OK, I totally dig Grand Theft Auto, yet I hated Tron. So you can understand why I was torn over this CGI-animated sitcom about the secret lives of video-game characters. But I gotta tell you, I was slightly amused. Patrick Warburton was born to play people with bigger egos than abilities, so he's the perfect fit for the car-racing head of the Crashenburn's cyber-household, but what's with an 8 pm show running jokes involving exposed johnsons and crass references to testicles? What's next, a bad touch from Donkey Kong? UPN would be wise to clean it up a bit and amp the sly gamer gags before this thing starts making Spike TV look high-brow.
Finally! After, what, 100 weeks, the top 12 are finally in place, so now the real show can begin. Am I overjoyed with the Wild Card winners? Sort of. Lovelovelove Randy for sparing Jennifer Hudson and the viewer fave Jon Peter Lewis is adorable enough, but I could do without Simon's pick, George Huff. Especially after his groveling "thank you"'s to the cranky Brit. And Leah Labelle will need to wow me more than she did Paula. After all, it's my cellular bill, right? Oh, and could someone please tell Ruben Studdard to get a groove? Dude, you won. Move around. Blink. Anything. That scared look is no longer cute. It's creepy.
I know, it was a repeat. It's just that I so wanted to see Omarosa get the boot again. I mean, how strong she was to walk around with a concussion for a whole week! And to look so good doing it. Maybe that's what made her pre-firing meltdown so glamorous. Though did anyone else realize that she was sent packing during the same week that a certain other New York diva took a fall, too? Hey! Martha will be needing to decorate a very small space soon. Maybe Miss O can sell her some of that trashy art.
You know, we're supposed to feel all bad for the sad sacks going under the knife here, since they've supposedly endured lives of mockery and self-hate. Well, get in line. Please, ya'll are getting freebies out the whoo-hoo. Teeth bleaching. Lipo. All new hair. And you get to be on TV. Cry me a river, ugly people. Actually, I shed a bit of a tear after Patrick's reveal. But that was mostly because my roomie gasped that the former pudgy, bug-eyed grocery clerk now looked like Roy Horn before the kitty mishap. I know. She's so bad.
101 Reasons the '90s Ruled
Hanson did not rule, folks. They Mmmmsucked. Now, the birth of the WB? I like that talk. What I don't like is that smarmy narrator saying that Dawson's Creek should have made people over 30 feel ancient. Dude, half the cast was over 30 when the damn show ended, weren't they?
Molly Shannon, what have you done?! I am sure the idea of your own sitcom sounded very inviting and costar Jason Schwartzman does have that whole Coppola cachet, but playing a sexually repressed socialite is below you. Even if the plot about Tanner catching Ben in the act with Zooey Deschanel was kind of fun. You deserve better than this. Honey, I hear Lorne Michaels is a really nice guy. Call him. Now.
48 Hours Investigates
Wow, this one was even tougher to watch than Cracking Up, but for very different reasons. A filmmaker named Angela Shelton confronts her father on-camera about the child abuse that's been dogging her every move and I am nothing short of moved. Tortured for years by the crimes of a man she should have been able to trust the most, the hope of closure brings Miss Shelton home to an even deeper nightmare: He denies it all. Thankfully, there was a semi-happy ending, at least for Shelton, who channeled her energies into a soul-purging film project. As for Pops, well, if what his daughter claims is true, then he's got a lot more to worry about than looking bad on TV. Karma will make sure of that.
Turns out this is not a countdown of Liza Minnelli's ex-husbands, but rather a freedom flag-waving celebration of pop culture's queer eye. Like we need a show to tell us that gay is the new black. All over the place, friends of Dorothy are popping out like the buttons on Rosie O'Donnell's wedding pantsuit. Will & Grace. DeGrassi: The Next Generation. Frasier. (That's right, I went there.) But hey, you can never have enough gays around. I mean, who else is going to make straight America feel bad about shaving against the grain and voting for a guy who can find fault with same-sex unions faster than he can find weapons of mass destruction?