Category Archives: Television

Am I cut out to be a Mad Man?

When Kathryn corrected me on the title of the TV show “Mad Men” (and she was right; it was two words), I went to the official site to check — and ran into a thing where you can build your own Mad Men avatar.

So, being unemployed, I did. Well, there’s more to it than that. Being unemployed, and having recently taken a couple of mild forays into consulting in the advertising field (in fact, I’m sitting in the offices of an ad agency as I type this), I thought I’d see how I looked in that milieu.

Not so great, as it turned out. But I did manage to get myself into a scene with Joan Holloway, if only in caricature…

Christina Hendricks: Our Mrs. Reynolds is back!

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Not being a guy who watches much TV — I tend to watch shows after they’re canceled, on DVD — I was very pleased when I started watching “Mad Men” (which hasn’t been canceled yet, but with me watching it it’s only a matter of time) and saw “Joan Holloway.” And pleased for reasons other than the obvious.

This was the only time I had ever seen her other than her two appearances on the tragically short-lived “Firefly,” as “Our Mrs. Reynolds” — a.k.a. Saffron, a.k.a. Bridget, a.k.a. Yolanda — and “Trash.”

So my reaction on seeing her in the current series was to think, “Where’s she been?” Turns out she was on TV all the time.

Her specialty is playing a “bad girl” with a certain amount of wit. For instance, she’s the only actress I can think of offhand who can pull off a line like “But I’m really hot!” (spoken to Capt. Mal Reynolds) in a way that makes you laugh and agree with her at the same time (and yell at the TV, “Look out, Mal!”). Anyway, I’m glad to see she’s working…

Peter, you left out the “lashing” part

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Hmmm… After taking up the cudgels for John O’Connor and others in the media whom my friend Peter Hamby says the governor “lashed out” at and “blasted” today, I saw the video clip above.

What I saw, and what you will probably see as well, is the usual, casual, lollygaggin’ Mark Sangfroid delivery, delivered complete with little chuckles thrown in — not exactly a foaming rant. (Which means that, while I hear the guy really has a temper, I still have never really seen it fully on display.) More of a passive-aggressive sort of delivery.

Missing is what in text seems like the worst part of the session, which is what really set me off (everyone knows I have a temper), and which Peter describes thusly:

Sanford singled out John O’Connor — a political reporter for South Carolina’s largest newspaper, The State — and accused the newspaper of covering the political back-and-forth over the travel controversy while skimming over Sanford’s arguments defending himself.

Sanford took one question, but refused several others. But when O’Connor asked a question about private flights that Sanford failed to report on public disclosures, the governor became irritable.

“John, we’re not going to play your game,” he said, jabbing his finger in the reporter’s direction. “I don’t work for you.”

Wish that part was on the video.

Now, I just think Sanford was taking unfair advantage of his bully pulpit to make the press the issue rather than his own misconduct. But he did it without the ill grace of a Spiro Agnew. He was affable about it. Which means he still has his equanimity. Which you can see as good or bad. Personally, I’d like to see a guy who was feeling that pressure and moving a little closer to changing his mind about himself. But I don’t see that, either.

What do y’all think?

Our governor certainly doesn’t lack for gall

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Today, our governor, increasingly detached from reality, lashed out at the media. At least, he did according to CNN’s Peter Hamby:

(CNN) – South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford lashed out at the media on Friday, admonishing reporters at a press conference for their coverage of the multiple investigations into his travel expenses.

“One of the frankly disappointing things I’ve seen in several instances here over the last 60 days of my life since I’ve been through this thing is that in some cases it’s not been about objective journalism, its been about advocacy journalism with an agenda,” he said.

Sanford was in the town of Conway revealing his plans to waive confidentiality in a state Ethics Commission investigation into his use of state airplanes and taxpayer-funded travel, a move that will allow to the public to view the results of the probe.

But the governor, who has adopted an increasingly combative tone in recent days, also blasted members of the state legislature for being hypocritical, accusing them of spending state money on travel as well. He called on members of Senate and House to make their travel documents public.

Then he turned his sights on the South Carolina press corps, with whom he had a largely cordial relationship before he turned the state’s political world upside down in June by copping to an extramarital affair with an Argentine woman. He chided the media for its coverage of his travel record and said he has been an excellent steward of taxpayer money, unlike previous administrations…

… and I trust Peter’s account. He’s young, but steady.

The nerve of this guy Mark Sanford. With all of this insanity that he’s dragged us through because of his own narcissistic little drama, and which he keeps dragging us through, he has the unmitigated gall to lash out at the hard-working people who are merely reporting it to the people of South Carolina. Every day, he amazes me a little more.

I call your attention in particular to this passage:

Sanford singled out John O’Connor — a political reporter for South Carolina’s largest newspaper, The State — and accused the newspaper of covering the political back-and-forth over the travel controversy while skimming over Sanford’s arguments defending himself.

Sanford took one question, but refused several others. But when O’Connor asked a question about private flights that Sanford failed to report on public disclosures, the governor became irritable.

“John, we’re not going to play your game,” he said, jabbing his finger in the reporter’s direction. “I don’t work for you.”

Ah, but see, governor, that’s the thing — you do work for John. And you also work for the other four million-plus people of this state, which includes Andre Bauer, and most emphatically includes the many, many of us who believe your one great remaining chance to perform a service for this state is to take Andre up on his offer and resign. If you do that, we no longer have to be subjected to this farce of having you as governor, and will be spared the risk of having Andre elected in 2010.

But as each day goes by, with each outburst from you that we witness or hear of, our hope that you will come to your senses and do the right thing fades.

We deserve better than this.

Just look down at your shoes and walk away, gov

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Last night while channel-surfing and finding nothing good, I stopped for a moment on an old “Roseanne” episode. The plot was about as tacky as you can imagine: Roseanne was concerned about her daughter’s sex life, of all things, and was nagging her husband (John Goodman) to talk to the daughter’s husband about it (at least, I hope he was her husband).

Goodman, of course, refused. Under the Guy Code, that was not a permissible topic. Sports, cars, whatever, but not personal relationships. Roseanne was disgusted with him, but he was adamant.

Next scene, Goodman is in the breakroom at work, and another guy (I’m gathering he was Roseanne’s sister’s husband) starts trying to get a conversation going about relationships and sex. Finally, he’s so obvious about it that the daughter’s husband storms out, realizing the topic is his own sex life. Goodman reproaches the guy who brought up the topic, saying he knew Roseanne had put him up to it.

This causes an argument in which the other guy reveals something intimate that he knows about Goodman and his wife, and Goodman counters with something equally personal and inappropriate. Then he stops, shocked, and says something like “We know way too much.” A shocked pause, then he says (more or less), “There’s nothing to do now except to look down at our shoes and quickly walk away.”

Both men simultaneously break eye contact, jerking their heads downward to look at their feet, and walk quickly from the room via separate doors.

Which is what any man with any self respect would do. And it’s what Mark Sanford should have done some time ago — certainly before that bizarre interview that came out yesterday.

Der Führer pans the new “Star Trek”

Saw this video spoof earlier in the week and meant to share it. Since I hadn’t posted anything all day, I might as well post it now.

Think of the creative energy it takes to produce something like that on YouTube, and the site is just full of stuff like that.

This was brought to my attention by my high school classmate Burl Burlingame, who blogs out of Honolulu. He works for the Star-Bulletin. Aside from the fact that he still has his job, he and I have been on parallel tracks lately. He also just fell into the twin traps of Facebook and Twitter, so we have commiserated this week.

Burl and I graduated from Radford High School in 1971. You may recall I wrote something about those days in my column last fall, “Barack Like Me.” Burl got into journalism earlier than I did; he published an underground newspaper at Radford. The one thing I remember clearly about that was that he used to refer to our principal, who was virtually never seen by the students (I never saw him that whole senior year, although I knew people who said they’d met him), as “the Ghost Who Walks.” The principal’s name was Yamamoto. Not the admiral who planned the Pearl Harbor attack; another Yamamoto. (Actually, come to think of it, he could have been the admiral for all we knew, since we never saw him.)

It’s particularly meaningful to me that Burl posted something making fun of Nazis. You may have noted that the lede story in The State today was about a high school prank. A particularly nasty, destructive high school prank, but still a senior prank. Our senior prank at Radford back in 71 was less destructive, but more creative.

About a dozen of us staged a revolution to take over the school. Or rather, in guerrilla fashion, we took over a classroom at a time and quickly moved on. We wielded water guns, and wore rather elaborate paramilitary costumes. Most of us had recently seen Woody Allen’s “Bananas,” and were largely inspired by that, only we were far more international. Our leader was Steve Clark, who was dressed in full military regalia as “El Presidente.” He spoke only Spanish in keeping with his character, which no one but I understood, so I translated all of his commands, being second in command. My character’s back story was that I had been a top officer in the Israeli Defense Force but had been drummed out for something or other and had turned mercenary. Overly elaborate, perhaps, and the nuances were probably not obvious to our audience, but we didn’t care.

Burl’s character was an unrepentant old Nazi whom we had found hiding in Argentina, loudly fulminating at everyone in a vaudeville German accent. He would particularly abuse me, since my character was supposed to be Jewish, and of course I would take offense, and our comrades would have to separate us to prevent violence. Yes, it was that politically incorrect. We wanted to be edgy, and thought ethnic humor, even ethnic humor that dark, to be funny, a la Mel Brooks with “Springtime for Hitler.” We were kids, and stupid. Or rather, a little too “clever” for our own good.

We were most successful in taking over Mrs. Burchard’s English class. Mrs. Burchard was my favorite teacher ever. You can see a picture of her on that same page that I linked to about Mr. Yamamoto, on the virtual yearbook that (I think) Burl put together a few years back. (Cute, isn’t she?) She was a real sport, and played along. When some of her underclassmen students failed to give El Presidente proper respect (as we defined it), we lined them up against the blackboard and hosed them down with the water guns — but only after Mrs. Burchard had fallen on her knees before us to beg us to spare them. She was awesome.

The revolution ended badly, as most do. Some juniors mounted a counterattack on our position, and I caught a water balloon in the groin. C’est la guerre.

Ya know what I think I might do?…

Surfing channels a few minutes ago, I ran into an Andy Griffith gem that I had to go to Facebook and share with my oldest friend in the newspaper biz, Richard Crowson (you know, the cartoonist who got laid off about six months before Robert and I did). I wrote to him:

You know what I just saw, not two minutes ago? Andy and Barney were just a-settin’ on the porch, talking about going downtown to get a bottle of pop. Andy allowed as how he reckoned it might be a good idea, and Barney he said the same right back at him, and they were poised to act upon the suggestion when they noticed the fella they were a-settin’ thar with had fallen asleep, and the episode ended on that high note.

Deeply satisfying.

May none of y’all will appreciate that the way Richard would, but I pass it on just in case.

Here’s the actual dialogue:

Andy: You know what would be a good idea? If we all went up town and got a bottle of pop?
Barney: That’s a good idea, if we all went up town to get a bottle of pop.
Andy: You think Mr. Tucker would like to go?
Barney: Why don’t we ask him…..if he’d like to go uptown to get a bottle of pop?
Andy: Mr. Tucker?
(No response from Mr. Tucker)
Andy: You wanna lets me and you go?
Barney: Where?
Andy: Uptown to get a bottle of pop?
(Camera pans to a sleeping Mr. Tucker, with a completly peeled apple skin dangling from
his hand.)

I’ll go to bed now and stop bothering y’all.

Getting paid to have a blast: Working with Robert

By BRAD WARTHEN
Editorial Page Editor
REMEMBER “The Dick Van Dyke Show”? For you younger folks, it was about a guy named Rob Petrie, the head writer for a fictional variety show (and if you’re too young to know what a “variety show” is, go look it up) called “The Alan Brady Show.”

There were these wonderful scenes of Rob and his colleagues at work, writing comedy sketches — a process that involved a lot of bouncing around the office, acting out and collaborative improvisation. Morey Amsterdam’s frenetic character would jump up and say something like, “OK, so Alan walks into the room…” and the other two would throw in various wild things until they made each other laugh, and the skit would take shape. It looked like the most fun a person could possibly get paid for having.

That’s what it’s been like working with my friend Robert Ariail over the past 15 years. Just like that.

Robert would come into my office after the other editors and I were done with our morning meeting (Robert doesn’t do meetings), usually with several sketches. Sometimes he’d come with nothing, but that was unusual. I’d react to the sketches, maybe suggesting dialogue changes, maybe an entirely different approach. Robert pays me the compliment of saying I think like a cartoonist. And I do. I have everything it takes — except the talent.

Robert has truckloads of that. He can sketch an idea as quickly as you can describe it, and many of those initial sketches could be published as they are. But was he satisfied? No way. He might go through 10 versions in the course of the day, coming back to my office several times to seek further feedback. This was fine, although more often than not, his first instincts were the best. He would refine, and it would get better and better, but he usually had it nailed from the start.

As you know, Robert and I are both leaving the paper. Today is our last day. Such is the state of our industry. So much for getting paid to have fun, for a collaboration that almost daily, for years on end, had both of us laughing like a couple of hyenas on nitrous oxide. How many people get to do that for even one day? We’ve had 15 years, and for that I feel blessed.

But it hasn’t been just about fun. What Robert has done has mattered, to South Carolina and the nation (which is why he’s won every national award except the Pulitzer, and he’s been a finalist for that twice). Robert can pack more punch into a cartoon than I can get into a hundred columns. There’s just something about a funny picture with a point.

That’s why the prestigious Calhoun Lecture Series at the Strom Thurmond Institute at Clemson University had Robert deliver the last talk of the term, just last week. He spoke of the history of cartooning in general, and at The State in particular. Among other things, he told this story:

Robert is the second cartoonist actually to be employed (rather than contributing on a freelance basis) by the paper. During the 1910 gubernatorial campaign, the first one did a cartoon on the race-baiting populist Cole Blease. It was hard-hitting. The surviving Gonzales brothers (original editor N.G. Gonzales had been gunned down five years earlier) didn’t see the cartoon before it appeared in the paper. The cartoon was seen as so harsh that it was widely believed to have helped Mr. Blease win the election, by causing voters to feel sorry for him. The Gonzales brothers apparently decided that having a cartoonist was a risky thing, because they never hired another one.

In fact, the position remained vacant until Robert filled it in 1984. Before he started, he was interviewed by the late Ben Morris, then the publisher, who just had one thing to tell Robert: “Don’t surprise me.” It wasn’t until Robert read the history later that he understood the reference.

Here’s hoping cartoonists aren’t like comets. Here’s hoping it doesn’t take another 74 years for another one to streak across the sky.

Perhaps I’m being overly dramatic. After all, Robert will still be around. He has a new Web site, robertariail.com — just being set up as I write this — where he will post new cartoons, and where you can find links to his old ones. And he will still be syndicated nationally, which provides him with a monetary incentive to keep ’em coming.

Beyond that, I’m happy to have reason to believe Robert will be just fine.

You see, Robert is not my first close cartoonist friend. Richard Crowson and I were at Memphis State University together in the early ’70s. The first column I wrote for the editorial page of the journalism department lab paper was illustrated by a Crowson cartoon. After college, he and I worked together for a decade at The Jackson (Tenn.) Sun. After I became news editor at the much-larger paper in Wichita, Kansas, in 1985, I persuaded Richard to pull up roots and join me out West.

So imagine how I felt when The Wichita Eagle laid Richard off six months ago — for the same reasons Robert and I are leaving The State. I was so torn up about it that I didn’t call Richard to talk about it until two days ago. And guess what? He’s happy as a clam. “For me personally, the layoff has just been great,” he said as he was driving to a recording session (he’s the finest bluegrass musician I’ve ever known). “I don’t have any money, but… how do you put a value on peace of mind?” He doesn’t miss the daily pressure one bit.

And after all my worrying. Robert’s, too. We knew he was not long for this newspaper. Sadly (for me), it has cast a pall over our daily brainstorming sessions, sometimes making me impatient and crabby — although Robert kept cranking out wonderful cartoons anyway.

But the past few days, since the news broke, have been great. With the pressure off, the old fun has returned. That may sound odd, but it’s true.

And this is the way I’m going to remember it.

Robert and I will still collaborate at every opportunity. Find his future work at robertariail.com. My new address is bradwarthen.com.

Well, that would be a radical departure

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Headline from the Greenville News site:

Sanford says he will look at stimulus plan, act in the state's interest

I also enjoyed this quote from the AP story (which we also ran, under a more realistic headline), which in Mark Sanford's book is a major admission:

"Throw enough money at any problem and you're going to help some folks."

Watch now — Lee's going to start calling him a socialist…

One more thing… you notice how, if you want to know what Mark Sanford is doing or saying, you have to go to Washington or tune in to national media? He's never been very interested in South Carolina, much less in governing it, but he's definitely gone to new extremes in recent weeks.