Has Shark Run Aground?

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Shark has always been more a guilty pleasure than a serious pursuit. It’s an old school series with an unlikely premise—that an amoral, high priced trial attorney with a taste for luxury would suddenly develop a conscience, shuck it all and go to work as a prosecutor. With a premise like that, it was inevitable that the show would have to have an actor who shamelessly chews up scenery as its protagonist, the kind of actor audiences love to hate, and hate the fact they love him.

In short, Shark was the perfect vehicle for James Woods. That has proven to be a Damoclean sword for the series, however. Woods’ bombastic portrayal of Sebastian Stark often borders on the campy, especially in the courtroom scenes. Without his over the top performances, though, Shark would be just another procedural courtroom drama, albeit one that owes more to House, structurally speaking, than Perry Mason.

Courtroom procedure is a constrictive canvas, especially in the case of a show like Shark, with a lead character broadly painted by Woods. It’s no wonder, then, that Season Two has gradually veered away from standard courtroom fare to explore Stark’s unsavory past.

In “Bar Fight,” Stark’s unsavory past comes back to destroy his present and future. It seems that in 1996, he witnessed a client dispose of a body, and failed to mention it to the authorities. Twelve years later, the birds have come home to roost, and Stark faces disbarment, as well as accessory to murder charges. Riddled by guilt (not to mention the possibility his life could crumble), he goes on a quest to solve the mystery of how the victim actually died, and who was ultimately responsible for her death. The fact that he’s prompted by the state attorney general’s office to do this is to clear his name is of little consequence, of course.

The story is all a bit contrived, and very little of it rings true. Villains who are presented as killers with no conscience spend most of the episode negotiating with Woods’ character, rather than merely eliminating him. Despite the TV formula script structure, “Bar Fight” finally offers plot surprises and double crosses that leave us begging for more.

Admittedly, Shark faces an uncertain future, and “Bar Fight” could signal the end of its run. If that proves to be the case, this episode lets it go out with a modicrum of dignity. If, on the other hand, this episode represents a turning point in the show’s direction, it’s a just maybe possibility that Shark can redefine courtroom dramas.

I’m not really betting on the latter. Trapped between the currents of Boston Legal, Law and Order and its CSI brethren, Shark is a fish out of water. It’s been moved in scheduling slots repeatedly, and now it’s pitted against the forces of American Idol. It’s not a pretty scenario, but Shark has a tendency to beat the odds.

Stay tuned.

The Car of the Future: So Many Options, So Little Time

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We don’t have a love affair with cars—we’re obsessed with them. The automobile is that teenage crush that still haunts you, that illicit love affair from which no good could come, that harsh consort teasing you with promises of unbridled vitality and sex appeal—at a price, of course.

In my case, it was a ’75 Pontiac Firebird Esprit—black with a metallic sparkle underpainting and over the canopy silver and gold striping, powered by a tricked out 350 cubic inch V8 with a four-barrel carb. Its rumble spoke volumes about the nature of masculine power. Its exterior made it a chick magnet. It didn’t matter to me that I paid nearly $200 a month (in 1975) to attract all that attention. Even though I had a perfect driving record (mainly because I was never nabbed for racing), and my insurance rates rose as the car was reclassified as a sports car, I was happy in the knowledge that this was the closest I was ever going to get to the Batmobile.

But my beloved Firebird averaged only about 15 mpg, and it wasn’t even equipped with an afterburner. Gasoline prices were skyrocketing from the 49 cents a gallon I was used to—hovering at nearly a dollar a gallon-- and insurance costs weren’t decreasing, either. The ‘Bird and I reluctantly parted ways, but the memory of the times we shared still hold a special place in my heart.

Some thirty-odd years later, my passion for fast, cool cars hasn’t waned a whit. It’s tempered, though, with awareness that over 800 million fossil fuel-breathing dragons prowling this planet’s highways can’t go unchecked forever. NOVA: Car of the Future, airing on PBS beginning Earth Day, 22 April (check your local listings) looks at the challenges confronting the automotive industry, and consumers as a whole, in the quest for efficient alternatives to the internal combustion engine. Besides being vastly informative, it’s also hugely entertaining.

Tom and Ray Magliozzi, aka Click and Clack, hosts of NPR’s Car Talk series, frame the show as a quest to replace Tom’s beloved, but somewhat dilapidated, 1952 MG Roadster. Appropriately enough, a global road trip of sorts finds them exploring the future of the automobile, and more specifically, what will power it. Their journey moves from the traditional (the Detroit Auto Show) to the innovative (Iceland’s experiments with hydrogen-powered public transportation) to the explorative (the Tesla electric-powered sports car) and back again to the garage where it began. It’s sort of a magical mystery tour that explores the history of our love affair with the car while raising a brow or two about the consequences of that dalliance., John Lithgow

Hi-jinks alone do not a documentary make, of course, so Car of the Future balances out one-liner sarcasm, such as the ludicrousness of a 500+ horsepower Mustang, with somber narration delivered by John Lithgow, who points out that that the current number of cars on the road now would circle the Earth 1½ times, and that ratio is growing. That’s only a springboard, though. The show focuses more on alternatives than past mistakes. It’s interspersed with commentary from experts in various fields. David Greene, of Oak Ridge Laboratories, talks about the implications of the hydrocarbon footprint. Martin Eberhard demonstrates his Tesla prototype, an all- electric vehicle with a 250 mile range on a single charge, and capable of 0-60 in 4 seconds. Other experts, from diverse organizations ranging from environmental think tanks to General Motors, explore a multitude of options available as we wean ourselves from oil. They also delve into the problems those alternatives present.

In the end, Car of the Future poses more questions than answers. The future of the car is not uncertain—it’s only how it will change in a new environment. It’s an issue in which we all have a stake. To that end, PBS has a companion website to the show: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/car/production/ in which the public is invited to share their ideas about the automobile’s future.

There’s always going to be a place for Firebirds and MG’s. They’re just going to look a little different, and be a whole lot more efficient. We’ll all be driving Batmobiles someday.

The Amazon and the Lessons Learned

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As goes the Amazon, so goes the Earth.

Caught up as we are in the near-term effects of dwindling economies, political turmoil and profitable energy alternatives, we too often fail to see the core issues of the global environment. We leap aboard the latest fad, from soy milk to ethanol, and never pause to consider the effects those seemingly beneficial things have on the larger issue. We leap before we look, and pat ourselves on our collective back, confident that we have “gone green.”

Truth is, we can’t see the forest for the trees. The core reality is we’d best start looking at the forest. In particular, we need to look at the rain forests of the Amazon Basin. Consider this:

The Amazon is home to over half of the world’s remaining rainforests, and they produce 20% of the Earth’s oxygen.

A full 50% of the planet’s annual rainfall evaporates or originates from the Amazon rainforest to the atmosphere. Unbridled deforestation will result in less rainfall, thereby producing significant implications for the global climate.

A single big tree in the Amazon stores about 1.3 tons of carbon. The cutting and burning of forests alone accounts for about 20% of the carbon going into the atmosphere.

Jean-Michel Cousteau's Ocean Adventures: Return to the Amazon (airing on PBS this month, check your local listings) looks at the issues confronting the Amazon, and by extension, the entire planet. Airing in two parts, it’s a fascinating story that spans from the Amazon’s mouth at the Atlantic ports of Brazil to a glacier in the Peruvian Andes. It’s an inspiring journey, wrought with incredible natural beauty and laced with subtle warnings about the catastrophic consequences of ignoring the ecosystem of the Amazon.



In the 25 years since Jean-Michel first explored the Amazon with his father, the legendary Jaques Cousteau, potentially disastrous changes have altered the Amazon. An area the size of Texas has been deforested. Even though the Amazon is 4250 miles long, that’s a significant amount of acreage in the global scheme. Rainforest covers 1.9 million square miles of the Amazon basin—Texas covers over 268,000 square miles. Broken down, that accounts to over 18% of the rainforest lost to mostly illegal logging and burning of the forests.

As dire as that is, it’s not the focus of Return to the Amazon. Granted, the first part of the two-part show explores the fragile balance of the rainforest in the wake of developers, but it skirts any political agenda. It does scrutinize the issues of unregulated global commerce in the region that feed American, Asian and European egos. It’s ironic that we think of soy as a healthful alternative, but seldom think about the wholesale destruction of the rainforest in favor of plantations that make our “healthful” beverages possible. Illegal lumber trading makes luxurious mahogany flourish in upscale furniture markets. The list goes on—commercial fishing, exotic animal trafficking, exploitation of the native flora all share a vibrant underground commerce—often tainted by blood.

Whereas the first part of Return to the Amazon draws attention to the delicate ecosystem of the region, poignantly illustrated by the impact of human intrusion, the second half offers cautious optimism for the Amazon’s future. While government agencies struggle, with mixed results, to sustain the environment, indigenous tribes of the region seek to live in harmony with nature, rather than conquer it. Commercial interests are realizing it’s in their best interest to keep the region alive and vibrant. As a result, a sort of symbiotic relationship emerges, with new business models of ecotourism and the development of, and exportation of sustainable products and
medicines, leave a new footprint in the global landscape.

Ultimately, Return to the Amazon is a cautionary tale that offers hope for the planet’s future, while warning of the consequences that await the planet if we fail to heed the lessons learned. It’s never preachy, but it gives one pause to consider. . . and hope.

As goes the Amazon, so goes the Earth.

Sifting Through the Wreckage of the Writers'Strike

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The Writers’ Strike didn’t really alter the landscape of network television, unless you figure in the flood of game and “reality” shows left in its wake. Those were trying times, to be sure. But now that the dust has begun to settle, and the wounded sitcoms and dramas are limping into their abbreviated season finales, we can more clearly assess the damage the protracted war between producers and writers left in its wake.

Even before the strike began in November, the 2007-2008 proposed TV season was less than stellar. It was loaded with overly hyped shows that promised much more than they ultimately delivered. (Cane comes to mind.) On the other hand, it offered quirky nuggets like Pushing Daisies. In that regard, the strike was a godsend to viewers. It gave us a chance to take a deep breath, and decide for ourselves what may actually be worth our time.

The three-month strike ended in early March, and the networks are now trumpeting the return of scripted series with child-like abandon. All is well in TV Land once again, or so they’d have us believe. That pesky strike was only a minor diversion—a family spat, if you will. Family spats, however, lead to a realignment of hierarchies. And in the post-strike landscape, the networks are taking few bold steps. I’ve pretty much resigned myself to the idea that there will always be some incarnation of the ER, CSI and Law and Order franchises.

That said, it’s unlikely that network television is going to undergo a revolution anytime soon. With all the ancillary markets out there—cable, DVD, online and so on—even the most ill-conceived project will find a niche somewhere. Jericho fans mounted a massive peanut campaign to save the series on CBS, but failed to turn out in numbers to save the series. No matter—they knew the Sci-Fi channel would give it the home they knew it deserved, if only in reruns. The most mind-bogglingly idiotic game show of all time, Deal or No Deal, has already found a rerun niche at NBC’s less than revered financial news cable offshoot, CNBC. Cable has become the dumping ground for series that couldn’t pull in mainstream ratings, where they can languish in perpetuity, bringing in enough viewers to keep the rabid fans happy while never posing a real threat to the networks.

Cult and critical favorite Friday Night Lights is a case in point. It will be back for a third season in October, but for only DirectTV subscribers will see it initially. Theoretically, NBC will air the new episodes in early 2009, but I wouldn’t hedge any bets on that happening. Sure, DirectTV has over 16 million subscribers, and a large reason for that is its sports programming. Friday Night Lights wasn’t really a sports program, though. My guess is it will flounder at DTV, be heavily promoted as a DVD boxed set and quietly die a lonely hero’s death.

It’s not all doom and gloom, though. One thing the writers’ strike accomplished, however inadvertently, was that it gave programs an opportunity to live or die on the strength, or lack thereof, of their own merits. It also gave viewers more than ample time to consider where their preferences lay. As a result, some shows highly touted by the networks back in September are falling by the wayside, and other, more traditionally risky programs, are finding a second chance at life.

As a result, ABC’s Pushing Daisies is being renewed for the fall season, rescued from early cancellation, I think, by the writers’ strike. Without the abbreviated schedules and the juggling of timeslots that came about as a result of networks scrambling to hold onto viewers, it’s doubtful this quirky show would have had a chance to find an audience. Fortunately, Cavemen and Cashmere Mafia have been axed, and are unlikely to find their way elsewhere.

At CBS, fans can look forward to seeing their favorite CSI versions return, as well as Numb3rs, NCIS and Cold Case. Moonlight, the vampire detective melodrama is scheduled for at least four more episodes, and, if it’s retooled sufficiently, may have a chance to survive into the fall season. The Unit, however, may have fought its last mission, and Cane appears to be a casualty, as well.

Pseudo-science fiction didn’t work out too well for NBC last season, and the writers’ strike didn’t help any, either. Bionic Woman and Journeyman are both history, reduced to a faint possibility they may show up as filler on the Sci-Fi Channel. As feared, though, Knight Rider is scheduled to be a full-fledged series. Other than that, NBC’s schedule will stay pretty much the same. One thing I’m happy about is that the little viewed, but very intelligent cop drama Life will return in the fall.

The fates of newcomers Terminator: the Sara Connor Chronicles, New Amsterdam and Canterbury’s Tales are unknown at this point, but with American Idol, House and its Sunday night cartoon line-up, FOX really has no need to worry. I do think, however, that 24 may end up being a casualty of the writers’ strike. The series depended on momentum, and it lost it this year. Interest, I believe, has waned. On the other hand, Smallville and Supernatural have been renewed at CW, so anything’s possible.

At its height, the writers’ strike seemed a clarion call to revolution that looked poised to shake the studios to their core. But in the end, it was nothing but two factions nickel and diming each other. Now that the war is over, reconstruction efforts are centered on keeping that system in place. The writers are getting a bigger chunk of revenue from the ancillary markets, miniscule though that chunk is. What’s largely missing from the equation is any attempt to up the quality of programming across the spectrum. Instead, both the writers and studios are content to rehash the trite and true formulas with which they’re comfortable.

Admittedly, television ultimately exists as an advertising medium. Anything memorable that emerges from that is accidental. It’s all about demographics. Programs that sell product stay on the air—those that don’t, die. At least, that’s the way it worked before cable, DVDs and online programming. The viewer now holds unprecedented power in shaping the future of the medium. Both the studios and the writers need to realize that the profits they battled over will be linked to a product that holds up to repeated viewings. Otherwise, they’ll find themselves in the same position as the record industry, commiserating about the good old days, when mediocrity was enough to hold sway over the populace.

Third Watch Revisited

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It happens all too rarely, but every once in a while, network television hits a nerve in the collective consciousness, and makes a statement about society as a whole by examining its microcosmic components. For six seasons, from September 1999 to May 2005, NBC’s Third Watch consistently accomplished just that. Ostensibly, the show focused on the day to day exploits of the cops, firefighters and paramedics of the fictional 55th precinct )nicknamed “Camelot” by the cops who work there because it sits at the corner of King and Arthur) and 53rd Fire House of New York City, who work the 3-11 PM, or “third watch” shift. That was really only a springboard, though. Third Watch was really about humanity’s tenuous hold on the urban landscape it’s created.

Of course, the series had it antecedents—Hill Street Blues, ER and Emergency come to mind immediately—but Third Watch went a step further, weaving its characters into the larger personality of the city itself. What series creators John Wells (ER, The West Wing) and Edward Allen Bernero (Criminal Minds) accomplished with Third Watch remains a benchmark in the annals of dramatic television. And while it was never a runaway ratings blockbuster, it maintained a following sufficient for it to run 132 episodes over six seasons. Along the way, it garnered critical acclaim, Emmy nominations and awards for some of its actors. It was a complex series that literally hit the ground running, and ended even more explosively than it began.

Finally, almost nine years after it originally aired, Third Watch: The Complete First Season is available in the United States as a six disc DVD boxed set. (It’s been available as a Region 2 disc for a couple of years now, albeit slightly altered.) While it’s somewhat odd it’s taken this long for the series to make it to DVD, this edition was worth the wait. Admittedly, I may be a little biased. I watched Third Watch religiously throughout its six season run, rearranging my schedule constantly as NBC shifted it from one timeslot to the next. I’ll readily admit I was a junkie—the recurring characters made me care about them, and I ended up caring about the fleeting situations in which they became embroiled in the course of a shift’s work.

Time being what it is, I’d more or less resigned myself to the idea that Third Watch was consigned to syndication and basic cable, with disjointed episodes running out of context, much like 24 reruns. Third Watch: The Complete First Season masterfully lays the groundwork for the series, introducing characters who would be pivotal through the run of Third Watch. It was an ensemble cast to be sure, and no single character was a showboater—all were integral to the overall story to each individual episode, as they were to the larger canvas of the series, which continually evolved with each episode.

In the end, though, Third Watch wasn’t about cops or firefighters or paramedics—it was more akin to contemporary knights errant unknowingly slaying invisible dragons. They were blue knights who never strayed far from their blue collar roots. The fact that they were equally concerned with the rigors and pitfalls of their daily lives as they were with the demands of their jobs gave the series a resonance unmatched by any other series of its type. It moved at such a breakneck pace that sometimes the subplots seemed trivial—much in the same way real life works. Third Watch was a rarity—it moved at the pace of life, leaving ragged edges in its wake.

It’s fitting that the DVD collection is presented in 2.0 stereo and its original 1.33:1 video format. Enhancing it would only detract from its original intent. Extras are kept at a minimum, too—a retrospective featurette featuring the writers and some cast members, and the almost obligatory gag reel of flubbed lines. The almost 1000 minutes of drama in this collection make it stand as one of the greatest network series of the New Millenium, if not of all time.

Video Kicks with Route 66

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I realize I’m dating myself here, but one of my fondest memories from early childhood is the TV series Route 66. I was too young to understand the nuances of the series—in fact, all I really remember is how cool I thought it would be to drive a Corvette across the country, coming to the rescue of sundry damsels in distress as I made pitstops along the way in towns inhabited by seriously damaged people. I had it in my head that I could grow up to be a modern day Lone Ranger, with Tonto, in the guise of Martin Milner or George Maharis at my side, depending on my mood. I’d save people’s wretched lives, and then with a wink and a hearty “Hi-yo, little blue Corvette!” and be off to my next hip adventure.

Even now, lifetimes removed from 1961 and black and white console TVs, a large part of me still likes to think it’s doable. After all, ‘Vettes actually have a bit of storage space in them now. I wouldn’t have to pack a full wardrobe in a couple of travel bags lashed to a miniscule luggage rack. I could store my formal wear in vacuum bags, and steam them when needed. And even in these tough economic times, I’d be able to find a temporary job in any field, regardless of experience—just long enough to mend a life, break a heart or two, eat in the best restaurants the town has to offer and buy gas for the Vette. Everywhere I’d stop, the local citizenry would understand that I’m just looking for meaning in American life, despite the dichotomy of searching for meaning in a brand new Corvette.

The point is, whether we’re five or fifty, or even 100, we have an inherent need to embrace the improbable, and mold it into our peculiar versions of reality. The DVD release Route 66: Season One, Volume Two reminded me how my version of America’s reality was shaped by television. I only received a four episode sampler for review purposes, but it was enough to make me realize its iconic importance in television, and its role in making the Corvette an automotive legend.

The premise of Route 66 was simple. After his father dies, Tod Stiles (Milner) inherits a Corvete, and little less. An All-American, and apparently college educated, he logically decides to drive cross-country with his best friend, Buzz Murdock (Maharis), a Hell’s Kitchen transplant with Beat Generation tendencies. Taking odd jobs to support themselves as they travel across America, they encounter various people who represent the various faces of America. In the process, they become almost non-characters. The stories in Route 66 revolved around the people Tod and Buzz meet, making the show a hybrid anthology/ character series, with unlimited dramatic possibilities.

Stirling Silliphant, the show’s creator and writer of most of the episodes, used the basic set-up to create episodes that played out as mini-movies designed to make a statement about the changing face of America as the sixties collided with earlier decades. Like Rod Serling, he was not above using overwrought dialogue to make his points. In Silliphant’s case, the voice of the Beat Generation seemed the voice of the future. He wasn’t far off-mark, considering Route 66 began in 1960 and ended, ironically enough, in 1964, just as the Beatles prepped the country for the next wave of youth.

Route 66 was shot entirely on location, almost unheard of at the time. As a result, it gives us an accurate snapshot of what America looked like nearly fifty years ago. Whether it was inhabited by such overtly dramatic characters as are portrayed in Route 66 is a matter of conjecture, I suppose. But if my childhood memories serve me well, it was. And if it wasn’t—well, that just adds another layer to the freewheeling mythos of America.

With Route 66: Season One, Volume Two, you don’t get a lot of extras beyond filmographies. You don’t need them. The story speaks for itself. The only complaint I have is it’s cropped to a 16:9 ratio, rather than presented in its original 4:3 format. Hopefully, this blunder will be rectified in future editions. Beyond that, this is a DVD that’s a worthy addition to any TV series collection.

Chancer, Series Two: Dodgy Dealings In Crumbling Casinos

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Because it features megalomaniacs, it’s compared to Dallas. Because it’s set in a lavish setting whose populace is frequently adorned with jewels and tuxedos, it’s compared to Dynasty. And because it has a lovely ghost as a recurring character, it’s compared to Twin Peaks. That’s what happens when publicists are left to their own devices. Truth of the matter is Chancer, Series Two may employ those elements in weaving its tale, but it bears little resemblance to any of the aforementioned series.

Admittedly, much of Chancer, Series Two revolves around nefarious business dealings and double crosses. And none of the characters are particularly likeable. It all plays out in a chess game of rival casinos and child custody dealings, with all the characters playing pawns to the other characters’ machinations. Derek Love (a very young Clive Owen, in what many consider his breakout role) is at the center of it all—either orchestrating his own scams, or defusing the scams of his adversaries. It all gets very complicated, since adversaries in one episode often become allies in the next, only to revert to their own schemes next time around.

Something of a sequel to Series One, this series opens with Derek, who called himself “Stephen Crane” in the first series, being released from prison for fraud. He’s determined to reconcile with Joanna (Susanna Harker), who’s just given birth to a son. That doesn’t work out too well, since she dies at the end of the first episode. But since she was so important to him-- his obsession, even—she’s never from his thoughts, or his conscience, as the case may be. She makes frequent appearances throughout Series Two, as a ghost who appears to Derek in his darker moments. That would be the only connection to Twin Peaks, and even that is stretching it. She serves more as his inner voice, a beacon who guides him on the path he must take to make things right.

Nor is Chancer a take on American soaps—it’s much too convoluted for that. Sure, there are villains galore, played mostly as caricatures, at least for the first half of the series. There’s the oily, sadistic Tom Franklyn (Peter Vaughan), dearly deceased Jo’s father, who uses his grandson as a weapon in his manipulations, mostly revolving around squelching any competition to his casino. Jimmy Blake (Leslie Philips) is his reluctant foil, all English ennui and winsome platitudes. Anna (Louise Lombard) a petty thief with a “dodgy past” complicates matters between the two when it’s revealed that she’s Jimmy’s daughter, and that Tom thinks she was responsible for Jo’s death. She wasn’t, of course, but it makes for a good thread. On a lesser, and certainly less villainous, level, is Piers Garfield-Weld (Simon Shepherd), desperate to save his estate and claim his presumed son, whom is being held by Tom Franklyn. Of course, he joins forces with Derek (the aforementioned Clive Owen) to save his estate via the casino route.

Yeah, it’s a wee bit convoluted. It’s also devilishly delicious, in a veddy, veddy English fashion. The first half of the series dances delicately between the campy and the sinister, always with a deft wink and a nod to its American prime time soapy predecessors. It’s more episodic than serial, though. There’s very little straightforward in Chancer, which is fitting, given its themes of double crosses and sundry back stabbings. Clive Owen’s character acts as both an instigator and lynchpin to the various schemes to topple Tom Franklyn, while saving Piers’ estate.

Things take a much darker tone in the final three episodes, when paternity tests prove that Dex is the father of Jo’s son. (That’s not really a spoiler—it was screamingly apparent from episode one, and explained his motives.) It all comes to a crashing and unexpected end when Dex has to choose between his future with Anna and his past, and responsibilities, with the ghost of Jo.

While Series Two is abbreviated, with only seven episodes, reportedly because Owen wanted to pursue other acting interests, it doesn’t feel rushed. Writers Guy Andrews and Simon Burke impeccably pace the story with measured doses of neo-noir and dark humor throughout its 350 minutes. There’s no hint of tension on the set—only in the story itself. The actors all play their characters with melodramatic relish to the very end. The final result is a story that ends on a satisfying, if ambiguous, note.

There are no extras on the seven disc set, outside of filmographies and bios of the cast. The video transfer is adequate, but not outstanding, and it’s presented in 1.33:1 aspect ratio, as it was originally shot.While it would have been nice to have a few extras, Chancer, Series Two is an outstanding example of British television in the early nineties, weaving subtle social commentary into a plot that’s always engaging.

Ammunition for the Cocktail Revolution

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There’s something about uncertain times that prod us into appreciating the finer things life has to offer. It’s not that we turn a blind eye to the furies swirling all about us—indeed, we’re painfully aware it could end in a flash, or worse, loom taunting above us for who knows how long. But we take solace in the idea that regardless of how it all turns out, we humans have somehow managed through the centuries to produce one or two things that will outlive us. We want to feel remnants of art, architecture, philosophy and politics will still be here whenever aliens discover we little bipods once ruled this planet. Once we cut through all those platitudes, though, we want to be remembered as a people who lived well.

Given that, it’s hardly surprising that the cocktail culture has resurfaced. Whenever the world appears to be imploding, something in us screams, “This might be an appropriate time for a nice drink. What will you have?” It’s been a plot device of films from Casablanca to Titanic, and beyond. It’s been symbolic of victory celebrations since time immemorial. All political correctness aside, alcohol, in all its myriad forms, is inextricably linked to Western culture.

That’s not to imply Western Civilization is one big keg party—far from it. There’s a reason they’re referred to as “spirits”—if they’re not to be revered, they should be at least savored. It’s not going beyond the pale to guess that as many alliances have been forged, treaties have been negotiated, business empires have begun and romances have blossomed as often over a well-considered drink as a pen, a sword or ring.

I was recently invited to review a trio of premium liquors that, while new on the market, uphold that tradition. They come from diverse regions—from Norway to Mexico to France—but they all offer unexpected pleasures.

Tequila, the first spirit distilled in the North American continent, is an often misunderstood liquor. Represented most often in pop culture as a favorite beverage of assorted renegades, and largely marketed as a party drink, it’s rarely viewed as a refined liquor, particularly in the United States. Here, it’s been relegated to shots and margaritas, usually made with mixtol (those mixed with agave and cane sugars) tequilas. It’s only recently that premium tequilas—those made with 100% agave— have made a major inroad in cocktail culture, particularly in California and Texas.

Pertida Tequila is the latest entry in the rapidly burgeoning premium tequila market in America. It’s an estate-grown tequila from the heart of Mexico’s Tequila region, made from 100% blue agave, giving it a purity rarely seen in the current American market.


There are three grades of Pertida—four, if you count the $350 a bottle Elegante, aged over 36 months. For our purposes, we’ll dwell on the other three. The Blanco (not aged) is bottled by hand after being distilled twice to ensure perfection of purity. It’s a tequila with a delicate balance of crispness and faintly citrus notes. I found it surprisingly smooth straight, and as an excellent base for mixed drinks. The Resposado (aged six months in Canadian Oak barrels) offers a more robust flavor than the Blanco, but still has nuances not usually associated with Tequila. I found it smooth, without the burn one usually associates with tequila. Finally, there’s the Anejo (aged 18 months), an exceedingly smooth tequila with hints of spices and a full-bodied finish. While it is an amazing base for traditional mixed drinks, I found it best served neat. The subtleties of this tequila are best enjoyed neat, and savored slowly.

Given its versatility, it’s hardly surprising that vodka overtook bourbon in the 1950’s to become the most popular liquor in America. Undoubtedly, some of that popularity stems from the myth that, unlike other alcohol, it leaves no odor in the breath. That notwithstanding, vodka is one of the most ancient of spirits, dating back to at least the 11th century. It can be distilled from any number of starches, with fermented grains usually being the prime ingredient. Christiania Vodka, a Norwegian import aggressively expanding in the US market, is distilled from organic Trondelang potatoes and Norwegian arctic spring water. The recipe for it dates back to 1596, when King Christian conquered Norway, and brought with him some of the refinements of the Renaissance.



Admittedly, I’m partial to vodka as my mixer of choice. Small wonder, considering how vodka adds a certain something to any aperitif. It’s very rare, at least in America, that a vodka stands on its own as a true experience. While I’ll stop just short of calling my experience with Christiania an epiphany, I will say that it’s the smoothest vodka I’ve ever tasted. I’ve tried it neat, on the rocks, as a base for a martini and even as the venerable screwdriver. It has failed to disappoint me on all counts.

Christiania is possessed of an unmatched sophistication that makes it an ideal complement to dining. It’s probably the first true sipping vodka, as well. Served neat, it’s a taste to be savored languidly, and as a mixer, its crisp, but smooth body enhances any cocktail.

No other sprit is more closely associated with cocktail culture than gin. Compared to vodka and tequila, it’s still a relative newcomer having first appeared in Holland in the late 17th century. It’s most associated with the English, however, where the dry variety was perfected and popularized. G’Vine Gin, from France’s Cognaq region, is a departure from traditional gin in that it’s distilled from grape spirit, rather than grain, and is infused with green grape flowers, instead of juniper, for a smoother flavor and headier aroma.


Tending to favor vodka over gin, I approached G’Vine with some trepidation. That fact that each bottle is individually numbered seemed more marketing ploy than exclusivity to me, and did little to assuage my fears. I was pleasantly surprised once I opened the bottle and took in its faintly floral fragrance. Sampling it neat, its flavor was round, with none of the burn or aftertaste of the English-style gins. Not surprisingly, given its origins, it was rather akin to sipping a good wine.

The true test of any gin is how it works as the base ingredient of a mixed drink. In that regard, G’Vine surpasses almost any juniper-based dry gin, lending a new dimension to the basic martini. What it may lack in bite, it more than makes up for in subtlety. Served neat, on the rocks or mixed, this French gin may well become the standard for gins in the new cocktail culture.

The commonality of these three spirits, ultimately, is that they serve to recognize a restless urge in contemporary culture to explore new vistas and cultivate a refinement in our sensibilities and tastes. Admittedly, none of these spirits, being new to the US market, are readily available at this point. Christiania Vodka and G’Vine Gin have rolled out their respective products on the East Coast, while Partida Tequila is more readily available in the Western region of the US. All, however, are currently available via Internet retailers, with rapid expansion planned to local markets. Christiania and G’Vine are at a $40 price point, and Partida, depending on the aging, costs in the neighborhood of $50-80.

I'm Not Black. I'm Not White. And Neither Are You.

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These are interesting times—whether living in them is a curse or boon is ultimately going to hinge upon whether we’re willing to shed our tribal instincts and cultural preconceptions in favor of redefining ourselves in a new century.

The American presidential campaign and the requisite coverage of it mirror those preconceptions and fears. Is Obama black enough? Is McCain young enough? Is Clinton woman (or man) enough? You have to take those questions, and their inevitable follow-ups, as rhetorical at best. They’re the political equivalent of a tabloid headline, and do nothing but divert our attention from the issues that are relevant to the future of not only America, but to the entire globe.

I’m not knocking rhetoric—it’s woven into the fabric of American history. From “Give me liberty, or give me death” to “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country” to “I have a dream” to “Yes we can”, well-timed phrases galvanize us to action. But like any power, in the wrong hands, rhetoric becomes insidious, inspiring our basest emotions of fear and hatred. Unwisely used, rhetoric destroys its practitioners and followers.

In the current US presidential campaign, rhetoric has become the bogeyman, cited as the evil destroying legitimate debate, except when those citing it use the very tool they rile against to further their own agendas. It’s always been like that, of course, but in our YouTube universe, the wrong nuance at the wrong instant can be used as leverage against the other side. That’s all well and fine, but eventually we have to step gingerly through the minefields the candidates and the pundits have set before us. We have to decide: do we really want a new future for America, or are we content to wallow in the muck of a failed past?

We in America tout our diversity as our greatest strength, and well we should. It’s also undeniable that we’ve committed some unforgivable errors along the way. No amount of reparations or apologies will erase those stains. And no amount of ancestral outrage is going to advance us further up the evolutionary scale. What will save us, if anything, is a rationed approach to unifying America.

Only one presidential candidate has risen to that challenge. Barack Obama is no stranger to the power of rhetoric, but he is the only presidential candidate who infuses it with an aura of genuine integrity. He’s shown that he’s willing to cross party lines to get results, but he’s also proven that he has the gumption to not back away from a principle in which he believes. Time and again, he’s substantively demonstrated his message of hope is a concrete one that transcends racial, social and all but most the extreme political factions.

This may very well be one the most important presidential elections in American history. The country is poised precariously at a crossroads that may chart its course for generations. The question becomes, will America continue to be a heart in conflict with itself, or will the US return to its roots, and become united once again? We can no longer afford to look at ourselves as black, white, brown or yellow, or define ourselves along ideological lines—we have to once again be the United States of America.

Barack Obama is the candidate most qualified to inspire us to achieve that goal. Agree with him or not on specific issues, he articulates his views in such a way that you have to admire him. More importantly, he leaves his viewpoints open to some degree of internal debate. And that’s something we haven’t seen in a long time.

Dexter Lite

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The writers’ strike is finally over, and the networks find themselves with a glass more than half empty. When CBS announced earlier this month, with much ballyhoo, that they were breaking new ground by airing the first season of the acclaimed Showtime series Dexter, I was less than enthused. The subtle shadings of the series, colored in psychosis, vulgarity, sexual innuendo and dark humor couldn’t translate to a mainstream audience, I reasoned.

I was only half right.

People had heard of Dexter, and were curious about it. They didn’t get Showtime on their cable networks. I frequently received emails from people bemoaning the fact they weren’t subscribed to Showtime, and in my daily life, acquaintances frequently pestered me for recaps about a series they’d never seen. Dexter quickly become a pop icon, sight unseen.

To paraphrase Dexter’s inner monologue, tonight’s the night that it’s going to happen. At 10 PM ET/PT, CBS airs the premiere episode that started it all, with a pledge to broadcast the entire 12 episode first season over the coming weeks. Don’t get too excited, though. As I predicted, the CBS version is heavily edited. This may not bother newcomers to the series overmuch, but longtime devotees may find it overly safe. It’s like skimming a Cliff’s Notes version of a classic, and expecting to ace an exam. It can’t be done.

That being said, the CBS version of Dexter, hobbled as it is, nonetheless manages to limp into a new phase of network programming. It makes unnecessary concessions to a larger audience, such as deleting original opening credits sequence (a macabre masterpiece of satire that sets the tone for each episode), and it clumsily edits the potty mouths of Deb and Doakes (be prepared for an over-abundance of the word “freakin”). Even with those concessions, Dexter emerges as an antihero unlike any other.

Whether all twelve episodes of the first season will actually air on CBS is a matter of debate. In its early days, Dexter episodes were self-contained, with the Ice Truck Killer subplot serving more as a teaser than a plot device. It wasn’t until the third arc that he became an integral part of Dexter’s adventures. The question arises, then, will mainstream viewers follow his killing sprees for more than a few episodes?

I honestly don’t think so. Without the nuances of character, both the good guys and the bad guys, Dexter becomes another silly show with the troubled Cold Case leading it into a Sunday night audience. I really hope Dexter will garnish enough ratings to make the networks rethink their strategies. It would be really cool if Dexter broke down barriers during its CBS tenure. I’d love to see Weeds crossover to the mainstream. But we know that won’t happen. We may be ready for serial killer heroes, but a pot dealing suburban single mom?—that’s really stretching credibility.

It’s a moot point, anyway. Dexter’s pitted against a talking Mustang tonight. Guess who wins that battle.