Some television characters just shouldn’t be together. I don’t care how much unresolved sexual tension there is or how funny the witty banter is or how much chemistry the two characters have. There are just some “will-they or won’t-they” couples who should absolutely won’t—because once you take away that conflict, the show and the two characters’ interactions become uninteresting. And this is no more truer than for Dr. Gregory House (Hugh Laurie) and Dr. Lisa Cuddy (Lisa Edelstein), whose relationship I’m still not over. Not only was it unnecessary, it ruined House by becoming the central focus of the show. READ FULL STORY
Tag: I'm Still Not Over... (1-10 of 35)
July 23rd is Batman Day, and I can think of no better way to celebrate 75 years of Batman stories than by looking at Justice League Unlimited‘s second season finale “Epilogue”—a Batman-centric episode that honors the character’s legacy, and one that I’m still not over.
Cartoon Network had yet to renew Justice League Unlimited for a third season when “Epilogue” was written, suggesting it was intended to bring the entire DC Animated Universe—which began in 1992 with the premiere of Batman: The Animated Series—to a close. The writers decided to end the DCAU where it all started. “Epilogue” finds a way to give the Batman character an ending that feels earned, and it reminds us of what made Batman so formidable and focuses on a side of him that often goes unnoticed.
Set 65 years in the future in the Gotham City of Batman Beyond, “Epilogue” drops a huge story bombshell: Terry McGinnis (Will Friedle)—the Batman of the future now that Bruce Wayne (Kevin Conroy) has retired—discovers he is Bruce Wayne’s biological son, the result of a genetic experiment that involved overwriting his father’s DNA with Bruce’s DNA. The sole purpose of this experiment: to create a new Batman. When Terry finds out, he assumes that Bruce has masterminded the plan out of his arrogant belief that the world couldn’t go on without him. Having witnessed Bruce’s life in his old age, Terry becomes afraid at the the new revelation; he fears being as alone, cold, and miserable as Bruce is. READ FULL STORY
There are several ways a character can exit ShondaLand: They might simply pick a new path in life. They might move to Switzerland. Or more than likely, they’ll die. But when it comes to how they’ll die, the options are limitless. Rhimes has killed characters in plane crashes and hospital bombings. She’s shot people point blank between the eyes. She’s drawn out a character’s death to give them ample time to say goodbye. She’s shocked viewers by killing others in the blink of an eye (and with a bus, no less). So years ago, when word got out that Tim Daly was leaving Private Practice after the show’s fifth season, fans instantly started to gossip.
The first question: Will Pete be killed? It actually felt unlikely, considering that Pete ended season five having been arrested for murder after illegally unplugging a patient at the request of the patient’s partner. All signs more or less pointed to Pete either going to jail or going on the run indefinitely. And one of those theories wasn’t all that far off. READ FULL STORY
One Tree Hill was a serious drama. It was about life and death and basketball and murder and high school and basketball and love and stalkers and brotherhood and basketball. (Plus, if the subject matter ever confused you and you found yourself doubting that the show was a drama, Chad Michael Murray looked like this 99 percent of the time.)
And like every good, very serious drama, One Tree Hill needed a villain. That villain materialized in the form of Dan Scott, the bad father-turned-murderer-turned-a-million-other-things, because this show seemed to never end and only got more ridiculous as time went on. But ironically enough, Dan Scott turned out to be one of the greatest television characters of all time—in an unintentionally comedic context. READ FULL STORY
If you name a character Olive Snook, she’s going to seem pretty flat. And amid the glittering chaos of Pushing Daisies, it would have been easy for Olive to spend the entire series as a one-off joke. She’s a comically inept waitress with a crush on her boss, Ned. She has a high, slightly irritating voice, and she usually misses the point of jokes. But then Kristin Chenoweth gets to sing. READ FULL STORY
Jesse Pinkman had it rough. So rough that, if you’re like me, you may feel a tear or two of happiness form in your eyes as you think about that final moment of a battered Jesse driving away, laugh-crying, finally (maybe) free. While, admittedly, some of Jesse’s problems stemmed from his own bad decisions, he became a character we rooted for, a character we wanted to see escape.
Jesse’s an addict, and in a society that tends to shun addicts, Jesse could have just been another one-dimensional worthless druggie. But Breaking Bad did something great by giving Jesse a conscience and a heart and humanity, qualities TV and movies often ignore when portraying addicts. We get to see Jesse’s complexity in the episode “Peekaboo” when he sets off to retrieve stolen money and drugs for Skinny Pete and ends up forming a bond with the offenders’ son, a toddler left alone at home. This kid, a red-headed little boy with snot dripping out of his nose and a Marshmallow Fluff mustache, is the product of two addicts much worse off than Jesse. When the parents finally do get home, they’re dirty, scabbed, and incoherent — not exactly the picture of good parents.
Jesse puts on a tough-guy face when he’s dealing with the couple, pointing a gun at them throughout his tirade and overall acting like a careless, violent man no better than Walter White. Unlike Walter though, Jesse still keeps the kid in mind during his mission. He panics when the kid goes missing, frantically asking the parents where he went. He berates the mother for not taking proper care of her son. At this point, protecting the child is as important to him as doing what he was there to do.
I owe Xena a lot. She came into my life when I was still very young, and she was the first on-screen example of a woman who could really hold her own. You want her to fight a man? Great, she’ll win. You want her to fight an entire army of men? Great, she’ll still win. And not only that, but Xena was also proof that a woman didn’t need a man or a significant other by her side. Even before Gabrielle joined her, Xena was fine. Putting aside her dark past, she was one heck of a role model. After all, she was the sole reason why I learned to appreciate a good war cry.
Growing up, my brother and I watched both Xena and Hercules religiously. And when the shows would have crossover episodes in which Xena and Hercules would make out? Oh yeah, those were the best days. As a child, those days ranked just below snow days on the scale of awesomeness, and that’s saying a lot.
But even when Hercules would come around, he would save her and she would save him. She was never a damsel any more than he was. Honestly, as ridiculous as it sounds, I attribute my strength as a young woman to my mother and to Xena.
In fact, even my mother wishes she were Xena. For years, she has taught sales workshops in which she plays, “Who am I?” She allows the group to ask her five closed-ended questions and one open-ended question, after which they’re always able to guess that she’s Xena. And you know why she wants to be her? Because Xena is strong. Xena is powerful. And Xena can pretty much fly.
So you can imagine the horror I felt when the television show ended with the warrior queen of all warriors dying. And by dying, I mean being decapitated. Here’s how the story went: READ FULL STORY
Some shows stay on the air for so long, there’s seemingly no end in sight (Grey’s Anatomy, I’m looking at you), and others, like United States of Tara, leave us far too soon. The Showtime dramedy focused on a woman with dissociative identity disorder (what you may know as multiple personality disorder) and how she and her family deal with her many alters. And after three seasons on the air, it was canceled.
Mental illness isn’t something usually depicted on television in a realistic, humanizing way, if it’s even depicted at all. But United States of Tara gave the television world a show that was all about mental illness and all about, in a way, normalizing mental illness. Tara’s a mom and a wife and a sister and a student and an occasionally working woman. She’s functioning. It just so happens that when she gets overwhelmed, she morphs into one of her alters (ranging from a male troublemaker to a wannabe Stepford Wife). To us viewers who may not have experience with dissociative identity disorder, we may be surprised each time it happens. How did this mom just turn into a crop-top-wearing teen? But to Tara’s family, it’s just a part of Tara. They’ve figured out what to do when each alter comes out, and even have individual relationships with them, going as far as to express joy when Alice, the tidy one, comes back or when T, the teenager, appears. It’s a giant lesson in acceptance and an even bigger lesson in understanding — both areas we could all use a little help in. READ FULL STORY
Of all the Super Bowl commercials to make me cry, I never suspected that watching an M&M get kidnapped would push me over the edge. And yet, when I saw Rade Serbedzija threatening to chop up the yellow M&M, I was simultaneously paralyzed with fear and overcome with sadness. But why?
Surprisingly, this wasn’t about my irrational love of chocolate. It was about Serbedzija. I knew his face, and it only took me seconds to place him. He was the evil poacher from Mighty Joe Young! Just like that, my tears made sense.
Mighty Joe Young tells the story of Jill, who, as a young child, witnesses poachers killing her mother (along with a mother gorilla). She then promises her mom that she will take care of the baby gorilla who was also orphaned in the hunt. Flash-forward 12 years, and Joe — the gorilla — has outgrown his fellow gorillas due to a genetic abnormality. Thanks to his size, he’s not accepted by other gorillas and spends most of his time hanging out with Jill (played by Charlize Theron). At this point, if you’re thinking that this sounds a lot like King Kong, you’re not far off. However, instead of climbing the Empire State Building, Joe climbs a Ferris wheel. But I’ll get to that.
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People die a lot in Six Feet Under. In (almost) every episode, in fact. But five seasons of at least one death per episode didn’t prepare me for Nate (Peter Krause) biting the bullet in “All Alone,” the third-to-last episode of the series.
Nate finds out he has a deadly brain problem called an AVM in the first season, so he decides to get a risky surgery to fix it. We’re prepared for his death at this point– he sets up his affairs, even discussing his funeral wishes with brother David (Michael C. Hall). But he survives the surgery, and he’s in the clear. So we think. At the end of the last season, Nate’s AVM returns and he almost dies, but doesn’t. He’s in the clear again! Phew. Except not actually, because he suddenly passes away in his hospital bed post-surgery. This isn’t even the worst part though. The worst part is the episode following his death, the one showing everyone dealing — or not dealing, in classic Fisher fashion– with it.
The raved-about finale is powerful and beautiful, no doubt. Seeing everyone meet their respective ends was a tear-fest, not only because six — six! — major characters died, but because realizing that everyone does indeed die, even fictional TV characters, is brutal. In the finale though, we don’t get to see how anyone responded to those deaths. In “All Alone,” the response to death is all we see.
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