Today I will not discuss books or movies. To be honest, last week was filled with Heart-A-Rama activity, leaving little room for reading.
Our book group met on Friday night, and I made a happy discovery. With one or two exceptions, and for a variety of reasons, we are all "Castle" fans. How ironic that I should make this discovery when, for the last few weeks, I have been trying desperately, with no success, to stop watching. You all know our guest blogger, Steve, right? Well, each Tuesday morning, or shortly thereafter, we exchange email evaluations of the previous night's "Castle" episode, and let me tell you, for most of this season, the reviews have not been nearly as pretty as the show's star, Nathan Fillion.
Each week, I tentatively tune in, hoping for the return of the old Castle, the writer who intimated himself into the police department simply to observe and gain greater perspective for his mystery novels. Well, that thread has come to a screeching halt. Long gone is the insightful, but endearingly cocky man of letters, who, with raised eyebrow and crooked grin, would throw out seemingly absurd angles for Becket and her clown posse to consider before wasting time sniffing down the wrong path. I can't rember the last time his writing career was part of the plot.
Then there is the is issue of the disappearing redheads - Castle's daughter and mother. Never liked the daughter much so I'm not complaining about her shrinking parts. With her pursed lips and condescending way of pointing out the obvious, I know the writers were clearly trying to make us believe that she is truly Castle's smart and witty daughter, and not the offspring of some travelling salesman. But she was just too smug for me.
His mom was OK - a sort of gypsy, hippie throwback whose boho bangles clink and jingle when she walks, talks, or twists her 70 something year old body into some impossible yoga position.
And that is just the beginning of my growing concern for the future of "Castle." Yet, I go back, week after week, because Castle manages somehow to break through all the editing, writing, character, and production weaknesses. That crooked little smile gets me every time, and from the talk amoung my book group, that is what will keep this show on the air for a few more seasons.
Two of us discovered that we go to the same eye doctor, a guy who we suspect keeps a collection starched white shirts secreted behind a hidden panel in his exam room. No matter what time of day your appointment is, there is never a wrinkle, not a drop of French dressing, not even an errant swipe from a unleashed Bic pen. And he looks like Nathan Fillion. The last time time Steph was in for an exam she got halfway into her question, "Hey Dr.________, has anybody ever told you..." "All the time!"
And that is why I must make an appointment for an exam soon.
Started watching a video series of Samule Beckett plays, beginning with the most disturbing interpretation of Waiting for Godot that I have ever seen. The commentary afterwards made a big deal out of "Godot" being one of the funniest plays ever written. Really? I got the humor when I taught it to my Drama Lit students, but it sure didn't come through in this screen version. The scenes with Lucky and Pozzo were nearly impossible to watch...so I didn't.
Thanks for stopping by.
