The TV Set.______
The Kasdan family must be on cloud nine these days. Last Friday, I saw the debut of younger brother Jon's writing and directing feature, In the Land of Women. This week sees the release of elder sibling Jake's latest effort, The TV Set—which he also wrote, directed and produced.
Both are the offspring of parents Lawrence and Meg. Lawrence is the writer-director of The Big Chill, Body Heat and Grand Canyon, which Meg wrote. But the 'two movies in two weeks' parental bragging rights will most likely be tempered by the films themselves, which are so-so. Even though The TV Set is a more clearly focused work than the confused In the Land of Women, its subject matter—the soullessness of television—is moldy at best. Based on the evidence provided by these two pictures, the Kasdan brothers have a way to go before they catch up to the Coens.
Even though the premise of The TV Set—the process of shooting a television pilot observed through the eyes of the show's creator and writer, Mike ( a bearded David Duchovny ) —isn't the freshest, it's well-cast and Kasdan's script offers plenty of those throwaway moments that add real credibility and audaciousness to its subject. Everyone connected with the pilot is sunny and nice and unbelievably passive-aggressive as they try to get their job accomplished without blowing his or her top—and the tension under the smiles is palpable.
The fakest of all, not surprisingly, is the head of programming, Lenny, played with relish by Sigourney Weaver. Lenny says things like, 'She doesn't let her cuteness get in the way of her hotness' in praise of an actress she likes and comments to Mike about a problem with the script by saying, 'Is the brother's suicide really necessary? It's so sad.' When Mike defends the choice by citing its originality, she counters, 'Original scares me. You don't want to be too original.' Lenny's full of phony sympathy and understanding, as are the other executives who nod and concur—especially when Lenny reveals with a straight face what her 14-year-old daughter Bethany's opinion has been on a particular show. Bethany, after all, gave the thumbs up to the network's hottest show, Slut Wars.
Mike doesn't have a chance of saving his original vision for his sitcom ( or its title or much else ) in the face of the relentless efforts to change it from what sounds like an Arrested Development-like black comedy into a perky Friends clone. As the film progresses, we see Mike torn between art versus commerce. ( Well, sort of—Duchovny is not exactly the most emotive of actors and, covered by the beard, it's even harder to read what he's thinking. ) The soul-searching by the character also leads to confusion; in the opening sequence we've learned that Mike's been swimming with the sharks for a long time so we wonder, 'Why is he surprised by the creative tinkering? Why doesn't he just give them the piece of junk they want, collect his paycheck and write something on the side that he does care about?'
When a new executive, recruited from the BBC to add 'class' to the network, seems to temporarily be on Mike's side even the most innocent audience member has to know that the English guy's going to cave and back Lenny, too. It's a given, right? If everything from feature films like Network to a TV series like 30 Rock has clued in the audience to the 'vast wasteland' that is television, why hasn't Mike gotten the message—not to mention Kasdan, as writer of the movie? That nagging question hangs over the entire film and finally cancels out all the tiny, fresh observations that Kasdan stuffs the picture with. Is it heretical to suggest that this is a script that could have used some outside help?
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Another example of TV making fun of itself is still one of the most biting satires of the genre. This was HBO's The Larry Sanders Show, which ran during the years 1992-1998 and starred neurotic comedian extraordinaire Garry Shandling. The series followed the making of a late-night talk show of the Carson-Letterman-Leno ilk. Shandling portrayed the show's star and reached such comedic heights that he has never really moved on creatively. Now Sony Pictures has released Not Just the Best of the Larry Sanders Show, a four-disc set that includes 23 episodes drawn from the show's six seasons and a whopping eight hours of bonus material.
From the beginning, the show wasn't shy about pushing the envelope creatively and included LGBT-centered themes and characters, and several of those episodes are included in the set. In one, a minor flap ensues when Brett Butler, playing herself, gets in a huff when the show's talent coordinator ( the acidic Janeane Garofalo ) doesn't acknowledge a tryst the women shared years earlier; in another, Ellen Degeneres is urged by Larry to come out and the two end up sleeping together. Even David Duchovny turns up in one of my favorite episodes. Larry, best friends with the actor, reveals to his manager ( the crusty but very funny Rip Torn ) that he thinks Duchovny has a gay crush on him. The cast also included Scott Thompson playing the gay assistant to Larry's second banana, the overbearing sycophant Hank ( the sensational Jeffrey Tambor ) and the episode when he sues Hank for sexual harassment, a highlight of the series, is also here.
A great deal of care has gone into filling out the set and much of the extra material is drawn from Shandling's personal collection of video greeting cards from his celebrity friends. There are also commentaries, deleted scenes,, and several making-of featurettes. The episodes alone, after such a long wait, would have been worth it, but the special features are indeed 'special'—earning the title for once.
