A Series of Unfortunate Events Review

Below are some thoughts on Netflix’s A Series of Unfortunate Events. I had read the books way back in the day and thought why not watch the show in one night. There are spoilers because c’mon.

The Baudelaire orphans were okay but I never felt connected to their struggle other than jeez what an unlucky bunch of kids. This isn’t an indictment of the actor/actresses playing them but more on their characters. They always seem to get out of everything so easily so I never felt like they were ever in any danger. Plus they are super pretentious and rather cold and distant which I will wildly assume is due to their rich kid upbringing. The fact that Klaus looks and dresses like mini-Woody Allen isn’t helping matters much either. Violet looks so similar to Emily Browning from the movie adaptation that I wasn’t sure for a minute if the time space continuum had collapsed and it was the same actress. Sunny was a baby and the biting scenes were fine so I’m not going to pull the obnoxious move of critiquing a baby’s acting. I mean who does that.

Count Olaf was the highlight and every scene he wasn’t in for me was a drag. Neil Patrick Harris was everything I wanted this throw-back mustache twirling villain to be and I felt myself sort of rooting for him as much as I was calling him a piece of shit (lovingly of course). He even was able to bring in some unsettling menace particularly when he put his arm over Violet and said “he can touch anything he wants”, that’s creepy kid’s show or not. Out of all his disguises I’d have to put the bumbling Stefano first just for that ridiculous popcorn gag and the knife explanation. Shirley was interesting in the way they went for the classic 40’s buxom beauty but she was not fleshed out enough. They could have gone further with her. Captain Sham was the best in terms of disguises but other than the spoon playing I found him to be the weakest of the three. Plus why didn’t Sunny just bite off his peg leg earlier? Come on baby!

It’s funny what I remember from the books and what I didn’t when watching the series. I know they changed up the fourth book a bit and gave Sir and Charles a discreet romantic relationship but other than that I spent the whole series going “oh yeah I remember that sugar bowl thing and VFD means something major”. All the Baudelaire guardians were great from Aasif Mandvi’s cheerful but misguided Dr. Montgomery Montgomery to Alfre Woodward’s fearful Aunt Josephine. My main problem with them is that they all chew up the scenery and suck up all charisma from the bland Baudelaires (again more a problem with their characterizations) that I wasn’t invested in the suffering of the kids. I wanted to spend more time with the adults than those plucky orphans.

Seeing Patrick Warburton as Lemony Snicket was kind of weird. I kept waiting from him to make a joke but kudos to him for playing against character and playing a quasi-straight man/unreliable narrator type. It took a bit to get used to, especially with all that dictionary word defining early, but eventually he flowed well with the rest of the overqualified and delightful adult cast.

Breaking the fourth wall has become an unwritten rule in modern television apparently but this time I wasn’t annoyed with that trope. Probably because I was under the spell of that the delightful Count Olaf. My favorite instance came with Stephano preferring an evening of streaming long form television to going to the movies and then finished the joke by complaining to one of his henchmen about the matter on the phone in the next scene. Well played NPH.

Mr. Poe is probably the real villain of the series. The orphans are never wrong yet he refuses to listen to them. What the hell man? Just once wouldn’t he think it would be prudent to listen these odd children who somehow have been right about everything so far?

Good twist with Will Arnett and Colbie Smulders being the parents of the Quagmire triplets. Didn’t see that one coming.

The real highlight of the series is Neil Patrick Harris changing up the theme song for every episode. Let that man host the Tonys!

Overcoming Writer's Block (or Something about a Date)

A week ago or something to that effect I wrote a story about a failed romantic encounter. Much to my amusement and chagrin it became quite popular. It’s a weird feeling when someone greats you as Mr. 3.5, but hey at least that means they read your stuff. I did enjoy telling the story so I thought why not go down that well again and reminisce about another escapade of my romantic days. But perhaps this time I’d switch it up. Instead of telling a tale of me falling, falling, falling, I’d relay a story of triumph. This time I thought it’s time to weave a yarn of a positive romantic story to prove to the my faithful following and to my myself (but mainly my faithful following) that I am not necessarily the Woody Allen/ Larry David/ Harry Potter looking character I seem to portray. A good idea I thought until I hit a major problem. I could not find the words to tell what’s true.

Simply put I got a case of the old writer’s block. I got through several opening paragraphs of this, at least to me, delightful story but I just couldn’t commit to a version that I liked. Different problems with my method would occur but always at the same spot and it was a very early spot in the story. I couldn’t get passed meeting her after work. I would play with a long vague introduction of the past and segue into my feelings at the present but that would just abruptly end once I typed, “I put my guide book away and we walked through Bryant Park.” Other times I would start trying to ape what I did for the 3.5 story but that style was different. That story had an immediacy to it that I couldn’t nor should want to replicate. The Clash once sang that lightning strikes not once but twice (off their Sandinista album) but I’m not the Clash and the bolt was long gone. Why couldn’t I do this? Why couldn’t I write about a particularly fun date I had?

It’s not like the date was boring or ordinary; it had some great twists and turns and I had certain parts mapped out but I couldn’t fully connect the pieces. What was preventing me from putting this down the way it needed to be written? Maybe the story was too personal but then again when has that stopped me from ever sharing anything. Case in point a respected colleague of mine dubbed me “no-filter Thompson”. As nicknames goes it’s weak in the rhyming or alliterative department but it more than pulls its weight in the field of accuracy. There must be something to it because it’s stuck to the point where I on occasion try to live up to that lofty title. I don’t mind it, in fact I find it quite disarming. My theory is if I open up and am completely honest you’ll have no problem doing the same and we can start connecting as people. Also I just don’t care. Usually I’m trying to amuse myself by sharing my “hilarious” stories with others. It’s how I please the narcissist in me.

But getting back to the point, why couldn’t I write this story where things ended up very good. Why was this particular dating anecdote giving me so much trouble? My stories of failure or strangeness had poured out but for some reason nothing was flowing when I tried to accentuate the positive. Am I just a negative person? Was it really that simply? Had I grown so accustomed to living out a self-proclaimed “bizarre” life that when something “bizarre and great” happens I don’t know how to process it? Jesus, if that was the honest truth that would be fucking depressing, but I don’t really think so. It had to be something else cause I’m not necessarily a negative person but more the type who embraces their emotions a little too fully. Probably a little too much if you ask certain friends and colleagues of mine but hey someone once told me that kind of living was cathartic. Actually that person was me but that’s a topic for another self-indulgent blog post.

In the end I think it had to do with how much that day and date meant to me. A popular thing to do towards the end of 2016 was to discuss how we all survived an abnormally poor year. But I was talking to some people and we decided to flip the script and talk about what we enjoyed most about 2016. I thought about some great moments I had over the year, but I kept circling back to that date with her. It was a night where everything got better and better and every time I replayed the past I kept remembering different details that would make me smile. Moments would flash by and my glasses became rosy red and the nostalgia would reach its full effect. I would think back to us sitting on a bench overlooking the 59^th Street Bridge like we were shooting a remake of the famous scene from Manhattan. Of course the only difference was that there were a bunch of bums near us and one of them was so kind as to offer us a piece of his dinner which we both foolishly accepted, but in retrospect (and several doctor appointments later) turned out to be a strange highlight of the evening. Or later when she grabbed my cheeks and said “ahh I love this face” and I thought it was one of the greatest things I had ever heard. Or towards the beginning of the evening when we ate oysters in a way that would make Tom Jones proud. Maybe it was the heavy nostalgia shading my eyes, and it most likely was, but that was probably my favorite moment of last year. It wasn’t simply how well the date went, but who it was with and the timing of it all. It was something I had wanted for a long while and it was all happening and I didn’t want it to end.

Which brings me back to my main point of why I couldn’t write about this particular evening of mine and that was because it would never come out the way it deserved to be told. There would always be something incomplete and left to linger on in the streets of Manhattan. And that’s fine, maybe it’s better than me going into my no-filter Thompson mode. It was my favorite time of last year and there is no way I can express that in lines. It was one of those moments you look back on and can’t help but be glad that it happened and that you were lucky to be involved. Now of course it would have been simpler to state this now obvious reason a few paragraphs ago but sometimes self-indulgence at 4 in the morning can be a good and incredibly cathartic thing. Perhaps it’s just the narcissist in me.  

Golden Globes Recap

Thoughts on this year’s Golden Globes:

Why doesn’t Kristen Wiig host the Golden Globes? I think she’s the only comedian who routinely never booms on award shows and is hilarious with every comedian she’s paired with. Her bit with Steve Carrell was easily the comedic highlight of the night (don’t dismiss this as faint praise due to the lameness of the host) and reminded people to YouTube every other bit she’s ever done on an award show. Now naturally the question arises of whether she can sustain this hilarity for the thankless role of host or do these segments float because they break up the monotony of this intolerable circle jerk? I’m willing to bet on the first theory and I hope she gets a major hosting gig soon.

Meryl Streep gave the speech of the New Year but my favorite part was the predictable right wing criticism that accompanied it. The only shocker was that Trump didn’t finish his “Meryl is overrated” tweet by ending it with “sad”. That seems to be his preferred sentence finisher. Then came the conservative chorus of Hollywood being elitist and out of touch with the middle of the America and this time that claim ran even more hollow than usual. How are you going to say that the guy born to incredible wealth and lives in a golden penthouse is somehow not an out of touch snobby elitist? He has a star on the Walk of Fame and has spent his life trying to get has far away from the middle class and poor as possible by building those giant eye sores for the rich and well to do around my fair city (and the world). When has Donald Trump done anything for anybody outside of himself or those who could further his position and his place? I’ll give you a hint: never! So stop pretending that Donald Trump isn’t a part of this Hollywood elitist culture, I mean his brand is based on being the national embodiment of the rich New York City asshole. So let’s cut it out with this whole Donald Trump is a man of the people routine.  

Kudos on the cameramen for focusing in on noted Hollywood conservatives Mel Gibson and Vince Vaughn during Meryl Streep’s incredibly passionate and liberal speech. Those reaction shots were all worth it.

We get it Tom Hiddleston, you’re a good person and you do god’s work. Again good work on the cameramen for finding the few reaction shots of people who didn’t roll their eyes all the way to the back of their skulls.

Jimmy Fallon’s monologue was kind of funny, but then again you let Trump of the hook and tussled his hair, so mixed feelings I guess?

I actually think the Golden Globes does it right in terms of having separate categories for comedies and dramas. Why we have this idea that comedy is inferior to the frowny face mask is beyond me. So good on that. Now if they would start nominating better movies…

Why were the people behind La La Land talking about their movie like it was the ultimate outsider movie? Tell me again how Hollywood was against a movie that has been described as a love letter to Los Angeles and its musical past? I fail to see how anybody in Los Angeles would want to make that kind of film especially when it stars two of the most attractive and bankable stars on the planet and directed by the guy (from Harvard) whose last film won a ton of awards. What a bunch of wide eyed dreamers!

Donald Glover and Atlanta continued the new show wins many awards streak that Lena Dunham and Girls started (which was continued by Andy Samberg and Brooklyn 99). And in keeping with this grand Golden Globes tradition look for it to somehow never win another award no matter how good the show remains.

And finally, Brad Pitt is still really hot and beloved by his Hollywood peers. That is how you win a breakup despite losing custody of your children. Well played Mr. Pitt.

How to Pick the Right Dating App

Join these dating apps/websites if:

Bumble

If you enjoy swiping on the hottest, most beautiful people in the world while in no way expecting a match.

(Guy) It’s fun to know that women also suck at sending out messages.

(Girl) The thrill that comes with not receiving a sexist comment until the third message. Truly the enlightened casual dating app.

Tinder

If you enjoy basking in the intense judgement of others that comes after you say “so I met them on Tinder”.

Enjoying never knowing if you two are dating, quasi-dating, seeing each other, friends with benefits, or just you know hanging out and stuff, super casual.

You want to get really close to somebody, like spend every minute of every day with them only to have them never reply to any of your texts or calls out of the blue. Act now, the joys of ghosting can be yours!

JSwipe

You could always have your self-esteem significantly lowered.

Your hero is Norman Bates.

You’ve read all of Phillip Roth’s novels and thought that’s the guy for me.

Christian Mingle

You’re trying to find somebody who also thinks that screaming at women outside of a Planned Parenthood constitutes the perfect first date.

For the kinky Christian – it’s always a threesome because no matter who you date, you always date with our lord and savior, Jesus Christ.

Their “dating algorithm” is the only type of science you’re willing to believe in.

OkCupid

You like answering a million personality questions that will ultimately be ignored based on how hot you are.

(Girl): You enjoy being bombarded with countless messages and threats if god forbid you don’t reply within 30 seconds of receiving another shitty “sup” greeting.

Finding out how much of a mortal enemy you are with a stranger because you both had different answers to the question of which “shitty early thousands emo band are you?”

Match

Commercials always tell the truth and never exaggerate or lie!

Your life is passing you by very quickly and it’s about time you dragged somebody down with you.

Dating should be neither fun nor interesting at all.

eHarmony

You’re secretly super Christian (do a quick search I’m not joking about this one…the founder’s a goddamn crazy Christian).

Christian Mingle is for harlots and heretics. Give us something even more Christian (again look this shit up)!

You’re trying to go straight from being single and unhappy to being married and unhappy.

A 3.5 out of 10

I was sinking fast and needed a way out. A week ago things had gone from good to bad and I thought it was time to start rebounding. The problem with that theory was that I chose to look backwards rather than forwards. I opened the rolodex and thought of someone I had liked but knew would never be more than a like. It seemed like the perfect temporary solution. We had fun back in the day and ended on decent enough terms – a mutual ghosting of conversation and meetings. Nothing was sour at all. It just ended. But I was feeling low and I had this feeling that if I came a calling she would respond. It took an hour after the initial lame entry text, but after receiving the always ominous “who is this” reply, we settled into some pleasantries before deciding to meet up the next day. I had it. The road was paved and all I had to do was show up before the rebounding would commence in earnest.

We decided to meet around Union Square which was pretty dumb considering that I would have to search for her in the midst of a winding holiday market, but she’s a fan of simplicity and minimalism so I found her quickly at the edge bundled up and smiling. Just like that we started downtown, talking and catching up. We made sure to hit on all the major points – Halloween, the election, Thanksgiving, her birthday, and so on and so forth. I was even able to sneak in some remininsces as we passed by Washington Square Park. The night was going as well as it could be and I decided to crank up the nostalgia factor by taking her back to Pianos, which is for some reason is my go to date place. Why I go there is a mystery. The place is always jammed packed, the upstairs has a cover, the drinks are pricey and small, and the entry hand marker takes at least two days to wash away. But for some reason I am a loyal customer. Go figure. Anyway we head over and start downing some drinks. The conversation is going fairly well, we’re laughing and joking at what seems to be an even pace. I’m my usual “charming” self and she’s the same. I like what’s happening. We’re a few drinks in when for some reason we start talking about dates and such and she mentions she likes to rate guys and how her friends think it’s weird. I say not at all we all judged people, I mean we met on Bumble. She laughed and agreed. I playfully asked what my ranking was and she told me I was a 3.5 and that it wasn’t out of five.

A 3.5 out of a whole ten. So specific and so low like Jesus what was happening. She was surprised I didn’t agree with her assessment of the night. I said you’ve been laughing at everything I’ve been saying. Apparently I was wrong on that front. She had been laughing at her reaction to my jokes and stories. Nobody has been able to tell me what that means. I couldn’t get over that. A 3.5, talk about an ego blow. The only thing worse was a half hearted attempt at consoling me with the revelation that I started at a mediocre 6. I must have been on some sort of roll to take a 2.5 point drop on her scale of gentlemanly likability in a matter of an hour and a half. She said I was a lot higher back in the day but what I had perceived as a mutual ghosting had in actuality dropped me way, way down. That’s fair I thought, but you also never called me back. I contended it was mutual and she agreed but that I still had to pay in the rankings.

I think we talked for longer, but I don’t really know what about. That ranking had engulfed and consumed me. This was supposed to be a slam dunk and here I was back in the rain. We left and got something to eat and then for some reason I went back to her place for reasons a friend of mine describes as solely masochist. I get on top of her bed and lay down while she sits on the other end. I make a lame pass that gets quickly shut down as I think to myself is it really worth it. So we’re talking about something and she asks about my reasons for hitting her up. I start to lie but she knows I’m lying. She calls me out on it really quick and she’s right to do so. Why would I lie to the person who said I was a 3.5 to my face? She was brutally honest with me so I suppose it’s my turn to repay the favor. I tell her about a hurt I had suffered recently and how I was trying to rebound. We had gone on a few fun dates before which always ended with the bonus of hooking up or fucking so I wanted to take a trip down memory lane and I needed to feel good about something. She told me that moved me up to a 4.5 but that was my peak. You know, just what everyone wants to hear after pouring out the pain bottled deep inside. She knew what the deal was when I made a joke earlier about being depressed. She said it sounded more believable than the previous times I had thrown out that old chestnut. I talked for probably twenty minutes about what was bothering me and it felt weird but refreshing to talk so openly to someone I knew I was never going to see again. I talked, she listened and told me things I can’t remember and then we segued into talking about her last sexual experience. We chatted and like that it got late.

I mentioned I was ready to leave and she said I could stay if I wanted. We’re we going to do anything I asked and she said no. I’d sleep on one side and she’s take the other of her king sized bed. What’s the point I said and she asked if I thought that just because I got her a drink meant that I was entitled to sleep with her. Of course not I said, that doesn’t mean anything. Plus you bought the second round so that excuse was invalid. I asked when she knew she didn’t want to sleep with me and she told me it was decided when she agreed to meet. So that was another in a series of fun revelations. That seemed like the perfect time to leave so I got my shoes and walked outside into the lower east side. Well that backfired tremendously and I guess I deserved it I thought as I prepared myself for the long walk back to the E train by cuing up Bob Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks album. It’s the only thing I was listening to at the time. Still is.