Resuscitate Your Television

I used to have a bumper sticker on my car that read in stark black lettering: Kill Your Television. This was back when I was working a night shift job and was largely immune to the temptations of series television. I was also in the middle of working on a degree in literature which meant that I had to read a lot.

Needless to say, those days lie far in the distant past, and I now embrace my addiction to television with all the passionate fervor of a heroin junkie. I also now drive a different car and read shitty student papers for a living, so you can see how unfair it would be to hold me to the idealistic vinyl banners of my youth. Right?

Anyway, I'm totally excited about TV today because I will shortly begin a marathon session of watching it, with its red carpets and breathless correspondents and shiny dresses and declining audience numbers. Oh Oscar.

I'm very much looking forward to Jon Stewart's final year as host of the Academy Awards. Not to say that I don't think he will be as subversively charming as he always is on The Daily Show. In fact, I fully expect him to bite the hand that is feeding him, precisely because he is exactly the kind of host that doesn't give a shit whether or not the collected glitterati of Hollywood love him or not. Just as David Letterman and Chris Rock had little use for the approval of Hollywood's finest, I'm sure Stewart will deliver an evening of biting satire, effectively dowsing the tuxedo-clad and evening-gown-wearing audience at the Kodak Theatre with comedic ice water, while we at home enjoy the simultaneous pleasures of reveling in the self-congratulatory excess of Hollywood's premiere awards ceremony while the kid in the back of the class pisses all over it.

My prediction: Stewart will be reliably hilarious, but will not be invited back next year, when Billy Crystal becomes available again.

Anyway, I may yet get to posting my Oscar picks, but let me turn my attention now to the other jewels that my TV friend has to offer.

First off, let's look at the promo image for the upcoming new (and possibly final) season of The Sopranos. I love the subtly confident way in which HBO presents these images. The only copy on the print ads is simply to inform you of the day and time of the season premiere. The rest of the promo serves as a family portrait of both the cast and the Soprano family itself, and is loaded with tantalizing symbols of each character's storyarc in the season to come.

I should mention at this point that I have seen only the first two seasons of The Sopranos, so as far as the show's continuity is concerned, I am three seasons behind. However, this will be the first time that I have had access to HBO when a new season has begun, and I fully intend to dive in without bothering to read/watch up on the previous seasons. The following analysis of the promo image, then, is based almost entirely on my reading of the image itself, and incorporates little prior knowledge of the past season's storyline.

The setting of the image is the dining room of the Soprano home. Tony slumps in his chair as if he has settled in for a TV watching session of his own. But Tony has never struck me as the TV watching type, probably because he owns a strip club. Furthermore, he holds a cigar in his hand rather than a remote, and his gaze is not one of passive absorption in a game or a program, but the distracted inner gaze of a man lost in thought (or aware that he is being looked at from behind). Though he is wearing a suit jacket, his collar is open and his shirt is rumpled, indicating he has come to the end of a long, possibly active day (and fans will have a good idea of what kind of physical activity Tony has been engaged in).

Tony dominates the image, taking up the entire bottom half of the frame. His slouched posture suggests that although he might be the immediate center of attention, he is visually sliding out of the frame. The only other seated character in the image is the informant Big Pussy, whose ultimate fate has long been sealed. But even Pussy is more stable in this image than Tony, and Tony's body position is that of one who, either by choice or (more likely) by the position he finds himself is, is slowly losing the central position among the people that surround him.

The only character in the image who seems to be looking directly at Tony is Pussy, the betrayer. Every other character is either looking away from Tony (as each of his direct family members are doing) or trying to see whatever it is in front of Tony (as each of his most loyal followers are doing). That Tony is not looking at whatever is in front of him (his future?) suggests that he has, at least in his mind, removed himself from direct involvement with his crime family. They may follow him wherever he leads, but Tony is not concentrating on his next move, a surely fatal state of mind.

I love how Carmela and Dr. Melfi are positioned in this image. They appear to be looking in the same direction, above and away from Tony, but Melfi's image is ghostly, insubstantial. Melfi is either being reflected off the glass door (in which case she is in the same room as Tony, but out of the image) or she is trapped behind the door, waiting for Tony to notice and release her (which, considering his distracted gaze, seems unlikely). The upward gaze of both women indicates a forward-looking, if not optimistic, stance; Carmela's gaze is almost melancholic, and her body is positioned as one walking away from the home and all it contains. Significantly, the tree behind her in the image is the only one with leaves remaining on it. The leaves have turned, suggesting Carmela has only a limited amount of time remaining in which to make her life decision--to stay with Tony or finally reclaim her own life.

Interestingly, the trees behind the other characters are long dead, suggesting their fates were sealed along with their loyalty to Tony.

Tony's swimming pool, the site of his introduction to us in the first episode of the series, is covered. There will be no ducks landing here this season, though the pool cover is a misleading shade of chlorinated blue. Tony may still have some remnant of the hope and possibility for escape that the ducks symbolized, but it is a false optimism. Tony's fate, like the pool, is sealed.

Tony's children, positioned directly behind his head, offer interesing insights into the future of the Soprano family. A.J. slouches like his father and his gaze is sullen, as if his prospects were limited. His jacket, colored forest green, suggests he may have some hope for continued growth, but this hope, like his spine, is stunted. Meadow, on the other hand, wears a relatively bright shade of blue (or at least as bright as this picture will allow), a more natural shade of water than that of Tony's covered pool. It is an oceanic blue, suggesting the hidden depths of this college graduate. Her head is tilted and her gaze is one of curious engagement with the future; she, of all the characters in this image, is the only one who looks like she might manage to escape with some hope of a self-made life. Ironically, I think Meadow is the character most likely to inherit Tony's empire and keep it alive. She is not the blindly loyal follower that Christopher, her only rival for the empire, is, nor has she become as spiritually damaged by Tony as her brother or mother have been. Meadow may be the only character in this cold portrait to come out with her sense of self intact, not unlike her conflicted father must once have done, long ago.
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In case you needed yet another media outlet to point you toward one of the most horrificly insightful portraits of the state of our troubled union, this from the "Television" segment of "The Week Ahead" in today's NYT:

"Speaking of social relevance, do you think you're too cool to watch Battlestar Galactica? Because you're not. . . More people need to watch this show, as it's one of the best on television."
Among other touchstones of our decaying culture, the characters of BG have recently outlawed abortion (in the interests of preserving an endangered species), let religious convictions infiltrate their administrative policies, hidden a mixed race child from its evil progenitors, and justified toture, discrimination, and assassination in the name of survival. Never forget, kids, that science fiction lets you get away with all kinds of pointed commentary that you will never find on a cable news channel.

When the current season of Galactica ends this week, the Sci-Fi Channel will provide American audiences with their first glimpse of the rivaltalized Doctor Who, the only show I have ever felt compelled to represent in costume at a SF convention. There's a nice write-up on it in the NYT today, though the article mostly concentrates on the sexual preference of the show's new producer.
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OK, I'm going to review the ballot, and then I'll be back with Oscar picks, only hours before the ceremony begins. At this point, my picks will mainly serve as a source of derision tomorrow for anyone who reads them today. Meh.