Last night I was watching America's Got Talent, and while I was frustrated that yet another singer won this show (there are a million other shows for that, go on them and give Vegas some more magic and dance acts!), I was appalled by one segment in particular. No, not iLluminate dancing around like back up dancers for Cobra Starship. No, not Stevie Wonder being forced to perform with the obnoxious POPLYFE kids. Rather, it was the amalgam of former rejected contestants who were trotted out to perform "Time of My Life" (at least that's what I think they were trying to singing). It was a visual and auditory nightmare that I didn't understand the point of and couldn't believe was on my television. There was the guy spinning from his hair, the larger gals booty shaking with Nick Cannon, the barely dressed grandma "performing," some terrible singing, Tron Guy and a host of other stuff I'm too shell shocked to remember. Watch the thing for yourself, though I'd recommend not doing it immediately after eating.
Secret shame time. I've been watching America's Got Talent all summer. I started watching it to see how Howie Mandel fared attempting to fill David Hasselhoff's shoes. And then... I just can't explain it... I just kept tuning in. Week after week I watch people show off their various levels of talent and I hate to admit it, but I'm sort of fascinated to see what unfolds next. I'm hoping my interest will wane once they get to the Vegas semifinal rounds and people are actually talented, because frankly it is just embarrassing to admit that I watch this show... and I can't even really blame it on my job. Surprisingly though, I've actually learned a few things from this show this summer, which makes me feel slightly less ashamed. Slightly.
If Christian Slater's last show, My Own Worst Enemy, had been a little less high-concept, it might still be on the air today. After all, Slater is eminently likable, and he played two great characters alongside a strong supporting cast. But the plot, in which Slater flip-flopped between a spy persona and a suburban dad cover, could get confusing, especially since the line between his two lives was shattered from the word "go." (The fact that Dollhouse has made it to a second season with a similar plotline is a testament to Joss Whedon's fan base and Eliza Dushku's workout regimen.) So what do you do with a charismatic lead like Slater now? You put him in an incredibly familiar show, one that your viewers can understand easily, since it's pretty much a duplicate of the popular show Cold Case.
Meet the new King of
All Media Late Night.
Before you get too excited, the following has nothing to do with Harry Potter.
Way to give Aaron Sorkin an even bigger ego, everybody.
Emmy episode submissions are in. Let the second-guessing begin!
Ryan Murphy adds more sopranos to the club, while we pretend that last season never happened.
Oh no, Dr. Bill!
Sometimes when Saturday Night Live books a real actor, the sketches are more complex, funnier and all-around better. Other times, it's a lot more like this week's "Josh Brolin/Gotye," where guest hosts are reduced to bit roles, the sketches are far too long and the episode is nearly void of laughs. Aside from a fun(ish) cold open about the Republican Primaries, a pretty clever critique of Game of Thrones' obsession with sexposition (also not online) and a topical Piers Morgan bit, this episode was a major disaster. Let's take a look at the worst of the worst:
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