As a fan of Community, it's been a week of ups and downs. First there were rumours of cancelation, trotted out like the reliable workhorses they proved to be when the show was put on mid-season hiatus. And then we got the reprieve; thirteen more episodes, but getting moved to Fridays starting in June of all months. Whatever, we could live with it.

But now this: Dan Harmon is no longer going to be Community's showrunner. I never even bothered to learn his actual title. It's probably Executive Producer; it usually is with these things. The announcement says he will be staying on as a Consulting Producer, which appears to be network code for being paid to stay home and keep his mouth shut.

Given how integral Harmon is to Community—even people who acknowledge that he's a poor manager or otherwise have conflicts with him call him the "soul" of the show—it's hard to imagine the show maintaining its unique spirit and consistently high levels of quality and innovation without him at the helm. Despite the new showrunners coming on board (David Guarascio and Moses Port) having a history of doing reasonably good work, none of that work has been on the same level as Harmon's on Community, and it's easy to imagine how this could actually turn out worse than if they'd simply canceled the show, especially given how strong the Season 3 finale turned out to be.

The rumour right now seems to be that Sony was responsible for Harmon leaving, refusing to renew his contract and signing on the new showrunners without even so much as telling him. It may not be true, but given how much of a clusterfuck Sony has become as a company generally, it wouldn't be at all surprising, and either way it stinks of bad faith.

That's not to say that Harmon is a saint in all this, but he's produced the finest thirty minute comedy American television has seen in more than a decade, more despite Sony's involvement rather than because of it. The Russo brothers are gone, and so are Neil Goldman and Garrett Donovan (off to run their own show), and just tonight writer/producer Chris McKenna, responsible for some of the best writing of the season, has announced that he's leaving as well. McKenna has struck a deal with Universal, but Todd VanDerWerff (in the comments section of tonight's AV Club article) thinks there's a good chance he's leaving in solidarity with Harmon.

There are jokes about this being the Darkest Timeline, and I've already heard talk of the fanbase rallying around Harmon to get him reinstated. The thing is, none of that's going to work. Sony and NBC have signed contracts, things are being arranged, and people's jobs are on the line. Not just Harmon's and Guarascio's and Port's, or even the cast's, but all those men and women behind the scenes who make the lights come on and the sets look nice and the jokes funny. Their families need them to have jobs, and as much as I believe Harmon is essential to seeing Community through its natural run (despite retweeting #sixseasonsandamovie a billion times, I think the show really only has four good years in it), I don't see how fan activism will result in a positive outcome. Even if we could somehow get Harmon his job back, the bridges it would burn for him and some of the others involved could poison the well for them for years. Or maybe even permanently.

At this point I don't really know what to think. I'm emotional in a way I never expected I would be over a television series. I plan to spend some of the summer writing about the three amazing seasons we already have, and frankly I need time to think, and more information, before I make any serious predictions about what's in store for Season 4. But right now I see almost no reason for optimism

Here's the deal, kids. Nobody's been cancelled yet, except 30 Rock. Here's what went down:

There has been talk on Twitter and blogs and whatnot that 30 Rock was getting a 13 episode season for next year, which would be its last. That was confirmed today by TV By the Numbers, which in case you didn't know, is probably the most reliable venue for this kind of news. There was speculation (and I can't remember where I first saw it, but it may actually have been at TVBTN) that Community and some other sitcoms would be returning with similarly shortened orders. No announcement is planned on NBC's other sitcoms until Monday, though it doesn't look good for shows like Whitney (which is a guilty pleasure of mine).

The link-baiting idiots at something called Opposing Views, a site nobody had heard of until today, are reporting that rumour as fact for two sitcoms: Community, and Parks & Recreation. It's not a bad guess for Community, which—while being the best and most innovative comedy on TV in at least a decade—is a ratings underdog despite a recent post-hiatus uptick (even beating American Idol at least once). Besides, Dan Harmon would be Tweeting his ass off right now if that information had already been released. (And as of his most recent tweets he has no idea what these people are talking about.) As for Parks & Recreation: It's not a powerhouse, but is still one of NBC's few ratings winners right now, and nobody has suggested it's even potentially on the chopping block, making the rumour not only unlikely to be true, but bordering a little on the absurd. (I can't imagine they'd cancel it to bank on Matt Perry and Anne Heche.)

The lesson here? Cool your jets, and don't spread rumours. They might be true, but for right now your mourning is premature. Except for 30 Rock.

I'm a newcomer to the CBS legal drama The Good Wife, now in its third season. I've spent the last day and a half watching the first season from my sick bed. It was a combination of things that made me finally give in, despite the fact that a new network legal drama wasn't particularly high up on my priorities. People whose opinions I respect say good things about the show, and then I saw some really great things said about it on PBS's excellent recent documentary, America in Prime Time, so here we are. The premise is simple: Alicia Florrick (Julianna Margulies) has to return to the law in order to support her family after her philandering husband, Peter (played by Law & Order veteran Chris Noth), an Illinois state's attorney, is disbarred and jailed for a sex/corruption scandal. Structurally, the show is divided into two slightly overlapping major elements. First, the main plot, which follows Alicia Florrick as she tries to balance the aftermath of a very public humiliation with the workload of being a junior associate and being a single mother of two, and second, the Case of the Week format common to nearly every courtroom drama ever to grace American television.

The cast is very strong. Julianna Margulies gives a surprisingly subtle performance that's more about cumulative effects than individual scenes. She's best with small expressions in scenes with a sense of stillness, but she also manages to go between genuinely tender and brutally cold without appearing inconsistent or in any way out of character. I haven't seen a lot of her work, but this is the best performance she's given of those I have seen.

Chris Noth doesn't have a lot to do, and Josh Charles (as Will Gardner, one of the named partners at Alicia's firm) plays a variation of the same character he's done in everything since Sports Night. It's not a bad character, but it would be nice to see something new from him. Christine Baranski's portrayal of Diane Lockhart (another of the named partners) is exceptional, in part because despite being cast as a rich, powerful woman (a common role for her), she easily sidesteps any potential accusations of typecasting by giving a really warm performance, one that's strikingly different from the borderline parodic ones she's given in comedic versions of that role in the past. Relative newcomer Archie Panjabi (who I know best as Maya from the original UK series Life on Mars) is also great as investigator Kalinda Sharma. She is particularly excellent at keeping a subplot about the question of her sexuality from overwhelming her character. The part is written very well, but an actress not on her game could easily wind up wielding that aspect of the character like a cudgel, which would be the absolute wrong way to play her. Alan Cumming is just Alan Cumming with the volume turned down a bit, and it works fine.

The show also uses an excellent array of quality character actors, people like David Paymer, Michael Boatman, Peter Riegert, Peter Gerety (who most will know from The Wire, but I liked him better in Homicide: Life on the Street), and personal favourites Joe Morton, Carrie Preston, Amy Acker, and Martha Plimpton (and of course Gillian Jacobs makes an appearance in the pilot).

The ongoing plot about Alicia, her career, and her husband that makes up half the structure of the show, is unique and exceptional, focusing not, as one might expect, on the political ups and downs of the prominent public figure Peter Florrick (you can catch Kelsey Grammar in the new series Boss if you want that), but on her balancing act. One could also argue that it's a show about balancing private and public spaces, but those spaces commingle significantly after Peter is released from prison, and we are offered glimpses of his life and career through cracks in the door and shots over the shoulder. The information accumulates over the course of the season, and what happened to Peter and how he's responding gradually becomes clear, but we still see it primarily through how people treat Alicia on the job. It almost seems like the early episodes can't seem to decide whether or not they're actually about Alicia, or if they're just about Peter as seen through Alicia's life, like drawing a figure by filling in the negative space. I say almost, because the writers use it as a way to push her towards establishing her own agency, and by the end of the season, The Good Wife is unquestionably about Alicia, almost as though it took twenty-three episodes for the writers to convince both the audience and Alicia herself that the show really should be about her.

If I were to have any complaints about the main plotline, it's with some of the children. Zach Florrick's unusual technical prowess is a little too much like "kids these days" hand-waving, while his girlfriend Becca's (not unrealistic) aggressive sexuality just seems like one plot point too many.

The Case of the Week element of the show is a bit more problematic. On the one hand it's the primary vehicle by which Alicia establishes her new sense of self (and how they sneak in all those great supporting actors), but there's nothing new there in terms of a network legal drama. I've seen these cases before, I've seen the legal trickery and the research and the late nights with empty pizza boxes and those cool folded cardboard cartons of Chinese food that you never see in the real world. I've seen the awkward opening statements and the love/hate relationships between opposing counsel. I have seen it all a million times before, and it's not even self-aware about it like Boston Legal (an unbelievably brilliant show, despite its problems). Eventually one case began to blur into another, and they started to lose their sense of urgency. I can't help but wonder if they were only included at the network's request.

Since my case of the plague (or rather this nasty head cold) doesn't show any signs of abating, I'll probably move on to the opening episodes of season two tomorrow. It is my hope that the main plotline will continue to be strong, and the kinks in the Case of the Week format will iron themselves out.

I don't do resolutions. Not because it's a cliché; I sometimes think those are all right. Rather it's because I just don't ever stick to them. Things happen, blah blah blah. I could give you excuses, but that's how things wind up going. So, inspired by Adrienne's post (and obviously aping her post title) I'm going to say a few words about what I hope the new year has in store.

First of all, I'm going to get a new job. This really isn't optional, since I've just been freelancing since August (and I'm definitely going to be doing more of that; I've already been doing some freelance editing this year, and I've been back from the holidays for less than a week), but at this point anyway, it's not paying the bills. I'm trying to keep optimistic, but this is honestly going to be simultaneously the hardest and the most important part of my new year, both in terms of the task itself, and keeping my spirits up.

I want to read more poetry. And I've already started! I'm nearly seventy pages into Wallace Stevens' Collected Poems. I've said for a long time that he's my favourite poet, but I'm not sure if that's necessarily the case. I really admire his work, and "The Idea of Order at Key West" is my favourite poem of all time, but maybe that's not enough. I'm going to start with books of poetry already in my collection (the Stevens is a textbook left over from a Modern American Literature course I took with Stan Fogel as an undergrad), which means poets like Anne Sexton, E.E. Cummings, Anne Carson, Don McKay, Ezra Pound, Adrienne Rich, David Donnell, Edna St. Vincent Millay, and a bunch of others who show up in various anthologies. I admire poetry as a form, but I don't feel like I understand it very well, particularly contemporary poetry, and I find that I either connect instantly and profoundly with a poem, or it bores me and I want to move on. I don't know if this is normal, but it's starting to bother me, and I want to work on it this year.

I want to start writing and blogging more, particularly about television. I've said things like this before, and it would be easy to say "and this time, I really mean it," but I've been a serious fan of television as a medium my whole life, and at this point I think I have a strong enough grasp of what's going on and the necessary critical language to write about it seriously. It would be nice if I could get paid for it, but I've come to realize that if I've got something to say I should just say it regardless. I plan to start with a series of posts about the amazing sitcom Community—and before you say anything, I've already got drafts started. As for blogging about other things, I also have drafts of book reviews and other posts, I just need to finish them. To be honest, the biggest obstacle is the stress of looking for work; it's difficult to concentrate on the writing I do for myself with that looming over my head. (I would also like to say that 2012 is the year I stop making excuses, but really, nobody keeps that resolution.)

This will surprise no one who knows me well, but I'm kind of a geek. I like Star Trek and Star Wars, video games, science fiction novels, anime, and roleplaying games (well, some). I own complete runs of Cerebus, Preacher, and The Sandman (or did before some folks borrowed some of the latter without returning them). Hell, I even got about a third of the way into writing my own tabletop RPG once. Yeah, that's right, I'm that guy. But over the years I've drifted away from those roots. I don't read as much SF/F as I used to, I haven't played an RPG in years, and I can't even remember the last time I watched a new anime series. The truth is, the deeper I got into "fandom," the more I found two equal but opposite impulses within the community extremely unappealing. The first was the impulse from some in the community to relentlessly nitpick every trivial little thing that was even a tiny bit inconsistent or outside their expectations—which goes beyond criticism and into entitlement—and the second was the impulse some have to go easy on people working in genre because it's been ghettoized for so long and "we're all in this together" (or some other sentimental nonsense the critic in me can't abide), which helps no one, as it gives us a false sense of the work. Anyway, neither of those impulses are representative of the fan community as a whole (and it's more a collection of related communities than a unified entity anyway), but they made me not want to be a part of it all the same. I got into James Joyce and art films, A.S. Byatt and The Wire, and for a long time didn't look back.

The thing is, you can't read a lot of contemporary literary fiction, or watch a lot of television and film—not even the art house versions of same—without seeing how they have been influenced by and intersect with what we talk about as genre work. I'm not ashamed of being a big nerdy goof. Long time readers will know that I've blogged extensively about William Gibson's books, for example, plus reviewed his last two for Quill & Quire, and even interviewed him for Canadian Notes & Queries; additionally most of my professional book reviews have been of books that straddle the line between genre work and "capital L" literature. But I never felt a kinship with the community, and drifted away in favour of other priorities. This year I want to change that. I spent most of December reading Robert E. Howard's Conan stories, and now I've moved on to H.P. Lovecraft. I've also, almost clandestinely it feels like, been reading Raymond Chandler, Ian Rankin, Stieg Larsson, Elmore Leonard, Fred Vargas, Michael Dibdin, David Montrose, P.D. James, James M. Cain, and so on, and enjoyed pretty much all of them unequivocally. So I'm going to read a lot more genre fiction this year, and even try and see if I can connect a little with the community. We'll see how it goes. I may even write about some of it.

So that's a lot of rambling nonsense, but those are things that I hope will happen in the coming new year. As usual, comments and suggestions are welcome.

Dear NBC:

I am a book critic by trade, but deep down, I'm also a TV person. I watch an enormous amount of television, and have since I was young. But I don't watch uncritically. I think TV has taken over from the movies as the place to go for the best in filmed entertainment, but aside from a handful of legacy programs, I have largely migrated from the shows created by over-the-air networks to those produced by cable channels. For a time I had given up on the sitcom entirely.

Community changed that. It's the smartest, funniest, most inspiring half-hour comedy that NBC—or any network—has produced since the demise of NewsRadio, and is single-handedly responsible for restoring my faith in the sitcom as a format where good work can be done, and where innovation can still happen.

The writing is stellar, the cast is the tightest ensemble on TV today, and the show is utterly fearless at the conceptual level. The end result is that Community is not only the best sitcom currently on television, but one of the best sitcoms in television history. Community's creators appear to love and understand the medium like no one else.

Nothing lasts forever, but Community has not reached the end of its run, in my opinion. The structure Dan Harmon and the others have set up has at least a fourth season left in it, and I believe they should be allowed to see it through. It may not be the highest rated show in its time slot, but it lends NBC considerable prestige, something that will help attract more talent, which in turn will lead to an audience willing to stick it out for the long-haul, and the advertising dollars that come with it.

I was tremendously disappointed to hear that Community was to be taken off the mid-season schedule. I think it's a mistake, and undermines NBC's own interest in reclaiming its place as the top network.

I would like to join my voice with the other fans who are calling for Community's swift return to television, and for its subsequent renewal for another season.

Thank you very much for your time.

Sincerely,

August C. Bourré

A copy of this post was also emailed to the offices of NBC.

I don't believe in guilty pleasures. Six years of studying literature at the university level taught me many things, and perhaps the most important thing it taught me is something that seems obvious in retrospect, but that most people have difficulty applying in their daily lives: not everything you like is good, and not everything you dislike is bad. We don't need to feel guilty or ashamed because we like something we know is not necessarily of the highest quality. Still, most of us, myself included, fall into that trap from time to time.

For literary folks, especially here in Canada, guilty pleasures often come in the form of genre fiction, like romance, science fiction, or fantasy (though, strangely, mysteries tend to be pretty accepted). When our writers produce works that would fall into those categories, our inner snobs emerge to label them "dystopias" or "magic realist" or some other such bullshit. Code words for the literati, for the most part. We don't want to be mistaken for the kind of people who read books with airbrushed paintings of dragons on the covers, do we? Hell no. Some of my best friends read books with airbrushed dragons on their covers. I'm not sure how this plays out in other jurisdictions—perhaps its a matter of geek community politics; I'm okay with being a book geek, but I don't want to qualify for Beauty and the Geek—but I think here in Canada it has a lot to do with wanting to be taken seriously. Being taken seriously is a national obsession for us even outside the book world, and as Brian Busby has noted, we've been pretty good about deliberately marginalizing pulp and genre publishing in this country, Harlequin being among the few notable exceptions. Why we think this makes us look good is beyond me, but then so many things are.

I'm not falling into that trap anymore. Here it is, for all the world to see: I read books by David Eddings, China Miéville, Neil Gaiman, Ursula K. Le Guin, R. Scott Bakker, Phyllis Gotlieb, Raymond Chandler, Ian Fleming, Bernard Cornwell, Patrick O'Brian, Phillip K. Dick, William Gibson, Alan Furst, Guy Gavriel Kay, H.P. Lovecraft, Douglas Adams, Neal Stephenson, John MacLachlan Gray, Simon Scarrow, Frank Herbert, Arthur C. Clarke, Jack McKinney, Robert E. Howard, Robert A. Heinlein and Harlan Ellison, and I enjoy them, even with the odd airbrushed cover. But, you say, with newspapers now covering comic books (oops, sorry, graphic novels—can't actually call the damned things by their true name), an admission like this, that includes some pretty famous, respected names, isn't so big a deal. You're probably right. Let's talk TV.

I watch a lot of television, and if you're keeping track of folks in Canadian publishing via Twitter, you'll know that so do a lot of "book people". From what I can tell, the programmes they watch tend to come in two categories. They either watch the new breed of high-budget, critically acclaimed dramas like True Blood, Mad Men and Dexter, or trashy, low-budget reality television like American Idol, So You Think You Can Dance, and Canada's Next Top Model. I suppose this is progress. A few years ago, before programmes like The Sopranos and The Wire brought television drama to a new level of quality (or, rather, got it more attention—there were a handful of shows before them that came very close to the same quality), I think you'd have been hard-pressed to get a lot of die-hard book people to talk TV around the water cooler. I can't imagine them being excited to talk about last night's episode of Fraiser, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, or LA Law.

What I wonder about is why there's so little discussion of trashy television drama. There are a number of shows on right now (Legend of the Seeker, Spartacus: Blood & Sand, Burn Notice, Leverage, White Collar, Castle, Eureka) that may sometimes have decent budgets, but where the writing and acting aren't quite up to the level of something like Deadwood. (And then there's shows like Supernatural, which started out as a monster-of-the-week dramedy, but over the last four and a half years has morphed into one of the smartest, funniest, and best-executed things on TV, though nobody seems to be watching it.) There's still some folks who don't watch television at all (like Rebecca Rosenblum, who seems to be one of the few people who can say that without sounding like a hipster snob—which I can assure you she is not), but what really interests me is why there are so few people who watch—or will admit to watching—those trashier dramas. Is there a stigma attached to them? Does watching trashy reality TV seem so much like a guilty pleasure that it's excusable, while watching, say, Spartacus (like Legend of the Seeker, it's from Sam Raimi, the man behind Hercules and Xena) might be mistaken for something you would watch for genuine, non-ironic enjoyment?

I think that it's good people are more open about the television they watch these days, because the medium has come a very long way in the last decade, to the point where I think a lot of the lower-quality dramas are now as good or better than many of the higher-quality dramas from only fifteen or twenty years ago. So to give some love to the trashy dramas, I will admit: I watch Legend of the Seeker (and apparently so does Amy Jones; the leather, it creaks), Burn Notice, Eureka, Leverage, and pretty much every show I've mentioned in this post (except the reality TV; for some reason the closest I can come to watching reality television is Mythbusters and Top Gear, which don't really count).

Step out into the light, Book People. There's no such thing as a guilty pleasure, no matter how many people deny that The Year of the Flood is science fiction. You don't need to hide anymore! Now that I've opened the floodgates, you can expect posts about television programmes in this blog's future.

Well. I'm almost speechless. Let's just start with the verdict and work from there. Ultraviolet is the second-worst film I have ever seen. The worst was Batman & Robin. The only reason I didn't walk out was because, let's face it, Milla Jovovich's rear-end displayed ten feet high in glorious digital is not something you get to see every day.

After this tragedy I am now confident that Kurt Wimmer is not a filmmaker, he is a fashion designer. The only compelling thing about this film was the costuming, which was astonishingly good. Equilibrium was alright, but certainly not the brilliant film that many college-aged viewers hail it as. But it was fairly well put together. Ultraviolet was not. The opening action sequence was so poorly animated that I kept expecting to actually be able to see wires or the green screen or something. Wimmer employed the soft-focus technique, although to a lesser degree, used in Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, not so much to create a sense of nostalgia as to disguise the fact that his CG team didn't know what the hell they were doing.

Continuity was a mess. Sets bore no obvious relation to each other and were often so outlandish that they could have appeared without shame as part of the 1960s Batman television series. Characters moved from one location to another in the course of what should have been a few seconds in the timeline of the film with enormous discrepancies even in terms of whether they were indoors or outdoors (jumping from outside in what could have been suburbia to what was obviously well underground, etc). Also, the headquarters of the Archministry (?) was for no reason at all changed from a fairly cool looking building shaped like the biohazard symbol in the beginning to a horrible parody of St. Peter's cathedral at the end.

And the dialogue poor Milla had to say! I was embarrassed for her and the other actors. Speaking of the other actors, was is just me or did they all seem to have stepped out of Dolce & Gabbana ads? Wimmer didn't cast actors, he cast models.

I know this is kind of a disjointed review, but it was a disjointed film. Nothing made sense! I'm all in favour of non-linear films (I've even made one), but only if it's done on purpose. This was not done on purpose, and it would have be hard to find a less non-sensical plot. Mr. Wimmer, please explain to me why, despite his vampire powers, a doctor has the martial arts skills to take on a woman who kills probably several hundred people over the two days (more or less) that the movie takes place in.

Milla's hotness aside, it's not even worth the rental.

Seriously. (via Nikki)

LINDSAY LOHAN: You're just...it's...um. I'm...nothing. I really should go say hello to Meryl --

SHARON STONE: FUCK MERYL STREEP I'M TELLING YOU THINGS.

In connection with my last post, I'd like to draw your attention to Joe Morgenstern's essay in the Wall Street Journal on how the critic's perspective differs from that of an ordinary viewer, not because of specialized training or a certain background (although those are factors as well), but rather because of the timing; critics see these movies before the hype machines have really started to roll. We see them after.

The Morning News has a great little entry on bad reviews of films that were otherwise much lauded. Read it, and read it now.

With Crash taking the Best Picture award this year I very nearly lost all faith in American cinema. This review says almost everything about the film that I could possibly want to say. ("Contrived, obvious and overstated, Crash is basically just one white man's righteous attempt to make other white people feel as if they've confronted the problem of racism head-on."). Crash was horribly obvious. In fact, I think the only way it could have been more obvious is if Paul Haggis had actually stood behind me in the cinema and screamed "I'm dealing with racism!" while striking me on the head with a book about racism. Not to mention that the cinematography and editing of this film made it very clear that Paul Haggis wants to be Steven Soderbergh when he grows up.