In the "big disappointments" category: one arrived, as it often does, in a red Zip envelope. You probably haven't ever heard of the series Buffalo Bill, let alone ever seen it, because it didn't last terribly long, wasn't popular, and as far as I know, was never shown in syndication. It did get at least one good - heck, great - review when it first aired back in early '83, which I read at the time, and is why I looked it up.
Unfortunately, it's fucking awful.
The series starred Dabney Coleman as a misanthropic, self-centred, hapless talk-show host (not unlike a malicious Alan Partridge), which sounds like comedy gold waiting to happen. However, the scripts are weak and predictable, the surprisingly sturdy supporting cast are wasted, and there's a laugh track (which only highlights the fact that the preceding line wasn't funny.) The show also looks a lot older than it is - roughly about the vintage of The Bob Newhart Show, with the exception of the opening credits, which have that almost-handwritten typeface so popular on California-themed restaurants in the 80's. If it weren't for the women's haircuts (uniformly pouffy) and the lack of trouser flares, I'd have guessed that this show sat in the can, unaired until Coleman became bankable after Tootsie and/or series regular (and writer, apparently) Geena Davis attracted some notice for...um...also Tootsie.
More enjoyable was Chinatown (although I probably don't have to tell you that). If you haven't seen it, it's an excellent modern noir; as much a story of water rights and the development of Los Angeles as a story about a murder (like how Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, with its digression into the destruction of public transit in post-war L.A.) Jack Nicholson puts in a great performance of the kind he hasn't since, oh, The Shining, which can be startling if (like me) you're used to him being JACK™ in every role.
We also finally got the classic love triangle story Jules et Jim, which Jess surprised me by liking immensely (given her earlier disdain for the other nouvelle vague films we've seen). It's a difficult one, I've got to say; the mercurial Catherine (who loves both Jules and Jim, among others) is painful to watch, and Jules either needed to grow a pair or admit that he's out of his depth with her (a lesson that, ahem, certain other men could learn from). Also weird: Henri Serre (who plays Jim)'s startling resemblance to Chris Noth.
My favourite scene of the film - and it's the most new wavey moment in it - is where the three leads are walking down the street after having attended a play, and the men start criticising the direction, script and staging in such a way that it could easily apply to Jules et Jim as well. Which is what I've decided is my favourite thing about that school of filmmaking - their absolute refusal to let the audience 'lose' themselves in the artifice of it all. It takes some getting used to, but it is possible to love a film even when you're being reminded that yes, you are watching a construction.
- -
My recent musical fixation has been Roxy Music, particularly their early albums For Your Pleasure and Country Life (and no, I am not merely fixated on the cover art.) It's a little strange, to me at least, that this represents my first real stab at listening to the band, given that I've been a long-time fan of Bowie's glam phase and my total adoration of Brian Eno's pop records (which came out immediately after his split with the band). I've also always liked Bryan Ferry's voice - he had a trashy pop hit in '85 with "Slave to Love", which I enjoyed in the same sort of way I like Steely Dan (and wow, that's another story): it's sulty and mature and sounds like being quietly drunk in the afternoon. But, alas, my brother had only a copy of their 1980 album Flesh + Blood in his collection, and so my first impression was that I really didn't care for their weak shit.
Years passed, and every once in a while I'd hear somebody talk about Roxy Music's early, weird phase, and I'd think about checking them out; but then I'd forget, but then I'd buy a Sea and Cake record and my desire for languid, decadent pop would be sated for another couple of years. And then there was that scene in Lost in Translation, after which I knew I needed to get a copy of "More Than This". Unfortunately (again), it's from Avalon, which isn't a very good record - too eighties by half, and even that song is much glossier than I'm comfortable with - but I think I gave it a fair listen before discarding it.
Their first few, though - in the years 1971-74, man, that's some excellent stuff. The band, particularly on the self-titled debut, anticipate the jarring angularity of post-punk, while still the spectre of prog-rock (Ferry had auditioned to be vocalist for King Crimson prior to forming RM) hangs over the proceedings. The group's rough edges (aka Brian Eno) get smoothed out on Stranded (1973), and by 1975's Siren (with its hit single, "Love is the Drug") there's little remarkable about them.
It's interesting to see how the band hasn't been lionized as glam icons the way that, for instance, T. Rex were. A quick side-by-side comparison of their music (the former's "Out of the Blue" vs. Bolan's "Ride A White Swan"): one's sexy, noisy and overblown, while the other's a jangly but straightforward blues song with hippy-assed lyrics. Go figure. At their beginnings, of course, Roxy Music were thoroughly aligned with glam-rock (no doubt aided by their aggressively pan-sexual appearance) but perhaps they're one of those bands who started as out cool in a subculture but squandered it through bland MOR success (cf. The Police, the Bangles).
- -
And my last recent curiosity has been, apparently, women with the last name Deschanel. First off is Zoey, who appears on the slight but endlessly charming album Volume One, with singer/songwriter M. Ward (under the name She & Him.) Ward isn't someone I've had any real exposure to; he's on a couple of Merge Records compilations I own, and generally I skip his contributions. He's often touted as a brilliant songwriter by the same critical sources who rave about, for instance, Ron Sexsmith, which I take as evidence that I'm not missing anything I'd enjoy. But She & Him is quite a different beast: her voice, while far from perfect, has a winning sassyness, and the arrangements are sunny and twangy with an early-60's pop feel. It's not going to change the world, but "Why Do You Let Me Stay Here?" ought to liven up more than a couple of parties. (She's also an actress, which I keep forgetting, even though I've seen her in like, five things, and look forward to seeing her in The Assassination of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford.)
Then there's her sister Emily, who appears in the post-mortem-investigation-drama (and really, how did that become a whole genre?) Bones, which we've tuned into the last few weeks and found, to our surprise, a real gem. The show is based on the life and novels of Kathy Reichs, although to what degree I'm not sure (she gets writing credits on every episode, although that doesn't necessarily mean anything). The interplay between Deschanel and co-star David Boreanaz is stellar; when combined with their supporting cast of oddly sexy medical examiners, the effect is a little dizzying. (One treat is John Francis Daley, formerly of Freaks and Geeks, whose role as a smug, boyish FBI profiler teeters between love-to-hate and just-plain-love.) Individually the two are entertaining enough for their own programs - Deschanel plays up her complete social alienation without being Spock, while Boreanaz...heck, he could host a telethon and I'd watch for hours (shut up). Having just jumped in at the end of their third season, there's a good possibility that the show isn't usually this good, or that it's about to suck mightily. But for the moment, I'm still very intrigued.
