Dexter in Decline?

Watching the season opener of Dexter, I couldn’t escape the feeling the series has settled into a state of complacency. In the first season of the series, we had a dark antihero dispensing unholy retribution to those who had escaped justice by slipping through cracks in the justice system. Dexter was almost a merry prankster of mayhem in those days, slicing and dicing evildoers with elfin abandon by night, and dispensing doughnuts to his coworkers at the Miami police department by day. We liked the guy, and it was all so deliciously silly, we didn’t mind a bit that he was a serial killer, albeit a serial killer who only preyed on other killers.

The second season of Dexter was a little more complex, as Dex realized that he wasn’t as emotionless as he thought he was, and he discovered that he liked girls after all. The fact that the pieces of his victims were inadvertently discovered by treasure seeking divers off the Miami coast complicated his dreamy world, of course, but only in the smallest way. Dexter was still operating under Harry’s Code, even after he realized that most of it was based on a lie his adopted father had perpetuated. Dexter emerged unscathed, though, as we knew he would all along. Sure, it cost some lives, most notably his nemesis Doakes, and it caused him to reexamine the Code. But what mattered was that Dexter had affirmed himself as no longer a student, but a master of dealing out death to the deserving.

“Our Father.” the season premiere of Dexter, is essentially Dexter telling his dentist how he spent his summer vacation. It’s darkly comic, of course—he went to the carnival, which was a secret killing ground for a child predator. His relationship with Rita has blossomed apparently, with sex being an overriding factor. In fact, most of the time we see Dexter and Rita together, they’re doing the nasty. He’s also settled into the role of surrogate father with Rita’s kids. It’s almost a Leave It to Beaver lifestyle they have, sans the June Cleever pearl necklace. (Come to think of it, nobody ever knew exactly what it was that Ward did when he left their cozy suburban home.)

We do know what happens when Dexter leaves the house. When he goes to delete a drug dealer who got away with murder years before, things go horribly wrong. The dealer gets away, and Dexter ends up in a struggle with a person who wasn’t supposed to be there. It’s a battle involving a knife, with predictable results. Dexter, in his very personal view of ethics, grapples with the fact he’s killed somebody without knowing if they met the criteria of Harry’s Code.
And in his twisted logic, he begins investigating his latest victim, mostly to justify his killing.

Complicating matters is the fact that his victim appeared to be a community activist, who also happened to be the brother of renowned prosecutor Cuban immigrant and ambitious Assistant District Attorney Miguel Prado (Jimmy Smits). who also happens to be an old flame of Lt. LaGuerta (Lauren Velez) Thus is the cat and mouse game established for the season.

Admittedly, I’ve only seen the first episode of the new season, and I’ve been watching Dexter from the beginning. Maybe that’s part of the reason I can’t escape the feeling I’ve seen this before. Deb is vying for a promotion, and she’s involved with wrong guy once again (this time a fellow cop being investigated by IA), oh—and she got a haircut. Angel has been promoted to Detective Sergeant, filling the void left by Doaks’s death. The ghost of Harry is still influencing Dexter’s actions, regardless of how he proclaims himself the new master. And Dexter is still adhering to the first rule of Harry’s Code: don’t get caughet.

Dexter’s producers have said the first season represented Dexter’s birth, the second season his adolescence and the current season his adulthood, Umm, okay. My question is, does adulthood also represent a realization of mortality? All good things come to an end, and while I want to believe that Dexter has a lot of surprises in store, my gut feeling is that this will be its last season. And I’m hoping it goes out in a blaze of glory.

Writer's Block As a Way of Life

.

.

For some unfathomable reason, writers are usually portrayed as angst-ridden, tortured souls, riddled by guilt and bearing the weight of the world’s sorrows on their shoulders. Of course, such depictions of writers are invariably written by writers, so it’s not that surprising. After all, self-loathing sells, assuming it’s packaged correctly.

.

Californication (premiered Monday on Showtime, 10:30 PM EST) manages to take that iconic cliché and update it into a fully realized, contemporary character. Hank Moody (David Duchovny) is the author of a critically acclaimed first novel. ”God Hates Us All” has been optioned as a movie, a romantic comedy re-titled “A Crazy Little Thing Called Love.” That in itself would be enough to chaff any writer, what with the requisite move from NYC to LA, and the attendant realizations that writers rank rather low on the tinsel town food chain. In Moody’s case, it results in severe writer’s block, alleviated by sports sex and heavy drinking. That alone would make for a situation with which writers at any level could relate, but Californication complicates matters by making Moody a sympathetic character.

.

For reasons unexplained, Moody’s ex-girlfriend and love of his life, Karen (Natascha McElhone) and his precocious twelve-year-old daughter Becca (Madeleine Martin) also live in LA, making visitation much more convenient for all involved. But it’s the relationship between these three characters that cements the series in reality. At its heart, Californication is really a show about the extreme routes our quests for purpose take us. As distanced from each other as Hank and Karen would like to think they are, neither can escape the fact that Becca bonds them together.

.

It’s hardly maudlin, though. That underlying dynamic serves as a springboard for many of the episode’s gags, most of which revolve around Hank’s covert sexual escapades. And there are several of those here, recounted playfully, if somewhat explicitly. You can’t call it gratuitous, though — the dalliances are integral to Hank’s character. He’s a man slowly disintegrating from within, clinging to reality by moments, wherever he finds them. The pilot hints that some of those moments may come back to haunt him, particularly in the case of one dalliance who he thought was a college student.

.

With Californication, Showtime further positions itself as the prime source of original programming on premium cable. Airing after Weeds, it’s another series that illustrates the network’s commitment to provocative drama and comedy. Like Weeds and Dexter, Californication expands the boundaries of episodic television. It’s not a series designed for the lowest common denominator. But for those yearning for a comedic series that can speak to universal themes, Californication is a beacon of hope for the future.

.

Oh, yeah — it’s pretty freakin’ funny, too.

Walking Through Weeds

.

.

Weeds has never really been about a widowed suburbanite who deals pot to her friends and neighbors to make ends meet. That’s merely a metaphor. In fact, almost every aspect of Weeds works as metaphor. First, there’s the name of the LA suburb “Agrestic”, which is an Old English word meaning “characteristic of the fields”, but also means “crude and lacking in sophistication.” The characters in the series all represent some degree of disenfranchisement within their political and social strata. Marijuana is actually the most minor component of Weeds, serving as a crude capitalist icon from which everything else emanates. Or maybe I get high just watching Weeds. It’s addictive that way.

.

Season one was an enjoyable romp through some of suburbia’s darker boulevards. While Mary-Louise Parker’s portrayal of small time suburban pot dealer Nancy Botwin was the force that kept it cohesive, the interplay between her and the characters surrounding her made the show pop. Kevin Nealon, as Doug Hunter, and Elizabeth Perkins, as Celia Hodes, in particular, were outstanding symbols of middle class extremes. Both pointed to the dirty little secrets that lurked beneath the veneer of the pristine gated community. Doug was the city councilman who was perpetually stoned, but maintained his CPA business, and Celia was the PTA president whose obsession with image didn’t preclude her extramarital activities. And, of course, both were close to Nancy.

.

With season two, Weeds expands on its suburban satire, and wisely takes the storyline into more logical, often darker realms. What we get as a result is a series that weaves seamlessly between broad comedy and scalpel sharp drama, and never misses a beat between transitions. Plot points introduced in the first season flow effortlessly into the second, progressing in a way that unfolds much like life does. Alliances have shifted. Nancy and Conrad have decided to expand their operation, and grow their own. Heylia, Conrad’s aunt and Nancy’s supplier, isn’t happy about this, for obvious reasons. When Nancy’s bakery burns down (perhaps aided by Sanjay), it presents a perfect opportunity for Nancy and Conrad to eliminate the middle man, however.

.

As rosy as all that may sound, the growing business is not without complications. After all, Nancy is trying to raise her two sons, Silas and Shane, who are in separate stages of pubescent male hormone pinball. Silas is exerting his male dominance factor, usually not very well. And Shane is torn between the newfound joys of masturbation and realizing that joining the debate team is a good way to make certain chicks notice him. Uncle Andy isn’t the best role model for them, but there may be hope in the Israeli ex-commando who teaches him that she can be more man than he’ll ever be (long story, that one). As if that weren’t complicated enough, Nancy has entered into a marriage of convenience with DEA agent Peter—the mutual reasoning being that he can’t ever testify against her. And after Celia defeats Doug in the city council election, they enter into a torrid affair. There’s more, but this should be enough to make your head spin.

.

Of course, it could all lapse into silly comedy, but series creator Jenji Kohan and her team of writers hone each episode with such surgical precision that you barely notice the precise instants when the storyline veers into darkly dramatic territory. The characters don’t seem to realize it, either. By and large, they go blithely through their day to day routine, mostly oblivious to all but their most immediate concerns. In fact, only the characters most involved with pot, from dealers to users to Feds, are even remotely aware of the forces transpiring around them. Even then, the principals in Weeds amplify the mundane aspects of their lives to the point that the larger issues don’t register with them until they’re potentially beyond their control.

.

It all culminates as the season unfolds, with the Armenian mafia in a Mexican standoff with a couple of gangsta hustlers. Both sides want Nancy’s and Conrad’s stash. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have it, since her son Silas has already jacked it. It’s a cliffhanger that surpasses Tarantino in terms of tension. Season three debuts on Showtime 13 August. I have a feeling that life in the suburbs is going to get a lot more complicated.

.

In the meantime, season one (ten episodes) and season two (twelve episodes) are available on DVD, and as downloads directly from Showtime. This is groundbreaking comedy that balances outrageous humor with provocative social commentary. The beauty of it is that it never gets heavy-handed on either end of the spectrum. And even though it has moments of taut drama, Weeds never strays far from being, well... mellow.

The Tudors: Pragmatic Pageantry Among the Pawns

.

.

With its third episode, The Tudors completes its introductory arc, setting the stage for a launch into the darker intrigues and alliances that marked Henry VIII's monarchy. What we've seen thus far has been an evolution of sorts. In the premiere, Henry came across more as a spoiled playboy, with affairs of state more an annoyance keeping him away from his more serious affairs, such as tennis, jousting and bedding ladies in waiting. By the second episode, he was settling more into the political weight his throne afforded him. In the latest installment, Henry's grown comfortable in his skin, and has learned to reconcile the playful passions of youth with the more deliberate maneuverings of diplomacy and power.

.

It's not as though Henry had an epiphany-- from the beginning, he's used boyish charm to mask his calculating shrewdness. He was more reckless then, hastily declaring war on France almost as an afterthought, only to dissuaded by the pro-French Cardinal Wolsey from acting too hastily. Wolsey has his own Papal ambitions, of course, and needs the support of the French to fulfill them. And on Henry's other shoulder is his humanist conscience, in the form of Thomas More. For a while, it appeared Henry was easily swayed by either of them.

.

Throughout most of the second episode, Henry seemed more a pawn than a ruler. The real battle for dominance seemed to be between Wolsey's quest to be Pope and More's humanist ideals. Even the Duke of Buckingham's execution for treason seemed vaguely orchestrated by Wolsey, more than by order of Henry. Henry, however, is entranced with the writings of Machiavelli, and wonders aloud if it's better for a king to be loved or feared. But once Elizabeth Blount bears Henry's illegitimate son, whom the king names Henry Fitzroy, his entire demeanor changes. We suddenly see Henry in a new light, and find that he's no longer a king to be taken lightly. By the episode's end, he's even "persuaded" Wolsey to happily turn over his palace to him.

.

In episode three, any hopes for peace with France are all but extinguished. Even Wolsey has allied himself with Spain, and Charles V, King of Spain and the nephew of Henry's wife, Catherine. Henry, too, is anxious to ally himself with Charles, and the two strike up a pact to unite against the French. Because of the ramifications, Henry is careful to make it appear he and Catherine are blissfully married. But once he comes face to face with Anne Boleyn, Henry is once again smitten. . .

.

Is The Tudors historically inaccurate in places? Of course it is-- that's why it's called "historical drama." Shakespeare's take on Julius Caesar wouldn't have played well to audiences if he'd done a barebones account, either. What's important in dramas of this sort is to capture the essence of the events, which, thus far, The Tudors does admirably. The sets, the costumes, the characterizations--all lend an air of sensuality necessary to capture the intrigues of the time. In a series like this, we're not interested in the plight of the masses--we want to know what is transpiring in the offices of power. What this series demonstrates, above all else, is the rich and powerful now are not that far removed from their 16th century boardroom equivalents.

.

Showtime is showing the first three episodes of The Tudors back to back on 21 April, and they're all available on Showtime on Demand. They're loosely constructed if viewed individually, but seen together, they serve as an enticing preamble for what looks to be a series that delves deeply into the motivations of power.

Sleeper Cell is no 24-- and That's a Good Thing

.

.

It's become a bit trendy among some TV critics (and I use that term advisedly) to compare Showtime's Sleeper Cell to Fox's 24. Not only is that wrongheaded, lazy reportage, it's just flat-out stupid. Beyond the theme of potential terrorism on American soil, the two series have precious little in common. Let me rephrase that--they have absolutely nothing in common.

.

I'm not knocking 24--hell, I've followed it religiously for going on six years now, often to the dismay of family and employers. (Random note to self--gotta get a TIVO.) I love the show, despite its leaps in logic, not the least of which being that all this mayhem takes place in a mere 24 hours. Sleeper Cell moves at a more deliberate, but no less deadly pace.

.

Sleeper Cell: American Terror picks up where the first season ended, give or take a few months. After thwarting the terrorist attack on Dodgers Stadium last season, FBI operative Darwyn al-Sayeed (Michael Ealy) just wants to get on with his life. After all, Faris al-Farik (Oded Fehr) is in US custody, and his cell has apparently been destroyed. Darwyn emerged unscathed, and he's been offered a teaching position at the FBI Academy. But he's quickly drawn back into the role of field agent when he's persuaded to recon Benny Velazquez (Kevin Alejandro). Darwyn and Benny had met while Darwin was doing his prison stint, and Benny has attracted the notice of the FBI because he's joined a radical mosque in San Diego. Meanwhile, cell leader al-Farik, tucked away in an American prison of undisclosed location, is enduring indignities and unorthodox CIA interrogation techniques, but remains steadfast in his extremist beliefs.

.

Thus the stage is set for another tale of intrigue and betrayal told in a grippingly realistic fashion. This is not a story told in black and white, good versus evil--rather, it flows in ever-shifting shades of gray. Darwin is a man torn between his Muslim faith, his racial identity and his sense of duty. As an ex-Marine, an African-American, with an Anglo girlfriend who's married but separated, he has a lot on his plate as it is. But even though his work as an undercover agent requires subterfuge and deception, he wades through life with a stoic resignation, compromising principles in the name of the greater good.

.

The imprisoned al-Farik is no less devout, but his fundamentalist viewpoint has led him to believe his terrorist tactics are not only justified, but divinely inspired. Through his eyes, we almost understand, if not sympathize with, his extremist viewpoint. He's a radical terrorist who truly believes the West is responsible for the evils of the world, and that he's justified in taking whatever actions he can to cleanse the world of its influence. He's undeniably intelligent, even charming to a degree, and is steadfast in his beliefs even under duress of torture.

.

It's in its unflinching presentation of the dichotomies inherent in the global war on terror that Sleeper Cell: American Terror makes its mark as one of the most provocative TV series around, cable or otherwise. Once Darwyn is forced to kill the leader of a new terror cell who has blown his cover, he finds himself thrust into the role of their new leader. We're introduced to a number of new characters within this cell, each of them with a plausible backstory. There's Mina, a former Dutch prostitute who got caught up in extremist Muslim beliefs through an Iraqi lover; Salim, an Iraqi expat raised in England, where he learned to misinterpret Islam; and the aforementioned Latino gang member who converted to radical Islam while in prison. They all have their own motives, united in their devotion to their ambiguous cause.

.

While Sleeper Cell does present any number of viewpoints, it is by no means one-sided. It shows evil as evil, whether it's perpetrated by Islamic terrorists or American interrogators. It's a series that is unafraid to portray the world in which we currently live in no uncertain terms. Perhaps its most jarring moment comes at the end of the episode, when Darwyn's handler from last season, Patrice Serxner, is executed by extremists. It's broadcast via the Internet, and aptly illustrates how insidious this conflict is.

.

While Showtime did air this miniseries on consecutive nights during the holidays, and all eight episodes are available on Showtime on Demand, Sleeper Cell: American Terror is beginning its weekly run on the cable network now. If you can see it, do. This is one of the most provocative television dramas you're likely to see.