First of all, I agree: It’s compelling stuff, the whole “future of American society and civilization” deal. It’s high-ratings event coverage, all right. However, I will part company with Dan’s rather Swiftian suggestion we have sponsored elections, televised contests for office. Yeah, it seems inevitable, but there are two things keeping it from becoming, er, reality: 1) I can’t see how any losing candidate in a reality-show election would NOT sue the winner AND the network AND the advertisers for conflict of interest, corruption, and collusion; 2) This show already exists: It’s called “American Idol.” Good-looking contestants are judged on appearance and nuance and, once in awhile, musical skill. We get to vote for them– Directly, in fact. No “American Idol” electoral college. This is actually better than Dan’s idea, in that the winners have no constituency and can only f*** up their own lives afterward.

Nonetheless, It’s remarkable how strongly the media is playing on the Presidential horse-race this year. Maybe it is a needed distraction from the continuing bad news from Wall Street and everywhere else they trade stocks. Maybe people are hanging onto the nuances of the race because it symbolizes the hope the next four years will be better. Maybe people are scared and are looking for a strong leader in an uncertain time.

But most likely they are mesmerized by Sarah Palin.

The most fascinating thing about her is how she and her handlers have attempted to portray her. She is a “Joe Sixpack, Main Streeter, Hockey Mom.” Just a regular middle American everyone can relate to.

Wrong. This is exactly backwards. Sarah Palin is an extraterrestrial, a space alien, fresh off her flying saucer. I can prove this.

Since her surprise entrance to national politics at the Republican National Convention, The public and the press cannot get enough of her. The first week or so after her RNC speech there were endless articles about Palin. She was everywhere: Slate even reported people had recurring Sarah Palin dreams. But most of them were trying to find out something about her, to gain a definition: What Wasilla is like, about her family, her kids, her personal habits, her hobbies. What female politician– Hell, what politician, period– has ever been under such scrutiny?

She is from a faraway, exotic place. She has a large, quirky family. She speaks with an accent nobody has heard much of in the lower 48. She processes and delivers information in ways that defy easy explanation. And she is beguilingly attractive. All interesting qualifications for, say, an MTV reality show or participating in “Extreme Makeover Home Edition.”

Sarah Palin is so UNLIKE any sort of politician seen before we’re struggling to find a collective definition for her. It made the work of the Republican Party easy: All they had to do put out those “Hockey Mom” talking points and they were grabbed onto by media and public alike. They had to grab onto something, for God’s sake.

(If you are of an inclination to disagree with my Palin/alien theory, I ask you to consider this logical construction. Aliens are fascinating. Joe Sixpacks are, by definition, not interesting– After all, Joe Sixpack is your neighbor, and if your neighbors are like mine, thank God they’re boring. Sarah Palin is fascinating. therefore…)

She’s a complete novelty. A lot of this has to do with her Alaskan heritage.

Americans are enamored by The Last Frontier. It’s full of colorful characters, strange wildlife, and forbidding wilderness. It’s the last place where people can still escape to and reinvent themselves. Which leads to my proof that Palin is an alien: Thom Beers.

Mr. Beers is a producer of reality television shows. His first breakthrough was “Monster Garage.” He went on with a few wide-ranging reality shows about unusual professions, but hit on one breakout: “Deadliest Catch,” which chronicles the harrowing process of catching crab in the Bering Sea off Alaska. It was a hit, and it continues to be the number one reality show on cable.

Beers also branched off with several other shows with similar premises: “Ice Road Truckers,” about the guys who drive semis on frozen lakes in Canada; “Axe Men,” tough lumberjacks in the Pacific Northwest, and even “Lobster Wars,” crustacean-catching in New England.

None of these really took off. Part of this is the fact “Deadliest Catch” makes good on the title: Crab fishing is extremely dangerous, and not a season goes by without a fatality. In comparison, “Ice Road” features a bunch of truckers, and you can see them anywhere. “Axe Men” makes the viewer feel too guilty about clear-cutting as entertainment. And “Lobster Wars” is just lame.

But most of the appeal of “Deadliest Catch” is the Alaskan setting: forbidding, cold, dangerous. The locals on the show are equally strange to average Americans: hardscrabble, tough, willing to risk their lives going out to sea. And out at sea, it’s as weird as a science fiction movie: ice packs, thirty-foot rogue waves, seas so cold it’ll kill in three minutes exposure. The crews risk it all to catch gigantic, hideous, otherworldly-looking crustaceans.

People can’t get enough of this show. And they can’t get enough of Sarah Palin, another native product of Alaska. We’re fascinated by both, not because they’re familiar as Main Street, but because they come from the outer edge of the world.

–Skot C.

The original version was a British show, and it was very, very good. I’ve written on this show before, when the second season was set to begin on BBC America. Since then, I’ve been fortunate to have access to videos of the BBC broadcast versions of both series AND the spin-off, “Ashes to Ashes.”

I’m not complaining about how BBC America operates, but there is a quantitative difference between the UK and US versions. The British Broadcasting Corporation is a “quasi-autonomous public corporation” which raises revenues through licensing fees. No commercials. So original hour-long episodes of “Life on Mars” run for 58 minutes. BBC America shows ads, and to make room for them they have to edit down the episodes to about 42 minutes. Comparing the American versions to the British originals the cut-down method becomes apparent: They remove any nudity and carve out or minimize the “B” stories. This gives the cut shows a peculiar, staccato rhythm, and as they they stick close to the “A” stories they seem fast-paced and focused.

Making the American version apparently hasn’t been easy. The first U.S. version was driven by David E. Kelly: A pilot was shot, set in Los Angeles, and it featured Jason O’Mara as Sam Tyler and Colm Meaney (”Star Trek: Deep Space 9″) as Gene Hunt. Then the strike hit, and the network decided they didn’t like it. It was completely retooled: The show was moved to New York, and they upped the ante by getting three heavy-hitters in the cast: Gretchen Mol (The Notorious Bettie Page), Michael Imperioli (“The Sopranos”), and Harvey Keitel (Mean Streets) as Gene Hunt. Jason O’Mara still plays Sam Tyler.

Even now, less than a week to premiere, the show has been remarkably well hidden from the public. I have looked hard online for extended scenes and such and all I have found are several rapid-fire previews. This may actually be a bad sign (no extensive previews might mean it sucks in the details) or it might be a sign of how cautious the network is being.

If it’s two-thirds as good as the original series it’ll be better than almost anything on American television.

–Skot C.

True to form, Gus is a Chinese Crested breed, hairless except for a bizarre doggy mohawk, skinny as hell and unable to hold his tongue in his hideous head. The winners of the contest have uniformly been like this, and I’m beginning to think the judges are playing favorites.

The press release contains what may be the best pageant quote of any contest ever.

Said (Gus’ owner) Jeanenne, “I’m just in shock. We came so far and are so happy that we can put the winnings towards Gus’ radiation treatment. We’re just thrilled.”

There he is now / prepare for the worst / the ugliest dog in the un-i-verse.

-daniel k

We went to see Iron Man, but we changed our mind at the box office and decided to catch Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull because it started a half-hour earlier.

We shoulda waited.

It’s not that Crystal Skull is a bad film: It’s quite well-made, with engaging performances by all the principals, a fast-paced story, and impressive sets and special effects. But ultimately there is something deadening about the whole affair, a sort of weariness with it’s safe, familiar sort of action movie conventions.

In fact, the best part is the beginning, which opens in the desert Southwest in 1957. It’s fun to see how a 1930s character like Indiana Jones is fitted into the Cold War era, and there’s plenty of nifty 50s stuff there too, like A-bombs and saucer men from Mars (and, because this is a George Lucas movie, a deuce coupe: A 1932 Ford hot rod). Actually, only when Shia LaBeouf shows up doing his shaky Brando bit twenty-odd minutes in does it start to falter. And by the time the main plot kicks in, it all starts to look so lazy– The bad guys wear red stars instead of swastikas, but aside from that it’s all been done before, thrice.

What didn’t help the mild sense of ennui I experienced was the attached trailer– the preview that came with the print, which shows last. It was for Star Wars: The Clone Wars. This film, which opens in August, is a CG animated movie that will kick off the upcoming “Clone Wars” TV series.

Apparently, it takes place at some time between Episodes II and III, in the thick of the actual Clone War. Here’s the synopsis, courtesy of the IMDb:

The Clone Wars are raging between the Separatists and the Galactic Republic. When Jabba the Hutt’s son is taken by a group of renegades, two Jedi are summoned to investigate. Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi depart in search of answers: where is the Hutt’s son, and who is controlling this mysterious renegade group? Yoda sends Ahsoka Tano along as Anakin’s apprentice, Obi-Wan duels Asajj Ventress, and Anakin finds himself dueling Count Dooku once more. Meanwhile, the Sith plan to instigate a three-way war, including the Hutts.

Alright, since the end of this particular story was told in Episode III, what on earth is the point of all this? Because we know who must survive, every major character is shielded from harm. So we’re expected to watch them duel with lightsabers, knowing exactly who is going to win every time. And No doubt the new characters with the funny consonant-heavy names are gonna be so much Bantha fodder or, to use a term from another franchise, red shirts.

I have already complained that George Lucas needs crank up some new franchises. Crystal Skull and Clone Wars are two more strong arguments for quitting. They are leaden with ennui. Canon continuity means the good guys can’t die, and in the case of Star Wars neither can the bad guys. Truly new ideas cannot take root: they are incompatible with the crushing force of precedence. Therefore, trying to raise a sense of jeopardy and suspense is impossible. The tiredness of these franchises make for diminishing returns: no matter how much effort they put into these new offerings, they offer fewer surprises and less compelling reasons for audiences to engage them at all.

When Crystal Skull ends, the filmmakers convey in a subtle manner a feeling the series will not continue. I don’t want to bet against Mr. LaBeouf taking up the brown fedora at some future date, though. Oh boy.

–Skot C.

Pilot Era – That crucial first season. This is the stage where a show has to prove its Darwinian fitness. Fresh, full of ideas, often rough-edged and hyperactive, the look and feel of the show is crafted. Statistically most scripted shows do not survive even one full season order.

Peak Era– The equivalent of youthful maturity, this is when a show delivers on its promises to the audience (and, therefore, the nets and advertisers). This can happen as soon as the first season ( “Twin Peaks,” “Six Feet Under”) but some shows, having dispensed with pilot-era tricks and gimmicks, settle into greatness in subsequent seasons (“X-Files,” “Friends,” “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” “Star Trek: The Next Generation”).

Mannerist Era– the quality of the shows level off and becomes bureaucratic: the object of, say, “CSI: Miami” is to continue to produce more episodes of “CSI: Miami.” American television series are usually open-ended, so this era can continue indefinitely.

(these last two categories are a bit subjective. You can say “The Sopranos” premiered in its peak, and stayed there for all six seasons, and I’ll back you up. But a show like “The Simpsons,” which has consistently delivered fine shows but with only modest serial developments, might just be in the longest mannerist era in television history.)

Problem Era: Key actors or creative personnel leave. Kid actors get too old. Premises get re-engineered when they become too far-fetched. At this point, that famous Shark appears, and must be jumped.

These phases are, as I mentioned, symptomatic of American commercial television, where every show televised is constitutionally bound to keep going until cancellation. As strange as it seems, this has benefits: Syndicated reruns of these shows can be broadcast in any order, forever.

But if the producers of a show decide to avoid death by cancellation or the indignity of shark-jumping, the results can be unique and exciting. Two examples of this willful, BBC-style self-limitation are wrapping up their seasons this very week.

The creators of “Lost” on ABC decided, sometime before the beginning of this current strike-truncated season, to put a hard end to the saga of the survivors of Oceanic 815. The gears changed, and flashbacks became flash-forwards. And not surprisingly the quality of the show began to improve. Plots became clearer and more coherent. I have read that the entire scope and tenor of the show may change in this upcoming finale, concentrating on the few characters that have managed to escape the island.

On the SciFi Channel “Battlestar Galactica” is also moving to a definite finale, probably less than a dozen episodes away. As it is with “Lost,” the mounting pressure of this hard end is ratcheting up the intensity of the storylines. The Cylons, the fundamental enemies of the human race, are fighting among themselves, and some are seeking an alliance with humans. The ultimate goal of finding Earth has turned from an ad-hoc mumbo-jumbo plot maguffin into both a serious struggle and a race against the clock.

The ticking clock is the key addition to both of these series, both of which were arguably the finest on television in recent years. Knowing how and when the series will play out eliminates Mannerist ennui and the need for shark-jumping. With a known, limited time to live, the writers are making every episode count.

This change of strategy showed up rather blatantly in the latest aired episode of “Battlestar Galactica,” “Guess What’s Coming to Dinner.” A Cylon Model Six (the tall sexy one) was allowed to speak to the Quorum, the human representative body. She was there to explain what had changed for their faction, and why the loss of instant resurrection (normally, when a Cylon is killed, they just download into a new body) had turned them against their own and into alliance with humanity. But as much as you can hear the character making her point, you can hear the creators of “Galactica” justifying their decision to end the show in their own terms, and why the decision was a good one:

“Something began to change [when we found we could not resurrect]. We could feel a sense of time, as if each moment had it’s own significance. We began to realize that if our existence held any value, it must end. To lead meaningful lives, we must die, and not return.”

–Skot C.