One of the very few things I miss about living in college - besides climbing up on the roof and sitting on top of the lift shaft eating pizza - is the Monday night ritual of Tim Tams and Sex and the City.
I kept watching after I moved out, but it just wasn't the same - not least because the content of the show changed markedly in its final seasons. More on that later.
I started watching the show, on and off, in high school, largely as a result of the outraged publicity it received when it first hit the airwaves in Australia (the same kind of outraged publicity that recently ensured the high ratings of Big Brother Uncut), but I'd never seen the really early episodes - the early episodes that have replaced Big Brother Uncut on the tube as of yesterday. (It's worth noting that, while they're playing the series from the beginning, the clips on the ads are from much later episodes, and I wonder why?)
Leaving aside the ever-changing nature of Sarah Jessica Parker's nose, compared to the shows I know best, these early shows have a really different vibe (no pun intended). The setup of the show has changed a lot; where the later shows only have SJP's annoying, faux-intellectual voiceover, the two I saw last night also use a vox pop format, something which I find annoying on the news and, as it turns out, all but unbearable when it comes to entertainment television.
Even worse than the vox pop, though, was the cunning way in which Carrie was able to address the audience directly - and when I say cunning, I mean that in the most unenthused way possible. Every so often - generally at interesting moments - the action will freeze and Carrie will turn around and speak, almost confidentially straight out of the television. Thinking Ferris Bueller? Yup, that's about right. And what was kitschy and fun in Ferris Bueller was tragically overdone in Sex and the City.
They even used - wait for it - split screen technology! Whee!
It's not all negative, though. I got very disillusioned towards the end of Sex and the City, as the show shifted towards more of a relationship focus. Bor-ing. We were all just watching for the sex, weren't we? I mean, it was right there in the title; let's not delude ourselves about it. Who really wants to watch four thirty-something women bitch and moan about how they're thirty-something and desperate and don't want to be slutty anymore (don't get me started on the slutty business) because they'll never land a man? I could listen to that on the bus.
Anyhow, the sex was there in the shows I watched last night, and as soon as they lose the Ferris Bueller moments, I'll be a very happy chicken indeed.
As a vaguely related aside, I am totally adoring the new Carlton Draught ad. As well as the episode of Doctor Who that was on on Saturday night, in which they played The Weakest Link like it's played in my head. Roll on the real-world implementation ...
It's a very sad thing to note that next week marks the end of this season of Doctor Who, and hence the end of my dizzying love affair with Christopher Eccleston. I'm not sure what I'll do for kicks on a Saturday night after this. Maybe sit at home and admire the blue floral cooking pot I found while op-shopping (instead of studying) this afternoon. I don't think anything so mundane as going out and interacting with people will ever live up to the joyous delight and delightful joy that has been the last two months of the good Doctor.
I kept watching after I moved out, but it just wasn't the same - not least because the content of the show changed markedly in its final seasons. More on that later.
I started watching the show, on and off, in high school, largely as a result of the outraged publicity it received when it first hit the airwaves in Australia (the same kind of outraged publicity that recently ensured the high ratings of Big Brother Uncut), but I'd never seen the really early episodes - the early episodes that have replaced Big Brother Uncut on the tube as of yesterday. (It's worth noting that, while they're playing the series from the beginning, the clips on the ads are from much later episodes, and I wonder why?)
Leaving aside the ever-changing nature of Sarah Jessica Parker's nose, compared to the shows I know best, these early shows have a really different vibe (no pun intended). The setup of the show has changed a lot; where the later shows only have SJP's annoying, faux-intellectual voiceover, the two I saw last night also use a vox pop format, something which I find annoying on the news and, as it turns out, all but unbearable when it comes to entertainment television.
Even worse than the vox pop, though, was the cunning way in which Carrie was able to address the audience directly - and when I say cunning, I mean that in the most unenthused way possible. Every so often - generally at interesting moments - the action will freeze and Carrie will turn around and speak, almost confidentially straight out of the television. Thinking Ferris Bueller? Yup, that's about right. And what was kitschy and fun in Ferris Bueller was tragically overdone in Sex and the City.
They even used - wait for it - split screen technology! Whee!
It's not all negative, though. I got very disillusioned towards the end of Sex and the City, as the show shifted towards more of a relationship focus. Bor-ing. We were all just watching for the sex, weren't we? I mean, it was right there in the title; let's not delude ourselves about it. Who really wants to watch four thirty-something women bitch and moan about how they're thirty-something and desperate and don't want to be slutty anymore (don't get me started on the slutty business) because they'll never land a man? I could listen to that on the bus.
Anyhow, the sex was there in the shows I watched last night, and as soon as they lose the Ferris Bueller moments, I'll be a very happy chicken indeed.
As a vaguely related aside, I am totally adoring the new Carlton Draught ad. As well as the episode of Doctor Who that was on on Saturday night, in which they played The Weakest Link like it's played in my head. Roll on the real-world implementation ...
It's a very sad thing to note that next week marks the end of this season of Doctor Who, and hence the end of my dizzying love affair with Christopher Eccleston. I'm not sure what I'll do for kicks on a Saturday night after this. Maybe sit at home and admire the blue floral cooking pot I found while op-shopping (instead of studying) this afternoon. I don't think anything so mundane as going out and interacting with people will ever live up to the joyous delight and delightful joy that has been the last two months of the good Doctor.
posted by beck at 9:20 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home