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Saturday, Jul 11, 2009
From "Supernanny" to "Carnivale" to "Wickedly Perfect" to the new detective show "Numbers," Good tries to kick Evil's ass with naughty stools, roasted lamb and really tough math equations.
Jan 17, 2005 | Good morning, my darling double nonfat soy lattes! I don't need to tell you that life on the frontier of televised entertainment can be tough on a woman, even a woman of hardy stock like myself. There are dangers lurking around every corner -- and I'm not talking about the obvious dangers, like losing several hours a day to "Pimp My Ride" reruns, or getting sucked into yet another season of "The Bachelorette." The dangers of which I speak are far more menacing and demonic than can be expressed. There, in the shadows, linger shows that mess with your carefully constructed worldview, shows that haunt your dreams, shows that crawl under your skin and set up camp like bedbugs in a Beautyrest Luxury Firm Cal King.
Yes, you may have the illusion that you're safe out there on the frontier, with your advanced screening tapes and your press releases and not a soul to warn you about what ill wind might blow from that "Rough Cut -- Not for Air" DVD you drop so cavalierly into your player. But you're not safe, compadres. Out there lies a show that's so hideous and wrong, it corrupts your mind like a virus and makes it downright impossible to sally forth without a handful of prescription sedatives, a big bowl of homemade chocolate pudding and some bunny slippers.
Nanny nanny boo-boo!
One word, my no-foam friends: "Supernanny." This is a show that will unravel your emotional sweater starting with one little thread at the end of your sleeve. Sure, you'll tune in out of curiosity, feeling all smug in the knowledge that it's just another reality ditty with a dumb premise. Cut to you, one hour later, naked and shivering, a pile of yarn at your feet.
Premiering on ABC Monday night (Jan. 17 at 10 p.m.), "Supernanny" is a horror show imported from across the lake, an ominous fable, if you will, all trussed up in reality sheep's clothing. It seems the heartless producers and brazen casting directors sought out some of the most ghoulish little creatures who roam the earth, untamed, eyes flashing and little hands grabby-grab-grab-grabbing.
First, we meet the Supernanny. She's British. Whatever.
Then, in wander Andra, Jessie and Leah, names that will forever bring a shiver to your spine. Three-year-old twins, and a 4-year-old older sister. At first, they seem shy.
Then suddenly, the world collapses in on itself and becomes an indiscernible haze of whines and screeches and unearthly wails, of wild eyes rolling back into heads, of tiny feet stomping, running, kicking. Hours are lost to this chaotic abyss, maybe even days. We become conscious and lose ourselves again as tricycles are rammed into counters, sippy cups are misplaced, potato chips are mangled and shoved into foaming, snapping jowls. And each time we're about to get a hold on reality, one of the creatures lets out a sound so piercing and shrill and high-pitched, glasses break, dogs howl, and the laws of time and space are temporarily suspended.
The three demons are shadowed closely by their underlings, this strange pair of somewhat tall, silent sidekicks who shudder and avert their eyes when their little masters shriek and bellow. These two move as if through dense fog and sticky mud, unable to lift their voices above a whisper. They make optimistic sounds, but the demons thrash and moan and kick, and eventually, their hirelings again fall silent, their faces filled with untold sorrows.
Supernanny enters, talking brightly of "schedules" and "naughty stools," but the hollow eyes of the subordinates are devoid of hope. They've seen horrors we can't even imagine. Supernanny holds their hands and looks into their empty eyes and tries to console them, but you can see, behind her merry eyes, there is condemnation. "You brought this curse upon the land," her eyes tell them. "You created and molded this fiendish triumvirate, and you will suffer the consequences.
And so, the two haunted minions are made to schedule every waking minute, punished for their sins with tedious activities involving miniature shopping carts and glitter and Play-Doh. They pay for unleashing this scourge upon the earth, minute by minute, with interminable learning games and endless interactive activities and painfully collaborative trips to the grocery store that require the patience of a heavily sedated saint.
As harrowing an omen as "Supernanny" may be, there are some clear winners here: Ortho-McNeil and Wyeth, who obviously funded this hair-raising bit of programming to boost the consumption of oral contraceptives in America. But do they realize that, by exposing the ways in which family life can plunge straight into the white-hot center of hell, they've sullied the American dream irretrievably? Do they know that they've created a specter that's almost certain to slow population growth in America, if not across the Western world?
Of course, lower first-world population growth means less of the people with extra cash around to spend on Wellbutrin and Cialis and Paxil. When the CEOs start doing the math on this, those sneaky bastards in the cross-marketing department better watch it, because heads are gonna roll.
