When Numb3rs first came out, I watched the first two seasons and then lost interest (I was in the middle of my master's, so that was a contributing factor). Recently, I was able to get the first two seasons from my local library. I watched them and thought, "I bet the show lasted about four seasons."
Imagine my surprise when I discovered it is still going on!
My reasoning was based on the weakness of the mysteries. Each episode went something like "problem, bad guy, Charlie's equation, capture, end of story" which is, to put it mildly, a tad plotless.
It is, however, enormously relaxing, so I went on to Season 3 which was much better than the first two in any case.
Part of what makes Season 3 better (and what made me doubt Seasons 1 and 2) is that the math makes more sense. Ah, yes, I'm an English person, so I need to clarify this: The use of the math makes more sense.
For example, in a Season 1 or 2 episode, the team is investigating home robberies. Charlie comes up with some complex equation that shows that although the families had nothing in common on the surface, they had an underlying commonality: voila! they all bought special riders for their antiques from the same company.
Okay, I've heard of riders. If I've heard of riders, surely someone at the FBI could have said, "Hey, maybe they all insured their antiques with special riders." You really need an equation to figure that out? I'm sorry, but that's just . . . silly.
(To be fair to Numb3rs, I think they know this; in Season 3, there's a scene where Charlie does a complex statistical analysis of petty thieves in L.A. to try to track down his dad's stolen laptop. Meanwhile, Don locates the laptop using its GPS chip. I would have preferred that Don find it just by asking the local cops. But at least the characters point out that Charlie's method would have taken several years.
And what is it with all this data that is ready-to-go as soon as Charlie needs it? Does anyone have any idea how time-consuming data entry is, especially when, as is likely, it isn't all categorized and cleaned up ahead of time?)
Okay, I'm done with the math rant.
Especially since, in Season 3, Charlie is doing more stuff like game theory and mapping out debris, and the use of the math makes a great deal more sense!
And there are other things I like about the show. For instance, I am fascinated by the Colby character which, frankly, really surprised me. Dylan Bruno, who looks like a younger/shorter Barry Van Dyke, is not at all my type: sun-bronzed, square-jawed, jock-like. But this is actually what fascinates me. Colby comes across as having this all-American-what-you-see-is-what-you-get persona, but there's this dark edge that keeps cropping up. And I like the Colby-David relationship which is surprisingly central to the show. (One thing I really like about the show is how flexible the producers are with their actors. I've never seen such flexible producers! I think at one point Peter MacNicol popped of to 24, Rob Morrow was making a movie, Diane Farr was having a baby . . . and the producers just worked around it all.)
By the way, the Larry Fleinhardt character is another thing I like, oh love, about the show, and I'm terribly relieved he is coming back after going into space in Season 2. Adorable, romantic, intelligent, and eccentric beats tough guy any day of the week (although David Boreanaz's portrayal of Booth earns him extra kudos for being idiosyncratic and adorable as well as tough. Still, Larry's hard to beat).
Finally, I truly like the FBI chase and capture scenes. In general, unless there are stick-shift cars or tanks involved, chase scenes can get really old really fast. But the chase and capture scenes in Numb3rs are carried out the way a team should carry out a chase and capture. The members radio in. They wait for back-up. Everybody does his or her part. The guys with the big anvils and whatnot go first. It's tidy; it's efficient. I never get tired of it.
Which doesn't mean I won't get tired of the show. But it's nice to discover, again, how relaxing the show can be.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Why I Prefer CSI: Las Vegas (Even Though I Don't Watch It Anymore)
Recently in my folklore course (yes, it went forward this semester!), I discussed regionalism. I got out a few episodes of CSI: Miami and CSI: New York plus the ones I own of CSI: LV. I showed the beginning portion of an episode from all three to illustrate that although the shows are all shot in California (interspliced with outside shots), each show attempts to differentiate itself from the others with a particular look or feel. My question was "How does each opening portray the city/region in question?" and "Is that portrayal accurate? Is that how we perceive those cities/regions?"
Before I go on, to answer the first question:
CSI: LV is all glitz and glamour and lights in the darkness. CSI: Miami is all supersaturated colors (as one student put it) and bikinis. CSI: NY is blue tones and grit.
I also learned that I still prefer CSI: LV to the others.
CSI: Miami does have David Caruso going for it. I know, I know, people tend to love or loathe him. I don't love him, but I always get a kick out of compact, lithe men without exceptional looks who manage to be absolutely, fantastically sexy (Peter Falk is another good example). And Caruso is magnetic enough to hold center stage. The episodes (at least the ones I watched) tend to be all about him.
They also tend to be about drug dealing and immigration issues. Yawn. Drug dealing, the mafia, and immigration issues bore me silly. If I'm called upon to have opinions about drugs, the mafia, and immigration, sure, I'll come up with some. As the basis for narratives, especially mystery narratives, I so don't care.
CSI: NY puzzles me. It ought to be great, and it isn't. Understand, I adore Gary Sinise, so I really hate to write this, but I think Gary Sinise is more of a supporting than a lead actor. And I think the CSI writers/directors/producers must have known this because they surrounded him (and I mean, surrounded) with rampaging individualists (without clear personalities).
This doesn't work; it's too many characters pulling in too many directions. The great thing about CSI: LV is that the characters are distinct but still function as a single unit. I don't necessarily mean plot-wise. CSI: LV is known for running at least two mysteries per episode. But the characters themselves are types who never function beyond what the group requires. Warwick is the gambling cool guy; Greg is the crazy lab boy; Nick is the newbie (not really, but he acts like it); Katherine is the sassy/ex-stripper mom; Sarah is the troubled youth chick; Grissom is the father-figure nerd; Brass is laconic.
There's something to be said for stereotyping or, at least, typing. Homer was right when he created "grey-eyed Athena" and "cunning Odysseus". Establish your characters: move on to the mystery! In his book How Fiction Works, James Woods points out that fictionally-speaking there is nothing intrinsically meritorious about creating fully-fleshed out characters. Dickens and Austen created brush-stroke characters all the time, but those characters were just as vital and interesting as supposedly more "real" characters.
The other great thing about CSI: LV is that most of the mysteries are domestic. There's the episode about the son who steals his father's paintings, and the Agatha-Christie story about the bank robbers who kill each other off. There's the murder on the plane; there's the lady buried in the foundations of the house (one of my favorites). There's a few mafia-type crimes, but most LV mysteries are local and personal. Despite the Vegas setting, there's no overt attempt to be regional in the plots. Actually, I have to take that back; the underlying theme of CSI: LV has always seemed to be "all the strange people in the world come to Vegas" or (as another of my students put it), "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."
But Miami and NY try too hard to do episodes about MIAMI-TYPE CRIMES (such as drugs) and NY-TYPE CRIMES (such as the stock market), and I just don't see that it works. CSI: LV is still the winner (even if I don't watch it anymore).
Before I go on, to answer the first question:
CSI: LV is all glitz and glamour and lights in the darkness. CSI: Miami is all supersaturated colors (as one student put it) and bikinis. CSI: NY is blue tones and grit.
I also learned that I still prefer CSI: LV to the others.
CSI: Miami does have David Caruso going for it. I know, I know, people tend to love or loathe him. I don't love him, but I always get a kick out of compact, lithe men without exceptional looks who manage to be absolutely, fantastically sexy (Peter Falk is another good example). And Caruso is magnetic enough to hold center stage. The episodes (at least the ones I watched) tend to be all about him.
They also tend to be about drug dealing and immigration issues. Yawn. Drug dealing, the mafia, and immigration issues bore me silly. If I'm called upon to have opinions about drugs, the mafia, and immigration, sure, I'll come up with some. As the basis for narratives, especially mystery narratives, I so don't care.
CSI: NY puzzles me. It ought to be great, and it isn't. Understand, I adore Gary Sinise, so I really hate to write this, but I think Gary Sinise is more of a supporting than a lead actor. And I think the CSI writers/directors/producers must have known this because they surrounded him (and I mean, surrounded) with rampaging individualists (without clear personalities).
This doesn't work; it's too many characters pulling in too many directions. The great thing about CSI: LV is that the characters are distinct but still function as a single unit. I don't necessarily mean plot-wise. CSI: LV is known for running at least two mysteries per episode. But the characters themselves are types who never function beyond what the group requires. Warwick is the gambling cool guy; Greg is the crazy lab boy; Nick is the newbie (not really, but he acts like it); Katherine is the sassy/ex-stripper mom; Sarah is the troubled youth chick; Grissom is the father-figure nerd; Brass is laconic.
There's something to be said for stereotyping or, at least, typing. Homer was right when he created "grey-eyed Athena" and "cunning Odysseus". Establish your characters: move on to the mystery! In his book How Fiction Works, James Woods points out that fictionally-speaking there is nothing intrinsically meritorious about creating fully-fleshed out characters. Dickens and Austen created brush-stroke characters all the time, but those characters were just as vital and interesting as supposedly more "real" characters.
The other great thing about CSI: LV is that most of the mysteries are domestic. There's the episode about the son who steals his father's paintings, and the Agatha-Christie story about the bank robbers who kill each other off. There's the murder on the plane; there's the lady buried in the foundations of the house (one of my favorites). There's a few mafia-type crimes, but most LV mysteries are local and personal. Despite the Vegas setting, there's no overt attempt to be regional in the plots. Actually, I have to take that back; the underlying theme of CSI: LV has always seemed to be "all the strange people in the world come to Vegas" or (as another of my students put it), "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."
But Miami and NY try too hard to do episodes about MIAMI-TYPE CRIMES (such as drugs) and NY-TYPE CRIMES (such as the stock market), and I just don't see that it works. CSI: LV is still the winner (even if I don't watch it anymore).
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The Best Action Movie in the Last Twenty-Two Years
Okay, okay, it's violent and filled with bad language and the sequels were reportedly not very good, but Die Hard is just about the most perfect action movie ever made.
It shouldn't be. I mean, it should just be good but forgettable, kind of like Speed and Lethal Weapon. Guns, bank robbers, cops, FBI, a soupcon of romance: these elements are in a million action movies, none of which last much beyond the initial release.
What makes Die Hard so good is the pay-offs. Everything is paid-off; everything is paid-off successfully, and everything is paid-off smart.
Take the bare feet: paid off at the end with the glass; I'm not a huge Bruce Willis fan, but the final scene where he shows up bruised, bleeding, and limping is, well, awe-inspiring.
Take the walkie-talkies (thank goodness, they didn't have cell phones): paid off with the exchange of information between McClane/Gruber and Powell (with each being able to overhear the others which adds dramatic tension).
The walkie-talkie exchange: paid off when Gruber meets McClane and alters his accent. Also, paid-off when Powell shoots the last bad guy to save McClane's life. (I must mention that Alan Rickman all by himself makes this a great film.)
Jerk guy at the bank: paid off when he pretends to know McClane and gets shot for his trouble.
The detonators: paid off when one gets thrown into the elevator and the others blow up the top of the building.
FBI guys: paid off when the police chief says, "We're gonna need some more FBI guys, I guess."
The cowboy joke: paid off when Gruber repeats it at the end, and McClane uses the opportunity to get them all laughing.
Guy in the limousine: paid off when he rams the bad guys AND, glorious moment, when he picks up the romantic couple at the very end.
Speaking of romance, the husband-wife romance is paid-off, but that's just the obvious romance. The real romance, platonically speaking, is between McClane and Powell. Watch the moment when McClane comes out of the bank and meets Powell face to face: great romantic moment!
By the way, talk about trashing a building and city block! It's not like Ocean's Eleven where the audience is supposed to approve (I'm sorry: I love Ocean's Eleven, but I can never ignore the fact that shutting off an entire city's electricity is unbelievably dangerous and lethal); in Die Hard, we get to not approve but see it happen anyway.
I think this last factor is an important aspect of filmmaking. Even if the characters don't get what they want, the audience should still see it. For example, I think one of the smartest scenes in Apollo 13 is when Tom Hanks' character imagines landing on the moon. So, they missed the moon, and frankly, the accident is more interesting, but we, the audience, still get to see the landing.
Likewise, in Die Hard, we don't want the bank robbers to succeed, but we get to see them (temporarily) succeed when the bank vault opens (accompanied by great music).
Finally, the action in this movie is so well paid-off because it isn't easy. McClane has to take the bad guys out one by one (and he doesn't get every single one). He also has to do it intelligently. In fact, he is smart enough to know that he doesn't want to do it; he attempts from the beginning to involve others and only keeps fighting out of desperation. His main object is to stay alive; in defense, he steals the bad guys' weapons and undermines their plans. He has to use his wits. (And, unlike William Shatner in Star Trek: Classic, Willis' bare chest at the end is directly connected to the plot.)
Interestingly, the fact that McClane doesn't know the bad guys aren't terrorists increases his sense of danger but also (remember, this is the 1980s) ill-prepares him for their behavior. In the 1980s, terrorists were supposed to take hostages and negotiate. Now-a-days, we know better. Die Hard is oddly prescient. The bank robbers act like modern terrorists.
All in all, based on this movie, Bruce Willis was absolutely the right guy for Unbreakable.
Are action movies ever as good as this anymore?
(For those of my friends and family who dislike the excessive use of the "F" word and lots and lots of graphic fatal wounds, I don't recommend the movie. I respect that everyone has a line they prefer not to cross. For me, it was the fifth season of CSI.)
It shouldn't be. I mean, it should just be good but forgettable, kind of like Speed and Lethal Weapon. Guns, bank robbers, cops, FBI, a soupcon of romance: these elements are in a million action movies, none of which last much beyond the initial release.
What makes Die Hard so good is the pay-offs. Everything is paid-off; everything is paid-off successfully, and everything is paid-off smart.
Take the bare feet: paid off at the end with the glass; I'm not a huge Bruce Willis fan, but the final scene where he shows up bruised, bleeding, and limping is, well, awe-inspiring.
Take the walkie-talkies (thank goodness, they didn't have cell phones): paid off with the exchange of information between McClane/Gruber and Powell (with each being able to overhear the others which adds dramatic tension).
The walkie-talkie exchange: paid off when Gruber meets McClane and alters his accent. Also, paid-off when Powell shoots the last bad guy to save McClane's life. (I must mention that Alan Rickman all by himself makes this a great film.)
Jerk guy at the bank: paid off when he pretends to know McClane and gets shot for his trouble.
The detonators: paid off when one gets thrown into the elevator and the others blow up the top of the building.
FBI guys: paid off when the police chief says, "We're gonna need some more FBI guys, I guess."
The cowboy joke: paid off when Gruber repeats it at the end, and McClane uses the opportunity to get them all laughing.
Guy in the limousine: paid off when he rams the bad guys AND, glorious moment, when he picks up the romantic couple at the very end.
Speaking of romance, the husband-wife romance is paid-off, but that's just the obvious romance. The real romance, platonically speaking, is between McClane and Powell. Watch the moment when McClane comes out of the bank and meets Powell face to face: great romantic moment!
By the way, talk about trashing a building and city block! It's not like Ocean's Eleven where the audience is supposed to approve (I'm sorry: I love Ocean's Eleven, but I can never ignore the fact that shutting off an entire city's electricity is unbelievably dangerous and lethal); in Die Hard, we get to not approve but see it happen anyway.
I think this last factor is an important aspect of filmmaking. Even if the characters don't get what they want, the audience should still see it. For example, I think one of the smartest scenes in Apollo 13 is when Tom Hanks' character imagines landing on the moon. So, they missed the moon, and frankly, the accident is more interesting, but we, the audience, still get to see the landing.
Likewise, in Die Hard, we don't want the bank robbers to succeed, but we get to see them (temporarily) succeed when the bank vault opens (accompanied by great music).
Finally, the action in this movie is so well paid-off because it isn't easy. McClane has to take the bad guys out one by one (and he doesn't get every single one). He also has to do it intelligently. In fact, he is smart enough to know that he doesn't want to do it; he attempts from the beginning to involve others and only keeps fighting out of desperation. His main object is to stay alive; in defense, he steals the bad guys' weapons and undermines their plans. He has to use his wits. (And, unlike William Shatner in Star Trek: Classic, Willis' bare chest at the end is directly connected to the plot.)
Interestingly, the fact that McClane doesn't know the bad guys aren't terrorists increases his sense of danger but also (remember, this is the 1980s) ill-prepares him for their behavior. In the 1980s, terrorists were supposed to take hostages and negotiate. Now-a-days, we know better. Die Hard is oddly prescient. The bank robbers act like modern terrorists.
All in all, based on this movie, Bruce Willis was absolutely the right guy for Unbreakable.
Are action movies ever as good as this anymore?
(For those of my friends and family who dislike the excessive use of the "F" word and lots and lots of graphic fatal wounds, I don't recommend the movie. I respect that everyone has a line they prefer not to cross. For me, it was the fifth season of CSI.)
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