Larger
than Life Viewing Comforts
by
Kristin Battestella
In
times of trouble, let's turn to opulent decades of our twentieth
century past for glamour, bikinis, and a cup of comforting soup.
Jambalaya!
Jambalaya!
Baywatch
– I'll be ready...You
know half the time you tuned in to this 1989-2001 beachfest just to
watch the opening sequence, and you can tell exactly what season it
is thanks to the red bathing suit clad stars, jet skis, surfing, and
slow motion running. With an inexplicable 242 episodes, one can skip
the First NBC season's killer sharks, ditch the terrible Hawaii
makeovers,
and forget the superfluous Nights
spin
off as well as forgo the more preposterous vacation disasters, jewel
thieves, hostage situations, and repeated heavies. Thanks to
riptides, earthquakes, mutant alligators, and sea monsters, however,
we hang tight to the syndicated, buoyant Playmates
saving the day against UFOs, an octopus, and evil eels. Garner's
horse Kojak may poop on the beach, but the Gilligan's
Island homage
isn't actually as bad as it sounds. Giant tape recorders, cameras,
mobile phones, and switchboards join product placements, AOL (lol),
The Beach Boys, Geraldo, and more famous cameos as everybody who was
anybody jogged on David Hasselhoff's shore – even The President.
Although I dread the nineties music video style montages –
seemingly as unnecessary as the belts on the thong leotards – they
are time capsules of strobe film making and pristine American glory,
the peak of our late twentieth century indulgence just like The
Matrix said.
It might have been easier to believe the earnest drama had this been
a half hour show ditching the music moments for real talk on the
abusive boyfriends,
bulimia, and trailer park dreams, yet it's quite shrewd to use
flashbacks and visuals as narrative, thus reducing conversational
scenes for the weakest, sun kissed actors.
A, B, and C plots are often disjointed with romance and assaults
intercut together before coastal la di da jarring with off shore
drilling and saving the day in as little clothing as possible. If
you've seen one episode, you've seen them all – so it's more
entertaining when there are no hip interludes, mermaids, or monster
jellyfish in completely dramatic, tearful episodes and intense
disaster two-parters. Underwater filming, boating perils, and
turbulent rescues balance the sunsets, silhouettes, and windswept
tendrils. It's not all pretty people, however, as gang youths have
little options save for gun violence, departmental cutbacks bind
first responders' hands, and going to the beach becomes one of the
few vacations families having tough times can afford.
Self-referential
quips and Rescue Bay
spoof
within a spoof winks in the Middle Seasons peak before cut
corners, repetitive action, increasingly bloated casting, and a
believing one's own sexy hype in later years. Parental stories and
family bonding tales wouldn't be so bad for young and old to enjoy
watching together if it weren't for the spot the implants
opportunities. Then again, the life guarding dangers and rescue
action aren't meant to be taken too seriously thanks to eye candy,
crop tops, and ever present nipples. Don't forget, you've
got to reach out when you caught in the current of love...
Dynasty
– The quintessential Bill Conti (North and South) opening score
takes its splendorful time as do the whopping 220 episodes of this
1981-89 ABC benchmark. After a shorter, more straightforward dramatic
and seventies breezy debut, the dead lovers and families on trial get
juicy in Year Two with Joan Collins (The Devil within Her) joining
John Forsythe (Bachelor
Father) and Linda Evans
(The Big Valley)
for the luxury rides, giant phones, and ruffles galore. All the
ladies wear lacy nightgowns and satin negligees showing ample
decolletage – when not wearing those shoulder pads that make them
look twice as wide. The hair, however, never moves. Strong statures
and solid deliveries anchor the bitch slaps and scandals as not even
plastic surgery recasts, car accidents, kidnappings, murder, and
spin-offs can keep down these Denver tycoons. From quotes borrowed
from “The Vote” in Big Business to
cat fights in “The Threat” and the superbly shocking Moldavian
Massacre, oil double crosses and women both catty and badass in the
boardroom would soon define the eighties with excess and over
the top opulence. Longer episodes have room for tense zooms and up
close shots – letting the audience hold our breath in suspense
instead of rushing to tweet after the fact. When binging now,
however, it's tough to fathom the prime time breaks thanks to rapid
soap opera timelines where one or two shows are months of pregnancy
or weeks of temporary blindness. Somehow, it also never snows in this
Colorado. While we can applaud the early gay plots, they are sadly
terribly, terribly wrong. Outing homosexuals in the courtroom,
literally straightening them out by marrying women, and instigating
custody battles over gay love triangles never consider a guy could
just be a fine bisexual parent. Here pregnant women marry their
rapists alongside casual brushes with incest, toxic paint, and
deathbed weddings. However it's the then talk of oil shortages, new
energy technology, and politicians versus billionaires playing
hardball for the future of our country that remain surprising.
Onscreen
they say it's naive to think the world is black and white, yet
potential storylines, intriguing relationships, and villains made
friendly are run into the ground while plots no one cares about
linger. At times it's frustrating to rewatch while royalty and
international intrigue amount to pedestrian aftermath. Seemingly
important people unceremoniously disappear as characters are not
allowed to be realistically multi faceted thanks to saccharin kids in
peril and plots repeating themselves with the same couples,
illegitimate questions, kidnapped babies, and evil congressmen. After
peak storytelling in its early years, it's apparent the series goes
on twice as long as it should have – left with a great ensemble and
no idea what to do with them beyond terrible soap tropes.
Fortunately, despite the increasingly annoying latter seasons, the
final over the balcony railing cliffhanger fittingly completes the
deliciously decadent nostalgia, and the best of the best catty
remains infinitely scrumptious.
Seinfeld
– From “These pretzels are making me thirsty.” to “No soup
for you!” this quintessential, ahead of its time New York in the
nineties time capsule has seeped into the cultural lexicon. Many have
already praised this show about nothing that really says everything
with its circumventing commentary on then taboo talk of sex,
relationships, “The Sponge,” and homophobia, not
that there's anything wrong with that.
It's impossible to discuss every detail or little kick here –
although some would agree that the stand up comedy book ends found in
the early seasons are ironically flat. Our eponymous funny guy is the
straight man who often can't keep a straight face thanks to puffy
shirts, quirky neighbors, kissing hello, and more roundabout
preposterous like wanting the dry cleaner to admit he made a mistake
and wondering why Keith Hernandez didn't call. Extreme circumstances
like the fake marine biologist saving a beached whale with a golf
ball in its blow hole nonetheless leave room for Superman references,
Bizarro World switches, old
men in traction, latex selling Vandelay Industries, virgins, John
John, and “The
Contest.” Deserving comeuppance ruins “The Summer of George”
but the simple genius of “The Chinese Restaurant” and “The
Parking Garage” remain. While younger audiences may be tired of
hearing about the timeless twists or find the quips old hat, every
episode provides something relevant, balancing laugh at loud
slapstick with winks, red dots, and The English Patient. In
many ways, we've regressed from this between the lines analysis on
prejudice and racism,
but here the shrewd layers and character goofiness are intertwined in
almost Dickensian happenstance thanks to everything from BBO and a
fishy bed that smells like the East River to “The Pez Dispenser”
on the knee at a piano recital and Festivus. Although many may argue
the finale falters under the show's weight, the self-referential
characters writing an internal show about nothing remains meta before
meta was meta. Rather than getting full of itself, the neurotic
scenarios are now nostalgic, long gone bemusements – video stores,
waiting in line at the bank, the rolodex, who's first on the speed
dial, answering machines, pay phones, difficulty in making copies,
pocket organizers that won't stop beeping. Bleeped expletives are
also ingeniously used, a bonus wink on censorship taken for granted
amid today's ample crass opportunities. Now ironic Guiliani jokes and
Neo Nazi rallies address who we really are but don't care to admit as
our selfish and unable to handle the basics of living quartet are
completely unaware of how snobbish and loathsome they really are.
Mugging old ladies for the marble rye, skimping on a cheap wheelchair
for a handicapped friend – it's not you, it's me, and yada,
yada, yada. Like the
healing power of “The Junior Mint,” there are numerous nuggets
here to revisit and discover anew with every rewatch.
Dolores!
Dolores!
For
more soothing entertainment and viewing lists from decades of yore, revisit Comfort Food Shows and Comfort Shows – 60s Edition!
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