Without Lost to occasionally pick on, I’ve stopped writing about TV. Because, really, what else can you say about most shows? Lately my take on TV has boiled down to a cavemannish “Me likey” or “Me no want watch!”
Me want watch dinosaurs!
I feel like if we could take Fringe and Terra Nova and mash them together like Play-Doh we’d end up with Lost. They are both children of that show, but children who only take after part of the parent. Fringe (the other show I’m tempted to write about…but we’ll see) has all the “oooooh!” mysteries that JJ Abrams likes and that made Lost intriguing. And unlike Lost they actually get around to answering most of them in a timely fashion!
Terra Nova, on the other hand, has that lush landscape that makes each hour feel like a vacation to someplace else. (Face it, Fringe. I’d rather watch action in verdant jungles than in dark and dank Boston warehouses.) It has mystery in the form of Avatar BadGuy’s missing son. It has actual monsters made of monster genes and bones and tissue that, face it, are a bit scarier than Smoke.
And,best of all, it has a Jack. Granted, I don’t think it will be another decade or so before television can cook up a character I loathe as much as I loathed Jack. A character whose every action is a mistake, whose every facial expression makes you want to bearmace him through the TV. But Terra Nova is providing me with a love-to-loathe fellow in the form of The Son. (Yes, eventually I will learn these people’s names. Maybe.) That guy was born to get me yelling at the TV.
I AM an episode behind the curve, though, so I’m not sure what happens in the hour aired last night. I do hope that we don’t have too much invested in the Sixer War. I’ve tuned in for Dinosaurs. Internicine battles over ore and territory are not why I’m watching and I hope they don’t keep on banging that drum.
As for other new shows, I think that it’s safe to say I’ve cancelled my Playboy Club Season Pass and am on the verge of throwing Pan Am in the dumper as well. Playboy Club is too much of The Eddie Cibrian hour. Pan Am is shaping up to be in turns both ridiculous (spies! fork stabbings!) and dull (Sis, I love you! Sis, I hate you! Let’s talk about our mommy issues over a pot of airplane coffee in the galley.)