Out of Focus

The MMXXI Birthday Post: Upon turning L

Why have Roman numerals endured, maintaining a hallowed (if not necessarily useful) place in Western culture?

Better: How many people read that sentence and either ignore it or answer, “No idea,” and don’t think twice about it; versus my predilection to flashback to a MCMXC’s Arsenio Hall-bit that infiltrated pop culture enough to inspire a C+C Music Factory hit single.

Like most of my curiosities, this question did not spontaneously emerge from a vacuum. Less commonly, I managed to stop my rabbit-hole deep-dive before my feet left the ground, though only after falling down the neighboring pit searching for why “L” equals “50.”

I won’t follow that tangent; suffice it to say, none of the numerals that seem to have developed intuitively due to Latin words like “centum” or “mille.”

Naturally, this curiosity resulted from the new ME year celebrated today by my personal Gregorian calendar: As of II:LVI am Pacific Daylight Time, I passed from XLIX to L.

How is this guy L years old‽
AND he hasn't stopped yawning‽

But back to the initial question, because the endurance of Roman numerals for over MM years, long beyond performing any practical, non-decorative function fascinates me. As I approached L, and as people have offered both well-wishes and congratulations, I began considering my own presence, perseverance, and fortitude (whatever they may be), and the representative nature of this blog’s staying power as opposed to simply fading away along with its activity level and relevancy.

I’ve always enjoyed Roman numerals. They’re little more than pretty to look at, but I suppose they provide a weightiness; a kind of numerical bolding, even? I remember II decades ago thinking one of the more monumental changeovers at the turn of the millennium and century was watching MCMXCIX in favor for the larger but more compact MM.

Super Bowls; copyright dates for films, TV, and books; clock faces; building cornerstones and historical plaques: What else regularly utilizes Roman numerals? And still, I’m pretty sure I learned the III most basic—I, V, X—along with, if not before, our standard (Arabic) number system.

For nearly a decade, these birthday posts were the only consistent element of this space, and I used them primarily to note the many interesting people who share(d) my birthday. That annual tradition became irregular and infrequent during the MMX's, even more so since I have II or III birthday posts that I drafted but never published.

My adherence to the birthday post has been its own thing-to-make-me-say-hmmmm. As I noted previously, I have not always enjoyed celebrating my birthday; sometimes, I don’t even want to acknowledge it. I get too self-conscious. I question the motivations of people who disappear from my life before reaching out on that single day with a brief kind (and generic?) word. I contemplate my relationships with those who forget (or don’t care enough to remember?) that it’s my birthday.

So why have I always called greater attention to it in this space? Once again, the contradictory nature of my every feeling reigns supreme. In other words:

I don’t want to be the center of attention; how dare you ignore me!

I would be remiss if I didn’t wish a happy Lth to my birthDATE buddies—Luke Wilson and Alfonso Ribeiro—but otherwise, this year I choose to focus on the some of the various media that entered and/or achieved some cultural significance on-or-around Sept. XXI, MCMLXXI.

For instance, we recently got a new car which came with a IV-month trial subscription to SiriusXM, and on our first long weekend drive, I discovered that the “LXXs on VII” channel reruns American Top XL with Casey Kasem, generally picking that Saturday’s or Sunday’s date from a corresponding year between MCMLXX-MCMLXXIX.

So when I started looking at what command the cultural conversations at the moment I began my true domination of my parents’ lives, I wondered what held the top spot on the Billboard Hot C was when I was born.

On the "Breaking Bad" finale - Walt didn't win: Don't forget Walter Jr.

(Obviously, spoilers present. 'Nuff said.)

The relationship between Walt and his son forms the primary foundation at the heart of "Breaking Bad." (Photo credit: Ursula Coyote/AMC)

I suppose I'm not surprised that many felt less satisfied with the "Felina" – excuse me, the finale – of Breaking Bad than I was. I've read tweets and posts that seemed even more enthusiastic; and others – including from huge fans of the series – who were obviously at least a bit disappointed. Many people have spent the past year or two proclaiming Breaking Bad as the greatest television show of all time due to its complexities and nuance. Yet now, their perceptions that the series wrapped itself up too neatly has led to dissatisfaction with its conclusion. Based on what I've read so far, most people imagine that since Walt's death seemed inevitable, there were only two possible resolutions: Walt would die redeemed, heroically; or Walt would get the comeuppance he deserved. And yet, that binary option seems to ignore that more complex and nuanced middle ground in which both may have occurred.

Linda Holmes, who writes NPR's "Monkey See" pop culture blog (a must read, in my book), expressed her own dissatisfaction with the episode stemming from her interpretation that ultimately Walt went out exactly as he wanted to, by his own design, allowing for his own megalomania. Even with his admission to Skyler that it was all for him – and not the family – and that "I liked it," decisions such as manipulating a method to pass along his money to his kids – thereby depriving them the choice of declining it --  was neither loving nor kindhearted.

Willa Paskin described on Slate why the finale was unsatisfying to her, or at the very least left her conflicted: "After everything, after five seasons in which the writers were clocking Walt’s every misdeed, at the very end, they turned out to be Team Walt. Despite everything he did, Walt was rewarded—not with life, too much had gone down for that—but with a death on his own terms. He died having provided for his family, without going to jail or giving up on his legend."

I really enjoy reading both Holmes and Paskin, along with the A.V. Club's Donna Bowman and the throngs of other great writers expounding on Breaking Bad, and yet unmentioned in everything I've read is the one element that formed the heart of the entire series, which also happens to be the one area where Walt irrefutably had no control and did not "win": His relationship with his son Flynn, a/k/a Walter Jr.

The oldest of them all: The history (and rivalry) between Showtime & HBO (thoughts spurred by a conversation with Showtime)

Each time I interview another cable network programming head, the conversation gets my brain abuzzin' on larger stories among the film and television landscape. As I planned for and spoke to David Nevins for the third interview in this series at Indiewire, I kept thinking about Showtime in relation to HBO, much more so than I did the reverse. Showtime regularly appears to be playing catch-up with its bigger, more powerful rival. But over the last few years, especially as the competition for (as Nevins calls it) "premium television" has expanded well beyond the premium cable networks, the perception of that gap has begun to feel smaller. 

Homeland's first season won the Best Drama Series Emmy last year, and if not for the rabid excitement over Breaking Bad dominating the television firmament, I would bet on it repeating. Ray Donovan, meanwhile, has been another huge hit for Showtime, generating viewership upwards of 5 million (across all showings and platforms) each week, which approaches Game of Thrones and True Blood territory.

 I started thinking about the evolution of these rival networks, both among the oldest channels in the cable universe. In fact, Home Box Office – launched in 1972 – became the first cable network with national distribution in 1975. But Showtime? ESPN, CNN and MTV: All three were established and appeared on cable boxes after Showtime, in 1979, 1980 and 1981 respectively. Cable systems around the country began carrying Showtime in 1978, less than two years after its 1976 launch. That national reach was only bested by Ted Turner who created his "superstation" WTBS (at the time a local Atlanta station called WTCG) in Dec. 1976 by beaming it via satellite to still evolving local cable providers.

At the time, the cable universe was small. I remember our first cable box around 1980 had a lever that slid horizontally with numbers going up to 13 (mimicking the VHF stations) and then switching to letters A through Z. We didn't have 39 channels to start, but I remember all the over-the-air stations moving to that 1-13 spectrum and cable-only networks being in the letters. Channel 44? You're now channel 12. (As my Brady Bunch station, that was pretty important.) Channel 36 from San Jose? Hello San Francisco; we could now see it on channel 6. (For what it's worth, I wouldn't put money on these lineup memories … other than KBHK-44 definitely became channel 12!)

Cable provided better reception and a guarantee of never having to worry about your antenna. Plus, some public access stations developed along with regional broadcasters. And then there was HBO and Showtime. 

The changing landscape of cable channels & their programming (thoughts spurred by a conversation with Sundance Channel)

In the second of my interviews with cable network programming heads for Indiewire, I spoke with President and General Manager of Sundance Channel, Sarah Barnett. Sundance Channel made noise earlier this year with the premiere of Jane Campion's limited series Top of the Lake and the six-episode first season of Rectify. Both received a great deal of critical love, and while to date Sundance has not been in the practice of releasing its ratings (something that will change as of Sept. 30 when they transition to a more traditional ad-supported model), Rectify obviously accomplished the necessary goals as it will be returning for a 10-episode second season next year.

I was most interested in Barnett's thoughts about Sundance Channel's identity, especially in relation to its name since it no longer has any direct relationship to Robert Redford, the Sundance Film Festival nor the Sundance Film Institute. The discussion also got me thinking about the larger cable landscape and the overall idea of niche programming. In the 1990s as the cable universe began expanding, almost every new channel served a very distinct purpose and targeted very specific demos. Certainly, many cable channels continue to do so. The various Scripps Networks (Food Network, DIY, HGTV) and several of the Discovery channels (Animal Planet, Discovery Fit & Health, Military Channel) are probably the best examples, but MTV is far from the only network that seems to have strayed for from its original, narrower mission.

Examining a few of the names of a number of channels across the cable landscape provides the simplest example at how many have rebranded in an attempt to distance themselves from their original niche programming.

• AMC originally stood for "American Movie Classics," which is precisely what they showed – uncut, unedited movie classics. Then they lost a huge chunk of their library licensing to Turner Classic Movies and were forced to change course. Now, they're a leader in the new form of series television and they rarely get truly "classic" in their movie selection.
• TLC (owned by Discovery) was "The Learning Channel," but I'm not sure what there is to learn from Toddlers and Tiaras or its even more popular offspring Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. Their programming now focuses completely on manufactured "reality" shows with an emphasis on fashion, weddings, pregnancy and family stories.
• The History Channel never changed its name, and certainly its first steps towards scripted programming (their first series Vikings, which returns next year for a second season as well as the miniseries The Bible and Hatfields & McCoys) seem to have tried to stay within a historical focus. However, achieving the most success for the channel have been shows such as Pawn Stars, Ax Men, American Pickers and Ice Road Truckers.
• A&E always lived by those initials but originally they originally were shorthand for the "Arts & Entertainment Network." Originally, it's programming resembled what one might find on PBS – some British TV and performing arts specials – as well as reruns of some popular primetime series. Eventually, the "arts" part of A&E diminished significantly and its stable focused more on reality series like Dog the Bounty Hunter and crime documentary shows like The First 48. Their biggest hit now – and arguably the most successful show on all of television, not just cable – is Duck Dynasty, a reality series about a family from Louisiana that became millionaires due to their duck call for duck hunters.
• The TV Guide Channel has little to do with TV Guide anymore, and while E! Entertainment Television still contains an entertainment news posture, its bread and butter comes from celebrity-focused reality shows, especially those centering around the Khardashians,

And of course, there's IFC, which began its life as The Independent Film Channel. When it launched in 1994, independent film – unedited and uncut – was what they broadcast. By 1994, the indie film explosion was reaching its peak. The Sundance Film Festival and many of the films and filmmakers premiering there had received mainstream attention, especially among college-aged audiences: Steven Soderbergh's Sex, Lies, and Videotape in 1989; Reginald Hudlin's House Party, Whit Stillman's Metropolitan and Norman René's Longtime Companion in 1990;  Richard Linklater's Slacker and Todd Haynes's Poison in 1991; and arguably the breakout year of 1992 which featured Allison Anders's Gas, Food Lodging, Tom DiCillo's Johnny Suede (starring a now-famous from Thelma & Louise Brad Pitt), Neal Jimenez & Michael Sternberg's The Waterdance, and most notably, Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs.

Is the "Third Golden Age of Television" the new '90s Indie Film phenomenon? Let's talk to some cable execs and find out!

 

Perry SImon of BBC America

What a great way to start a (Jewish) New Year: For some time now, I've been working on putting together a series of interviews with cable network programming heads for Indiewire. Today, they published the first of these: my chat with BBC America General Manager Perry Simon.

As I write in the intro to the Perry Simon interview, BBC America has made a huge splash in the original programming arena in just the past 18 months. They've gone two-for-two with Copper and Orphan Black, receiving plaudits from both critics and audiences. They seem to be at the tip of the iceberg with Orphan Black, which built a steady fanbase during its initial broadcast, but should see a major audience uptick when the second season hits in the spring due to all the notoriety it – and its phenomenal and talented star Tatiana Maslaney – has received in the months since its first run. Simon described BBC America's approach as "very auteur oriented," so it should be fascinating to see what kinds of series the channel presents next.

Eight years ago, I regularly conducted interviews for Gothamist, which always comprised several questions I asked everyone along with another set of questions tailored specifically for that subject. I've approached this series the same way. I have a few other interviews completed or scheduled; they should be published over the coming weeks, and I continue arranging more.

I raised this idea with Indiewire TV Editor Alison Willmore not long after she established the site's television coverage, but I didn't have the time to work on it then. Television has gone through such a shift over the past decade, and I thought it coincided with, and arguably benefited from, the end of the 1990s indie film explosion. At the 1989 Sundance Film Festival, Steven Soderbergh's first feature Sex, Lies, and Videotape became the Big Bang of a new era for independent film that peaked by the mid-1990s. But by the turn of the millennium, "independent film" described a perceived – often artificial – aesthetic much more than it did a form or method of production.

"Casting By": An underappreciated job and the woman who changed it and Hollywood

Last week, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences made history when it elected Cheryl Boone Isaacs as its new president, making her the third woman and first African-American to lead the organization. But another monumental shift also occurred last week that may not have seemed so important to casual observers: After decades of requesting representation and recognition, casting directors will finally have their own branch, just as cinematographers, production designers and costume designers do; just as hair & makeup artists do and musicians do. Just as public relations executives do. And it's about time.

In seemingly cosmic synchronicity, Tom Donahue's fantastic documentary Casting By premieres tonight on HBO at 9 pm. (It will then, of course, be available whenever you want via HBO Go.) The film focuses on the development of the role of the casting director in film and television from what was once a simple administrative department during the studio era to the important creative position it is today as the key collaborator ensuring that the best possible – and often unknown – talent fills every role. Donahue shows this evolution primarily through the story of Marion Dougherty, the woman most responsible for the progression of this role.

One of my first jobs after college was at a boutique talent and literary agency in Beverly Hills called Susan Smith & Associates, where I spent over two years as the senior assistant to the agency's eponymous owner. During that prehistoric era of the mid-1990s, I spent a great deal of time reading Breakdowns (i.e., character lists and descriptions for upcoming films and TV series), collecting physical headshots and resumes, typing submission letters and packaging everything together into envelopes to messenger or overnight to casting directors in L.A. and New York.

During this period, Dougherty was the head of casting for Warner Bros., and I talked to her office on a regular basis. My boss Susan had opened her agency in New York in the 1970s and remained fiercely independent her entire career, even as the era of the mega-agency exploded in the 1980s with CAA, ICM and William Morris. She always had a great eye for talent, and she was responsible for launching the careers of many extraordinary actors and actresses. She had great relationships with many casting directors, but Dougherty had also become one of her closest friends.

Studying The Brady Bunch finally pays off

Today Indiewire published a piece I wrote about the portrayal of kids coming-of-age on The Brady Bunch. It's the third in a series of five stories they're running this week to mark tomorrow night's launch of Participant Media's exciting new cable network pivot. As I think about all those afternoons trying to one-up my UCLA Daily Bruin colleagues in Brady trivia 20 years ago, I certainly never realized that one day my encyclopedic knowledge of most-things-Brady would actually come in handy.

I was a typical latch-key kid of the '70s and '80s, so my addiction to television should surprise no one. I had several afterschool television companions. Had you asked me when I was seven or eight to name my favorite show, I likely would have said channel 2's Captain Cosmic. But the show I ultimately absorbed and knew most intimately was absolutely The Brady Bunch, which aired its repeats on rival channel 44.

I'll admit it: I loved the Bradys. My parents divorced when I was four, and neither remarried until I was 13. I had no siblings, and even my two first cousins closest to my age lived out of the country until I was nine. I split time between each of my parents' San Francisco apartments: Mom in the Richmond, Dad bordering Golden Gate Park in the Sunset. The Brady Bunch presented a situation I could recognize and I suppose realistically long for even though it was pretty removed from my own.

I've never been someone who possesses instant recall of movies, television, theater or music. People will quote a song lyric or a line from a film and then be surprised -- or even disappointed -- that I can't identify it. I'm still that way. I tend to remember my feelings and reactions to the overall story more than the intricacies of plot or individual lines themselves.

However, that was never true with The Brady Bunch. By the time I arrived at UCLA in 1988, even though I had stopped regularly watching the Bradys years earlier, I realized that I could identify almost every episode within its first 10-15 seconds. The initial post-credits shot, background music and first few seconds of the first scene often were enough for me to know whether Marcia was about to get hit in the face with a football or Greg was about to "fit the suit" and turn into Johnny Bravo. When I became involved with the Daily Bruin, I met a few other people with Brady obsessions, and thus began the aforementioned trivia battles.

The new TV season: First Take — Lone Star

Kyle Killen, the creator of the new Fox series Lone Star, wrote an open letter beseeching the greater American television audience to watch his show. Why would a writer need to do such a thing? Well, in case you haven't heard, Lone Star debuted to terrible numbers: In today's television landscape, a 1.3 rating equating to 4.1 million viewers ain't gonna cut it.

Fox promoted the hell out of the show. In fact, with the exception of NBC's The Event and ABC's My Generation, no other series of commercials for new fall season shows had become more annoying. Additionally, even with as much ad money behind it, the Monday at 9 p.m. timeslot remains so competitive, Fox likely had reasonable and moderate expectations for the early numbers.

But the shockingly low number fell too far, and even worse was the consistent decline seen over each quarter-hour. After watching the pilot myself, though, and then re-examining the time-slot, I can't say I'm so surprised.

Don't get me wrong: Now having seen all but a few of the first episodes from this season's new shows, Lone Star definitely takes its place among the most intriguing prospects of this young season. As I wrote about Monday, a pilot can only tell so much, and my "first take"s are just that: initial impressions based on one hour of what will, would and should be just a small part of a larger story. Lone Star has so many twists and complexities inherent in its premise, its ability to sustain itself over the course of an entire season—much less several—remains highly suspect. But its first episode also does precisely what every pilot should, and that's make you want to come back for more.

Still, I can see how the pilot's opening minutes might have confused some viewers. For those hanging around for a few minutes after House, it would have been really easy to say, "What's going on here? Meh, I wonder if Bristol's dancing yet?" Simply following the opening 10 minutes of Lone Star took a certain degree of attention, not due to bad writing, but out of Killen and episode director Marc Webb's determination to set the scene with a degree of intrigue and complexity. This degree of sophistication in the writing, however, may have backfired, not from the perspective of quality, but from easy accessibility.

The series has an interesting pedigree: Killen is a newbee to the TV scene, but has had his fiction published in numerous notable places, and wrote the screenplay for Jodie Foster's The Beaver, still awaiting a release. Producers Christopher Keyser & Amy Lippman were responsible for the mid-'90s Fox hit Party of Five. Also on the producing roster? Paul Weitz (as executive producer) and his brother Chris (as consulting producer). Now, I don't remember the specifics of a lot of Fox's promotion for the series, but I don't remember seeing anything mentioning "From the people behind Party of Five, Ameican Pie and Twilight: New Moon. Granted, such promotion would have given an audience absolutely no realistic idea of what it was in for, but networks and film studios do that all the time, and it could have attracted more eyes.

The new TV season: First Take — Outlaw

Earlier today, fans of NBC the world over rejoiced at the news that NBCU topper Jeff Zucker has finally stopped failing upwards. I'm sure he shall live comfortably for the rest of his years, and he will soon run some other sort of media company, but at least he will no longer be able to pursue his evil plot of destroying NBC. Besides, he managed to damage the Peacock enough during his tenure, rising through the ranks as the network that brought us the most provocative and entertaining television through the '80s and most of the '90s slowly dropped to last in the ratings.

Not to Zucker's credit, NBC's schedule this year does not appear completely horrific, but one interesting legacy project which in its own way exemplifies the poor decisions of the entire Zucker era premiered last week and has its second episode tonight. NBC's new Jimmy Smits-led show Outlaw arrived on televisions last Wednesday (Sept. 15) after the finale of America's Got Talent. I guess that was nice of them, figuring it might give Outlaw a fighting shot before it gets sequestered to the potential death-slot that is Fridays at 10 p.m. I'm sure that NBC hopes that a legal drama led by Smits might be enough to draw the older demographic still watching TV in that slot at least makes sense.

Of course, Friday was not always doomsday for series. For years, Friday night shows dominated the ratings. Dallas and Miami Vice—just to name two of many—both thrived on Fridays. But the TV landscape has changed, and unfortunately, if the pilot episode is any indication, Outlaw isn't going to lead the resurrection.

Which is unfortunate, especially considering the odd and unexpected collection of creative minds behind the series and its interesting if unrealistic premise: A conservative, womanizing Supreme Court justice (with a secret gambling problem) abruptly resigns the bench to defend the accused and find peace with the memory of his liberal activist father who recently died in an accident.

John Eisendrath, the series creator, executive producer and writer of the pilot, came to television prominence as one of the main creative forces behind Beverly Hills 90210. He also spent time on Models Inc., Felicity and Alias. The Irish writer/director Terry George (Hotel Rwanda, Some Mother's Son as well as writer of In the Name of the Father and The Boxer) helmed the pilot episode. And the series is part of NBC's leftover producing deal with Conan O'Brien's company, so the dissed late-night host about to open shop on TBS is another executive producer.

There might be a good series there, but the pilot points in the opposite direction. The case at the center of this episode was pretty by-the-numbers: a black man wrongfully accused of murder, ultimately cleared when Justice Garza (Smits) and his team discover that (drumroll, please… SPOILER!) the husband did it! In fact, far more interesting than the case itself is the casting of the innocent man: Rza of Wu-Tang fame.

The pilot fails primarily due to horrific writing. The hackneyed dialogue drops exposition like an anvil on Wile E. Coyote's head. Within the first five minutes of the episode, after one of Garza's clerks pulls him out of a casino because of the urgency of Gary Beals' (Rza) final pre-execution appeal, he encounters a (beautiful, natch!) young woman among several protesters outside. She tells him that Beals' "life is in your hands." Let the obvious eye-rolling begin:

Garza: Let me guess: ACLU.
Hot protester: Yeah, card-carrying member.
Garza: Before you go and burn a flag in protest, a jury unanimously convicted Greg Beals of killing a cop. Three appellate courts saw no reason to overturn that verdict, but perhaps you know better.
Hot protester: I might, if you'd let him have a fair trial.
Garza: I don't let people have anything. I follow the law.

I'm not sure why I didn't transcribe the next couple of lines, but Garza says something about how he's "Switzerland" and doesn't care about the individual players involved unless he sees relevant evidence. The hot protester continues:

Hot protester: Wow, would your dad be disgusted right now. He was a hero of mine. He was never Switzerland. He used the law to give people hope. To lift their spirits not shatter their dreams.

Yawn.

After another brief exchange with his law clerk, cut to Garza's apartment and the hot protester in post-coital dreamland in his bed. Garza, meanwhile, sits watching footage of his father talking about their relationship in an interview and how even though they hold opposite ideologies, they love each other. (A photo on the wall indicates Garza was nominated for the Supreme Court by George W. Bush.) Conflict confirmed!

The series does not lack potential, and the pilot does its job setting-up multiple narrative arcs that could prove provocative: Garza's gambling problem; Machiavellian Republican party operatives who hate him; some loan shark-types who might be after him; a clerk who's in love with him; and more hinted-at possibilities involving the rest of the supporting cast. However, none of those storylines will matter if the individual episode cases remain as uninteresting and the dialogue as poorly-written as in this pilot. I doubt Outlaw will ever become a long-term must-see for me, but I'll give it another two-to-three episodes before I pass final judgment.

The new season: First Take — Boardwalk Empire

"You can't be half a gangster Nuck."

The new TV season is underway. As always, The CW got out of the gate early, and for what seems like the first time in a while, the four major networks are all launching the vast majority of their new series during the exact same premiere week, beginning tonight.

But it goes without saying that—NBC's attempts to make people care about The Event not withstanding—the most anticipated event of the new season was last night's premiere of Boardwalk Empire on HBO: A show that carries the prestige of Martin Scorsese making his first foray into narrative series television; a show created by one of the main contributors to the longevity of "the series that changed television," The Sopranos; a show starring notable and recognizable talent most well-known for their performances in the independent film world; and, of course, a show from the aforementioned HBO, which does perfectly fine (thank-you-very-much) with the rest of its current slate creatively, but suffers the slings-and-arrows of a preponderance of critical media who have deemed the channel modern television's Tiffany network and therefore responsible for always bettering the quality and influence of their shows. When HBO produces anything less than a Sopranos-like lightning-strike or critical darling hosannas falling short of The Wire while impish ingénue-networks like AMC, F/X and Showtime nip at its heels, the channel's perch at the peak of the mountaintop becomes tenuous.

Of course, HBO simply became its own enemy, and people don't treat HBO series like any others on television (even as the opposite has regularly proved true for its original movies). This reality actually informs this perfect marriage between the network and Scorsese; people don't seem to judge his work on its own merits anymore either. "A Martin Scorsese film" must live-up to, if not surpass, his estimable canon, otherwise the backlash begins rather quickly.

I'm not necessarily arguing that such consideration is unfair; we expect more from better artists in any medium, and often, I think we expect even more than they give us no matter how great the work may be. Sometimes we do the opposite as well, and I'm sure I've been guilty of this as much as anyone—forgiving missteps because of a general admiration; nitpicking because of a regular distaste.

I can't think of any network nor filmmaker in recent memory more criticized for producing disappointments that aren't, though. Several HBO series some have considered misfires are actually excellent television; just maybe not the level of "excellent television" expected from the network behind The Sopranos, Deadwood, The Wire, etc. But too many also forget that—its brilliant, now decades-old tagline notwithstanding—HBO actually is TV, and never more so than when it produces work within the series form. Regardless of the lack of commercials and production budgets, these programs remain television series, requiring different storytelling and narrative techniques than feature films. They are not 50-to-60 minute movies with an ungodly number of sequels. What that too often means is that episode one likely will not shock you into rapturous fidelity, and more often than not, even the best series will seem like they are just "warming up," a phrase I've seen in reviews concerning Boardwalk Empire.