essentially planned our evening around 24's premiere last night. i feel no shame; i've never been one for asceticism. in the months before the television, joe and i would congratulate ourselves on its absence and then watch the stereo from the couch.
i'm under the impression that one can't really approach This Modern World without the tube. blah blah nixon-kennedy debates blah, that's not what i mean. A, james's 'house of fiction' was scenic, but i never really believed that anyone lived there. B, i'm sick to death of male writers who describe women like they're taste testing donuts. no thesis here, but i've concluded that one must acknowledge television.
24 itself provoked a little. is exposition feasible in "real" time? i'm fond of dead souls, in which gogol waits to describe characters until they're busy climbing stairs. pinter's pregnant silences, i like those too. 24 is impatient, or paranoid, or both: sez kiefer sutherland, essentially, "estranged wife, you must find our disillusioned daughter on your own as i avert this global disaster with my erstwhile lover the secretary." i am deeply afraid of meeting someone who needs that dialogue. is tv telling me that they exist?
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