Wednesday, October 16, 2024

Ten NFL Takes - Week Six

 

Take number one: There are plenty of teams with better records, but is there a better team for soap opera-level drama than the Dallas Cowboys? Four, count ‘em, four, playoff wins in the last 25 years, still living off the glory days of Aikman, Irving, and Smith, yet their owner has kept the America’s Team thing going strong. They got absolutely pasted at home and as the Lions were running their third offensive tackle eligible play you could almost hear the keyboards firing up in Bristol (ESPN) and L.A. (NFL Network) to start a new week of Cowboys discourse. And just when you thought that this defeat – the worst home loss of the Jerry Jones era occurring on his 82nd birthday - was the icing on the cake, he stepped in it with both feet. First, in his post-game press availability when he got into it with a reporter and then the following day when he got into it EVEN WORSE during a radio interview where he threatened the host’s job. 10/10 on the Real Housewives drama scale, but 0/10 on the football field.

Take number two: If the Cowboys have a rival in the drama department, it is of course the New York Jets. Last week I said trading for Davante Adams was going to be like the couple in the shaky marriage deciding to have a baby to make things better and well, they went ahead and did it. Woody Johnson is fully embracing the sunk cost fallacy and mortgaging the future in hopes a team being put together on the fly with a revolving door among the coaching staff and led by a mercurial, soon-to-be 41-year-old with limited mobility and an eternal resting “b” face, will somehow win 8 of the next 11 games and backdoor their way into the playoffs.

Take number three: Speaking of the sunk cost fallacy, the Browns need to blow it up. Like, full-scale, strip it down to the studs rebuild because whatever they are putting on the field right now is not NFL-caliber football. Announce a fire sale and trade every asset you have to recoup (and then some) the picks you gave up for Watson, bury him on your bench or wait until next season to eat the cap hit you are going to take. Yes, I mean Miles Garrett. Yes, I mean Nick Chubb. Yes, I mean JOK. You’re Cleveland. Fans in your city are accustomed to lousy ownership, poor middle management, and a below average team, they’ll get over it.

Take number four: Caleb Williams is closing the rookie gap with Jayden Daniels and it is not because Daniels is regressing but rather because Williams is starting to find his groove. It is entirely possible by the end of the season Williams’s number will be better than Daniels’s, not because he is a better quarterback necessarily, but the team around him is better. Daniels is making it happen with lesser talent and a defense that just lost its best player, whereas Williams has three stud receivers, a solid tight end, and a strong running game to go along with a lock down defense that has not given up 20 points this entire season.

Take number five: Is there a fan base that travels better than the Pittsburgh Steelers? They played in Las Vegas this weekend and when CBS panned to the crowd, you would have thought you were at whatever they’re calling Heinz Field these days. The Terrible-Towel waving takeover of Reliant Stadium was really a sight to behold.

Take number six: Speaking of that game, maybe I’m showing my age, but I got irrationally angry seeing a fourth-round pick who has not done anything in this league trot out onto the field wearing Ken Stabler’s number 12 jersey. Like, no offense to Aiden O’Connell, I’m sure he’s a nice guy doing his best, but how is The Snake’s number not retired? My team, the former “R” words, are also a little chintzy with retired jerseys (although Darryl Green’s #28 is being retired this weekend), but what they do instead is refuse to issue certain numbers, like #44 (John Riggins), #7 (Joe Theismann (although he did grant a “waiver” a few years back for the unfortunate Dwayne Haskins (RIP) experience)), and #9 (Sonny Jergensen), but when some rumdum they pulled off the streets was given Mark Moseley’s #3, I had a similar reaction. Just don’t do it. Honor your legends and your team’s history.

Take number seven: The NFC is better, top to bottom this year, than the AFC. The AFC is basically a two-team race between the Chiefs and Ravens and maybe the Texans if they stay consistent, but the rest of the conference? Lots of question marks. The NFC on the other hand, has no one dominant team, but half-a-dozen teams that if they get hot and maybe make a trade or two (see below), could end up in the Super Bowl.

Take number eight: Remember the Rams had that famous “F those picks” motto a few years back and went all in on trading for/signing a bunch of veterans to get them that ring? If you’re the Detroit Lions, embrace this philosophy! The Lions were dealt a crushing blow when they lost Aiden Hutchinson for the season, but all is not lost. There are teams … the Raiders … cough … the Browns … cough … the Jets … cough … with more than serviceable replacements on their rosters they might be willing to part with if you F THOSE PICKS. You haven’t won a title since 1957, your offense is clicking on all cylinders, your fan base is rabid, and the conference is wide open. Go for it.

Take number nine: I hate all Philly teams. Like, just cannot stand the vibe in that city. The arrogance of their fans, their chestiness, their embrace of d-bag behavior, they are truly the worst. Since I am stuck in a part of New Jersey about 45 minutes from Philly and am subjected to local broadcasting from there, one thing I do enjoy is watching post-game shows after either the Phillies or the Eagles lose. It truly makes me happy to watch the local talking heads cry when their teams lose. So, while I was hoping the Eagles would lose last weekend, I got the next best thing – their pissy head coach jawing with HIS OWN FANS at the end of the game. Cannot think of a fan base and a head coach who deserve each other more. Just send all them on a space ship directly into the sun.

Take number ten: It is a small thing, and truly, no one outside the greater Washington, D.C. area cares, but when a Baltimore team and a Washington team play – whether it is in baseball or football – it is not a “Battle of the Beltway.” The Beltway, I-495 in and around Washington, is exactly that, a “belt” that wraps around Northern Virginia, Maryland, and D.C. You cannot get to Baltimore from Washington via the Beltway; you can get there by taking an *exit* off the Beltway onto I-95 or you can take the Baltimore-Washington (B/W) Parkway, but the only thing driving on the Beltway does is take you in a big circle around the nation’s capital.  


Monday, October 7, 2024

Ten NFL Takes - Week Five

 

Take number one: Deshaun Watson is broken. Whether you want to believe he “quit” on his team on 4th down near the end of the first half or it was just a communications glitch in his helmet, he’s done. Draw your own conclusions as to why that is, but Kevin Stefanski’s stubborn refusal to bench him suggests one of two things, either he does not have the final say on who plays or he is trying to get fired, assuming his two coach-of-the-year awards will land him a gig somewhere else.

Take number two: Remember when Gary Kasparov was the world chess champion, IBM designed a computer chess program, and Kasparov “played” the computer? He won, but then there was a rematch and the computer won. That’s the New York Jets offense. They are the only team that relies entirely on their quarterback to get to the line of scrimmage, look at the defense, and call what he thinks is the best play against it. And yes, Aaron Rodgers is probably Kasparov-level good at doing that, but the defenses have become IBM-super computer sophisticated and too much for him to compute all the options in real time. It was assumed that so long as the Jet defense held teams to 20 points or fewer, they should be a playoff team. Well, in the last two games the defense gave up 10 and 17 and they lost both. The team is now 2-3 and trading for Devante Adams feels like the couple whose marriage is shaky and decide to have a kid to solve their problems. Really bad vibes right now.

Take number three: As a native Washingtonian who lived through the last quarter century of awful Commanders football, watching Jayden Daniels is a “pinch me” moment. I finally got to see a full game and he is all that and a bag of chips. Calm, in control of the offense, and his deep passes are a thing of beauty. Against a defense that ranked *number one* in the league last year, he never seemed rattled and picked them apart like a ten-year veteran. The stadium, which for so long had been half-full (and with a not insubstantial number of the visiting team’s fans) was loud, boisterous, and supportive throughout. If you look at the Commanders historically, they basically had about 80 years of mediocre to bad teams with a roughly 10 year period in the 1980s (and a fluke run to the Super Bowl in 1972-3) when they were one of the three best teams in the league. Fans tend to downplay the former and marinate in the latter, but with the stench of Snyder’s run as owner starting to abate and the potential for a return to D.C. in the offing with Daniels at the helm, things may be looking up again.

Take number four: How is it that the league tells us they care about player safety but somehow Josh Allen only missed like four plays after his head bounced off the turf at Reliant Stadium like a basketball and he appeared to be knocked unconscious? You can tell me all you want about helmet improvements and guardian caps, but the frequency with which players who appear severely injured somehow get back in the game is troubling. McDermott’s play calling at the end of the game was also a head scratcher and the Bills are now coming back down to Earth. If Allen was concussed or misses time, their season could go downhill fast.

Take number five: One of my favorite sports sayings, which I attribute to Tony Kornheiser, is that “the other team has coaches too.” I say that in regards to the Houston Texans, whose offense does not look nearly as explosive or dynamic as it did last year and you can’t blame it all on Joe Mixon’s injury because their running game was awful last year too. No, I think other teams have coaches and those coaches figured out how to scheme against Bobby Slowik and it’s now his job to counter their counter moves because this Texans team, while good, is not living up to its potential.

Take number six: Few things in football are more exciting than the 14-point flip. You know, Team A is near Team B’s goal line, about to punch it in for a score and then a fumble or interception happens, Team B takes it back for a touchdown and the whole game shifts. Now, imagine that happens twice on one Sunday. Gardner Minshew threw an awful interception that was returned the other way for a touchdown and a Giants running back fumbled at the goal line and Seattle took it back as well. Great stuff.

Take number seven: You know who I would not want to be today? Shane Steichen, who is in a classic no-win situation. His best option at quarterback is 39-year-old Joe Flacco, but last year his team drafted Anthony Richardson, a 21-year-old with fewer than 15 starts in college (by way of comparison, Jayden Daniels had 55) but raw athletic ability you rarely see in a signal caller. The problem is Richardson needs reps to get better but when he is on the field, the flashes of brilliance are few and the errors are many. If you stick with the old guy, you have a better chance of winning, but by doing so, you are tacitly admitting your young guy is not ready. On the other hand, if you give your young guy the reps he needs and the losses pile up with him behind center, you probably lose your job. Just a bad deal all around.

Take number eight: This Sunday marks the beginning of that weird, now two-week period where we pretend the Jacksonville Jaguars are somehow the “unofficial” team of London, England, like the two places are sister cities and the team is part of an exchange program, and I hate it. Making the Jaguars the “unofficial” team of Great Britain is cruel and unusual. I get that the league is almost pathologically motivated to squeeze every last penny of revenue it can out of the product, but you will never convince me those stadiums (sorry, pitches) in England are filled with Jaguars-loving Englishmen (and women) and not Americans who thought it would be a hoot to take a trip across the pond to watch an NFL game in another country. Fire all these games (and the ones in Germany, Brazil, and wherever else the league is going to do this) straight into the sun.

Take number nine: Speaking of ineptitude, we have seen this Bengals movie before. A Super Bowl contending team in the 1980s that slowly fell into irrelevance, a brief resurrection under Carson Palmer that never met its potential because he suffered a devastating knee injury, a few decent years with Andy Dalton that fizzled out because they would not re-sign their own players, and now this. I think we are going to look back at Cincinnati’s run in 2022 as the high water mark of the Joe Burrow era. The defense lost key contributors that have not been replaced, Tee Higgins will be leaving at the end of the year, and what they’ll be left with is a high priced quarterback/receiver combo without much else around them because Mike Brown is a notoriously cheap owner/GM who still runs his franchise like it’s the 1970s. They lost on Sunday to not one, but two guys who are cheat codes at their positions and a bad hold on a game winning field goal after some bizarre decision making by their head coach in overtime. At 1-4, their chances of making the playoffs are slim and their roster will be worse, not better, next year.

Take number ten: Non-football take. The tension generated in playoff baseball games is off the charts good. Now that each league lets in seven teams, the regular season is a boring, unnecessary six month slog, but when you have 45,000 people in a stadium living and dying on every pitch late in a one-run game, there are not many things better in sports.


Wednesday, October 2, 2024

Matlock

 The first word that popped into my head when I finished watching the pilot episode of Matlock is one not normally associated with CBS’s prime time programming: subversive. The network that churns out crime procedurals year after year has launched a reboot that is not really a reboot and a show about a law firm that is actually a show about revenge. The sleight of hand extends from the show’s title to its closing scene, which turns everything else that happened in the prior 40 minutes upside down.

If you invoke the name “Matlock” to people of a certain age, we immediately think of Andy Griffith’s whose intelligence was sometimes masked by an aw shucks, country lawyer vibe, so it was logical to think this new Matlock just updated the original version, cast a new lead (Kathy Bates) and moved the show to New York. And through much of the premiere, that assumption held true.

Like the original, Maddie Matlock is also a lawyer, albeit one we are told has reentered the legal field after three decades because of a husband who left her destitute and caring for her grandson after her own daughter passed away. Maddie also has that homespun, lilting southern drawl that disarms people. As she notes, once women get to be a certain age, society starts ignoring them but instead of being mad about it, she uses it to her advantage. It may look like she is struggling to pay for her coffee but she is actually eavesdropping on a chatty lawyer talking into his phone and discussing an amount he is willing to settle a case for.  She fumbles in her purse for an ID badge that does not exist so a younger employee while swipe her into a building. And so on.

The goal of all this subterfuge is gaining access to the law firm Jacobson Moore and the rest of the episode follow beats that will be familiar to anyone who has watched a legal procedural. There is of course the case of the week, here, a wrongly convicted former prisoner now seeking punitive damages and the law firm cast of characters. There is Olympia, the intense, sharp-as-a-tack partner, her ex-husband Julian, Julian’s father who is simply referred to as “Senior” (who is also the managing partner of the firm), Billy, Olympia’s new love interest, and the bumbling junior associates who can’t seem to do anything right. Maddie wends her way into a two-week tryout thanks to the settlement information she shares (it turns out the firm is representing the parties on the other side and her intel nets them an additional $4 million) and after a few fits and starts, also tracks down the smoking gun information that helps their former prisoner client net a massive jury award.

Admittedly, I was ready to bail on the show at this point. The plot was so predictable I even guessed the punitive damage award amount, but then Matlock paid homage to another pop culture icon, The Usual Suspects. In the show’s final moments, Maddie boards a city bus to what we expect will be a modest apartment she shares with her grandson. Instead, she gets off after one stop, turns a corner, and slips into the back of a chauffeured Town Car and is driven to a mansion where her husband and grandson await.

Maddie is a lawyer, but one who stopped practicing just 10 years ago, not 30, she is still married, and her grandson is a techie who helped create her Matlock alter ego, complete with a fictionalized résumé and references. See, it turns out FIRM covered up the dangers associated with opioid usage, allowing the pills to stay on the market for enough time that her daughter got hooked on them and ultimately died of an overdose. As Maddie explains, her goal is to find out which of the lawyers at the firm was responsible and bring them down.

What a great plot twist! A show I was prepared to write off suddenly got a lot more interesting. That said, I do wonder how they’ll balance the needs of a standard legal procedural, with its case-of-the-week format and interpersonal dynamics of the office, against this deeper story of what is basically corporate espionage. Elsbeth, the show Matlock is paired with, attempted something similar in its first season (a murder of the week combined with a longer story arc about police corruption) that was tonally awkward. Part of the problem is the limited runtime of each episode and the need to lay track for each story line within those 44 minutes. The other is that the energies are much different. Elsbeth, and, it appears Maddie, have what the kids might call good vibes even if they are solving murders or exonerating the innocent, whereas digging into corruption and bribery are darker subjects that just do not blend well with that type of aesthetic. Elsbeth (smartly) resolved the police corruption story to focus on being a quirky Columbo knock-off. Whether Matlock will be more like its namesake or Michael Clayton is to be determined.


Wednesday, August 28, 2024

It Is A Drama, Not A Sitcom - The Office Season Nine

 

For eight seasons, The Office was a comedy sprinkled with drama, which is why it can be so off-putting to watch season nine. Without telling anyone, show runner Greg Daniels decided the final season would flip that script and become a very special drama with little in the way of humor. And once you understand this basic fact, The Office’s swan song starts making a lot more sense. The story Daniels decided to tell is a familiar one – what happens to us as we approach middle age? It is possible, although I cannot say it for a fact, that Daniels was particularly interested in this idea because he turned 40 during that final season, but it is clear, from the very first talking heads of the season premiere, that Jim, Pam, Dwight, and Andy would be the avatars through which Daniels explored this existential question.

The setup is unsubtle. For Pam, middle age is something to be embraced, not feared, whereas for Jim the opposite is true. She is settled into life as a wife and mother, attending ballet recitals and decorating the walls of her child’s room with her artwork. As she comments to the film crew, with two kids at home, nothing interesting is going to happen in their [her and Jim’s] lives for a long time, you can see Jim stiffen as she speaks. This is because the domestic bliss she welcomes feels like a death sentence to him. While Jim was never super excited about being a paper salesman, it hits home even harder when he learns that a college roommate has taken an old idea Jim had to start a sports marketing company and done so two hours away in Philadelphia. By the end of the episode, Jim has gone behind Pam’s back and contacted his buddy to express his interest in coming aboard. While Jim may have surprised Pam in the past, it was to do things like ask her to marry him or buy a house that they could move into as a married couple. But this choice was teeing up a heel turn that would find Jim acting in ways wholly unfamiliar to die-hard fans of the show.  

Dwight has a different problem - he is adrift as he approaches middle age. His professional ambition to be regional manager and his personal goal of marriage and fatherhood have been thwarted but he is at a loss as to how to change things. At work, he sees Clark (colloquially referred to as “New Dwight”) as a threat and feels the need to prove his manhood via a bizarre stunt that almost gets him killed while in his personal life Angela has married and had a child. While Dwight approaches middle age with uncertainty, Andy wants nothing more than to live in the past. His identity is frozen in time, when he was a “freaking rock star” in his college a capella group, while the present-day affords him little to do other than juvenile pranks like dubbing fart noises into a video of the staff playing softball. But that changes when his father bankrupts the family and absconds to South America. Suddenly, Andy must make capital A adult decisions and in response, after selling off everything the family owns, he decides to go on a months-long boat trip to escape reality.

To be sure, all of these feelings are ones people go through as they age – is this all there is? Am I happy with my life or do I want something more or different or new? It is just that having these characters, on this show, ask them, came out of left field considering the low stakes they tended to traffic in. When you understand what Daniels was going for, the entire season snaps into place. Jim and Pam become increasingly estranged as they fight over what their future will be. He increasingly sees it as one where she pulls up stakes and moves to Philadelphia so he can focus on Athlead full-time while she digs in her heels and insists that her life is in Scranton. As they struggle to reconcile these conflicting desires, their bickering escalates into fighting, which escalates into a standoff where neither is willing to meet the other halfway. And throughout, Pam is holding their family together while Jim lives a bachelor life in Philadelphia, where he rubs elbows with sports stars and has a rented apartment. If it doesn’t sound funny, it’s because it is not, but more, it pulled the rug out from viewers who were told over and over again that these two people were soul mates. While you could argue it was defensible to show a few cracks in that armor, Daniels’s almost pathological desire to tear them apart (he had to be talked out of having them divorce mid-season and then reconcile in the finale) showed a tone deaf understanding of the dwindling fan base that was still watching.

And while the Halpert marriage was disintegrating, Dwight seems to reach a point of acceptance that the initial path he saw for himself was not to be and tacked to a different course. Having been passed over for the regional manager position and then blowing his one shot, Dwight understood that no matter how many white whale clients he landed, if Andy could peace out for three months and still keep his job, he needed to recalibrate his expectations. This is where I thought the writers did good work showing Dwight, in his own oddball way, becoming the office’s heartbeat. He had no desire to leave the safety of Dunder Mifflin, he was Dunder Mifflin and whether it was his Christmas party or hiring of a junior salesman, Dwight was committed to his work and making his workplace a home. Similarly, when Angela rejected him once and for all by reaffirming her commitment to the Senator (even though their marriage was a sham), Dwight sought out Esther with the intention of marrying her instead.

Andy lacked that decisiveness. The three month boat trip was followed by a rash decision to pursue celebrity, the kind of thing one might do right after college and not right around the time your 15-year reunion is going to happen, but again, the impending creep of middle age makes people do weird things. If you squint hard enough, you can see this decision as being one similar to Jim’s attempt to reach for a new career path, but while Jim had at least established a solid track record as a salesman, as Phyllis says in a talking head about Andy, “there is just something there you do not want to watch.” And, like someone unfamiliar with adult decisions, Andy has not saved any money to pursue this dream, he just got more overdraft protection from his bank.

In a TV drama, any, or all of these story lines would make perfect sense because they track what happens in real life. Marriages do splinter, spouses grow apart or want different things out of life, professional ambition is sometimes thwarted, love is unrequited, family tragedy occurs, but for a show that was built on the banalities of the modern workplace and opted to illustrate it through the sale of paper, the most basic of office products, this was an enormous leap. For viewers accustomed to the comfort of a breezy situation comedy with a heart, suddenly being asked to ponder the meaning of life with little in the way of humor to leaven it was a very strange choice.

The ratings bore out the point. Although the show had been in a steady decline after Steve Carrell’s departure, they went into a free fall in season nine. The season nine premiere had an audience roughly half that of the season eight premiere and held at about that level until midway through the season when they dropped another 20-25 percent until the finale. In short, viewers were not buying what Greg Daniels was selling and while the numbers tanked, Daniels tacitly acknowledged the error of his ways. In a scene I like to refer to as the deus ex umbrella, as Jim is preparing to leave (yet again!) for Philly, he forgets his umbrella at his desk. Pam rushes out to the parking lot to give it to him and in that moment (coupled with a quick hitting montage of some high end “Jam” soul mate-ness) Jim realizes how wrong he has been and bails on Athlead to stay in Scranton full-time. The briefly introduced “Brian the Boom Guy” who we met several episodes before and was lingering as a potential shoulder Pam to cry on is never heard from again and all that marital strife that viewers were pummeled with for twenty episodes magically disappears.

It was a clumsy, albeit necessary corrective that very much does not reflect how marital discord normally resolves itself, but Daniels belatedly understood he had substituted his own story telling preferences for what the audience wanted. With the show nearing its end, splitting up a couple people were so invested in made absolutely no sense. Whether by design or luck, the other major storylines gave everyone the happy ending they deserved. Andy’s decision to quit opened up the manager’s seat for Dwight, who also ditched Esther when Angela and the Senator split up. Andy did not find fame, but got to live a college-adjacent life by moving to Ithaca and working in the Cornell admissions department. As for Pam and Jim, having reconciled and spent a year back in Scranton, they could now move on (and out to Austin). Life is rarely this neat and tidy, but the finale’s enduring popularity suggests that viewers understood the difference.  

Monday, August 12, 2024

And What Is Going On? The Office Season Eight

 

While The Office may have technically been an ensemble cast, there was a clear first-among-equals: Steve Carrell. For more than 140 episodes, Carrell’s portrayal of regional manager Michael Scott anchored the show. When Carrell announced his departure before the show’s seventh season, the writers were left with a massive challenge: how do you replace your show’s biggest star? Their response, to elevate a mid-tier character into a major role and introduce a new character completely at odds with the show’s well-established aesthetic, was a disaster. Ratings plummeted and critics panned the show’s eighth season. So what went wrong? In this post, I am going to examine that question.

At a basic level, the biggest failure was squandering the time the show runners and writers had to map out what they wanted the show to be after Carrell left. Although Carrell’s departure was announced in advance of season seven, he still appeared in more than twenty episodes and the writers had ample time to think through the show’s future and yet it does not appear much work was done in this area. Rather, much of season seven was devoted to fan service, from Michael’s reconciliation with Holly to a screening of Threat Level Midnight and so much in between. It is as if the writers focused all of their attention on giving Carrell a proper send-off (which, in fairness, he deserved) without pausing to sketch out what they wanted to do once he was gone.

The biggest decision they had to make was who would take over as regional manager and, by extension, become a primary focus of the show. This was no small thing. Over the years, the show revolved more and more around Michael, conditioning the audience to think of the regional manager as the main character in the story. There were a couple of logical candidates – Jim or Dwight, but each was bypassed. The former had a brief run as co-manager at the beginning of season six (The Promotion), while the latter was given a one-off, one episode chance immediately after Michael’s departure (Dwight K. Schrute, Acting Manager). Darryl was another deserving applicant but was ultimately skipped over as well.

Instead, the writers made an understandable, but key mistake. If you read through books that have been written about the show, you know that the decision to pick Ed Helms’s character Andy Bernard as the new regional manager was based on the attention he received from his role in the movie The Hangover. Much like Steve Carrell’s star turn in The 40 Year Old Virgin, which gave the writers a chance to reboot Michael’s character (and for people to give the show a second look after a tepid, six-episode first season), the writers thought Helms’s newfound celebrity would keep longtime viewers watching while attracting new viewers based on Helms’s movie performance, but the opposite happened. Why?

I think there were a couple of reasons. First, “in universe” as they say, elevating Andy made little sense. He was, at best, a middling salesman and certainly not on par with either Jim or Dwight (not to mention Stanley) and never exhibited much in the way of leadership. All he had going for him was an Ivy League degree. For whatever Michael’s shortcomings, there was never any doubt he was a great salesman and, in his own way, a strong leader. Andy, on the other hand, was neither of these things but instead of leaning into his country club preppiness and making him into a villain out of a 1980s John Hughes movie, or, perhaps more provocatively, having him come out as gay, either of which would have been in keeping with who we know Andy to be, the writers made their second mistake.

When we first met Andy, he was portrayed as a sort of bizarro Dwight, the office suck-up in Stamford given a phony title to make him feel better. But after his anger management issue in season three, he became nothing more than a bland WASP with a touch of entitlement (did you know he went to Cornell?) and little in the way of sales skills, but in order to make Andy a counter point to new addition Robert California (about whom we will have more to say later), the writers decided to do a massive, almost overnight reboot of his character into a plucky underdog with unresolved daddy issues who we were supposed to root for. And it just did not work.

It is one thing to transform a character over time, as the writers did with Michael, allowing him to grow, make mistakes, and ultimately, change for the better. They could do that because the “bad Michael” of Season One was a blip, a six-episode maniac whose personality changed organically, and through emotional growth, over the following six seasons. Greg Daniels’s famous edict beginning in season two that no matter how badly Michael behaved or was treated in any given episode, he must also get a small “win” allowed for this evolution. Andy, on the other hand, was an established character with about 100 episodes under his belt as a rich kid dilettante who we were suddenly supposed to feel bad for because he did not live up to his parents expectations. The shift was too abrupt. It is hard to get behind someone who openly admits they don’t know what they are doing, as Andy did on multiple occasions early in season eight, especially when other people were clearly more qualified. Had the writers leaned into this white male privilege not as a sign of insecurity but of unearned bravado, it might have been interesting; instead, they asked us to sympathize with someone who had everything in life handed to him.

Gone too was the subtlety used in humanizing Michael’s character. To take one example, in season two’s Take Your Daughter To Work Day, Michael shows an old video from when he was a child and appeared on a kid’s TV show. When he is “interviewed” by a puppet on the show and asked what he wants to be when he grows up, he says he wants to be married with 100 kids who can’t say no to being his friend. It is a quietly devastating scene that does not require further comment. By comparison, consider season eight’s Garden Party. Andy hosts the event to impress his parents, but has a meltdown because his father prefers singing a duet with Andy’s brother.  The two have a heart-to-heart where Andy’s dad dismisses Andy’s job at a “rinky dink” paper company and tells Andy to stop seeking his approval. The message was as subtle as a sledgehammer, lacking the nuance and pathos that came with seeing Michael’s vulnerabilities exposed. It was almost as if the creative team believed all the characteristics that made Michael Scott such a compelling character could simply be transferred over to Andy, as if these were traits unique to the job of regional manager, not the person who sat in the chair. 

And maybe all of this would have been salvageable if the other big gamble the writers took had paid off, namely, Robert California. I am not a reflexive “RC” hater. To the contrary, a few of his lines are not only the best of the season, but among the funniest from the entire series, and again, on paper, the idea of injecting a character who vibrates at a different frequency than the rest of the cast was not a terrible idea, but the execution was awful. Originally cast as a one-off applicant for Michael’s job (Search Committee), the writers were apparently so pleased with James Spader’s interpretation of the Robert California character as a sort of shaman with Jedi-mind trick powers, that they decided to bring him on as a full cast member for season eight.

The problem, or at least one of the problems, was that Spader was unwilling to commit to appearing in every episode, so instead of making him the regional manager, the writers contrived an idea where he accepted the job but then backed out, somehow convincing the company CEO to give him her job instead and then promoting Andy to Michael’s position. Left unanswered was why Jo Bennett willingly gave up her job, why the (new) CEO of a company based in Florida spent so much time at the branch office of one division within the entire corporation and, as the season wore on, why he picked someone he so clearly disliked.

That aside, like a spice that can enhance a dish but overpower it if too much is used, Robert California worked less as a character the more he was incorporated into the storylines. Glib one lines like “sometimes the flowers arrange themselves” (Get the Girl) worked nicely to emphasize Robert’s eccentricity, but when they devolved into lengthy, and often incoherent monologues like the one delivered at the end of that season’s Halloween episode (Spooked), blank stares, not just from the cast members, but the audience as well, were the result.

As the season wore on, you could see the writers struggling with what to do. Robert devolved from an inscrutable mystery man to a run-of-the-mill bad boss, who used drugs and alcohol liberally and preyed on his female underlings. Perhaps this was done to get the audience on Andy’s side, as he had been a constant punching bag for Robert all season long, up to and including their post-Tallahassee blow out that resulted in Andy’s firing, but like so many other things that season, it all felt rushed and a bit forced.

This mess at the top was compounded by the fact that there was so little to work with among the other main characters. Andy and Robert became the equivalent of load bearing walls carrying too much weight. That was in no small part due to the fact that Pam, Jim, and Dwight, all of whom featured prominently in the early seasons, were given less and less creative runway as the show focused more and more on Michael. For example, while the early seasons were loaded with Pam and Jim will-they-won’t-they content, that storyline resolved at the end of season three. Subsequent seasons saw little for the couple to do. They got their two, two-part season six episodes celebrating their wedding (Niagara) and birth of their first child (The Delivery) but otherwise it was pretty much a dry hole. Yes, Pam toggled between jobs and had a New York mini-arc and Jim had a brief flirtation with middle management (The Promotion) but compared to the intense focus on them in the show’s early seasons, it was thin gruel. Similarly, Dwight, after spending the show’s early years as Michael’s loyal sidekick, was also left with little to do since his only objective was eventually succeeding Michael. His vibe was a little too weird (sorry, individualistic) to lead the office, leaving him in his own on-again-off-again storyline with Angela. And while the two were well-matched based on their own idiosyncrasies, to maintain a frisson of tension between them required a revolving door of other partners (Andy and the Senator for her, Isabel for him) to keep things interesting.  

For Dwight, the best they could come up with was continued frustration over being denied the top job (his one attempt at vengeance being the season’s sixth episode, Doomsday) resulting in his making a play for a management position in Florida. But in order to sell this idea, we were asked to suspend belief and erase from our minds the fact that Dwight was a beet farmer in Pennsylvania who never gave any indication of being willing to pull up stakes and head south.

Jenna Fischer’s real-life pregnancy necessarily limited what the writers could do with Pam in the early part of the season, but their decision to introduce Kathy Sims not just as Pam’s temporary replacement as office administrator but a possible romantic interest for Jim made no sense. Like asking us to believe Dwight would leave Scranton for Tallahassee, the idea Jim would cheat on Pam (and particularly for the sole reason that she was pregnant) ran counter to everything we knew about these two people, whose relationship we were told over and over again was the embodiment of soul mates coming together. The end result were unbelievable story lines that petered out limply; Dwight skulks back to Scranton without a promotion, Kathy disappears, with no explanation for what happened to her or where she went when the team came back from Florida.

In the end, the writers partially corrected their mistakes. Robert California was written out of the show, never to be seen, heard, or mentioned ever again. But instead of moving on from Andy as regional manager, they made the bizarre choice of returning him to the seat in a ham fisted (and truncated) cribbing of the Michael Scott Paper Company storyline from season five. Unlike that multi-episode arc that grew out of an explicable story line, the writers wedged Andy’s return (and Robert’s departure) into a rushed ending in the season’s final two episodes, with Robert closing a branch and losing a major client that Andy scoops up and then leverages to pitch David Wallace on the idea of buying back Dunder Mifflin and rehiring Andy. This decision would foretell even worse mistakes in season nine, but that is a story for another blog post.

 

Monday, July 29, 2024

TV Review: Charlie Hustle and the Matter of Pete Rose


Does Pete Rose belong in the baseball Hall of Fame? That is the question at the heart of HBO’s four-part documentary Charlie Hustle and the Matter of Pete Rose. At this point, Rose’s story is well-known (if you follow sports). Rose was a sure fire, first ballot hall of famer who retired as the game’s all-time hits leader only to be banned in 1989 when an investigation concluded (among other things) that Rose placed more than fifty bets on the team he managed at the time, the Cincinnati Reds. A few years later, and right before Rose was eligible to be put on the Hall of Fame ballot, the organization that runs the Hall determined that any player banned from the sport was ineligible for consideration as a member. And that has been the state of affairs ever since.

The documentary traces Rose’s life, from his childhood in Cincinnati to his days playing for (and leading) his hometown squad to two World Series titles, his later career adding a third ring with the Phillies and his return as player-manager (and ultimately just manager) of the Reds. Interspersed throughout are interviews with people who knew him, played with him (or against him), and the assorted cast of characters who knew the seamier side of his life.

But the hall of fame question looms over the entire enterprise and with it, broader themes of repentance, forgiveness, and punishment. I don’t know that the doc will change many minds. On the one hand, it is completely defensible to argue that the integrity of the game requires a bright line rule that getting caught gambling on a game’s outcome must result in a lifetime ban. After all, if fans think the game is rigged, it is no longer a sport, it is professional wrestling. Supporters point to the 1919 Chicago White Sox scandal as proof of the need for such a draconian penalty, even if it means exiling Hall of Fame players like Shoeless Joe Jackson. Rose bet on baseball while he was the Reds’ manager, therefore, he must be banned.

On the other hand are people who basically say that Rose has been punished enough. That the now 35-year ban from the sport is sufficient punishment for the crime he committed and that he deserves a second chance. They point out he has publicly admitted to gambling on baseball and apologized for doing so. There is also the matter of baseball’s decision to embrace gambling, or at least partner with legal bookmaking companies, as being slightly hypocritical viz a viz their stance on Rose, not to mention the fact that the Hall itself has enshrined at least some former players who were hardly choir boys.

And that is where the documentary is a sort of choose-your-own-adventure. Because Rose is still alive and agreed to be interviewed for, and granted access to, the producers, you can draw your own conclusions about whether you think Rose understands why he was banned, whether he actually feels remorse over what he did, and grapple with who he is as a person in deciding what you think; there is plenty of evidence supporting each side’s position.

After watching all four episodes, I do not think Rose thinks his gambling was that big a deal (he repeats at several points that he only bet on the Reds to win, not lose, as a way of showing he was not trying to fix games) but rather, is angry that because he gambled, he was levied such a stiff penalty. At one point, he says he would have been better off doing drugs or beating his wife because those crimes are treated less severely than gambling. At other points, Rose makes snarky asides about gambling, as when he attends the opening of a casino in Cincinnati and jokes that the Commissioner’s office is probably not going to like it. And he still gambles, albeit far less than he used to and will literally sign baseballs “I BET ON BASEBALL” (while pocketing a fee for the effort).

To the extent Rose has attempted to make amends, thereto he has been his own worst enemy. He privately admitted to then-Commissioner Bud Selig that he had bet on games but then profited off the admission by publishing a book (which was released the day of that year’s Hall of Fame induction ceremony) instead of doing a press conference for free. When the league granted Rose permission to attend a reunion of the 1980 Phillies team that won the World Series, he embarrassed himself by belittling and insulting a female reporter at the event. At other points, the producers catch Rose in simple lies about people he claims not to have known or actions he clearly took; the conclusion one draws is that this is a man who is unwilling to accept that he did something wrong and deflects, obfuscates, or lies to avoid confronting uncomfortable truths.

But if the people who can decide Rose’s fate watch the documentary, they might realize that Rose lives in a sort of living prison that merits parole. Rose is exiled from the thing he loves most. The ban he agreed to prohibits him from entering clubhouses or going out on the field for pre-game rituals like batting practice. His attempts to lobby MLB for reinstatement have failed, but the Commissioner points out that the Hall could simply reverse its decision to keep blacklisted players off the ballot and let Rose receive an up or down vote. The Hall responds that if MLB lifted its ban, Rose could be considered for membership. It is Kafka-esque, to say the least.

Meanwhile, the player whose signature move was sliding head first into a base now shuffles along, limping noticeably. The million dollar smile that once hawked after shave and frozen dinners now has gaping holes where teeth no longer exist. The shock of brown hair that would fly back as his batting helmet flew off has thinned considerably and is usually hidden under an ill-fitting Reds cap. Yes, he is profane and inappropriate, at one point using curse words when addressing a young boy who looked no older than 12, at another, commenting on a friend’s wife’s breasts, but there is something sad and pathetic watching Rose sit in a salon chair getting his hair dyed or doing Cameo greetings because he needs the money. If Bart Giamatti and his successors wanted to punish Rose, they could not have done a better job.

The once vibrant man who played the game at full speed every day is now a shell of who he once was. He is 83, a withered old man who will not change. For those expecting some additional, and perhaps more convincing show of contrition, it will not come. Indeed, when discussing his plea deal on tax evasion that netted him a five month prison stint, Rose admits telling the judge he sought counseling for his gambling addiction solely to garner sympathy and a lighter sentence. In the final minutes of the documentary, Rose appears embittered but also resigned to the fact that he may never make it to Cooperstown, whether he understand why, remains a mystery.

Wednesday, July 10, 2024

My Favorite Columbo Episode

“Logic,” Col. Lyle Rumford intones to a cadet under his charge, “is the battlefield of adulthood.” The year is 1974 and Rumford has a problem. With the country’s involvement in Vietnam winding down, “nobody wants to play soldier anymore,” William Haynes, chairman of the board at Haynes Military Academy, where Rumford serves as commandant, tells him. The proof, Haynes points out, is in the school’s enrollment, which hovers at 1,100 even though the campus can accommodate more than five times that number. To solve this problem, Haynes, with the support of the board of trustees, plans to convert the single-sex military academy into a co-educational junior college. For Rumford, this not only means the loss of his job but, in his mind, another sign of the nation’s military and moral decline. With a final vote on the conversion in the offing, Rumford is prepared to take extreme measures – murdering Mr. William Haynes.

If there is one Columbo episode that explains the lieutenant’s genius (not to mention the idiosyncratic way the show tells its stories), Dawn’s Early Light is it. Watching Columbo for the first time can be a bit disorienting. Unlike most crime procedurals on TV which focus on who committed a murder, Columbo focuses on how a murder is committed, as the rumpled detective utilizes his observational skills and deductive reasoning to solve the case. And in Dawn’s, Columbo uses the power of logic against a man who worships it.

Like many Columbo villains, Rumford thinks he has planned the perfect murder. First, he tampers with an artillery shell that will be fired from a cannon as part of the Academy’s Founder’s Day celebration, removing the blank powder charge and replacing it with a powerful plastic explosive. Next, Rumford stuffs a cleaning rag used to polish the cannon down its barrel, which will result in a backfire when the shell is discharged, killing Haynes. With the trap set, all Rumford needs to do is wait for Haynes’s arrival on campus. The two get into an argument about the school’s pending changeover and, (as Rumford surely predicted) Haynes asserts his power over Rumford by deciding he, Haynes, and not Rumford’s second in command, Captain Loomis, will preside over the day’s events, including firing the cannon. Minutes later, Haynes is dead.

But setting up Haynes is only half the plan. Rumford also knows the police will come out to investigate what caused the explosion and he thinks he has that figured out too. The cannon is a World War I relic used every day so the logical conclusion will be that the misfire was caused by the cannon’s age. But Rumford has a fallback if that does not satisfy the police in the form of a patsy – Cadet Roy Springer. Springer, you see, is a troublemaker with two suspensions and a long list of demerits on his record, but, not coincidentally, is the cadet responsible for servicing the cannon, a job Rumford gave him. If the police figure out the barrel was clogged and Springer tries to deny it, Rumford will point to his past history of bad behavior as evidence that he carelessly left the rag in the barrel, resulting in Haynes’s inadvertent demise. The police, left deciding between the words of a malcontented student and an upstanding military commandant will surely side with the latter, Rumford assumes.  

In the wake of the explosion, Rumford’s meticulous planning seems to work. Police officers mill about the parade grounds, disinterested in doing any work; one even tries to console the Colonel, telling him not to blame himself because the old cannon just gave out. So far, so good. But one variable Rumford did not account for was the presence of Lieutenant Columbo, who applies his own version of logic to every crime scene he encounters. Columbo is rarely the first officer on scene, which ends up working to his advantage. The cops who greet him provide a preliminary assessment of what they think happened, which almost always lines up with the explanation the killer hopes for, and that gives Columbo the jumping off point to begin his own analysis. Here, they have quickly settled on the “gun gave out” theory, but Columbo is never willing to accept things at face value. While everyone else is eager to wrap things up and go home, Columbo paces the parade grounds, locating a piece of thread lodged in a broken piece of the barrel and a charred piece of the cleaning rag that had been placed in the barrel. He also overhears an offhand remark by an officer that the blast was heard in a town eight miles away. Taken separately, these clues may not mean much, but with Columbo, they become puzzle pieces he tries to fit in their right place.

These little bits of information were there for all to see yet Columbo was the only one who noticed them. Once in hand, Columbo can test the “cannon blew up” theory by speaking to Col. Rumford. Rumford, who had mistaken Columbo for a trespasser upon first seeing him, is caught off guard when Columbo questions him during an impromptu memorial service in the chapel. First, Columbo locks Rumford into important testimony, confirming with him that the artillery charges the Academy uses are “blank,” made up of sodium nitrate and cotton wadding. He then gets Rumford to identify the cleaning rag. By doing so, the “cannon gave out” theory is gone. The remnants Columbo discovered are inconsistent with the material used for blank charges and the char on the rag confirms it was in the barrel when it was fired. Moreover, Rumford’s description of the material in a blank charge will also come in handy later.

But Rumford is not concerned. When Columbo asks who is responsible for cleaning the cannon, Rumford hands up Roy Springer, demerits and all, on a platter. And, in Rumford’s mind, this should be the end of it, even after Columbo speaks with Springer and accepts Roy’s denial that he left the rag in the cannon. Columbo tells Rumford that Roy immediately identified the rag, something the perpetrator would not have done. Rumford parries with his vaunted logic – Springer was in charge of cleaning the cannon, the rag was found in the barrel, and Springer is a poor-performing cadet, ipso facto, he is to blame.

But that does not satisfy our wily lieutenant. Restless, he awakens at three o’clock in the morning and calls the officer who mentioned the blast being heard so far away. Why Columbo wonders, if the cannon is fired every day (another fact he picked up in his conversation with Rumford) has no one ever complained about the noise? Irritated, the sleepy officer tells Columbo it is because the cannon never blew up before. While that might satisfy others, Columbo decides to send material from the cannon to a ballistics lab and sure enough, the lab confirms the presence of C-4, a powerful plastic explosive.

And this is the pivot point for the episode. Applying logic, Columbo first ruled out the cannon misfire being due to age because he found the cleaning rag in it, which Rumford confirmed would have caused the cannon to backfire. He then ruled out the rag’s placement in the barrel being an accident because the artillery shell itself (which Rumford also told him should have been a “blank” charge) was tampered with. Using this basic form of deductive reasoning, Columbo now knows he has a murder on his hands caused by someone doctoring the artillery shell and stuffing a cleaning rag down the barrel of the cannon. He knows how the murder was committed, but he now needs to figure out who committed it by focusing on the basics of police work - motive, means, and opportunity.

Columbo shares his findings with Rumford, and with them, his conclusion that Haynes’s death was no mere accident, but murder, “plain and simple.” This is the moment you see in many Columbo episodes. The killer, initially dismissive of Columbo based on his shabby appearance, perceived dimwittedness, and seeming focus on irrelevant details, suddenly realizes they underestimated him. He is not the bumbling fool they initially took him to be, but a dogged investigator who methodically gets to the truth. It is an experience Columbo himself described in the show’s very first episode. There, another well-organized killer thought he had covered all his bases but Columbo observed that the people he captures are not hardened criminals and have no prior experience in committing a murder, much less covering one up. They don’t realize the mistakes they make, but Columbo sees them almost immediately because he is an expert at investigating murders and they are amateurs at committing them.

Springer, who Columbo already saw as a weak suspect, falls off the list entirely when Columbo learns that Roy wasn’t even on campus the night before Founder’s Day. Even if Roy thought Rumford and not Haynes would oversee the Founder’s Day celebration, and Roy wanted to kill Rumford for being such a flaming jerk (motive), he would have needed access to plastic explosives and the knowledge of how to use them (means). Even if both of those things were true, Roy lacked opportunity to tamper with the shell because he left school to see his girlfriend.  

Instead, Columbo sets his sights squarely on Rumford, where a much more logical story falls into place. Start with motive. Another variable Rumford did not account for was what Haynes would bring with him to the Academy. When the cops search Haynes’s car, they discover a blueprint showing plans for a gymnasium. At first, Columbo is unsure what to make of it (it’s the third page of a three page blueprint, but the other two pages are missing). Even more curious is when Columbo is told by a cadet named Morgan that the existing gym is only seven years old. He finally connects the dots when he realizes the new gym has no urinals, it is designed for women. Coupling that information with his observation at the dining hall (where he supped with Rumford) that many tables were empty and Rumford telling Columbo enrollment was down, Columbo realizes that a plan was afoot to admit women. When Columbo asks about this, not only does Rumford confirm Haynes’s plan, but mentions that the school would convert from a military academy to a junior college. Although Rumford dismisses the idea that the plan would have been implemented, when Columbo presses, asking whether the board will tell him the plan was rejected, Rumford deflates, “you’ll do what you need to do” he moans, as Columbo gives a knowing look. After all, Columbo has spent enough time with Rumford to know the Colonel is a serious military man who believes the school molds the next generation of soldiers who will defend our country. Killing a man who wants to end that role is an obvious motive.

But what of means? Here again, Rumford is nothing but helpful. Columbo locks in a statement from Rumford, who agrees with Columbo that he (Rumford) is an expert in explosives. More importantly (and you can see Rumford squirm when he is asked) Columbo wants to know who has access to the arms room on campus where the cannon shells were kept. As it turns out, only three people have keys to that room – the cadet in charge of cleaning the cannon, the officer of the day, and Rumford himself, who confirms no one could have taken his keys. In other words, Rumford knows how to use plastic explosive and had access to the room where the shells were kept. Check and check in the “means” department.

Which just leaves opportunity. Columbo is helped by something we see over and over on the show: the killer cannot help but be who they are. Normally, it is a know-it-all who thinks they’ve outsmarted Columbo, but here, Rumford’s undoing is being a stickler for Academy rules. In the early morning hour when Rumford stuffed the rag in the cannon, he noticed a large jug of alcoholic cider dangling out the window of a bathroom in one of the dormitories, a clear violation of the school’s code. After Haynes is killed and while Columbo and Rumford are talking, Rumford interrupts their conversation to give Loomis a dressing down over the presence of the cider jug in the dorm where Loomis stays and directs him to investigate things tout suite. Rumford harangues Loomis throughout the episode for failing to apprehend the culprits to the point where the two do a surprise inspection in the middle of the night hoping to find the verboten hooch.

When the search comes up empty, the boys (including Springer and Morgan) do not understand how their contraband was not discovered. As it turns out, they have Columbo to thank. Although Loomis was hapless, Columbo cracked the case in about 10 seconds when he noticed some debris in one of the sinks in the dorm bathroom. Looking up, he realized the cider was hidden in an air duct in the ceiling. And this is where another signature Columbo move pays off. The lieutenant reads people well and he rarely passes judgment. He knows petty criminals and misdemeanants often make good informants just as well as military cadets who skirt the rules. Once Columbo assures the boys he is not going to turn them in, he asks them to tell him everything about the jug – who was responsible for it, when they hung it out the window, when it was pulled back in; once they share this information, the final puzzle piece snaps into place.

The boys tell Columbo the first time they hung the jug out was the night before Founder’s Day and it was removed before reveille the following morning at 6:30. This time frame allows Columbo to corner Rumford once and for all. Loomis goads Rumford into meeting him on the parade grounds under the pretext of having cracked the cider mystery. When Rumford sees the offending jug dangling out that same bathroom window, he order Loomis to bring the cadets out to be interrogated. But Rumford has walked into Columbo’s trap. As Rumford starts questioning the boys, Columbo interrupts to ask Rumford when he first saw the jug. Rumford lies, saying it was a few days before Founder’s Day. If that is the case, Columbo wonders, why did Rumford, who runs such a tight ship, wait all that time before asking Loomis to investigate? Rumford dodges, suggesting it might have been a different day, but Columbo is having none of it. The cadets (clearly on Columbo’s side) confirm that the jug was first put out the night before Founder’s Day and brought in early the next morning. Given this evidence, and Rumford’s prior statement that he had been in a staff meeting that night until 10 pm and then retired to his quarters and slept until reveille, Columbo points out that Rumford’s story is a lie. After all, even if Rumford had walked the parade grounds after the staff meeting it would have been too dark to see the jug and he could not have seen it after he woke up because Roy had already taken it down. No, Columbo says, the only time the jug could have been visible is in the early morning light right before Roy plucked it out of the window.

Check mate. And unlike other Columbo episodes where the lieutenant resorts to gimmickry to get a confession or incontrovertible evidence of guilt, Dawn’s is pure deductive reasoning, applying the facts to the evidence at hand in order to reach the logical conclusion. It is no surprise then that Rumford grudgingly acknowledges Columbo’s skill, while being unapologetic for the crime he committed. Two men met on the battlefield of adulthood, and it was a rout in Columbo’s favor.

Monday, May 20, 2024

Book Review - Nuclear War: A Scenario

Since the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, it is fair to say the threat of nuclear war has receded in the public’s mind. Sure, regional wars have broken out, terrorist attacks have taken place, and missile launches in the Korean peninsula raise the diplomatic temperature from time to time, but the existential, build-a-bomb-shelter-in-your-home level of fear that loomed over the world during the Cold War no longer exists. But if you long for the days of “stop, drop, and roll,” Annie Jacobsen’s Nuclear War: A Scenario is here to remind you that civilization as we know it could end in less time than it takes to watch a Columbo rerun.

The scenario of the book’s title is not far-fetched. A paranoid North Korean dictator sends a lone ICBM missile hurtling toward the United States. That act is the jumping off point for Jacobsen’s book, which proceeds in a tick-tock manner of minutes and seconds, jumping across time zones and countries, putting us in the rooms where decisions are being made, be it the White House, Pentagon, military bases across the globe, the Kremlin, or the capitals of our NATO allies. It would read like a high tech thriller if the stakes were not so high and the actions so possible.

Jacobsen has done her homework, the book is littered with interviews and quotes from the men and women who have been at the highest levels of government, the military commanders who have led strategic planning for a nuclear war, and the soldiers whose fingers have been on buttons that would send millions to their deaths. In other words, when Jacobsen puts words in the mouths of presidential advisers bickering in front of the President as to what protocols need to be followed or calls to be made as a nuclear missile bears down on the U.S. at Mach 6, she is not pulling these ideas out of thin air, but rather, using the input she has received to inform her story.

And it is a grim one. As that lone missile speeds toward Washington, D.C. in an attempted “decapitation” of our government, the President orders a retaliatory strike with more than 80 nukes, but as he is departing the White House, a second, submarine-based missile launches, its target a nuclear power plant in California. Things spiral quickly. Both bombs hit their marks. The President is taken out of action when he bails out of Marine One and suffers life threatening injuries, civilian and military leaders who attempt to alert the Russians we are not preemptively attacking them fail to do so, and a Russian counter strike results in a domino effect of the other nuclear powers launching their missiles in a “use them or lose them” strategy that erases much of humanity in a scant 72 minutes.

There is more, and Jacobsen is not stingy with the gory details. Bodies vaporized, buildings turned to ash, modern telecommunications eliminated, the sheer magnitude of the destruction is difficult for the human mind to process or envision, it truly is the stuff of nightmares. Underlying all of this is the futility of so much of what we have done to avoid this ending. We may comfort ourselves in the fiction that abstract ideas like the presidential line of succession or the use of special codes to launch these weapons will somehow save us (or at least protect us) from the worst case scenario, but the book makes clear that is not the case. To take one example, when the President parachutes out of Marine One and is seriously injured on landing, the military and civilian leadership who make it to some place called Site R (which is a real place and is in fact an underground nuclear bunker built into the side of a mountain in Pennsylvania) cannot locate him and do not know if he is alive or dead. While others within the line of succession may still be alive, one, the Secretary of Defense (fifth in line if you care) is on site and by default is determined to be the Acting President because decisions have to be made. In the end, does it matter? No, but the point is that policies are just abstractions when life and death decisions about the fate of humanity need to be made on the fly.  

Worse, Jacobsen makes clear (although does not explicitly say) that the trillions we have spent on defense can only do so much. *One* nuclear missile launched by the North Koreans evades any attempt to knock it down, triggering our response. The “red phone” between Washington and Moscow fails to keep the nation’s two leaders in touch to mitigate the risk of civilization-ending escalation. Even the consequences from the fact that the trajectory of our missiles, which breach Russian air space on their way to North Korea, appear not to have been considered in real life, yet that flight pattern is what convinces the Russians they too are under attack and poof, humanity ends shortly thereafter.

Jacobsen may have more accurately subtitled her book a worst case scenario because hey, it is possible our missile defense with a 50 percent failure rate might knock down an incoming ICBM or the President might be able to track down his Russian counterpart to assure him we are not preemptively attacking his country. Cooler heads may prevail and “only” a few nuclear warheads might deliver their lethal blows, but even those scenarios are hardly comforting. Little has changed since the 1983 movie War Games concluded that the only way to “win” the game of nuclear war is not to play it.

 

 

Monday, April 8, 2024

TV Review - Elsbeth

In the 1970s, Peter Falk’s Columbo perfected a specific form of TV murder mystery: the so-called “how” (as opposed to “who”) dun it. In today’s media environment, where shows like True Detective create byzantine, multi-layered storylines designed to keep viewers guessing about a killer’s identity, the idea that a show could be compelling and popular when we, the audience know “who” done it from the start is a radical idea. After all, how interesting can it be to watch the detective figure out what we already know?

But that is the genius of Columbo. Each episode started the same way: by establishing the relationship between the killer and the victim, the motivation for the murder, and the ways in which the killer tries to cover his or her tracks. After the deed was done, Columbo would make his rumpled entrance, cigar dangling from his mouth, a five-o’clock-shadow clinging to his jaw, and a skepticism that whatever explanation his fellow police officers came up with to explain the dead body was probably wrong. And then Columbo started to, in the parlance of our times, “cook.” It might be a clue at the scene of the crime everyone else missed or a stray comment by someone Columbo quickly sized up as a potential suspect, but whatever it was, he would methodically pull at that little thread until the entire case revealed itself to him. That Falk could make a foregone conclusion so compelling was a testament to his ownership of the role (one that garnered him multiple (and well-deserved) Emmy awards.  

In true TV fashion, what’s old is new again, and CBS has revived the “how dun it” with its Thursday night offering, Elsbeth. The surface similarities are obvious – like Columbo, Elsbeth’s first act is spent briefly establishing the relationship between murderer and victim, the crime itself, and the killer’s attempt to stage the crime scene in order to draw attention away from themselves. Also like Lieutenant Columbo, Elsbeth Tascioni is a bit of a fish out of water. Whereas Columbo could be mistaken for a civilian nosing around a crime scene, Elsbeth is a civilian nosing around a crime scene (albeit under the auspices of being a consent decree monitor for the NYPD) and has a sort of manic pixie girl all grown up and with a sleeker wardrobe vibe even as she is weighed down by the massive tote bags she slings over each shoulder. They are both a little pushy and detail oriented and are not put off by ignoring social cues or conventions. In the end, they get the goods on the killer and everyone (other than the victim) lives happily ever after.

And that, friends, is where the similarities end. While Elsbeth is a decent Columbo knock off, it falters in a few obvious ways. The primary reason is that while Columbo episodes typically ran anywhere from 65 to 85 minutes, Elsbeth must resolve her cases in a scant 42 to 44. That matters enormously. Everything about Columbo unfolded at greater length and with heightened tension – from the murder to the investigation, allowing suspense to build before the inevitable conclusion. Elsbeth just does not have that luxury, so everything seems slightly hurried, the visual equivalent of listening to a podcast at 1.5x speed. This matters because so much of the enjoyment you get from Columbo is the slow burn of the Lieutenant methodically working his way to the killer by deep diving into the evidence, catching the killer in small lies that lead to bigger lies to cover the smaller lies until finally, having cornered his prey, Columbo pounces. And while Elsbeth does engage in a similar form of investigation, the more limited run time simply does not give the story enough time to breathe.

Adding to this problem is that unlike Columbo, which focused solely on investigating the murder of the week, Elsbeth has a side kick (a beat cop named Kaya) and a B story (allegations that the precinct captain where she works is corrupt) further eating into the time the show might otherwise use focused on her murder investigation. The B plot does not add anything (at least not yet) and while the presence of an informal partner is fine, the other problem is that the device through which Elsbeth is getting to these crime scenes – the consent decree monitor – is a little clunky and probably escapes the casual viewer. In this way, the show is more like Monk, who was on retainer to the police but was understood to very much not be part of law enforcement. Elsbeth, on the other hand, lives in a murkier gray area resulting in her doing things that very much look like police work even though she is not one.

The other thing that made Columbo exceptional was the not-so-subtle anti-elitism written into its scripts. Columbo was often underestimated because he looked like he just rolled out of bed and appeared dim witted. His adversaries were smart, rich, and/or influential, and routinely turned up their noses at someone who they saw as lesser. Columbo would use their dismissiveness to his advantage. By the time he had pieced together the solution, it was too late for the killers to recognize Columbo used his intelligence, gift for observation, and dogged work ethic against them. But most (if not all) of that is missing in Elsbeth. She is a wealthy, successful criminal defense lawyer who decided to switch sides late in her career. Yes, she comes across as quirky and the cops and criminals alike roll their eyes at some of her behavioral tics, but it never gets much beyond that. Moreover, the whole “country mouse in the big city” vibe the first few episodes have leaned into (the touristy upper decker ride, the foam Statue of Liberty headwear, etc.) does not make a lot of sense considering her prior place of residence was Chicago (hardly a small town), so her awe and wonder at New York seems over-the-top.

All that said, Elsbeth is not without its charms. It nicely incorporates technology (the pilot episode involves a pilfered SIM card) and pop culture (the third episode focuses on the murder of a reality star modeled after The Real Housewives franchise) into its stories and Elsbeth is played with a lightness and whimsy that fits into the idea of New York as a place of unique characters. It remains to be seen whether Elsbeth will mature into the kind of show whose re-runs will air on a daily basis 55 years from now.


Thursday, March 7, 2024

So THAT Is What It Is Called

Just add on constant anxiety, and this has pretty much been my life for as long as I can remember, or at least the past several years but getting people to understand what it is like to live like this is almost impossible.