Terrence would just like to say...
The Party at the Boys' house on Saturday had many positive aspects; some top-notch costume work from the assembled masses, a particularly gruelling assault on the Roxanne Drinking Game, some disturbing comedy riffing on the sexual congress of Bonnie Langford and Kurt Angle, and an excellent routine from Leigh about crocadiles being cheesed off about how Steve Irwin died.
And on the subject of Mr Parsons, it was he who provided me with three disks containing the first six episodes of 'Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip'.
Fuck. Me.
It's good.
Really good.
There've been comments claiming it's better than The West Wing and frankly I've got nothing to add to that debate. It's like comparing Partridge with The Day Today, Otis Redding with Marvin Gaye, Fergie's Treble Winners with Wenger's Invincibles- irrelevant and unecessary, let's just rejoice that they've both existed.
Then let's get puce with envy at the fact that unlike all the above dichotomies, one man is responsible for both of these two particular shows. Not really, obviously- there's Thomas Schlamme behind the camera and Bradley Whitford in front of it but this is Sorkin's child and Christ almighty that man's a freak of nature. How he's keeping this up now he's off the cake and booze is anyone's guess.
I especially like he's brazeness. Let's make a show that raises the bar for American TV (which, lest we forget is capable of extremes of genius and dross that defy belief) and MAKE A MASSIVE POINT OF LETTING EVERYONE KNOW THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT WE'RE DOING FOR EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY SCRIPT.
Throw in the best ensemble cast since, well, the last time Sorkin and Schlamme got one together and you're left with the kind of television which, like the Sopranos or Twin Peaks before it invites every writer and producer in British television drama with the possible exception of Alan Bleasdale and Frank Cottrell Boyce to stop knocking out 90 minutes of detective drama a year and just feed themselves into a wood chipper.
And if they're associated with Gold-Plated, to do it very very slowly.
And on the subject of Mr Parsons, it was he who provided me with three disks containing the first six episodes of 'Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip'.
Fuck. Me.
It's good.
Really good.
There've been comments claiming it's better than The West Wing and frankly I've got nothing to add to that debate. It's like comparing Partridge with The Day Today, Otis Redding with Marvin Gaye, Fergie's Treble Winners with Wenger's Invincibles- irrelevant and unecessary, let's just rejoice that they've both existed.
Then let's get puce with envy at the fact that unlike all the above dichotomies, one man is responsible for both of these two particular shows. Not really, obviously- there's Thomas Schlamme behind the camera and Bradley Whitford in front of it but this is Sorkin's child and Christ almighty that man's a freak of nature. How he's keeping this up now he's off the cake and booze is anyone's guess.
I especially like he's brazeness. Let's make a show that raises the bar for American TV (which, lest we forget is capable of extremes of genius and dross that defy belief) and MAKE A MASSIVE POINT OF LETTING EVERYONE KNOW THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT WE'RE DOING FOR EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY SCRIPT.
Throw in the best ensemble cast since, well, the last time Sorkin and Schlamme got one together and you're left with the kind of television which, like the Sopranos or Twin Peaks before it invites every writer and producer in British television drama with the possible exception of Alan Bleasdale and Frank Cottrell Boyce to stop knocking out 90 minutes of detective drama a year and just feed themselves into a wood chipper.
And if they're associated with Gold-Plated, to do it very very slowly.