Monday, July 07, 2008

Filthy, sexy, moolah

Saw the pilot episode of Dirty Sexy Money Sunday night on a local channel. Another dose of dysfunctional American families. It’s so TV (writers’) fodder don’t you think, that though it’s practically entertaining (sensational, I admit is hilarious and witty at times) it tends to be mythic. Is it? I doubt. How do you gauge dysfunction? Is it the frequency, magnitude of human frailty and imperfections? That when collective or familial are vestiges of deviancy or when it carelessly stray beyond the levels of tolerance? Those that kiss cheek-to-cheek with the Burnhams of American Beauty and the Fishers of Six Feet Under. Wait, these are all Alan Ball creations. Oh, wicked.

Anyway, so the pilot opens with unabashed sensationalism and spectacle. We get to see the family in focus: the Darlings, which we will come to know in a matter of minutes, a far cry from the surname. They cannot be blamed, they can afford to be wasteful, they’re rich. In fact, the richest in New York. So every misdemeanor and coke-snorting behavior is no big deal, just leave it to the tinkering of their lawyer. Atty. George’s private plane however crashed at sea leaving no traces whether he’s dead or just disappeared. His son, Nick, played by Peter Krause, vows to track down the murderer. He seems to believe such. He’s however forced to inherit his father’s job (after he is convinced that he can still perform his humanitarian duties) by patriarch Trip Darling, played by Donald Sutherland and much to the chagrin of Reverend Brian, the badass, expletive-mouthing second son and Nick’s childhood nemesis. Yes, he is a short-tempered priest whose son was refused to be admitted to an exclusive school unless he acknowledges the kid.

Enter mother Letitia, played by Jill Clayburgh, who smashed a heavy vase to smithereens (gosh, I love saying that word) to redirect the focus of a family conversation. Exactly right there, I remembered her munching dog food and convincing a young Augusten Burroughs that eating such is safe in the film adaptation of Running with Scissors. William Baldwin plays the eldest son, forgot the name, an attorney-general. During the birthday party thrown for Mrs. Darling, Mr. on-his-way-to-becoming-a-US-senator is jolted by a call of pretty woman waiting for him downstairs. Then the unwanted visitor speaks in baritone. What the, Mr. Clean Slate is having an affair with a tranny. There’s also Karen, the elder daughter who’s still fixated with Nick that she discloses to her fiancé in a devil-may-care attitude, Nick’s deflowering of her during (of all time) their pre-nuptial meeting, with (of all people) Nick as their presiding lawyer. Then add in the attention-deficient daughter who wants to “get a life” and the yacht-slacking youngest who drove a horse to mother’s birthday party but much to the delight of mother dear though.

Whew, that’s a fucking mouthful. I guess I really would be looking forward to Sunday nights. Sorry for the spoilers. Haha.

2 comments:

gillboard said...

love that show. spent one whole day downloading the entire first season.

jayclops said...

Tapos na ba ang 1st Season? I can't find it in bootleg eh. Anyway...

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting