be. Young Adult perhaps. The Muppets with a long shot. Family fare such as Hugo, and We Bought a Zoo. The Help has potential, but its more of a drama with some comedic moments. But there's really no stand out candidate that you could ever see the Academy getting behind, and therefore the public at large as well.

But why is this? Why do we designate so much weight to dramas? When I think of the movies that are the movies I turn to time and again to watch, a fair amount of them are comedies. And even the more serious ones are action flicks like Indiana Jones, The Lord of the Rings, and Star Wars. Lets face it: Schindler's List is undoubtedly one of the best movies I've ever seen, and probably one of the greatest ever made. Few would be willing to argue otherwise. But I'd take a good showing of Annie Hall, The Apartment, Groundhog Day, or The Princess Bride way before I'd commit myself to a showing of The Deer Hunter or The Bicycle Thieves.

There is a reason movies like Caddyshack are so endlessly quotable, they're really funny, and because they are funny, we turn to them time and again. Dramas we can perhaps watch once and think are phenomenal, but we may never ever watch them again. So what film is the truly great film? The one you watch once and think is brilliant or the film you watch so many times you lose count. And which one honestly should be considered the superior film?

The Segel Factor

One of the finest stars currently out there is Jason Segel. Segel got his start on the short lived, cult classic Freaks and Geeks, produced by none other than Judd Apatow (the guy most people remember for the gross out, male comedies of 40 Year Old Virgin, and Knocked Up, among many others). Then for awhile there, Segel sort of disappeared from the industry, which is shame because Segel is funny, talented, and endearingly charming.

However, Segel returned with a new found stamina. He starred in the critically-acclaimed, and wonderfully heartfelt and humorous television series How I Met Your Mother. Although, Neil Patrick Harris gets most of the attention for the series outside of the creators Carter Bays and Craig Thomas, Segel's Marshall Erikson is an underrated character played to a tee by Segel. Segel's Marshall is a self-deprecating and lovable loser with a heart of gold, who cares about his friends and family. Segel has some of the funniest lines outside of Harris, who's character is, while admittedly well-played by Harris, a bit overrated and overshadows the other actors and characters.

Using his new found success through the show, Segel began starring in and writing a number of really great movies. He appeared in a number of Apatow helmed works, including I Love You, Man, and Knocked Up. He wrote and starred in the hilarious and sweet Forgetting Sarah Marshall, where he was even able to show off his musical talent, singing and playing the piano for the awesome rendition of Dracula's Lament, a song based on a real-life puppet Dracula musical that Segel performed. Segel wrote most of the songs for the film's spiritual sequel Get Him to the Greek.

Segel's musical chops would be put to further good use as he wrote and starred in the fantastic new rendition of the Muppets: The Muppets. Segel managed to reinvigorate a franchise that hadn't seen a film put into theaters in over a decade, and not only was it a commercial success, but critically lauded as one of the best films of the year. Plus: it's the freaking Muppets, one of the most beloved and iconic cultural staples, and Segel wrote the film with a genuine love and appreciation for the characters and the franchise.

What can't Segel do? He acts. He writes. He composes and plays music. He's incredibly funny and charming, and I look forward to anything he plans to be part of in the future. He recently joined twitter, and his account is one of the best twitter accounts worth following. He wrote and is starring alongside Emily Blunt in The Five Year Engagement. If his track record has proven anything, it'll be worth watching.