Emmy Nom-Noms

I've gone on record here (the equivalent of a tree falling in the forest with no one around) concerning my distaste for the Emmy Awards. With the bounty of excellent programming from just about every platform imaginable, the members of Academy of TV Arts and Sciences have attempted to atone for past sins and woken up to smell the K-cups if the recent nominations for this year's awards are any indication. It's still a circle jerk, but at least it's more of an inclusive wank-fest than ever before.It became a matter of "adapt or die". If there's anything Hollywood hates, it's to not be considered hipper than thou instead being the torchbearer of the old guard, that being the major broadcast networks who are about to lose that adjective any day now.

Though one wrong has finally been made right (the inclusion of Tatiana Maslany from ORPHAN BLACK in the Best Actress category), some glaring oversights cannot go unnoticed.

Where the hell is JUSTIFIED? This has been a critics' darling since Day One and its complete shut-out is baffling. While those that agree with me are mostly complaining about the lack of  recognition for stars Timothy Olyphant, Walton Goggins and Joelle Carter, I myself would have love to have seen an acknowledgment for Nick Searcy. As Raylan Given's boss at the US Marshall Service, Searcy gave a shop-worn character (the firm but fair boss) such a fresh coat of paint it seemed brand new.

Melissa McBride as Carol in THE WALKING DEAD had a stand-out year and should be the poster child.for Actresses of a Certain Age and their obvious potential. McBride brings such a quiet strength to Carol, making her a phoenix rising quietly from the ashes to become the strongest and most fierce member of that pack of post-Apocalyptic survivors, doing so with grace, subtlety and occasional cold-blooded honesty.

ORANGE IS THE NEW BLACK has only a couple of acting noms this year-Uzo Aduba (Suzanne, the artist formerly known as Crazy Eyes) and Pablo Schreiber (Pornstache). No Taylor Schilling or Kate Mulgrew this go-around, which is unfortunate, but the absolute travesty is no love for the best performance given by any actor on television this last season, Lorraine Toussaint as Vee. Toussaint just ruled the roost as that devious, reptilian, yet seductive inmate of that wacky and tragic women's prison. It was a one season role so Toussaint is out for the count for next year and more's the pity for both the Emmys and the show itself.

BETTER CALL SAUL got plenty o' noms, possibly due to BREAKING BAD fall-out, though it could have come up a goose egg with a lesser show (AfterMash, anybody?) Bob Odenkirk really upped his game and it certainly shows, so good on him for his nod. Better yet is Jonathan Banks, repeating his role from BB, particularly for his character's back story episode Five-Oh, as good as the best of the Walter White saga. Ignored however is Michael McKean in a career defining performance as the agoraphobic (among other maladies) stricken lawyer brother of the main character. His scenes with Odenkirk have been heart-wrenching, occasionally recalling the Michael/Fredo scenes from GODAFATHER II.

There have been other shows that have passed over once again such as THE AMERICANS and RECTIFY, but overall they seem to be moving in the right direction. It was either that or head off the edge of that cliff they've been perched upon for the past decade. 

Sad Men

And thus, Mathhew Weiner's MAD MEN ends not with a bang, but with an "Ommmmmm..."

The finale of AMC;s first successful foray into series television had the feel of a greatest hits album with additional previously unreleased tracks. High notes abounded, giving closure to some characters, new roads to travel for others and for Dick Whitman AKA Don Draper, a round trip ticket. Some elements seemed too pat, like a fairy tale ending for Peggy Olsen, but those who are familiar with the Weinerverse now full well that pitfalls are right around the corner. But that final coda put it all in perspective with a wink and a jab to the ribs to make it all worthwhile.

Breaking Bad to the Bone

And so it ends.

BREAKING BAD, Vince Gilligan’s sublime Scarface meets Goodbye, Mr. Chips saga on AMC, ended its run with a highly satisfying grand finale that has already infuriated self-important critics who always know better which direction to steer the ship and is currently being dissected, scrutinized and rehashed by anyone with an opinion and a keyboard from here to Andromeda and beyond. 

What else is new? In this era of the mega-hype nothing can possibly live up to the ridiculously outrageous expectations set for a show whose supporters and fans were as rabid as pit bulls on blue meth. Since this show had the honor to be a critical and ratings success, not mention ending way before it wore out its welcome, the pressure was on to deliver THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH.  But whatever Gilligan came up with would never be enough, not even the shopworn dream ploy when Walt wakes up next to Suzanne Pleshette.  

In days past, series finales have always been a mixed bag, usually delivering high ratings numbers with dubious results. Mostly they’re bloated, overlong affairs concocted to deliver maximum ratings numbers and quality be damned. The concluding episodes of THE FUGITIVE and M*A*S*H* set the standards back in the sixties and seventies, garnering huge numbers with shows that at least matched up to the rest of their respective runs. But when SEINFELD, CHEERS and FRIENDS said goodbye, it was almost as if they couldn’t wait to into their cars and drive home. THE SOPRANOS, a definite precursor to BREAKING BAD, wrapped up feebly and is only memorable for its ambiguous closing shot that has polarized fans to this very day.

But BAD’S last season, almost rushing to a conclusion, took a methodic approach for this episode entitled "Felina" under writer/director Gilligan, almost like Bryan Cranston's swan song performance as Walter White. This chemistry teacher turner druglord attempted to right the wrongs in his life in one step at a time, trying to find the soul he lost along the way. It coincided with Gilligan's approach to this last hour. This was no more evident than in what I consider to be the highlight, Walt and his wife Skyler quietly powerful confrontation, a scene that was in turns tense, brutal, tragic and touching in its short five minutes. Cranston and Anna Gunn, so deserving of her Emmy win, set a high standard for acting that should be studied for years to come. Aaron Paul’s Jesse finally graduated from Mr. White’s class with honors, ending their twisted father/son relationship once and for all. The episode contained those brilliant fine touched that help propel this show in to legendary status like the Marty Robbins tune, Lydia’s ringtone and those damn laser pointers. As for Walter White, did he redeem himself? Not one iota. There’s no way he could. The only thing he could do was go out with a bang and a whimper, laying on the floor of a meth lab, staring at the Heaven he will never see as he forever resides in the Hell of his own making.

For both Walter White and Vince Gilligan, the last stand of BREAKING BAD can all be summed up in what the Man Who Would Be Hiesenberg finally admitted:

"I did it for me. I liked it. I was good at it. I was really… I was alive."

If it wasn't the best ending, it was the right ending for Vince Gilligan, for Walter White and for those of us who have taken the journey with them and accept this is indeed Felina.

BREAKING BAD.

Remember its name.

Let's Get Bloggin'!

What a summer so far. Gay marriage, the Zimmerman debacle, Amanda Bynes (an unfortunate mash-up of Britney Spears and Lohan who should go back to her former self, the girl known as "Who?") but hey, no mass shootings this year thus far for which we can all knock on wood, even it's on your rifle stock.
Lindsay

Then there's the Royal Baby. Leave it to the Brits to bring us all together again, whether it's to collectively exclaim ""Awwwwww..." or to shout "Enough with these over-privileged fucks already!" I fall into the former category. I actually like the idea of a monarchy in the old empire. It's rather quaint. So they named the kid George (though I prefer the nickname Digit the Finger Prince) so that England will have another King George someday. This worked out well once...

...and not so hot another time. 

We lost a couple of tough guys recently. Seeing Dennis Farina's name in the credits guaranteed that I would enjoy whatever I was about to watch. The man was an absolute natural and always delivered the goods. Recently, he and Dustin Hoffman made an excellent pair on HBO's ill-fated LUCK. My favorite had to be his portrayal of Ray "Bones" Barboni in GET SHORTY, especially delivering the immortal phrase that pays, "Fuck you, fuckball!"

As for Farina's ponytail wearing co-star in that film, James Gandofini, well whadda ya gonna do? I still watch THE SOPRANOS, not being able to pass by as I'm channel surfing and, to use a phrase from another gang story, he always pulls me back in. I'm just drawn to this giant that walked among us and am so grateful that he did. Check out one of his best post-SOPRANOS performances in Andrew Dominik's KILLING THEM SOFTLY with Brad Pitt.

The Emmys always disappoint, whether in the nominations, the awards or in the craptacle known as the show itself. How can an industry celebrating itself produce such bad television? The nominees are chock full of omissions almost too painful to list (but damn, no love for RECTIFY or Tatiana Maslany of ORPHAN BLACK?). However I have to applaud the recognition of Jonathan Banks (BREAKING BAD), Bobby Cannavale (so goddamn evil on BOARDWALK EMPIRE) and my girl Mrgo Martindale (THE AMERICANS) Then there are two sentimental favorites nominated as well: Bob Newhart on this year's finale of THE BIG BANG THEORY who has NEVER won an Emmy and my boyhood dreamboat Diana Rigg (GAME OF THRONES).Well done, Mrs. Peel. I'd still do ya. 

Finally a big shout-out to my good friend and fellow author Thomas Amo (AN APPLE FOR ZOE and FOREVER ME) who debuted his online radio show 92.6 The Blitz, playing classic rock and featuring the independent arts including authors, filmmakers, musicians and more more more in the words of The Andrea True Connection. Listen Monday-Friday 9-11 PST right HERE.

So that's it on this end, boys and girls. Have yourselves a swell rest of the summer and stay tuned for some big news real soon. Yes, bigger that the birth of a mad, stuttering British baby. 

2011: All God's Chillun Go to Hebbin

Gosh, an honest-to-blog year-end wrap-up complete with Top Ten lists and everything...

Let's not and say we did.

The truth of the matter is that I'm not really feeling reflective at the moment, odd given the time of year. I suppose my lack of interest in this matter is given to the fact that I engage in this on a daily basis and frankly, I need a bit of a break and so do the rest of you. Can't we just forward with out looking back for a change? I'm not saying "Let's ignore history!" and embrace the ephemeral like the rest of society. No, I'm not conforming to the status quo. I'm just a little sick and tired of instant nostalgia. I want to earn my memories, not cater to them. As for those that I have, I'll wear them like badges of honor, leaving for more as times goes by because it ain't over 'til I sez it's over.

As for what I consider the Best of 2011, I feel ambivalent even mentioning them since it's just more of the same. I can say that the best movie I saw in theaters this year was Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris, but the ambiance and my frame of mind had just about everything to do with that choice. I saw it in Brooklyn (Woody's hometown) and I was on one of the best vacations of my entire life. The Book of Mormon was the best live theater event for me this year but once again, I saw it on Broadway and it was the only show I attended this year. (It's still superb, by the way) Do you need to know that I believe Breaking Bad had to be, hands down, the finest TV show of the year and one of the greatest entire seasons in broadcast history, every single episode a knockout? Well, now you do. I also echo just about the entire critical conclave when I say that TV outdid movies AGAIN this year, especially with shows like Treme, Justified, Louie, American Horror Story and Game of Thrones. Music-wise, I stand by my own assessment and choose as my favorite song Dig a Little Deeper from Moonshine Willy's 1998 album Bastard Child and if I hear Adele's Rolling in the Deep one more time, I am going to totally lose my shit. At my age, that's no idle threat. Book-wise, I'll gladly mention Michael Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay and hey, an actual title from 2011- Laura Hillebrand's brutally brilliant World War II survival non-fiction work, Unbroken. (Okay. I cheated. I didn't list a Top Ten, just some highlights. I guess I just couldn't resist. Old habits die hard.)

I will look back on 2011 fondly and with gritted teeth. The hardships have increased but it really does make the blessings that much sweeter. And no blessing was greater than the new girl in my life, my incredibly beautiful granddaughter Aefa, born May 31, 2011. It is because of Aefa and what she represents that I will greet 2012 with arms wide open. And that something is hope and with that, I can endure.

To you and yours out there, I wish the same. If you've never had it, find it. If you lost it, reclaim it. Hope will makes us stronger. Hope will allow us to move on. Hope will help us survive. It beats the holy hell out of surrendering.

As always, be good to each other and please be good to yourselves. You deserve it. We all do.

Happy New Year, gang. See you on the other side

Odsen Enz

Is there anything more annoying than the nasaly whine of a Kardashian? Holy Underwear, they all sound that way...Kim, Courtney, Cloverfield...each one indistinguishable from the other. It's like someone drilling into my soul by way of my ear canal. It's such a shame they can't be a force for good.
Maybe they license their voices for smoke alarms. Their squawks would clear a building safely and save lives. Better yet, their name alone should be forever synonymous with an excruciating, irritating screech. "The neighbor's cat's in heat again. Kept me all night. Goddamn, that's kardashian!"
Aside to Kris Humphries: In the words of Lenny Bruce, "You betta off!"

These sexual harassment allegations against Republican presidential candidate Herman Cain sure seem to be increasing. My, isn't the timing impeccable. I haven't seen this much muck being raked so early on since 1992 and we all know how that turned out, don't we?


There's no segue for this so I'm just going to plow ahead:

The new paperback version of my movie memoir, IN THE DARK: A LIFE AND TIMES IN A MOVIE THEATER (SPECIAL EDITION) is now on sale at my page on Lulu.com:

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/scottcherney

(What makes it special? Sea salt.)
I've also got a new page on Facebook:

Written by Scott Cherney
Come on by and like me. (Damn, I'm needy)
The Facebook page is the same name as my website found at http://www.scottcherney.com/ . Yes, I am an original muh-fuh, that's for sure. The latter has some new content including an unpublished short story entitled THE FUTURE MRS. WILEY, a wry love story told in the manner of Damon Runyon by way of Larry Flynt. Just in time for the holidays.

Enough with the plugs already. Nothing, I mean NOTHING was any better this year than the fourth season of BREAKING BAD, so good than just about everything pales in comparison and what has followed just isn't measuring up. THE WALKING DEAD's follow-up season has been deathly slow, as if wading in on its accolades from last year. It's just not good enough to coast like this and hasn't delivered on the promise of its excellent pilot episode. The characters are too one-note and the pacing slower than snot on a winter's day. BOARDWALK EMPIRE has at least capitalized on its success with more gripping gangster history from the Roaring Twenties. Then there's AMERICAN HORROR STORY on FX, a wonderfully twisted and downright scary series that fills the gap THE WALKING DEAD is vacating. Ryan Murphy has rebooted the ghost story for a new era, recalling his sensational NIP/TUCK and washing the glucose ridden GLEE out of my sub-conscious. And I am officially nominating Jessica Lange for an early Best Supporting Actress Emmy. What a nasty-ass villainess! Talk about a career revival.

FX's series specialize in these superbly dark turns by forgotten or over looked actors: Margo Martindale in JUSTIFIED, Ted Danson in DAMAGES, Ron Perlman and Katey Sagal in SONS OF ANARCHY.

Until next time, Carp Diem! (Seize the Fish?)

In the Summertime

IN THE SUMMERTIME

Anybody remember this sweet little ditty from 1970?

Ah, yes...those were the days, my friend.

And what is this year's summer song?

I KISSED A GIRL (AND I LIKED IT) by Katy Perry

Yes, nothing says summer like bi-curiosity. It's nothing new. Anybody remember the 1980's menage-a-trois epic SUMMER LOVERS with Peter Gallagher, Daryl Hannah and some French little whore d'orveurvre? Anybody? Bueller?

Ahhh...what would Mungo Jerry say back in the innocent days of 1970?

"In the summertime,
When the weather is hot,
You can stretch right up and touch the sky.

When the weather's right,

You got women, you got women on your mind.

Have a drink, have a drive,

Go out and see what you can find."

Drinking and driving was really big back then. And even then, they had women on their minds.
The more things change, the more they remain the same.

Summer 2008. So far, so good, if'n ya asked me. Sure, the economy's in the dumper and most of us are trying to compensate by having STAYCATIONS (excuse me...I just retched...) instead of burning a buncha liquid gold in our gas tanks. Here's a local Oregon observation: If we can't pump our gas anyway, shouldn't stations feel obligated to require their attendants clean our goddamn windshields out of a gesture of goodwill? It's not like anyone actually check your oil or tire pressure as it is? I'm just sayin'...) Anyway, I feel extremely fortunate to live here since their is so much to do on a weekly basis during the summer months...weather permitting, of course. (And I type this on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Where the hell are MY priorities?)

I am proud to announce that LARUE'S RETURN, the melodrama written by Edward Thorpe and myself, was the summer attraction at the Golden Chain Theatre in Oakhurst, California. The spirit of Pollardville lives on!

IRON MAN, the first hit of the summer movie season, was a nice, unexpected surprise, especially to non-superhero afficionados. However, it would not have worked half as well without Robert Downey Jr. in a sta-making performance twenty years in the making. While the rest of the film was entertaining, I would have almost watched him making his suit for two hours. Nice job, Mr. Downey and I apologize for all the shitty things I've said about you over the years. You, sir, gave the best performance of a comicbook hero ever.

Another recommendation is SON OF RAMBOW, a nice little Brit pic by Garth Jennings about a couple of kids making their own sequel to FIRST BLOOD. Funny, always inventive and a must-see for anyone who ever made their backyard movies. I'd put this on a double bill with STAND BY ME. It will be released to DVD in August.

I haven't seen THE DARK KNIGHT and probably won't for some time, thanks to the overabundance of hype surrounding it. Nothing could live up to this. I prefer for the throngs to die down and collect themselves before I forge ahead. In other words, shut up already! I'm glad this era finally a picture to call its own, but Lord have mercy, get outta my face. All I'm going to say is to not denigrate Tim Burton's BATMAN any further. It stands on its own, just as Richard Donner's SUPERMAN THE MOVIE does. I hate revisionist history. Burton's film does not suck in retrospect or any other spect for that matter...and as far as Jack Nicholson's Joker goes, it fit perfectly, especially in due of what we had before that....which was Cesar Fucking Romero! Not to mention the goddamn TV show itself. ZAP! POW! I loved it back then, but I didn't crap all over it when it evolved into the Tim Burton movies. Life is a staircase. In other words, don't take a dump on history, kids. You'll never who you are unless you know where you've been.

I caught the touring company of AVENUE Q, aka the R-rated SESAME STREET stage musical, and have to declare it one damn funny show. It was amazing to sit through a Saturday matinee of this and watch the blue-hairs storm out of the theater after all the hot puppet sex action. Yee-ha!

The Emmy nominations have been announced. MAD MEN is honored with a ton o' nominations. Bryan Cranston, my boy from BREAKING BAD is also up. But as for THE WIRE? One single solitary writing nod. What a crime. One of the best shows of all gets zippity-do-dah from its peers. But you know what? The Emmys don't matter. They mean nothing. It does nothing for any show's ratings and has no value at all, unlike the Oscars boosting the box office of winning films. The Emmys are nothing more than one big circle jerk.

So there you have it, gang. The half-way point of Summer 2008. I think I'll go out, have a drink and have a drive. Maybe I'll even kiss a girl and like it.

Peeing in the Sand

Portrait of the author at work.

How many blogs must a blogger post

Before they can call you a blogger?

The answer, my friend, is peeing in the sand.

The answer is peeing in the sand.

Yessiree-bob, another analogy to blogging.



The other one had to do with that tree falling in the forest. I'm actually beginning to think it relates to self-publishing my book. Is it making a sound? Is the tide erasing any evidence of it? Are my feet getting wet?

Enough of this shilly-shally. I've got an announcement to make:



At long last, my book, RED ASPHALT is available for sale on the one and only Amazon.com. Those of you holding out for the legitimacy of said goliath conglomerate carrying my first novel can now purchase it from a company with which you feel comfortable. (click on the title of this here blog or I'll bop you with this here lollipop) Everyone else can go to the source, Lulu.com for a copy or to be able to download it for a fraction of the cost. That, of course, is:
http://www.lulu.com/content/1885435

As for the photo above. Well, kids, the year would be maybe 1958. The location is Capitola, California which is just down the road from Santa Cruz. Those of you who have enjoyed sun-bathing on that beach over the years have probably laid your heads right where I was taking a leak.

So much has happened this year as I've been trying like hell to promote this book. I feel like the world's been passing me by.The writers' strike, the Oscars, the end of THE WIRE, Bryan Cranston in BREAKING BAD, the passing of Jules Dassin, Charlton Heston and Richard Widmark-all without a peep outta me...and don't think that didn't hurt. So the next few entries are getting away from RED ASPHALT primarily and back to the business known as show.

In the meantime, here's a YouTube link to something I appeared in back in the early 90s, filmed at Pollardville Ghost Town
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=263wvXvQBow

Thanks to Randy Mann for sharing this with me. It makes me miss the Ville all over again.