Endless Bummer 2

Last week, The Only TV Column That Matters™ told you how wrong the pretentious fucks were about television, that there’s plenty on the tube (mostly cable fare) artistically equal to anything that’s happening in The Cinema. As usual, I made an airtight case.

This time around, it’s all about the stuff that’s stunk up the summer. Not that the PFs are right—they’re just a little less wrong when you factor in shows like …

… Flash Gordon on the Sci-Fi Channel, where we left off. There was no reason for this series to exist when it debuted like a limp Smallville with Kryptonite down its Speedo a few weeks ago, and certainly not now that it’s failed to live up to even that promise. At least Sci-Fi’s now-canceled Painkiller Jane launched strong, even though it’s since devolved into Scooby-case-of-the-week banality that makes CSI (pick one) look like Long Arc Theater. And Who Wants to Be a Superhero? Once the hottest (Basura) and the craziest (Mr. Mitzvah) contestants were eliminated, who wants to fucking watch?

Somebody must be watching Code Monkeys on G4 (it’s that channel with the Arrested Development reruns), and I’m guessing they’re all wearing helmets and sipping dinner through a straw: A badly/barely-written cartoon animated like an ‘80s videogame sounds like nice time-killing YouTube short; 14 half-hour episodes sounds like my brain dripping onto the floor. Same goes for ABC Family’s Greek, a college dramedy for those who can’t keep up with the Byzantine plot twists of High School Musical. Or The Two Coreys, a sad A&E “reality” show that’s more tightly scripted than any movie Haim or Feldman have done in 20 years.

TBS now stands for Terminally Bland Shit, with throwback sitcoms like The Bill Engvall Show and Tyler Perry’s House of Payne mingling seamlessly with repeats from yesteryear and yet only improving upon them in hair (Nancy Travis’ on Engvall has never looked fab-er, nor has Bill’s mustache). Even My Boys, a relative critical hit, has lost its edge over the summer—OK, that “edge” was akin to a plastic spork, but still …

Vaguely vanilla is not necessarily better than aggressively craptastic, which sums up VH1’s entire summer slate: Rock of Love With Bret Michaels, Scott Baio Is 45 & Single, The Rock Life, Mission: Man Band, The Pick-Up Artist, I Hate My 30s—collectively the worst non-Flavor-Flav-related programming the channel has ever excreted; only Rock of Love earns a partial pass for humorously including a couple of transvestites in the lineup of ladies staying in the house and rocking Michaels’ world … wha? Rodeo and Mags weren’t dudes? Get the fuck outta here!

Also, USA’s The 4400 and The Dead Zone … they’re still on, right? Yes? No? Get back to me. And didn’t we used to count on Bravo and Comedy Central for at least one watchable summer series apiece? Flipping Out and American Body Shop, respectively, fall waaay short of the bar set in previous summers by Boy Mets Boy and Dog Bites Man, the greatest send-up of local TV news ever.

Well, until Fox’s Anchorwoman. Not a cable show, but notable nonetheless for being canceled after a single airing last week because fewer people tuned into its reality-jiggling debut than an America’s Top Model rerun on The CW (!) and Telemundo’s La Noche de 1,000 Iguanas (admittedly, stiff competition). Who could have predicted that no one would tune in to watch a brainless, unqualified bimboid attempt to become a serious news anchor? You know, besides CBS and Katie Couric? Remember the wisdom of Champ Kind: “It is anchor man! Not anchor lady! And that is a scientific fact!”

Still, all of this dreck is easily negated by AMC’s awesome Mad Men, one of the summer’s coolest new series; marathon Sunday, Sept. 2. (No way I’m going out on a TV downer, you pretentious fucks).

Endless Bummer

You know those pretentious fucks who’ll post a laundry list of favorite “indie” films on their MySpace profiles, but simply put something like “I don’t watch that vile, evil box of drivel and lies” under Television? They obviously don’t have cable. And they’re pretentious fucks.

The PFs obviously know nothing of the excellent work filling up an insane amount of cable space this summer; most of it better than any pretentious fucking movie they’d theoretically soil themselves over on the Independent Film Channel, while The Only TV Column That Matters™ is just waiting for IFC originals The Business, Minor Accomplishments or The Henry Rollins Show. Or that flick with all the Anne Hathaway topless scenes—hey, it was in the name of Independent Art.

The PFs could never deny the high artiness of HBO’s (now canceled) John From Cincinnati, a testament at least to the network’s willingness to take a chance and blow a truckload of money on something that makes less sense than The Sopranos’ finale—was John actually Jesus? An alien? A mystical meld of Coreys Haim and Feldman? Whatever. My prediction that the increasingly intense Big Love (season finale Sunday, Aug. 26) would become HBO’s new flagship drama is looking better all the time; not so much with Entourage, which is losing it as fast as Flight of the Conchords (renewed for 2008, BTW) is gaining a cult rep as the ultimate premium-cable musical comedy. Maybe even better than Tenacious D … yeah, I said it.

The Food Network’s Ace of Cakes, a True TV reality favorite no matter what the season, dropped a 12-ton musical bombshell of its own during its current summer run: Receptionist Mary Alice’s brother is the lead singer of … Clutch! Most PFs can agree that Clutch is the greatest band in the known universe, and now they’ve gotten more airplay in 30 minutes on the Food Network than in 10 years of MTV. Suck on that.

Even Lifetime has broken its cycle of Women In Peril Who Still Manage to Be Stylish Professionals Whilst in Bitter Custody Battles With Their Abusive Trailer Park Husbands crapola this summer with Army Wives (season finale Sunday, Aug. 26), a surprisingly good military soap opera that walks a fine line between patriotism and pathos. Just overlook the fact that its record ratings inspired Lifetime to launch State of Mind and Side Order of Life, two half-assed dramas not even up to Oxygen snuff. Ouch.

Or blame TNT’s runaway hit The Closer for the basic-cable wave of ancient actresses (you know, over 40!) in tough-chick roles. Just because The Closer—a standard-issue cop drama—lucked out with Kyra Sedgwick and an equally interesting supporting cast, TNT took another shot with Holly Hunter in Saving Grace (interestingly weird show, but Hunter has to carry it), and FX handed over Damages to Glenn Close (who can’t wrangle the 85 subplots). Still, either is better than any given CSI or Law & Order, and especially TNT’s flat-line House clone Heartland.

Poor ol’ Treat Williams got stuck with that dog, while Jeffrey Donovan has nailed pure cool in USA’s killer Burn Notice (picked up for another season) and Denis Leary still delivered the goods in FX’s Rescue Me (even though the series is going utterly batshit crazy around him) throughout the summer. It ain’t fair, but at least you’re not a guest perp on Criminal Minds, Treat.

None of these guys had as much fun with a role as James Nesbitt has in BBC America’s Jekyll (series finale Saturday, Aug. 25), which has come and now almost gone with far too little notice. As smart science-fiction goes, this Jekyll & Hyde upgrade gets it as dead-on right as Sci-Fi’s lame-o Flash Gordon remake gets it painfully wrong. More on that in next week’s True TV: The summer’s most sucktastic slop. You’ll love it, ya pretentious fucks.

High Times

Flash Gordon Friday 8.10 (Sci-Fi) Series Debut: Based on the 1930s comics and film serials, the ‘50s TV series or the “campy” (read: so gay even the Village People, filming Can’t Stop the Music next door, said, “Oh, puh-leez!”) 1980 movie? None of this ringing a bell? Hello, coveted demographic! Sci-Fi’s new Flash Gordon has recycled Queen’s bombastic (yes, redundant) ’80 theme song for the ads, but the 90-minute pilot has little of the spark or fun of previous incarnations, coming off like a particularly flat episode of Smallville populated with interchangeable Canadians (this Flash is a full-on Canuck production). They even removed “the Merciless” from villain Ming’s name—oh, puh-leez!

The Business, Minor Accomplishments Sundays (IFC) The Business, which spun-off from IFC’s previous and equally funny series The Festival, is about a struggling independent film company that spun-off from a far-more-lucrative porno video company … but it’s still called Vic’s Flicks. For Season 2, the focus is off sleazy boss Vic (Rob DeLeeuw) and hapless filmmaker Rufus (Nicholas Wright) and squarely on exasperated producer Julia (Kathleen Robertson)—smart move. Maybe they took a cue from The Minor Accomplishments of Jackie Woodman, which has upped its cynic-girl power by elevating Nicholle Tom (of … The Nanny!) to full second-season sidekick status to Laura Kightlinger’s titular Jackie, not that she needed it. If you don’t believe a second of Entourage and like your showbiz comedy blacker than Larry Sanders’ dye job, The Business and Minor Accomplishments are for you. (Now there’s an ad quote, IFC!)

John From Cincinnati Sunday 8.12 (HBO) Season Finale: So … what the fuck was that?

Hell’s Kitchen Monday 8.13 (Fox) Season Finale: Admittedly, watching Gordon Ramsay scream his vein-y head off at inept chefs is a kick—but for 11 weeks? Apparently so, since Hell’s Kitchen still kills in the ratings, and I’m not going to argue with a reality-competition show that produces something more valuable to society than karaoke clowns and DNA receptacles for Bret Michaels (that one’s for you, Krista Simonsen).

Weeds Monday 8.13 (Showtime) Season Premiere: Last season, Nancy (Mary-Louise Parker) and her suburban pot-dealer crew were riding high (ha!) and flush with green (double ha!), almost to the point where it looked like a PSA for the Mary Jane retail business. Then it all went to hell in a cliffhanger that left Nancy staring down gun barrels, her DEA husband offed by Armenians, one of her sons kidnapped by a crazy woman, and the other busted with a car full of weed. There’s no happy ending in the first episodes of Season 3: Nancy survives, but her business is dead and her family is in even worse off than before—which is great TV, because while Parker plays cocky (and everything else) beautifully, she’s in the kill zone as a desperate mom out of options.

Californication Monday 8.13 (Showtime) Series Debut: David Duchovny, on the other hand, is anything but sympathetic in Californication, where he stars as a narcissistic novelist who gets a dream-state blowjob from a nun before the opening credits, and nails a variety of naked women (including Madeline Zima of … The Nanny! What’s going on here?) up to the closing. The return of gratuitous premium-cable nudity is to be applauded—ahem, HBO—but what’s it all mean? And why name it after one of the worst Red Hot Chili Pepper songs ever? At least Californication is rarely dull, offsetting the Heavy Midlife Angst with comic touches—Duchovny’s book, God Hates Us All, was turned into a hit romantic comedy fluffer starring “Tom and Katie,” hence his self-loathing and writer’s block—and the promise of redemption: He wants his ex-wife and kid back … after he nails a few dozen more club skanks. Ah, sweet …