Site Presented By
Saturday, Nov 28, 2009
Right back where you started from
Speaking of smelling ya later, what the hell is wrong with Kirsten of "The O.C."? Are we supposed to believe that a beautiful, loaded, pampered woman with Peter Gallagher for a husband and Adam Brody for a son, a woman who can sit by the pool snarfing down prosciutto and melon all day, or fly away to a sexy vacation in Belize whenever the mood strikes, would instead choose to moon over Billy Campbell, then drink herself into a drooling, drunken stupor? Are we supposed to believe that Kirsten would rather sneak around, swilling vodka and making secret phone calls to Billy, than roll around in the sack with Peter Gallagher? Is it the eyebrows? Have the eyebrows started to turn her off?
And isn't it amazing how, even when Kirsten is being wheeled off to rehab, her life still looks pretty good? Where the hell did they find that luxurious rehab facility, anyway? Are you telling me that rich drunks get to dry out in a palace with an ocean view?
That's right, kiddies. Even the crabgrass is greener on the other side of the fence. Just look at sad little Marissa, who comes close to getting raped by that jerkwad Trey, and then is basically forced to shoot him in the chest to save that poor troublemaker Ryan from getting his head crushed in, and the whole thing is -- let's face it -- deeply romantic, instead of just seedy and depressing.
She had to shoot him, though, right? I mean, Trey was about to bludgeon Ryan's head in with one of those really heavy old-fashioned phones! You know how heavy those old-fashioned phones are, right? But how did Marissa the Millionaire know that? Isn't everything lightweight in the lives of super-rich humans? And how did the little gal know how to fire a gun? Did she consider knocking him over the head with something, or maybe grabbing his arm?
Again, kids: There's time. Time to grab the bad guy's arm. Shooting him in the heart? Not necessary -- although, it does really sell the bittersweet alterna-pop that plays over the last few minutes of the show.
Overall, I approve. The stakes on "The O.C." have been too low for months now. How are we supposed to care about the show when all that ever happens is the extras at the party gasp in horror, and someone gets socked in the jaw? I mean, anything that can make Seth Cohen as quietly disillusioned and depressed as he was throughout the entire finale has to be a good thing.
I also thought Frou Frou was a good choice. Sweetly melancholy melodrama -- that's the flavor we who watch "The O.C." are after. Go ahead, shoot more ne'er-do-wells, if it means more sweetly melancholy melodramatic music will play.
In fact, "The O.C." is really the modern equivalent of a music video. Since MTV not only doesn't play music videos but basically has nothing to do with music anymore, someone's gotta pick up the slack.
Singled out
Speaking of slack, in a new UPN sitcom called "The Bad Girl's Guide" (Tuesdays at 9:30 p.m.), Jenny McCarthy plays a pot-smoking slut who's also a successful creative at an ad agency. Sounds convincing, right? I mean, you know lots of tall, beautiful, big-breasted blondes with great jobs who smoke lots of pot and sleep around, don't you?
I sure do! And just like Jenny and her friends, my friends and I love to bust a tunic at a local bar, get some ass, smoke a few joints, high-five, rush off to work, dream up the perfect ad campaign for a clothing detergent, come home, dole out sage advice, eat some pizza and jeer at the latest episode of "America's Next Top Model," spewing out witty rejoinders all the while!
OK, maybe I do the last two things on the list. And look, there are nice things about this show. If you squint your eyes and stick your fingers in your ears, you can sort of tell that the show is well-written. By "well-written" I mean "about as witty as your average Bridget-Jones-alike bit of wedding porn" -- but still. That's sort of new, in a world of stale sitcom families with wisecracking teenagers and crazy uncles. To recognize the jokes, though, you have to really concentrate on what the actors are saying, and not on how they're saying it.
What I mean is, the girls are pretty grating, and the directing sucks. But again, it's a show about sluts who smoke pot. No matter how busy you are, kids, you'll find that there's always time for pot-smoking sluts.
