I don’t know what was more awkward on last night’s Emmy Awards: The parade of CBS television actors pimping their own shows before doling out awards or Shemar “Well it’s me again” Moore’s delivery of his other catchphrase, “Only CBS.” Let’s get Shemar out of the way first.  He was drunk, right? Or he sustained a concussion minutes before the telecast launched and they threw him out there anyway. He acted like C3PO without the clever dialogue. I kept flashing back to the scene in Talladega Nights when Will Ferrell didn’t know what to do with his hands.

This CBS brings me to the other CBS problem with the CBS night where all CBS presenters felt compelled CBS to mention the network CBS and their television program CBS as much as possible CBS. Ummm, CBS … you won. You’re the most popular network. I don’t particularly like most of your lowest common denominator sitcoms or NCISs or CSIs, but I realize that apparently a lot of other people do, so congratulations. You’re like McDonald’s, and as Jerry Seinfeld said in one of his bits, just put up a sign saying “we’re doing very well” instead of all the constant promotion. It was awkward. When an overly tan Will Arnett came out with his new TV mom, Margo Martindale (who is great in The Americans, and I hope she still has time to guest on that show), and did their bit where she guilted him into pimping their new show, he said during the bit that it wasn’t appropriate. And it really isn’t appropriate.

But in this day and age, where people are streaming shows and fast forwarding through commercials on their DVRs, networks have to do more to get their advertising revenue. And that has spilled over into program promotion. Gone are the days of the “And now a word from our sponsors…” advertisements. They have been replaced with “product integration.” Chuck loves Subway and their “$5 foot longs.” New Girl is not only “adorkable” but it also teaches us how to use the foot-activated liftgate on the Ford Escape. Ray Donovan’s cell phone gets more screen time than Bunchy. It’s distracting. I expect product integration on shows like American Idol or Project Runway because that’s the only way to force it down the viewer’s throats, but blatantly working it into plot lines on scripted comedies and dramas makes it hard to suspend my disbelief. This was the technique used by CBS during the Emmys. Want to know if Breaking Bad’s Bryan Cranston gets robbed? Well, first let’s hear about the new comedy Mom starring Anna Faris and Allison Janney. Only CBS.

Maybe this is common now for these types of live broadcasts; I really only tuned in to see Neil Patrick Harris work his magic. But I find it annoying that in this renaissance of television programming when one hour dramas are far richer in depth and character than 99% of the films in the theaters, that blatant product/program integration is so heavy handedly shoved in our faces. Although, considering the in your face, no-thinking required comedy that is the paradigm that most of CBS’s sitcoms employ, I guess I should have expected it.

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Don’t blame Robbie Rist; he was just a child actor looking for a job when he walked into the Brady home as the now infamous Cousin Oliver. He didn’t start the problem; he just became the face for it. It’s a common trend for shows that are long in the tooth to add a new baby, cute wise-cracking neighbor or distant cousin to the recurring cast in an effort to spice up their shark-jumped story-lines. In theory it makes sense. The main characters need new stories, challenges, and responsibilities to stave off monotony and adding in a young burden – I mean child – instantly raises the stakes and adds a new avenue of conflict. The problem, of course, is it also threatens to completely change the dynamic of the entire show.

Dexter, for the most part, has straddled that line when it comes to Dexter’s son, Harrison. It is an interesting avenue to explore with Dexter’s character: how will a single father psychopath raise a child? Is he capable of loving another person unconditionally? This seems to be one of the themes of this season, but instead of utilizing Harrison’s role in Dexter’s life to explore that idea, the focus turns to his relationship with his sister, Deb; Harrison has become nothing more than a plot point. Dexter travels all over the city, tracking potential (or in most cases active) serial killers, with just a casual reference to his only child waiting for him at home with the most flexible nanny (congrats, Quinn!) on the planet. In many episodes, I find myself wondering who’s actually watching Harrison, since Dexter’s dealing with Deb and Jamie’s out with Quinn. As I’ve said in other posts, that’s not really the point – maybe Harrison’s asleep in the other room while Jamie and Quinn “exercise” at Angel’s house. That doesn’t matter. The reason those thoughts pop up for me has less to do with babysitting plot holes and more to do with how Harrison could be used this season — of course, the boring Quinn applying to be a Sergeant storyline isn’t helping my mind wandering either; at least he’s tamed his haircut this season.

Vogel has questioned Dexter’s love for Deb and instead postulates that Dexter is using Deb’s love and adoration for him as a mirror to reflect a positive image of himself. Before she found out his secret, Deb not only looked up to her brother but she also needed him in her life to keep her grounded, giving Dexter a purpose outside of simple survival. Vogel points out that everything Dexter claims he loves about Debra relates only to how she effects Dexter, not about Debra herself. Now that she knows the truth and no longer looks up to her older brother, Dexter is left with a hole that he’s desperate to fill. He needs a connection to the real world, not just as a mask to hide his true nature, but as a link to the sense of humanity the Code of Harry tries to regulate. But wouldn’t his son fill that role as well? Harrison is no longer a mute baby or babbling toddler … he’s walking and talking, and old enough to interact and show his love for Dexter. Boys at that age idolize their fathers. They are heroes in their son’s eyes and the fact that Dexter works for the police department – sure he’s not a cop, but Harrison is only five and would only know that daddy wears a badge – would ensure that Harrison reveres his father, fulfilling the same role Deb filled for six seasons. Dexter did show more interest in his son initially this season, but recently the late nights out and the fact he knows nothing of his son’s imaginary elephant friend imply that Harrison has taken a back seat to Aunt Deb.

Now, you could argue that Dexter’s obsession with “fixing” Deb is actually related to Harry’s (or really Vogel’s) first rule: never get caught. Since Deb’s guilt has caused  her to spiral out of control, she now poses a threat to Dexter’s survival if she were to confess to killing LaGuerta. Vogel has probed into why Dexter didn’t just kill Deb once she found out his secret. He claims sibling love, but she asserts it’s the associations Dexter’s built up around his relationship with Deb. What confuses me is that Vogel is fascinated with Dexter and Deb’s relationship – that a psychopath appears to feel regret and empathy toward another person – but hasn’t really addressed the fact that Dexter is raising a child by himself. You would think the “psychopath whisperer” would vault over the sibling relationship in favor of the much more interesting father-son dynamic that Dexter has with Harrison. Obviously, it’s much more interesting for viewers to watch the confrontations between Dexter and Deb instead of play dates with Harrison at the park, but I find it odd that Vogel hasn’t brought it up more (or at all). Wouldn’t she want to study Harrison to see how Dexter’s parenting has shaped Harrison’s identity?

There’s still time for writers to explore those ideas this season, and I have a feeling that it is part of the plan, considering there is a major theme of family and parenting this season. Harry and Vogel were surrogate parents to Dexter, molding him into the killer he is today. Angel has taken over a fatherly role in regards to Quinn, pushing him to be a better man by applying for the Sergeant position. Even Masuka is a father this season, thanks to a sperm donation he made in college – although you’d think the sperm bank would give him some warning that one of his “children” may come knocking. And you could argue that the Brain Surgeon Killer is also one of Vogel’s children. It could be that I’m reading too much into this (or that I just watched Magnolia on TV), but I think the “sins of the father” (and mother) will play a large part in the show’s final 8 episodes.

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Rick and the prison gang are on the brink of war with the Governor and the army from Woodbury. We know this because the characters have been talking about it for 7 episodes. So winter is coming to the prison and just like on Game of Thrones, they’ve been talking about it incessantly without delivering the goods. Although, if the final image of last season’s finale of Game of Thrones is any indication, we’ll be watching both winter and war this Sunday night (let’s hope).

Unfortunately, this inevitable (and unnecessary) war has taken some of the steam out of this half of the season, because we know the war is coming, therefore, we know that the main players (Rick and the Governor) will live long enough to engage in that final battle. It’s a little like watching a prequel – I wonder if Anakin and Obi Won are going to survive the poison gas? Umm, yes, because they’re both alive in Episode IV. There’s no real tension watching life and death scenes involving those characters

So how do you draw out an inevitable war for 7 episodes? Criss-cross storytelling. The past few episodes have isolated focus on one of the two camps: the prison or Woodbury. These episodes were good at establishing characters and setting up themes, and were definitely more interesting to watch than the similar styled expositional episodes from last season on the farm. We had Rick, Carl and Michonne’s mission to find supplies and guns which reunited Rick with Morgan, the man who saved Rick’s life in the pilot episode. The episode established Michonne as a legitimate member of the prison group (making the Governor’s offer even more difficult), but it also foreshadowed Rick’s possible fate if anything were to happen to Carl. Morgan’s grief and isolation after his son’s death has pushed him to the brink of insanity. Rick has already showed similar signs after seeing pregnant and/or angel Lori all over the prison. He has been able to somewhat control his reaction to his visions, but one more traumatic loss for Rick could push him over the edge, like Morgan.

This ping-ponging back and forth between the two sides helped mask the fact that everyone has been waiting for the season finale for the real war to begin. Unlike the other seasons, this season featured a true antagonist in the Governor where the past seasons have just showed the group striving for certain goals: get to the CDC and finding Sophia. Introducing a “big bad” means that a major confrontation will have to occur. And Rick’s realization that his actions have been just as deplorable as the Governor’s and that his group will now function as a democracy, not a dictatorship, will lead to a true clash of good versus evil. While I know that Rick and the Governor will survive until the final battle, I am fearful for Glenn and Maggie during the season finale, given his incredibly romantic marriage proposal (“here’s a ring I ripped off of a dead walker, honey”). Anytime two characters profess their love and commitment to one another (or silently hand a blood stained ring to a woman and wait for her to respond) while standing in the eye of a major storm, it doesn’t end well for one of them.

Despite my slight annoyance that the War of Woodbury has been drawn out over the past 7 episodes, this had been a great season of The Walking Dead. The actors (Norman Reedus, Michael Rooker, David Morrissey) have been phenomenal in their performances. I really felt the pain and guilt Daryl suffered when he discovered his brother’s fate. I hope that the narrow focused episodes this season means that more money and resources were available to make the season finale (and the war) worth the wait. I am looking forward to finding out who will be left standing after the dust settles.

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Season 7 of Dexter hasn’t exactly fit the formula the previous seasons established for the show, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Despite its sometimes awkward pacing, this season has brought up a few major questions in the Dexter universe. How would Deb react if she found out the truth about Dexter? Is Dexter capable of love and sharing a future with someone? Will his “code” survive the loss of his Dark Passenger? And most importantly, what is happening with Quinn’s hair? Seriously, half the time he looks like he’s auditioning for the role of Kramer. I have a theory why Nadia left …

Up until now, the seasons of Dexter have followed their own “code.” There is an overarching “big bad” that Dexter discovers, investigates, and ultimately introduces to his table by the final episode. In some cases that formula has been underwhelming (I wasn’t a fan of the Jimmy Smits’ season), but others — like the season with John Lithgow’s Trinity — had me on the edge of my seat anticipating each week’s storyline. One of the benefits of this “code” of storytelling is that each week builds on the week before so that the screws are constantly being turned and the tension ramps up from beginning to end. This season, however, didn’t follow that paradigm but instead introduced mini antagonists for Dexter to deal with along the way, while hinting to the main opposition Dexter will have to face in this season’s finale. While I find it refreshing for the writers to shake up their style now that the series finale is set at the end of next season, I felt that by changing the overall structure of the season it drastically reduced the tension on Dexter and as a result there was no real sense of urgency this season.

I really enjoyed the first few episodes when Deb tried helping Dexter restrain his Dark Passenger, and I felt that pressure on Dexter to control his urges would be an interesting avenue for the writers to explore. Ultimately, though, Deb gave up, giving him a wide berth, allowing Dexter to sink back into his normal routine. This led the way for the parade of mini enemies, each of which pushed Dexter further from his original “code.”

I agree with most people who criticized the Louis Green story arc. It felt like the writers spent a lot of time setting up Louis as an intellectual antagonistic force that would really challenge Dexter because he didn’t fit the code and couldn’t be disposed of in Dexter’s usual means. I was convinced that Louis was tracking the search engine he recommended to Dexter and was therefore privy to the research Dexter performed during his vetting process. So for his story to end as abruptly as it did was a little disappointing to say the least, but it did allow Dexter the opportunity to show he could stop himself from acting on the urges of his Dark Passenger if he wanted to.

Each of the subsequent nemeses similarly forced Dexter down an unfamiliar path: Isaak made him question his ability to love, Sal Price made him question his moral limits (in that he knew Hanna killed Sal and he helped cover it up), and Hanna made Dexter question his Dark Passenger. This realization was my favorite since all it takes is a beautiful woman probing about the idea of his Dark Passenger for Dexter to go … yeah, I guess it’s kinda dumb. Now he has no one (or thing) to blame for his need to kill and that makes him a much more interesting character. He isn’t a slave to his desires anymore, but what does that mean for his “code?”

When the series first began, Dexter (with the exception of his relationship with Deb) was completely detached from society and only tried to look the part of a regular human being to mask the monster underneath. He had a singular focus of survival before, where his appearance of normalcy was all part of his “code” to continue getting away with his need to kill. His relationship with Rita, initially, was basically a sham, since Rita’s relationship baggage created a nice wall for Dexter to hide behind, preventing the two from getting significantly close. But as the seasons have progressed, his relationship with Rita developed, which spread to her children and even bore Dexter a child of his own. And with each step along the way, Dexter’s life evolved from just his Dark Passenger routine into a life balancing his urges as well as the needs of his family.

Balancing those two sides of his personality, however, has proven difficult (and costly) to Dexter’s life. His obsession with Trinity’s 30-year “career” while maintaining a family caused him to deter from his routine and ultimately cost Rita her life. With her death, more responsibilities fell onto to Dexter’s plate and as a result his Dark Passenger had to take a back seat to midnight feedings and diaper changes. On a side note, he’s been called a bad father in a lot of comments/message boards, and it’s true that at this point Jamie (who apparently has no personal life of her own) is more of a parent to Harrison than Dexter. But the reality is that we don’t tune in each week to watch Dexter read to his son or play with him at the park. Those scenes, much like scenes of action stars reloading their guns, are not interesting to film or watch so they are omitted in favor of more story driven scenes. Regardless of his sometimes absentee nature in raising Harrison, that responsibility of having someone that depends on him has forced Dexter to consider the other people in his life over his own needs. Satisfying his Dark Passenger’s need to kill is no longer his top priority, it is what he does in between his new life as father (and at one time husband).

But splitting his focus has made him careless. In season 4, he nearly exposed his secret after sleep deprivation from staying up with newborn Harrison caused an auto accident, where his bag of knives were thrown from the car. In season 5, strapped for time looking for a nanny for his son, he didn’t search Boyd Fowler’s house effectively, missing the fact that Lumen was trapped inside watching him perform his kill. Now, his feelings for Hanna — because of his ability to share his entire life with her — has given him the false hope of an actual future where they can grow old together. But he is too busy looking at his possible future to see the danger currently encircling him. It’s because he’s spreading himself too thin that he keeps missing details that he would have noticed in season 1. Every time he sacrifices his “code” in order to fulfill some familial responsibility he risks the truth coming to light. If Dexter can survive LaGuerta’s investigation, I think season 8 will involve him choosing which man he wants to be: father or killer, because he can’t do both … at least not for much longer.

In that spirit of narrowing focus, two other questions arose for me during “Do You See What I See?” Did Deb poison herself to frame Hanna? And does Matthews know Dexter’s secret? I’m on the fence about the poison. I feel like the writers set it up to go either way. Does it make sense Deb would risk killing herself in an accident when she was convinced she could get the evidence she needs from Arlene? She did tell Hanna she would do whatever it takes to protect Dexter from her. And I feel Matthews has some inclination about Dexter’s involvement; perhaps Harry confided in him before he died. This would explain LaGuerta’s comment, “you’ll get what’s coming to you” when Matthews asked her about his pension. What do you think? Did Deb spike her own water? Has Matthews been looking the other way all of Dexter’s life?

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Normally when a show reaches the midway point of its freshman season, it’s already hit its stride. It takes a while to establish the characters and get all of the necessary backstory and exposition out of the way so that the audience understands the direction the overall story is taking. The first few episodes introduce the main players, the antagonistic forces and set up the world these characters inhabit. And, typically, those first few episodes are the weakest of all the episodes of a series’ run because the writers are still finding their voices, the actors haven’t fully embodied the characters they are playing yet, and the show as a whole hasn’t found its audience.

Usually it is around the sixth or seventh episode when things start turning around … the actors are comfortable with their characters, the writers are writing for that character that the actor “created,” and we as the audience know what to expect by the rules of the world that were established in the pilot and preliminary episodes. We no longer need to be spoon fed information because we understand the characters and the stories the writers are trying to tell.

I, like probably most people reading this, am a fan of the shows and films that Joss Whedon creates. Buffy the Vampire Slayer became a cultural phenomenon. I really enjoyed the show because of the characters and clever writing, but I wasn’t an instant fan. The first few episodes were not that good. The characters were thin, the dialogue a little rough, and they introduced the idea of other monsters, not just vampires, which I found confusing given that the title clearly stated “vampire slayer,” not “equal opportunity monster slayer.” Really, who goes back and watches the episode with the giant praying mantis?

But eventually I was won over once the writers and actors got into their groove and started presenting better stories (and I realized the other monsters were a necessity since watching Buffy just dust vamps each week would get tired). The turning point was after the episodes “The Pack” and “Angel” (coincidentally, episodes 6 and 7), where the characters started feeling more real, they introduced Principal Snyder (an antagonistical force for multiple seasons) and we learn that Angel is, in fact, a vampire (sorry for the spoiler). From this point, the relationships between the characters developed, making them multidimensional, the story-line moved towards the inevitable climax with the Master and the show became much more entertaining. The writers took that time in the first few episodes to flesh out the characters, establish the rules, and set the stage for the remainder of the season and seasons to come.

But here we are at the mid-season finale and Revolution is still floundering around in that murky episode 3 zone. The characters are one dimensional, the dialogue is on-the-nose and the story-lines rarely make logical sense. You can get away with plot holes early on if you take the audience to an interesting place later, but Revolution has taken us from the Midwest all the way to Philadelphia and still managed to underwhelm almost every step of the way.

I mentioned in another post how I felt the writers missed an opportunity when they showed Miles single-handedly taking out a dozen militiamen in the pilot episode. It diffused any sense that Miles would struggle on the group’s quest to rescue Danny … and so far, they have rarely struggled. A key aspect of storytelling is conflict, and time and time again Revolution confuses sword fighting and musket fire with real conflict. Conflict and drama only exist when there’s someone or something stopping the protagonist from reaching their goal. But if the antagonist is easily defeated, then there’s no tension, no question if they’ll achieve their mission and as a result no real conflict. Each weekly “mission” involved Miles warning Charlie how the obstacle-of-the-week was insurmountable, but each week they easily defeat said obstacle and move on to the next one. The barge where they brainwashed children into joining the militia, according to Miles, was a fortress designed to be impenetrable, until they needed to penetrate it and then there were only seven guards running it and they easily kill them all and escape. Then there was Strausser, the sadistic torturer (and implied rapist), sent to track Miles and the gang and get the pendant. Not only does Miles get the upper hand over Strausser (the only reason he doesn’t kill him is because he’s out of bullets and has to flee before reinforcements show up) but later Rachel, using all 110lbs of her strength, overpowers Strausser (in a fist fight!) and stabs him in the chest. And finally the R&D facility where Monroe is building his pendant amplifier which will give him power over all the military weapons he’s been stockpiling – probably the most important aspect of his entire regime – and Miles and Nora are able to sneak in the back door. Plus the guards stationed at the facility are on the inside of the walls, not patrolling outside the perimeter (where they’d see Aaron waiting with pipe bombs) … it makes no logical sense, it’s too easy for the characters, and what it comes down to is lazy writing.

But the biggest issue, I feel, is Revolution’s inability to create a connection between the audience and its characters. We can’t empathize with these characters because there is never a sense that they are in any danger. Even in dire situations the characters never show a hint of panic. When Neville captures Charlie and the gang (sans Miles) at good ole Kip’s place, Charlie smirks and makes some witty retort in response to Neville’s threat. She’s not scared of him, so why should we (the audience) worry about her safety. We know Miles will eventually bust in, swords a-blazing, and save her because that is what the pilot episode taught us … this group is invincible. Compare this to the kidnap and interrogation of Maggie from the final episodes of The Walking Dead. In both scenarios, the writers want to show that these females characters are trying to appear strong despite their situation. But how uneasy did you feel when the Governor ordered Maggie to disrobe as he encircled her in her interrogation? She stood her ground, didn’t cower to his demands to tell him where the others are hiding, but she was definitely scared. Maggie knew at any moment the Governor could snap and kill her. As a result, we were also scared and anxious at what may happen to Maggie and as a result we felt a connection to her.

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The word of the night on The Walking Dead’s episode “Say the Word” is transition. Well, technically I think it was “hello” when Rick broke his rage-filled silence to answer a ringing telephone, although I would also accept “Lil’ ass-kicker.”  This episode has garnered some criticism, but I think this is an example of a necessary evil when it comes to series storytelling.  For every amazing episode, like “Killer Within,” there needs to be transitional episodes to tie the story together while advancing the narrative.

Screenwriters use a system of “bombs and talk” to propel a storyline forward; detonating a story bomb to shake things up and allowing the characters time to react to that bomb through calmer, “talking” scenes. Last week’s episode was a bomb and this week’s was a talker, ironically of course, since the two characters doing the most reacting, Rick and Michonne, were relatively mute throughout.  Audiences need time to process those big dramatic moments of major plot points, so there needs to be inbetweener episodes that give the viewers a period of (relative) quiet to digest what came before and prepare for major dramatic episodes to come. This contrast of show pacing enhances the drama of the major plot points more than if the entire season were filled with non-stop action and conflict.

These episodes also allow the writers to take care of necessary business in regard to the overall story arc of the season.  A good example of this is the episode “Triangle” from season 5 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The episode centers around Anya and Willow fighting over Xander’s attention and in the process they release an ogre, played by Abraham Benrubi (he’ll always be Kubiac to me), who wreaks havoc on the city of Sunnydale. This episode airs right after Buffy not only discovers Riley’s betrayal, but he then abandons her and she is left alone caring for her ailing mother and whiny sister.  When I first watched it, it felt like a throw away, “talker” episode; just a comic relief filler show to satisfy the twenty-two episode season requirement and give the audience a breather after a heavy, drama-filled episode. But the writers were clever enough to use the ogre’s hammer, left behind during this episode, as a major plot point in the season finale, thus utilizing this “throw-away” episode to enrich the story.

Now, I’m not saying that “Say the Word” is a throw-away episode, because a lot did happen, but it was a transitional episode meant to give the viewer a chance to digest the events of “Killer Within” while setting up the rest of the season. Lil’ass-kicker was born and with her came a whole bundle of practical problems, such as finding formula, diapers, and medicine for a newborn baby. And who knows where they’ll be able to find a Sophie the giraffe teething toy in this post-apocalyptic, zombie filled world. Daryl and Maggie rode off to deal with that logical plot point while Glenn and the newbies dug graves for the fallen friends. Although with Carol still MIA and Lori’s (apparent) final resting place being inside the stomach of a lethargic walker, I’m not really sure what they buried.

Then there’s Rick. The entire run of TWD has followed Rick’s journey to protect his family, so for him to lose Lori without even the opportunity to defend her pushed him to the brink of insanity, if not beyond.  His rampage through the prison hunting for Lori was visually gratuitous, but completely in line with what that character is going through.  He has nothing left to really survive for, so his rage has replaced common sense. Sure he still has Carl, but his son has grown up so much since last season that he doesn’t need Rick’s protection the way Lori and the coming baby did. Lori was also the main thing keeping Rick grounded in this new reality; to borrow a concept from LOST, Lori was Rick’s constant (that’s right, brother). Even throughout all the tension and difficulties between the two, Rick’s actions were influenced by what he needed to do to protect Lori as well as what he felt was consistent with the man he was with Lori before the zombie outbreak. But now without her, there is no one really linking him to his old life and no one to offer support of his decisions that has that knowledge of his true character, even if that support were only a consenting glance before he rushed off on another life or death task. Without that tie to his past humanity, I expect to see a tougher and more distant Rick throughout the rest of the season.

In regards to the gratuitous violence of this episode (and all season), I think it’s less about adding gore for the sake of gore and more about creating a stark contrast between their hopeful life on the farm versus their struggle for survival now in the prison. After the herd destroyed their safe haven, these people have been running for seven months desperate to find a sanctuary to give them refuge from the mayhem of the outside world. Last season was about hope and faith, finding a place where they can build a real life for themselves. This season seems to be the reveal that building that new life is a far off dream. When they took over the prison, they talked of turning it into their new home, complete with planting crops in the yard much like they had on their farm. But this new safe haven has been marred by violence and death, and I think the showrunners are using the noted increase in gore as a visual indicator to the audience that the survivors will never find the safety and security they thought possible while on the farm. Woodbury serves the same purpose, showing a mirage of an idyllic shelter but peppering in scenes showing the gruesomeness needed to maintain order within the town. It’s the contrast between the townspeople partying in the streets and Merle pulling out walker teeth that hits home the point that these people may never find a true safe place to start over their lives.

Michonne sees this truth, which is why she urges Andrea to leave with her (albeit in the most taciturn way possible). Andrea, blinded by that hope for a normal life, chooses to stay in Woodbury as Michonne heads out alone.  Embracing her new world, Andrea accompanies the Governor to watch the town’s festivities. But, this is where I don’t understand the Governor’s motivations even though I recognize why the writers chose to structure the storyline in this way. What I don’t understand is why after all the calculated charm the Governor has employed during his courtship of Andrea does he completely change directions by taking her to the arena revealing one of Woodbury’s dark secrets? Andrea is justifiably horrified and I would think the Governor, who is a master manipulator, would have assumed that to be her reaction, so I found that interaction to be a bit out of character given his interest in Andrea. I realize from a story point of view it makes sense to reveal to Andrea that her decision to stay in Woodbury was a mistake right after Michonne left, instead of waiting a week or so to do it, especially since the audience already knows the Governor is a pretty sick man. So what is Andrea’s next move now that the curtain has been pulled back and she knows Michonne’s concerns were justified?

The writers are getting their players into position for the coming episodes. We have Andrea isolated inside Woodbury, Michonne alone on the outside, the prison gang caring for Lil’ ass-kicker, and Rick grieving the final death of his old life. These characters are primed and ready for the next bomb to go off and I, for one, am looking forward to what blows up next.

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Thanks to the Mayans and their inability to create an infinite calendar, our obsession with postulating the “end of the world” has increased over the past few years, exemplified by all the movies and television series exploring that premise. Whether it’s a giant meteor, a zombie-inducing outbreak, or just some nerds with magic necklaces who stop electricity from flowing, Hollywood keeps coming up with ways to thrust humanity into a battle against global extermination. As an audience, we are fascinated watching the portrayal of how these characters adapt to extreme situations while imagining how we would cope after surviving such a massive global change.

While Revolution and The Walking Dead have drastically different premises, they both present a world where society has crumbled and people are forced to rebuild. I’ve voiced my concerns regarding Revolution’s focus on mythology over storytelling, but it wasn’t until I caught up on this season of TWD that I realized why Revolution has bothered me so much — because it can be done well (as TWD has proven), but they just keep following the path of the cliché.

Revolution gets flack for its ridiculous abuse of science and/or common sense; and I am right there with the critics <cough — magic necklace — cough>. But, how realistic is a zombie apocalypse? Why don’t people complain about the science of TWD? Because we are too wrapped up in those characters’ journeys to care how or why people have turned into “walkers”; we just want to watch Rick and the group fight for survival.

TWD develops its characters very well. Sure, it started with the typical search for a lost wife and son, which is a clichéd way to create empathy for Rick, but it quickly reunited the family-creating drama while fleshing out his character as well as Shane and Laurie. Revolution started in much the same way, with Charlie on a rescue mission for her brother. But the drive and desperation which compelled Rick to track his family seems watered down for Charlie. Her determination to find Danny appears to surface only when there’s a lull in the other subplots. And Charlie’s side journeys, while intended to make her a more dimensional character, keep hitting the same morality, one-dimensional note.

What it comes down to is believability. Does the characters’ behavior make sense given the circumstances they are put in, regardless of the plausibility of those situations? TWD fleshes out its characters and makes the audience want to suspend their disbelief; we are willing to believe zombies could exist because we want to see how these characters adapt to this new world. Now, some complained about the slow pace of season two of TWD and that the show focused too much on the characters instead of the zombie attacks that made the first season so engrossing. While I agree that some of the episodes felt longer than others, I would argue that they should have had more character development in the beginning of the season, especially with the relationship between Sophia and Carl, in order for the reveal at the end to have more impact. So much time (and so little action) took place between the time Sophia went missing and when they ultimately discovered her fate, that it took me a moment to realize the gravity of that scene (and recognize the character).

And while I feel that they slightly missed the mark on that aspect of season two, they hit it out of the park in regards to character development. The slow and inevitable decline of Shane into madness mirrored brilliantly with Rick’s transformation from idealistic believer into realistic survivor could not have been done in only one or two episodes. People don’t change instantly, they adapt over time. You still recognize the Rick from season one even now in the prison, but he’s not the same man. The choices he’s made, the actions he’s taken, have pushed him in a different direction.

Revolution tries to show this depth, but they keep rushing these realizations instead of letting them play out over time. With another LOST-esque flashback, we discover that Neville, before the blackouts, was weak and timid. But we learn this in such an over-the-top, cartoony way it was like they came up with every example of weakness and decided to use them all: menial job, domineering younger boss who fires him, and an insolent neighbor blaring music throughout the night, all of which shows how disrespected Neville feels. The next flashback is six weeks after the blackout when Neville’s brazen neighbor breaks in to raid their home. Six weeks of absolute chaos, but Neville still timidly tries to reason with the neighbor, and there is no hint that the past few weeks have toughened him up. It’s only when the neighbor strikes, pummeling him in front of his son, that Neville channels the strength of George McFly and fights back. He destroys the neighbor and rises up into a ridiculous Orsen Wells/Touch of Evil upward angle shot, displaying his instant transformation from weakling to conqueror. I almost expected him to pull his John Lennon circle sunglasses off the now crippled neighbor so that the audience in the cheap seats could really see that was the moment weak Tommy became Neville. But it’s too quick. You don’t get in one fight and instantly become a badass. As was stated in Giancarlo’s far better series, Breaking Bad, “just because you shot Jesse James, doesn’t make you Jesse James.” Revolution needs to slow down and let their characters adapt rather than completely change directions.

No scene better exemplifies the success of character development than the opening sequence of season three of TWD. There is no exposition, no dialogue, just ten people storming a house looking for a safe haven. The scene is brilliant. It tells the story of the last seven months without saying a word, and they could not have pulled that off if they hadn’t fully developed the characters in the previous two seasons.  It doesn’t hurt that the actors on TWD are all amazing and believable, but without the strong writing leading up to that scene I don’t think it would have resonated with audiences the way it did.

Revolution has the potential to break out of its clichéd funk and build a world with strong characters. I hope that they do, because I want to watch scripted series like it, instead of 23 different singing competitions. But character is the key, so if they can develop the core characters, there may be a time when even I am willing to believe in magic necklaces … maybe.

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What would happen if today’s world was suddenly thrown back to the hardships of the Industrial Revolution? The premise of NBC’s new series, Revolution, poses an intriguing question about mankind’s ability to adapt to sudden change. The latest LOST clone develops and then wastes that high concept idea, hoping rather to draw viewers in with a confusing mythology involving magical USB necklaces and apparently un-aging, post-apocalyptic survivors.

We can’t blame LOST for the recent surge of high concept, low execution series to premiere (and get cancelled) on prime time television. LOST started strong, establishing its characters and developing the central question of what would happen if you crashed on a deserted island. But people don’t remember that first, amazing season of LOST that focused more on the mystery of the plane crash survivors and only peppered in the mystery of the island. They remember the DHARMA initiative, pushing the button, that Richard Alpert never ages (and then later try to forget the donkey wheel, time travel, and a pointless final season flash sideways). It’s the “mythology” that LOST is remembered for, and that mythology is often associated with the show’s success. But the show’s initial focus on character created mystery without mythology. It was only after those core characters were established and viewers were drawn in and connected to them that they threw in every possible reference to literature, Greek mythology, and string theory to keep people asking questions the following morning at the water cooler. TV executives see LOST and think that a grandiose mythology was the key to its success, so they develop ideas around a mythology instead of focusing on the basics of storytelling.

This is where Revolution (and FlashForward, The Event, etc.) ultimately fails. The show is so enamored with the mythology that it forgets to develop the characters that populate its world. It mistakenly thinks that if the mythology is mysterious enough, that people will watch. But, if you don’t care about the characters, then you spend the time you would be empathizing with their situation questioning all the problems with the show. And this show needs a lot of belief suspension to really enjoy it. Why has it taken 15 years to harness steam power? Why are all the militia people wearing civil war uniforms and speaking in bad southern accents? How do computers, powered locally by magical necklaces, send messages between one another if the magic necklace has a limited range?

We should care that Charlie’s father is murdered and her brother kidnapped, but these characters are so thinly painted that it’s hard to feel sympathy for her situation. Charlie suffers from the Hunger Games conundrum (and not just because of the crossbow). Charlie is a girl who grew up in a post-apocalyptic world surrounded by death, danger and desperation, but regardless of the hard life she inevitably faced, somehow she still acts like a naïve schoolgirl when the plot requires it. Her brother, Danny, is clever enough to continually escape his captors, but too slow to make a clean getaway and is immediately re-captured (and is so forgettable that even the search party trying to rescue him gets continually sidetracked). This exemplifies a bigger issue with the show’s overall storytelling style or lack thereof: they don’t know how to build suspense. As soon as Danny gets away, the militia finds him … there’s no question of whether or not he’ll get away, will they hunt him down, what happens if Charlie shows up and Danny isn’t with the militia; it just ends up being a way to fill screen time. Danny runs away, commercial break, Neville catches him, cut back to Charlie whining.

This lack of suspense is even worse in regards to Uncle Miles. In the pilot episode, the show builds up Miles as a killing machine, but what would be great, story-wise, would be to initially downplay that aspect of his character. Show him talking his way out of problems while oozing with confidence because he knows he could easily get the upper hand.  Instead, they introduce him with the most ridiculous fight scene in which Civil War Jack Bauer — I mean Miles — takes out a dozen militia soldiers single-handedly with just a sword. Well, there’s no tension anymore and no reason to worry about this guy’s safety (or Charlie’s) … he cannot be killed or captured; he is basically invincible. Luckily the show cast Billy Burke, so Miles is at least a fun character to watch, especially when he calls out Charlie for her inexplicable behavior.

And the poor execution continues. Charlie convinces Miles not to kill a murderous bounty hunter, C. Thomas Howell, and before the audience can worry about the repercussions of Miles’ mercy, Howell has captured Charlie and threatens Miles (I think it’s literally the next scene after being tied up that Howell returns to get the drop on them). They obviously brought in Howell to be a main antagonist, so this will be an ongoing battle for the rest of the … no wait … Miles breaks free and immediately kills Howell (hopefully his Amazing Spider-Man residuals are good). They even kill off one of the main search party characters, but she was so underused — and her relationships to the other characters so superficially developed — that the audience had no connection with her, resulting in a meaningless death scene. Oh, and Charlie’s dead mother is still alive and being held captive by Monroe.  That should be a great reveal, but it happened so quickly and awkwardly that it created no real tension. There is a difference between posing a question and creating genuine curiosity.

Revolution fails to create that curiosity. Hopefully now that the show has been renewed for a second season (Edit: Earlier news sources have retracted that news from NBC), the writers will feel confident enough to let their stories develop naturally, build suspense and dimensionalize their characters. Unless the blackout prevented that as well.