Category Archives: television
MICHAEL B. JORDAN
Born: February 9, 1987 in Santa Ana, CA
“I want to do everything. I’m a producer at heart. Eventually, when I can produce the way I want to, my acting’s going to help fuel that. And not just vehicles for myself – I’m a member of this film society, and I want to contribute. If you’re in the industry, you can’t just take from it; you have to deposit something back to keep it going for the next generation.”
Rocket Raccoon of “Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy” has always maintained that there “aint no thing like me. Except me.” Now we get some background on his tragic origins when the Guardians visit Halfworld. Meet me after the hyperspace jump for my thoughts on “We Are Family.”
In last week’s episode of “The Walking Dead” we met a swamp walker. It was special effects supervisor and co-executive producer Greg Nicotero’s tribute to artist Bernie Wrightston, the co-creator of Swamp Thing. While cupid shot his arrows into Abe and Miss Sasha, our little stud muffin, Daryl, lost his bike and crossbow. The stranger who took Daryl’s prized possessions was Dwight. It was a wild episode and we were left with so many questions. Why is the wall in Alexandria bleeding? Who was calling out for help on the walkie? Will Morgan the Zen master get an ultimatum from Rick? Hopefully, all three questions will be answered. Read the rest of this entry
You wake up and you don’t remember anything at all from the last twenty-four hours. All you have is a countdown number tattoo on the back of your neck, and it’s ticking away. Somebody call The Doctor! Pulling together several of the themes of “Doctor Who” this season, this one may break some of your hearts, so bring tissues. Meet me after the time and space jump for my thoughts on “Face the Raven.”
It begins with an act of war. Years ago, humanity and the Cylons fought a destructive war to a draw, so the Cylons withdrew. For forty years, nobody heard a peep from them, this rebellious robot race that humans had created. Each year, the armistice dictated they would meet at a distant outpost, a lonely space station hanging in the void. Each year, humans sent a representative, and the Cylons never showed. As the pilot to the brilliant reboot of Battlestar Galactica begins, a military attaché finds himself nodding off, probably for the tenth year running, sitting at a desk contemplating the empty hallway where the Cylons have again failed to appear. He glances at a folder of specs, centurion designs, the robot soldiers familiar to viewers of the original 1978 series. With a pneumatic whoosh and a clang, the far door opens. The startled attaché stares agog as two strange new centurions march into view, forbidding machine-guns protruding from their fists. They come to attention and the guns transform into only slightly less disturbing long fingered hands. But they’re not the strangest sight. For what comes through the door next is a beautiful human woman, in a captivating red dress suit. She draws uncomfortably close, studying him intently, and asks “are you alive?” “Yes,” he says breathlessly. “Prove it,” she demands, coming in close and they kiss. Outside, the station is engulfed in the titanic shadow of a Cylon base star, a missile arcing toward it and exploding. As she kisses the now terrified man, she says “it has begun.” The deadly hook is baited, and we’re plunged into the genocidal hell of Battlestar, in my book right up there with The Wire for one of the best series of the 2000s.
In 1977, when other kids were discovering The Sex Pistols, I was discovering The Love Boat. I stayed at my grandparents’ house on most weekends, so on Saturday nights at 8 p.m., I’d settle down on the sofa with the two of them to watch Aaron Spelling’s marine masterpiece. This column is my attempt to reclaim the wonder of those weekends.
Other than a nameless Venom appearance, I can’t really figure out what the point of this episode really is. We have a wild goose chase, with little logic to the plot, if there is one. It’s fun, yes, but nowhere near as much fun as the first few episodes of “Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy.” Meet me after the hyperspace jump for my brief thoughts on “Hitchin’ a Ride.”
“Ninety percent of everything is crud.” – Theodore Sturgeon
Hello, and welcome to another installment of “The Ten Percent,” a regular column where every other week we’ll take a look at the inverse of Sturgeon’s Law; in other words, the small portion of everything which is not crud. Remember, for each film or television show that gets people talking years or even decades after its premiere, there are hundreds of others that peeked out just once and then (thankfully) disappeared. Those are the 90%, but the remaining Ten Percent are the works that stand the test of time.
Rock-a-bye beastie! This season of “American Horror Story” is crazier than ever. On last week’s episode we were shown the connection between Murder House and Hotel with the birth of baby Bartholomew. Holy fangs! This kid has a face that only a mother could love. Lady Gaga was at her best last week as the countess who hates to share. There’s some construction going on over at Hotel Hell. Will the construction workers find another secret room? Will they live to tell about it? Read the rest of this entry