Site Presented By
Thursday, Nov 26, 2009
Neptune's net worth
Isn't it strange that a bunch of TV writers would get together and create a character named "Veronica Mars" (Wednesdays at 8 p.m. on UPN), then make her from a fictional place called Neptune, Calif.? Kinda cartoonish, huh? Maybe they were simply trying to alert us to the cartoonish nature of the show early on, before we stumbled on the really mean, really shallow rich kids straight out of a John Hughes film, or the local motorcycle gang, referred to -- how else? -- as "the motorcycle gang."
Then there's the adorably sassy, straight-talkin' Veronica, who basically does half of her dad's job as a private investigator, shooting artistically framed, sepia-toned photographs of evidence, or whipping out her digital video camera just as the suspect is entering a motel room for a dalliance with a mysterious stranger. Exuberant and rampantly leafy as Veronica may be, are we really prepared to believe that a teenage girl could run around town, shooting pictures, gathering evidence, calling on favors from some local officials and manipulating others? More importantly, do we care who killed her dumb best friend, even if her mother and her ex-boyfriend's father are both, somewhat cartoonishly, involved?
The answer is yes. "Veronica Mars" embraces the classic warmth and deep comfort of the Teenage Girl Protagonist With Unrealistic Abilities formula but throws in a bunch of lovable underdogs and finely crafted storylines with just a soupçon of melodrama and wit. Each episode is rich in color but spirited in tone and texture. This show reflects a time when Oriental met Occidental, at the turn of the 20th century. No, that's not really true. This show reflects a time when teen drama met procedural drama, and then they went out to a party on the beach populated by hot girls in bikinis. Sadly, the party was broken up by a gang of lovable-underdog members of the working class, who roared up on their Harleys clad from head to toe in what appeared to be soft, distressed Italian leather in ebony. By the time Veronica got there, sporting an outfit befitting a modern Pippi Longstockings, the crimson blood had hit the flaxen shores, and the local sheriff, as corrupt as English dove-tailed drawers are reassuringly old-fashioned, had ambled in to arrest the lovable roughnecks while leaving the mean, rich little hotties and the hot, rich little meanies unmolested. These are the crisp, geometric storylines designed for years of sumptuous use and ease in loitering!
Stating the obvious -- with flair!
Here's a question for all you aspiring-journalist chickens out there: If you were given a digital video camera and some money and the chance to spend two years on the Democratic campaign trail, what do you think you would come up with? Remember, you'd spend your days running into the same candidates over and over again, boarding those campaign buses with the same crews of journalists and handlers, visiting bowling alleys and churches and hot dog stands across this great land of ours. Pretty soon, you'd be a fixture, a familiar face, to most of the key players in the campaign. What sorts of questions would you ask when you ran into them?
How about: "How's the whole soup kitchen thing going?" "Do you like having private conversations with all these cameras in your face?" "Who's your favorite person to sit next to?"
These are some of Alexandra Pelosi's hardballs in "Diary of a Political Tourist" (premieres Monday at 8 p.m. on HBO). While Pelosi's 2002 documentary "Journeys With George" persuaded HBO to sponsor her next foray into the manic handshaking and baby kissing of the campaign trail, Pelosi offers about as much insight into the campaign itself as you'd get from glancing at the newspaper every other week for the past year. Kerry Lags Behind. Clark Enters Race. Dean Makes Strange Sound. Aside from a few amusing takes of kids talking about politics, and Joe Lieberman eating a deep-fried Twinkie, Pelosi mostly seems to include footage of the candidates when they're not mobbed by cameras, when they're leaving their hotel rooms or waiting for an event to begin. Why? Because that's when they have half a second to say something about -- you guessed it -- Alexandra Pelosi.
"I already made you famous once, Alexandra." That's the line George W. Bush repeats every time he sees Pelosi (daughter of House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi, D-Calif.), but she still seems to include every second of footage she can get of her within 15 feet of him, even when he's ignoring her. The Democrats are willing to play nice, of course. Still, all of the candidates, except for the unflappable Dick Gephardt, get that look on their faces when they recognize Pelosi, like they've just spotted an irritating, slightly clingy and pathetic younger kid rushing toward them across the school yard. Oddly, this doesn't stop Pelosi from blurting limply flirtatious non sequiturs, like (to Dick Gephardt), "What are you going to get me for Christmas?" or to Dean, as he's entering the men's bathroom, "Can I come in with you?"
Ultimately, the point of these two years, for Pelosi, is to document the candidates reacting to her, talking about her. If she can't manage that, she simply scrambles along next to them as they dash off to their next event, yelling things like "After party! Let's go!" or "Woo hoo! Off the hook!" or "Rock 'n' roll!" While the HBO press release refers to Pelosi's "unique perspective and humorous style," it's impossible to locate anything unique or humorous about her, unless you're the sort of person who finds someone looking at a packed crowd at a Dean rally and saying, "Man, it's like Beatlemania!" wildly original and funny.
