FOX's usual shenanigans probably doomed the show before it ever aired. A late pick-up made for a rushed production, and, well, it kinda showed. The network did plug the hell out of the premiere...which aired in mid-April, because that's when people are looking for new programs to watch. Good plan. As for the show itself, with a dozen characters to establish, it took three episodes to just work out who was who and start hinting at future revelations. The fourth ended in a cliffhanger, and then the show was canceled. We'll never know what who was behind the mysteriously complicated cross-country race the characters were engaged in, but the ultimate winner may be ABC. -- Strega
Friday Night Lights
Well, shit. I mean, I knew I liked Peter Berg, but I had just chalked that up to a weakness for a manly overbite (call me, Will Arnett!). But who even saw Friday Night Lights coming? When the hero of the show gets paralyzed at the end of the first episode, you know you're in uncharted waters. Sure, the show is about football players, cheerleaders, bad girls, and cool parents -- nothing uncharted about those heavily-trafficked waters. But Friday Night Lights, like all great American art forms, steeped itself in the conventions of its particular form -- the teen drama -- and then took its opportunity to show us the heart of those conventions. So don't feel bad about slow-clapping along with the players as they applaud Kyle Chandler's indefatigable Coach Taylor, a man who turns out good athletes but even better young men; don't feel bad about letting the Panthers' state championship warm your cold, cynical, postmodern heart. Don't take a moment's notice of whether or not you should be digging the spunky, popular, but troubled Lyla Garrity as much as you do, or stop to overanalyze the pure joy you feel as you watch two good kids -- Matt Saracen and Julie Taylor -- fall in love. Bad girls can be smart, and good mothers do exist.
When Jason Street, star quarterback of the Dillon Panthers, is paralyzed in the first game of the season, the effects ripple through his family, team, and small Texas town. Saracen, a timid sophomore who cares for his senile grandmother at home, takes Street's place on the field. Future townies Brian "Smash" Williams and Tim Riggins swagger with sexual confidence one minute, break down under small-town pressures and deadbeat fathers the , while town bad girl Tyra, a coil of smarts and sexiness, finds herself in an odd-couple pairing with Saracen's nerdy friend Landry. And in a beautifully literal turn, the coach's wife Tami takes a position as guidance counselor at the high school, giving honest and honestly-good guidance to kids just trying to make their way through. We get episodes on teen sex, racism, pride, broken dreams, and good ole Texas football in the rain, but somehow we barely toe even one treacly line.
By The TWoP Staff
FOX's usual shenanigans probably doomed the show before it ever aired. A late pick-up made for a rushed production, and, well, it kinda showed. The network did plug the hell out of the premiere...which aired in mid-April, because that's when people are looking for new programs to watch. Good plan. As for the show itself, with a dozen characters to establish, it took three episodes to just work out who was who and start hinting at future revelations. The fourth ended in a cliffhanger, and then the show was canceled. We'll never know what who was behind the mysteriously complicated cross-country race the characters were engaged in, but the ultimate winner may be ABC. -- Strega
Friday Night Lights
Well, shit. I mean, I knew I liked Peter Berg, but I had just chalked that up to a weakness for a manly overbite (call me, Will Arnett!). But who even saw Friday Night Lights coming? When the hero of the show gets paralyzed at the end of the first episode, you know you're in uncharted waters. Sure, the show is about football players, cheerleaders, bad girls, and cool parents -- nothing uncharted about those heavily-trafficked waters. But Friday Night Lights, like all great American art forms, steeped itself in the conventions of its particular form -- the teen drama -- and then took its opportunity to show us the heart of those conventions. So don't feel bad about slow-clapping along with the players as they applaud Kyle Chandler's indefatigable Coach Taylor, a man who turns out good athletes but even better young men; don't feel bad about letting the Panthers' state championship warm your cold, cynical, postmodern heart. Don't take a moment's notice of whether or not you should be digging the spunky, popular, but troubled Lyla Garrity as much as you do, or stop to overanalyze the pure joy you feel as you watch two good kids -- Matt Saracen and Julie Taylor -- fall in love. Bad girls can be smart, and good mothers do exist.
When Jason Street, star quarterback of the Dillon Panthers, is paralyzed in the first game of the season, the effects ripple through his family, team, and small Texas town. Saracen, a timid sophomore who cares for his senile grandmother at home, takes Street's place on the field. Future townies Brian "Smash" Williams and Tim Riggins swagger with sexual confidence one minute, break down under small-town pressures and deadbeat fathers the , while town bad girl Tyra, a coil of smarts and sexiness, finds herself in an odd-couple pairing with Saracen's nerdy friend Landry. And in a beautifully literal turn, the coach's wife Tami takes a position as guidance counselor at the high school, giving honest and honestly-good guidance to kids just trying to make their way through. We get episodes on teen sex, racism, pride, broken dreams, and good ole Texas football in the rain, but somehow we barely toe even one treacly line.