So, about what happened in the Sept of Baelor…
If you watched “Breaker of Chains,” the Game of Thrones episode that aired Sunday night, you were probably shocked by a scene in which Jaime Lannister rapes his twin sister, Cersei, by the body of their dead son, the murdered kinglet Joffrey. Not that this would necessarily be a great surprise: Game of Thrones is famous, after all, for its ugly shocks (beheaded Ned, the Red Wedding, the Purple Wedding…)
But this shock, I think, was unintentional—or rather, not the particular shock that showrunners David Benioff and D.B. Weiss had intended.
The scene was based on a passage in the George R.R. Martin novel A Storm of Swords (from which this season of the show is principally adapted). But the scene is different in a few relatively minor details and in one major one: in the book the sex, however illicit and appalling, is consensual.
Dissecting “A Day’s Work,” the second episode of the seventh season
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Our roundtable on “Breaker of Chains,” the third episode of the HBO show’s fourth season.
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Orphan Black had me worried for a bit.
The trailer for the second season of BBC America’s relentlessly entertaining series made the show look like a dark, slick techno-drama—all rain and trip-hop and guns. Saturday’s premiere opens in that mode: Protagonist Sarah Manning runs frantically through a storm, takes refuge in an empty diner, and has a violent confrontation with goons who seem like they’d be pals with The Matrix’s Agent Smith.
Uh-oh. Had Orphan Black decided to go all-in on the dystopian-thriller vibe you’d expect from a show about human clones hunted by religious cults and scientific cabals? If so, that would mean ditching a lot of what made the first season so lovable: the cheeky humor, the manic tone switches, the satirical edge, and the excellent hijinks provided by Tatiana Maslany playing more than a half-dozen different characters with distinct personalities.
Luckily, after the premiere’s title sequence, we learn that this remains basically the same series as before.
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Piper Chapman is the protagonist of Netflix’s Orange Is the New Black. But Taylor Schilling’s Brooklyn-dwelling yuppie spending a year in prison isn’t the star of the show, not really. That honor goes to the wide ensemble of her fellow inmates—characters like Suzanne “Crazy Eyes” Warren, Galina “Red” Reznikov, and Sophia Burset, all of whose stubborn pride in the face of mistreatment by the world provides the series’ hilarious, heartbreaking appeal.
The show’s creator, Jenji Kohan, seems to realize this fact, saying that the white, middle-class Piper was the “Trojan Horse” that allowed her to secure funding and viewership for a show with such a diverse cast. In the first season, Schilling did a fine job portraying a woman whose false cheer and sense of superiority slowly, necessarily erodes in her new environment. But now that Orange Is the New Black has built a devoted following that fills Tumblrs full of GIFed quips from secondary characters, the best thing it could do in its sophomore set of episodes would be to ease up on Piper’s screen time so we can better know the other women at Litchfield.
Happily, the trailer released today hints that might be what happens when the show returns on June 6th.
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The ’90s were golden years for Nickelodeon. The children’s cable television network was home to now cult-classic shows like Are You Afraid of the Dark? (1991-2000), Clarissa Explains It All (1991-’94), The Secret Life of Alex Mack (1994-’98), and Salute Your Shorts (1991-’92)—arguably heretofore unmatched in their clever, un-condescending approach to entertaining young people. Nick News with Linda Ellerbee launched in 1992, and remains to this day one of the only shows on-air devoted to frank, engaging discussions of teen issues and opinions.
But perhaps the program that best embodied the values of Nick in those years was All That, a sketch-comedy show that premiered 20 years ago today. Created by Brian Robbins and Mike Tollin, All That ran for an impressive 10 seasons before it was canceled in 2005. The prolific franchise spawned a number of spin-offs (Good Burger, Kenan & Kel, The Amanda Show) and launched the careers of several comedy mainstays: Kenan Thompson, Amanda Bynes, Nick Cannon, and Taran Killam.
Like Saturday Night Live (which would later hire Thompson and Killam), All That was a communal pop-cultural touchstone. The parents of ’90s kids had the Church Lady, “more cowbell,” and Roseanne Roseannadanna; the kids themselves, though, had Pierre Escargot, “Vital Information,” and Repairman Man Man Man, and we recited their catch-phrases to one another in the cafeteria and on the playground. Although All That was clearly designed as a SNL, Jr., of sorts, it wasn’t merely starter sketch comedy—it was an admittedly daring venture for a children’s network to embark on.
In its own right, All That was a weirdly subversive little show. It never explicitly crossed the line into “mature” territory, but it constantly flirted with the limits of FCC-approved family-friendliness. Take, for instance, the “Ask Ashley” sketch. A barely tween-aged Amanda Bynes (Seasons Three to Six), played an adorably wide-eyed video advice-columnist. Ashley (“That’s me!”) would read painfully dimwitted letters from fans with clearly solvable problems. (Example: “Dear Ashley, I live in a two-story house and my room is upstairs. Every morning, when it’s time to go to school, I jump out the window. So far I’ve broken my leg 17 times. Do you have any helpful suggestions for me?”) She would wait a beat, smile sweetly into the camera, then fly into a manic rage; emitting a stream of G-rated curses, always tantalizingly on the verge of spitting a true obscenity into the mix.
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“This is a true story,” announces the onscreen text. We see a snow-swept road and the headlights of a distant car. As it approaches, once-mournful strings rise to a crashing crescendo, punctuated by… sleigh bells.
I refer, of course, to Fargo. But not to Fargo, the 1996 Coen brothers film. No, I refer to Fargo, the new FX series making its debut tonight. The familiar elements are all there: the sad-sack salesman and female cop and murderous drifter; the car crash and ill-fated traffic stop and grisly murders; the semi-arctic setting and “Minnesota nice” accents offering up yahs and you betchas and fer Pete’s sakeses. But they’re scrambled into unexpected sequences and patterns. This is not a remake. It’s a remix.
The idea of making Fargo into a TV show has been around almost since the movie itself hit theaters, and it’s always seemed to me a terrible one given the idiosyncratic nature of the source material. In 1997 a pilot was even shot, though never picked up, featuring a pre-Sopranos Edie Falco in the role of Marge Gunderson, the iconic police chief played by Frances McDormand in the film. But the FX show takes a different approach from such would-be sequels, bringing back not the original characters but instead merely their types. And the result is, to my considerable surprise, very, very good.
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My father saw one episode of Mad Men and refused to watch any more. “You don’t make great ads by drinking and screwing all day!” was his angry objection to a show that he felt insulted the work he’d given his best years to.
As creative director at the Detroit ad agency Campbell-Ewald during precisely the same years that Mad Men portrays, my father, Thomas Murray, had poured his heart into making better advertising for what was the biggest client in the world, General Motors.
And now some TV creeps were going to use all that as a stylish backdrop for a drama about decadence?
Over his dead body.
Since Dad died in 2009, I’ve been researching the contribution he and the other 1960s ad men made in the hopes of helping Mad Men fans learn what they missed by seeing that world through the filter of Don Draper’s preposterous drinking and casual sex. In a memoir I’m working on, I hope to commemorate the earnest, occasionally fierce, and almost moral devotion of 1960s advertising people to making more communicative, more candid, more human advertising for conservative corporate clients.
Yes, but what about all the interoffice grab-ass? Was it really like that?
I’d say no, except I’m the product of it—but of a version that also contrasts significantly with the portrayal in Mad Men, and connects more coherently with how we live and work today.
Read more. [Image courtesy of David Murray]
Our roundtable discusses the first episode of the seventh season.
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Our roundtable on “The Lion and the Rose,” the second episode of HBO show’s fourth season.
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