The Remote
compiled by Joey Rubin and the Foreign Flaksters
graphic by Jason Huff
Semi-regular reports on TV that Americans can't see.
Live abroad? Contribute here.
[From the UK]
Derren Brown's Trick or Treat | 04.16.07
Since he first appeared on television in 2000, Derren
Brown has become something of a national institution in Britain. A
"psychological illusionist," his various TV series, one-off shows and
live stage performances have showcased a remarkable range of
talents. From traditional magician's fare such as walking over glass,
past David Blaine-esque "street magic" and on to a unique blend of
suggestion, psychology and misdirection, Brown has continued to amaze
audiences with the sheer power of his showmanship. Not that such
fantastic showmanship is necessary given the type of mad
stunts that he's pulled (even the most dull character would appear
compelling playing Russian roulette on live television).
Dressed invariably in a stylish suit, he speaks with a cool and slightly superior precision, exaggerated by its contrast with
the near-speechless gasps of his subjects. While his antics have
occasionally edged toward the line between entertainment and abuse
(convincing a man that he is trapped inside a zombie-infested video
game, for instance), they haven't yet crossed it. But
Brown isn't content. With Trick or Treat, his newest show, he's edging
even further, and the results are becoming slightly less palatable.
Stopping bewildered New Yorkers on the street and performing magic
tricks is fine. Using powers of suggestion to influence and amuse
guest comedians is also fine. Breaking into a man's house in the
middle of the night, stealing his passport, hypnotizing him into a
"comatose state," flying him to Morocco and dumping him, unaided and
still asleep, in a fake photo booth is, however, a little on the crazy
side.
While this poor guy's reaction to waking up in sunny Morocco, his last
memory being of falling asleep in a London photo booth, was undeniably
amusing, one couldn't help but feel slightly sorry for him. Kneeling
next to his bed at the beginning of the show, Brown had offered the
bleary-eyed man a choice of two cards, their faces reading "trick" and
"treat." Unbeknownst to him, the man had picked "trick" —
though this modicum of consent hardly seems adequate to justify the
subsequent events.
The trick was further undermined by the complete lack of skill which
it involved. Brown has demonstrated his ability to hypnotize
innumerable times, and, like any overused magic trick, it's getting
old. Flying a sleeping man across Europe may be daring, but audacity
alone cannot compensate for skill — and when there's no skill to show,
there's none of Brown's trademark showmanship.
For their sake, let us hope that the next participant either picks
"treat," or that their tormentor chooses a less vindictive, more
entertaining style of "trick." Derren Brown is, essentially, a
superhero for the television age, and, like any superhero, he must
choose to use his powers for good rather than evil — or at least good entertainment.
The Remote Control: Trick or Treat premiered on UK Channel 4 on April 13, 2007. In the US, Derren Brown is, to date, entirely invisible.
— reported by Louis Goddard in Ipswich
Link for this post.
[From the UK]
Showing Skins | 03.12.07
It started in January with a series of cryptic
micro-commercials offering nothing more than ambiguous
music and an obscure url: E4.com/skins.
Not long after this came the infamous
trailer, and then, on one wintry Thursday, a curious, though rather
distracting, label popped up on E4:
"SKINS TONIGHT 10PM."
And sure enough, at 10:00 p.m., the British television public was
treated to the beast itself, the object of the phenomenal hype: Skins, a new teen drama focusing almost solely on the debauchery of
British youth.
The trailer was truly something to behold. According to star Nicholas
Hoult, formerly of About a Boy fame, the cast and extras were given
free roam of a house for two days and encouraged to engage in all
manner of wild and excessive teenage partying, while a camera crew
caught a selection of the best bits.
While probably not strictly true,
what emerged as the finished product is shockingly brilliant: one full
minute of exaggerated adolescent decadence, responsible for both a
great many shocked mothers and a great many awed teenagers.
Sound-tracked by appropriately-trendy indie-rock kids The Gossip, it
depicts sex, drugs and whipped cream on a grandiose scale; a
distillation so potent as to actually be misrepresentative of the
show's slightly more prosaic reality.
That's not to say that the show itself is boring. Few of the first
episode's astounding 1.4 million viewers were
disappointed by its compelling plot, clever dialogue and, on the
whole, convincing performances. While the title sequence resembles
something from a high-school Health Ed. video, the obligatory "issues"
of the teen drama genre (anorexia, homosexuality, suicide, etc.) are
dealt with in an admirably unpatronizing manner.
Plot-wise, the show charts the exciting and oft-troubled relationships
of a group of Bristol teens. As in the trailer, their behaviour is
exaggerated beyond belief, and, as in any teen drama, they're all
beautiful. Each episode focuses on a different member of the group — an
interesting approach to character development, but one which leaves
some of the later-scheduled characters rather lifeless in early
episodes.
The inaugural episode sees Tony (the Ferris Bueller of the
group) devise an ingenious plan to help the rather more geeky Sid lose
his virginity, while Sid mistakenly purchases a large amount of
cannabis, on credit, from the ominously named drug dealer Madison
Twatter ("Mad" to his friends). Yes, it's ridiculous, but it's also
highly entertaining.
Skins may represent a misinformed, hyperbolic and
frankly incorrect view of British youth — but it does it in such style
and with such wit that it's doubtful anyone will complain.
Well, except a nation's worth of shocked mothers.
The Remote Control: Skins is part of Channel 4's new project to start showing "more British content." So, Americans, back off, it's just not for you. (Or, in other words, check back in a few years for news of wide-scale syndication.)
— reported by Louis Goddard in Ipswich
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[From the UK]
Big Brother Goes Bigot | 01.23.07
UK
Celebrity Big Brother has a familiar format: stick
a bunch of has-beens, wannabes and never-quite-will-bes in an artificial
situation, film them around the clock and broadcast the results. The show is well known for
its ability to generate miles of
column inches and hours of water-cooler conversation. For several weeks every
year it is almost a national hobby.
But this year, it's more than a national hobby — it's an international
diplomatic incident.
In any normal season, the only people called to publicly
discuss the situation in the BB house are second rate comedians and assorted Z-listers.
And though Tony Blair may be the country's prime minister, even he has been on the hot seat this season.
But the controversy doesn't really need political parsing. Three housemates, former
Miss UK Danielle Lloyd, former pop singer Jo O'Meara and former non-celebrity
Big Brother contestant Jade Goody, are accused of racially abusing a fourth
housemate, Indian movie star Shilpa Shetty. Specifically, they have been
criticized for mocking her accent, insulting her culinary habits ("is it India
where they eat with their hands, or China?") and telling her to return "to the slums" — albeit all said with much less tact.
(Interested readers will note that the cyberspace historians of Wikipedia have faithfully recorded their every
crime.)
The case has been reported to the police — who are
investigating the claims — and has been tabled as an
Early Day Motion, which brought it to the attention of Mr Blair. Meanwhile,
his likely successor as Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, is currently
in
India, where local headlines are denouncing "Bigot Brother" and the show's producers are
being burned in effigy.
Back at home in the UK, the tabloid
The Sun has labelled the eviction contest between Jade and Shilpa the
"Battle of Britain," claiming that only Jade's prompt expulsion from the show can safeguard
Britain's reputation as a tolerant society.
Channel 4, in damage limitation mode, has taken the unprecedented step
of briefing the housemates on the situation outside. Muted apologies are emerging,
while the usual crowds outside the house are being
chased away. Everyone can rest assured, however. It isn't really over:
auditions for the UK's non-celebrity Big Brother are being held now. Candidates are
advised to arrive early. Lengthy lines are expected.
The Remote Control: As of publication, Jade Goody has been evicted from the Big Brother house and Britain's reputation as a tolerant nation has been narrowly preserved. Plans for similar racially motivated ratings stunts are in development in any number of US reality shows.
— reported by Michael Noble in Leicester
Link for this post.
[From the UK]
A Farewell to Quiz Night Live | 11.15.06
It's 11:30 on a Saturday night and an absent-minded, pre-sleep scan of public access television has unearthed something quite surreal: A man in a nice suit and a bright pink party hat is shouting, urging viewers to call in and — for a nominal fee — solve a seemingly straightforward problem: "Fifty times two plus sixteen minus nine." (As countless failed attempts have revealed, the answer isn't the obvious 107.)
This is the final night of the FTN channel's Quiz Night Live and things are going swimmingly.
So-called "Quiz TV" has taken a bit of a media beating in the UK recently. It's a scam, they tell us, run by shameless, money-grabbing executives and designed to prey on the myriad psychological weaknesses of the Great British insomniac TV-addict public. Not unlikely, by any means — but it's also bloody great television.
The job of Quiz Night Live's hosts is, essentially, to stall for hours on end while eliciting calls from hopeful viewers. And they stall like pros. They play games of skittles, toss balls into a cardboard cut-outs, whatever it takes. Quiz Night Live is pure gonzo and absurdly low-budget. (The skittle pins, even, are made from empty soft-drinks bottles.)
But sadly, this bastion of endearing scammery is to be no more. Presumably under legal pressure, Saturday, November 11th saw Quiz Night Live's final broadcast. And, though there were hundreds attempts and no winner of the final night's £21,000 prize, rather than feeling resentment at being ripped off, QNL viewers seemed genuinely sad to see the show go.
The reason? QNL is more than just a TV show. It's a community, an interactive television experience incorporating viewer phone calls, emails and online forums into the usual one-sided quiz show format. In the QNL universe, repeat-callers are characters with their own distinct personalities — heroes of the delirious, semi-nocturnal world. One of countless enthusiastic incoming emails (the reading of which is another great stalling tactic) reads, "Thanks for making after-pub TV ace!" Touching.
But something has to be said for the format: when you can extort people and then have them thank you for it, you've got to be doing something right. Too bad even marginally good things have to come to an end.
The Remote Control: According to the ever-trusted Wikipedia, FTN has replaced Quiz Night Live with another "participation quiz show" entitled Quiz Call, which will fill the 10pm - 1am time slot. There are no plans for shows of such magnitude, importance or fraudulence to air in the US.
— reported by Louis Goddard in Ipswich
Link for this post.
[From the UK]
Yankeephile's Dream: Five US | 11.08.06
Last month, Channel Five, Britain's smallest major terrestrial TV channel — and premier purveyor of shows with titles like When Hamsters Go Bad and 100 Greatest Industrial Plastic Moulding Machinery Manufacturers... EVER! — launched two free-to-air digital channels. The first, Five Life, will focus on children's programming, including an extension of the channel's Saturday morning cartoon schedule, and shows targeted toward female audiences. The second, however, is where Five has really shown some intelligence. The new channel — appropriately titled "Five US" — will focus solely on that great British tradition: the US television import.
Not so long ago, being a fan of American television in Britain was a bit like being in a fight club, or Sex Addicts Anonymous; you kept it to yourself. Sure, you knew that that other guy in your office watched the Arrested Development double-bill last night — the bags under his eyes gave it away — but you never talked about it in public. It was hard, staying up at all hours, getting pathetic amounts of sleep, all to catch those few American shows when they aired; but it wasn't a choice, it was a way of life. You were part of a small but undeniably hardcore group.
Over the last few years, though, that group has grown exponentially — it is now millions strong. Without a Trace takes primetime evening slots, CSI, in all its various incarnations, has swamped the schedule and The OC provides innumerable addicted teenagers with their daily shot of sunny, Californian escapism. Even the quintessentially British Hugh Laurie, known previously for his various roles in historical sitcom Blackadder, has been poached, repackaged and served back to us with a limp and an American accent as Dr. Gregory House — and, Americanized, we watch him with more frequency than ever.
Channel Five now owns the secondary rights to all three flavours of CSI, and, along with this mainstay, Five US airs a wealth of similar programs, Conviction and Criminal Minds included. In addition, it's even thrown in classic American fare: Happy Days reruns, Matt LeBlanc's painful Joey, and, most interestingly, American sports highlights, including basketball, American football and NASCAR racing. Whether the latter will prove compatible with the British sports palate remains to be seen, but one thing throughout all this is certain: British Yankeephiles wont have to stay up late to watch their favorite US programs anymore. Now they can stay up late watching bad US imports too.
The Remote Control: For American TV-watchers worried that the US has become an all-export TV economy, worry not. Thanks to BBC America and HBO, British comedies like Extras and Saxondale are making sure the the UK and US are culturally cross-polinated. America makes the glitz and glamour, Britain pumps out the lovably cringe-inducing laughs — and the proverbial (and sometimes actual) television never goes dark.
— reported by Louis Goddard in Ipswich
Link for this post.
[From the UK]
Extras Is Back, Almost | 10.01.06
Critically lauded both in Britain and the US, where reruns are currently airing on HBO Comedy, the first season of BBC TWO's Extras earned the award for "Best Sitcom," as well as "Best Sitcom Actress" (for Ashley Jensen's supporting role as Maggie) at the Rose d'Or awards. Now, the highly anticipated second season (or "series two" as it's called in England) is airing in the UK — but it may not be worth pirating.
For those lacking British residency and/or HBO, this is what you missed: the program follows Andy Millman (Ricky Gervais) and his friend Maggie as they struggle to succeed as actors. By the end of season one, Andy had secured a contract for his own comedy "programme" with the BBC, a cringe-worthy affair which consisted of little more than him repeatedly banging out his catchphrase ("Are you having a laugh? Is he having a laugh?"), while Maggie was still slaving away as a penniless extra.
This all set the show up with hilarious irony, since Extras is, in essence, the opposite of the fictional lowest-common-demoninator catch-phrase orgy which, to his dismay, we see Andy's show turning into. Rather, it's a smart comedy written by a smart team, the same that wrote the original The Office, which was so good it spawned a US copy-cat: Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant.
The highlight of the show has always been the inclusion and subsequent ridicule, in each episode, of a celebrity character. Past guests included such giants as Kate Winslet, Ben Stiller and Samuel L. Jackson (who, by the end, had clearly had it with those motherfucking extras on that motherfucking show. Mainly for mistaking him for Laurence Fishburne.)
The first celebrity of the new season, however, didn't offer much to celebrate. Keith Chegwin, playing himself, served as nothing more than a prop to put Gervais in awkward situations. (A gag used in the first season, when Les Dennis guest starred as an aging TV personality whose sole task was, as with Cheggers, to say spectacularly inappropriate things.)
In the first season, these situations let Gervais relish his trademark awkward routine. In the first season, this act felt fresh.
In season two, it's just dull. In fact, the awkward act is utilized twice in the first episode alone (the second time in a scenario which will surely lose any of its little comedic value when it travels across the Atlantic: Gervais, struggling to name a funny British black person, glances at, but then darts away from a portrait of Lenny Henry. Who? Exactly.)
Orlando Bloom provides little to make up for Gervais's tired act, playing himself, but with the addition of an unbelievably insecure edge. In the episode, he becomes obsessed with Maggie after she claims not to find him attractive, and desperately tries to convince her of his charm. It's not the most original plotline — and for a show from which originality is almost taken for granted, that's pretty damning.
Despite the comedic wasteland of the inaugural episode, however, it's still a damn good show. With the obvious exception of Chegwin and his various tabboo-spewing 'celebrity' forbears, the real characters are wonderfully believable and, if not sympathetic, then authentically hateable. Gervais is, for the most part, a master craftsman, and the pathos of Andy, with the constant trials and tribulations he goes through, is excellent even without barrels of laughter.
Extras could feasibly surpass the glories of The Office, if only Gervais and Merchant would freshen it up a bit, instead of falling further into patterns of tedious repetition. You've got to ask: Ricky, are you having a laugh? Because, sadly, it's hard to imagine he is. And if the Brit can't laugh at himself, how are the Yanks going to laugh at him when the show gets exported overseas?
The Remote Control: Season two of Extras should air on HBO following it's BBC showing, but a formal release date has not yet to be announced.
— reported by Louis Goddard in Ipswich
Link for this post.
[From Russia]
Masterpiece Gulag | 05.27.06
Russia is having a major made-for-TV moment. In the past four months, serialized versions of the classics of the last century have been burning up the airwaves and there's no sign of adaptation fatigue.
Fully one half of all the country's TV viewers tuned in for the ten-part "Master and Margarita" in December, and the January audience for the much ballyhooed "First Circle" was nothing to sneeze at. And between those two mega-hits, which played on the Rossiya station, Channel One even tried to get a spike in edgewise with a mini-series of Ilf & Petrov's "The Golden Calf." At least four other adaptations are in the works for this year, including "A Hero of our Time," "War and Peace," and "Doctor Zhivago."
Russia's 19th century novels are replete with the stuff of Masterpiece Theatre. The shelves of Tolstoy and Pushkin alone can fill hours with counts and peasants and gamblers and gypsies; Chekhov's bucolic scenes of the golden age of country living rival anything found in a Merchant Ivory trailer. Dostoyevsky may have had a discordant soul, but his "Idiot" (spring, 2003) and "Brothers Karamazov" (coming soon to a small screen far from you) are cinegenic naturals.
The great novels of the twentieth century (i.e. Soviet era "classics"), on the other hand, are inherently dissident. Bulgakov's Margarita, for example, was once thrown in the fire by the persecuted author and the enigmatic heroine only met the public twenty years after the author's death. She is a true cult classic — almost supernaturally beloved. There is something nearly blasphemous in rendering her in flesh and blood, particularly by an actress best known as a forensic crimes investigator.
Solzhenitsyn, author of "First Circle", is the grandaddy of dissident literature. He wrote of the Gulag without the mask of satire or allegory and was banned and exiled for it. How can it be that just forty years later, dressed in vintage fur, and with the author as narrator, his story will air on state television?
In an era marked by President Putin's total crackdown on independent television, the "First Circle" trailer, which rivals Hollywood in its cliched portentousness, is an alarming specter — Russia's legacy of dissidence is being coopted. Her samizdat is now soap opera, albeit of the very highest quality.
The Remote Control: "Master and Margarita," which aired on Russia's Rossiya television station throughout December 2005, is now available on DVD (with English subititles). "First Circle," which aired in Russia this January, is forthcoming on DVD.
— reported by Elizabeth Kiem in Brooklyn
Link for this post.
[From the U.K.]
Counting Down Again | 11.01.05
Daytime TV in the UK is a diet of light-hearted chat shows, cheap
Oprah and Springer knock-offs, Australian soaps, reruns of old cop
dramas and gentle quiz shows with unspectacular prizes. But for the
past six months, one of its main ingredients has been missing.
"Countdown," a legendary words and sums quiz show — everyone has some
grasp of its format and signature theme tune — was pulled in June
following the untimely death of its presenter, Richard
Whiteley. Famous for his bad ties, worse puns and crazy, exuberant
grin, Whiteley had presented "Countdown" from the beginning. In fact,
his face, and his program, were the first to be seen on Channel 4 when
it started broadcasting in 1982.
After toying with the idea of rotating guest presenters, the show's
producers decided to look for a permanent replacement. They settled on
Des Lynam, who came out of retirement to take up Whiteley's chair. A
former sports presenter, Lynam is suitably old, crumpled and
hip-in-an-unhip-kind-of-way. A hit with the ladies (something to do
with the moustache, apparently), he's known for his own brand of
mischievous, smirky jokes and asides — he famously once opened
coverage of a midday England World Cup soccer game with the line:
"Hello. Shouldn't you be at work?"
Lynam began his stint last Monday, and seemed uneasy in his first few
episodes, unsure how to make the job his own while respecting the
memory of its former owner. With Whiteley as presenter, much of the
show's charm came from the good-humored relationship between him and
his co-presenters, numbers whiz Carol Vorderman and the occupants of
Dictionary Corner. Lynam appeared to feel how he looked: a bit out of
place. It was strange to see him struggle, as he's an established TV
personality who is renowned for being smooth. But in time, no doubt,
he'll step out of Richard Whiteley's shadow and mark the show with his
own idiosyncrasies.
In any case, a nation of old age pensioners, students and the
unemployed rejoices at present, for now "Countdown" is back, the hole
it left is appropriately and adequately filled, and daytime TV looks
reassuringly familiar again.
The Remote Control: "Countdown" is broadcast daily on Channel 4. The original,
French version, "Des Chiffres et des Lettres" (Numbers and Letters),
is on France 2. "Countdown" made one indirect foray into the
American market, appearing in the film About a Boy. Richard Whiteley
played himself.
— reported by Louis Cooke in Manchester
Link for this post.
[From Japan]
The Power of Bamboo | 08.31.05
Japan's behemoth state-supported broadcasting corporation, NHK, has a reality show on Thursday nights with a decidedly Japanese twist: real reality. "Gokinjo no Chikara" (the power of the neighborhood) helps ordinary Japanese solve the annoying problems they confront every day — like how to defend one's garden from an invasion of unwanted giant bamboo shoots.
The format is breathtakingly simple: At the beginning of the show a problem is dramatically presented, such as some footage of a bamboo shoot the size and shape of a rhino's horn poking up through someone's garden. An announcer then poses the question: "Is there a solution to this?" Pause. "Yes!"
Cut to the studio, where victimized Japanese (name cards attached) are on a stage eager to hear what the solution is. A congenial host asks a few of them to explain what solutions they have tried. Usually they are at their wits end, resigned to defeat. The host implores them not to surrender quite yet. Help is on the way.
For about the next thirty-five minutes, Japanese from other neighborhoods who faced the same problem and overcame it, show how they accomplished the seemingly impossible. (Besides bamboo shoot dilemas, shows have featured typhoon preparation, cherry tree salvation, and pesky crow handling.)
At the end of each presentation, the studio guests give an electronic thumbs up or down to the idea as the host canvases the audience, gathering sample opinions. Usually, an expert will then analyze the good and bad points of the idea. Now and then a person who gave an idea a "thumbs down" is persuaded to give it a try. In every show a consensus is reached.
The solutions to the attack of the bamboo shoots were varied: some suggested intricate methods for removing the root (which can be as much as 20 inches deep), others said to turn things into a business, charging city slickers eager to blister their hands with a hoe to remove the shoots for you.
Sometimes follow-ups are made to see if the ideas helped solve the problem, and in the end, life in Japan is always the winner. The shows tagline? "Starting with the neighborhood, we can change Japan."
The Remote Control: "Gokinjo no Chikara" still airs on Japanese national television on Thursday nights. No plans for an American spinoff have yet been reported. (If you hear something, let us know.)
— reported by James Roth in Tokyo
Link for this post.
[From The UK]
The Idiots Are Winning | 08.26.05
When it comes to culturally challenging TV, England's Channel Four is no BBC.
Yet it recently aired one of the strangest new comedies to hit British TV in years. Created by comedian and media critic Chris Morris,
the modestly titled "Nathan Barley" tracks one journalist's crusade against "The Idiots" in control of London's ultra-chic
television production and Internet publishing scene. A show about true
cultural warfare, it is at heart a discursive struggle on the part of
the hero (one Dan Ashcroft) to protect his younger sister from the highly indecent intentions of Nathan Barley, a low-level media magnate, who doubles as the super-energetic core Idiot Culture.
As soon as the show began its darkly comic exploration of
the dynamics of modern media culture, however, it fell victim to its own avowed
enemies and disappeared from the airwaves. Were the idiots
responsible? As it turns out, maybe yes. Lackluster viewer figures
for the first episode sagged even further when the Times' TV critic panned the show for being stylistically "five-years" out of date. Can it be a coincidence that this is exactly the kind of
crashing superficiality worthy of the Idiots? What's more, word around
the campfire is that
one Guardian Newspaper TV critic who also
thrashed the show was planning his own parody of London's Media scene —
which he still has not found the time to finish.
Whatever the cause of "Nathan Barley's" cancellation, it goes to show
that the UK media environment still won't sustain a TV show that
deals directly with the ways in which culture is transmitted to us from
the "idiots" above. But with an ever-increasing Web presence, Chris
Morris and Nathan Barley, along with their biting criticism, hopefully
won't fade into the same obscurity that engulfed so many other noble
attempts at cultural commentary in past decades.
The Remote Control: "Nathan Barely" lasted six episodes between Feb. 11 and March 18, 2005. All six aired on Channel Four and are not currently available online. (If you find one, let us know.)
— reported by Scott Martinez in London
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Introducing The Remote | 08.24.05
Television — like school shootings and chain stores — is something America has always been proud to export. And in a large part, the international conception of "America" is informed by the TV we send overseas.
But these days, people's perception of America is changing. Some are even beginning to base their idea of our nation on things other than our TV characters.
It's clearly time to fight back.
Toward this effort, Flak has decided to do more than just write about quality American programming that isn't shown abroad (which surely fans the flames of hatred). Instead, we are going to educate our readers about TV overseas — and what better way to learn about our neighbors than to peek through their living room windows?
Starting Friday, the Remote will offer semi-regular posts about all things foreign and TV. We'll highlight brazen shows that will shock, progressive shows that will entice, culturally relative shows that will confuse, and TV-related news that the US press doesn't cover.
Read the Remote regularly and learn how to stereotype international communities based on their own cultural products.
