I’ve just finished watching the Syfy (ugh, still hate typing that stupid re-brand) remake of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and I’m coming away from it feeling pleased but slightly dizzy.

This remake was more in the style of Alice in Wonderland rather than just a retelling of the original story, which I think, for the most part, was a wise decision. The original story is disorienting and odd, and it seems as though the primary force behind Alice was to overlay those surrealist, wackadoo aesthetics onto an actual plotline that made some logical sense. For example – in this version, Alice is lured into Wonderland by a hunky dude with chiseled cheekbones (as opposed to chasing a stressed-out rabbit with an oversized pocket watch). We also discover pretty quickly that Wonderland has some specific and well-organized evil going on, a system where people from the real world are harvested for their emotions, and the Queen of Hearts feeds those feelings back to citizens of Wonderland to keep them subdued. It’s a cool if not completely original idea, and it works well for Wonderland. On top of that, the whole look of the place is entertaining. The palace/casino is full of surreally re-imagined sixties outfits with a heavily represented deck of cards theme, and the rest of Wonderland veers from steampunk-urban to forest of Endor and back again.

Unfortunately, what is supposed to be a reasonably logical and coherent plotline ends up being a little predictable and slow. In the beginning, Alice mourns her lost father, who abandoned her at a young age. Two hours later – surprise! – he’s in Wonderland! There’s also a whole bit with a skeleton army at the end that makes very little sense, and I’m still trying to figure out how it helped the conclusion. My other big complaint about this remake is that although most of the original, memorable characters show up, the newly coherent plotline has a hard time incorporating them, so they appear and disappear rather quickly, and are almost always drained of their initial creepiness. Caterpillar is mostly innocuous and Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are less-than-terrifying torturers. The Cheshire Cat was also completely robbed, making a split second appearance that I found totally unsatisfying. I do have to agree with this piece from io9, though, that the Mad Hatter was the highlight of the whole miniseries. Not only was he adorable, he helped humanize Alice and made it easier to feel connected to the drifting, occasionally unmoored Wonderland plot.

It was a smart move to make Alice a significant departure from its original, particularly given the imminent arrival of the much higher-profile Tim Burton film remake. It was generally enjoyable, but if the whole thing had been tighter and more carefully plotted, it could have been memorable as well as merely entertaining.

As I am industriously reminding myself how to conjugate verbs into the preterite, I leave you today with two clips from Sesame Street. Hulu has posted a whole collection of Sesame Street celebrity guest appearance clips, and I’ll admit to having wasted a little more time than was probably necessary watching some of my favorites (Anderson Cooper, Yo-Yo Ma, Jack Black and Natalie Portman are up at the top). The celebrity guest appearance doesn’t always work quite as well as planned – some people are too stiff (Nancy O’Dell), while some of the concepts are surprisingly inappropriate for children’s television. Who thought it was a good idea to let Chuck Close come talk about painting with Big Bird?

But when it works, it works really, really well. Here are two appearances by Patrick Stewart, equally delightful in their own ways.

Today, after many years, The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer is changing its name to PBS NewsHour. Last Friday, the final episode of The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer ran a nice piece on the changes and history of the program, explaining that the show’s new name will reflect an increased emphasis on its online content, more visibility from its correspondents and the decreased presence of Jim Lehrer, and further collaboration with other PBS news projects like Frontline.

In his explanation of the changes, Jim Lehrer played the opening credits of each of the show’s iterations and described the shift from Robert MacNeil’s half hour program to an hour-long, comprehensive daily show.

Without a doubt, though, the best part of the segment when Lehrer read the guidelines for what he calls “MacNeil/Lehrer journalism.” There’s been little doubt for a long time that what happens on the NewsHour is a vastly different kind of journalism than much of what happens on cable news today, but until he read out the list of guidelines, I hadn’t realized how completely and totally different the two actually were.

Do nothing I cannot defend.

Cover, write and present each story with the care I would want if the story were about me.

Assume there is at least one side or version to every story.

Assume the viewer is as smart and as caring and as good a person as I am.

Assume the same about all people on whom I report.

Assume personal lives are a private matter, until a legitimate turn in the story absolutely mandates otherwise.

Carefully separate opinion and analysis from straight news stories, and clearly label everything.

Do not use anonymous sources or blind quotes, except on rare and monumental occasions.

No one should ever be allowed to attack another anonymously.

And finally, I am not in the entertainment business.

They’re all great rules, and each one reminds me of how absurd a lot of programming is on CNN and MSNBC and FOX, but that last one is really the kicker. Good luck, PBS NewsHour. Please keep being awesome.

Are you staring forlornly at your television and feeling sad about the winter television hiatus (like me)? I am pleased to announce that I have an early holiday present for you, which should cheer you right up if it brings you even half the joy it’s brought me. What show could I possibly be thinking about? Steven Seagal: Lawman.

That’s right. Steven Seagal: Lawman. Allow me to quote the opening credits by way of introduction. “I make a living in the movies. But for the past twenty years (incredibly long dramatic pause) I’ve also been a cop. And along with some of the finest deputies on the force, I serve the people of Jefferson Parish, Louisiana. My name is Steven Seagal. That’s right – Steven Seagal. Deputy sheriff.” First off, anyone who introduces himself and includes the phrase “that’s right” before repeating his own name should always win a giant trophy, preferably one covered in plenty of mirrored surfaces to help him continue to appreciate himself.

If you're going to demonstrate your ninja awesomeness, make sure to beat up the tiniest guy you can find

And that’s really how this entire show was built – it’s meant to be a huge, mirrored surface through which Steven Seagal can reflect his enormous, overpowering, Zen master, totally badass awesomeness. Thankfully, its intentions diverge considerably from its final result. Every dramatic car chase ends in Steven Seagal arriving at the scene considerably after the suspects have been apprehended. He brags that really excellent marksmen can light a match by shooting at it, and instead he just breaks the match. Steven imparts his considerable Zen wisdom to a police officer struggling to pass his weapons test, and after Steven’s extremely helpful reminders that you should “push the bullet out” and be “very stable,” the police officer manages to get a passing score of 97 out of 120. (The cutoff for passing is 96). When Steven trains some young police cadets in the art of aikido, his preferred method of martial arts fighting, he begins by remarking, “you can look at me as a movie star, or, you can wipe that sh*t out of your head and think, ‘Steven Seagal can save my life.’” Whichever option you choose, keep in mind the end result is the same: Steven Seagal is totally amazing.

In other words, this is pretty much the funniest show I have seen in a very long time. At every moment, Steven’s self-proclaimed impressiveness is undermined by what actually happens in the show, and it’s only made better when he insists on reminding us how remarkable he is. The show’s editing tries to help him out – as Steven and his partner cruise around at night looking for trouble, the camera zooms into slo-motion close-ups of various dangerous-looking silhouettes, as Steven voiceovers that his Zen training allows him to see things others cannot. Whenever he then leaps out of the car to apprehend the guy with a gun, or some guy who’s been drinking, the results are always hilariously ho-hum. The poor man Steven accuses of driving drunk turns out to be completely sober, and although he does have a gun which everyone gets all excited about, the gun ends up being legally registered to that man.

These guys are definitely beginning to appreciate Steven Seagal

I love it when a guy gets rowdy and Steven remarks that he’s “not a very good Zen practitioner.” I love it when Steven says, over and over, that the streets are horribly dangerous, and yet nothing ever happens. I love his ridiculous sunglasses. I love when he says things like, “speed and technique are very important, but more than any of that, it’s technique.” I really love how obviously his fellow officers are just barely tolerating him.

So, if you’re feeling a little down this holiday season, check out Steven Seagal: Lawman. I promise, you will not be disappointed.

I know I said yesterday that I was going to write about Steven Seagal: Lawman, and please trust me when I say that blog post is on its way, because OH MAN is that show funny. But I’ve decided to preempt Steven Seagal: LingeringCulturalRelevancyMan for a few words on last night’s Glee.

Also awesome this week: piano man

Um…weird things happened on last night’s Glee. For instance, a dramatic shift occurred which will require long-term plot ramifications. Also, Matt Morrison had to play an entire scene where he was weepy and furious without once resorting to cheery, naïve optimism. And further, Quinn Fabray has developed almost to the point of becoming a believably rounded, dynamic character. (By the way, words like “developed” and “rounded” are meant to refer to her growth as a fully-realized person, not her gradually expanding waistline. Whoops, add “growth” to that list.)

Glee appears to have reached a critical mass of plot and initial character sketches, a point after which it either becomes a fossilized structure peopled by caricatures, or it abandons exposition and moves further into new territory. “Mattress” suggests that Glee is moving in the second direction, and of course I’m pleased that’s the chosen path. I would much prefer to watch ditzy Cheerio Brittany become an interesting person than be continually reminded of her unchanging airheadedness. I’m particularly happy that the shift toward dynamism tolled the death knell of Ye Olde Fake Pregnancy Plot, which I would have happily chucked out the nearest window ten episodes ago.

Come on down to Mattress Land; even Sue's Corner was weirdly cruel this week

Even given this promising movement, “Mattress” was odd enough to make me wonder whether Glee could ever actually sustain this new tone. The whole episode felt tense and a little uncomfortable, a good place to be narratively but a distinct change from the show’s previous surreal exuberance. The few musical numbers were for the most part appropriately ambiguous, including the brilliantly chosen Lily Allen song “Smile,” but where musical scenes in the past have been sudden leaps of self-confidence, these all sounded like singers trying to convince themselves to keep singing. The rendition of “Jump” was a return to the show’s previous musical tone, but inside this episode it seemed incongruous. It was so strange to watch a bunch of high schoolers promoting a local mattress store, largely because it was so far outside the usual “I sing because I love it” message.

Some of the oddity also came from the abruptness of this shift. Moving directly from last week’s incredibly saccharine performance of “Imagine” to “at first, when I see you cry / it makes me smile / yeah it makes me smile” without explanation does not do much to set up the subsequent emotional breakdowns. Up until the moment Will demands that Terry lift up her shirt and swiftly snatches away her fake pregnant belly, I was sure the show would swerve away from the revelation, or at the very least, let it play out in a more comfortable, stylized way. Instead, tears roll down Will’s face as he storms out of the apartment, and for once, a flippant acapella choir doesn’t accompany his exit.

Don’t get me wrong, here. I think Glee would be great with some more darkness in its plotlines, a good dose of strife to balance the sweet and cut through the glibness. I was astonished by the Will/Terry breakdown in a good way. Still, this is not how Glee has billed itself, and fights between adults that actually get scary do not segue well into a snappy mashup of your favorite pop songs.

As with everything else on right now, Glee is heading toward its winter hiatus, and after next week’s mid-season climax, will be gone until April 13^th. I think the next episode will go a long way toward signaling whether this was a momentary diversion into realism or whether the show will revert to its previous, cheerily satirical self.

The season finale of Sons of Anarchy aired last night, and I am now left with an unpleasantly bereft sensation. First Mad Men leaves, then Sons, with little to replace them until after the holidays. This blog is going to be a wasteland, excepting the new episodes of Dollhouse this month. And hey, tomorrow I’ll write about the premiere of Steven Seagal: Lawman! (Weeping silently into my keyboard).

The Sons of Anarchy finale certainly wasn’t perfect – there are plot holes and odd inconsistencies, and you do get the sense they tried to cram more into the time than they knew how to handle. Why spend time on a tiny plot point about killing an incarcerated Aryan Brotherhood member when you skip over how Ethan Zobelle could possibly escape a biker gang without his front left tire? Why spend so much time with Agent Stahl when one of your major plot catalysts relies on a relationship (between Zobelle’s daughter and Cameron’s son) that we barely even knew existed? And yet, all the little finicky problems I had with the construction seem both unimportant and even somewhat unfair given the whole episode.

For every moment where I wondered why they couldn’t just throw in a line to polish up a little rough spot in the plot, there were three other lovely details that overwhelmed the disappointment. The entire brief, seemingly unnecessary jail assassination, for instance, led to a gorgeous bit of narrative context with an audiobook voiceover from a forgotten nineteenth-century Irish revolutionary text. (Kurt Sutter found the text on Google Books after searching “sons of anarchy.” In marginally related news, I am a proponent of the whole Google Books endeavor.) Although I was frustrated with the time spent on Agent Stahl at the end, that quiet moment with her alone in the house was a perfect way to set up the ensuing chaos and bloodshed.

Showdown on Main St.

The finale shifted the show into a place it’s been circling and contemplating for a long while, but had yet to fully embrace. After two seasons of flirting with the line between civilization and criminal life and creating tense sparks by rubbing the biker gang world together with mundane everyday life, Sons of Anarchy finally moved all the way into an entirely lawless place. Chief Unser abandoned his post, Gemma decided to kill her rapists herself, and the Sons of Anarchy faced off with the Mayans on Main St., so that Charming suddenly looked a lot like Deadwood. Even Deputy Hale threw in the towel and gave Zobelle to a Sons of Anarchy-imposed justice. By the end, the ambiguous, malleable rules within the Sons of Anarchy’s outlaw code dissolve as their Irish gun supplier steals Jax Teller’s baby son, and the episode concluded with the whole world going down in flames.

Although some of the episode’s construction did seem a little messy, it was almost an appropriate form-meets-content decision. Everything in “Na Triobloidi” was about going outside the bounds, cramming an anvil into a teacup and watching the teacup shatter, and the fact that some of the plot seems to have escaped the momentum of the episode feels consistent with the bigger ideas. Besides, while the insides may have gotten scrambled a bit, the outside symmetry was perfect – Abel has always been an unspoken core of this show, the person who motivates Jax to change the club and who aligns him with family and honor. His absence at the end of this season was such a nice cap to his arrival at the beginning of season one.

Kurt Sutter seems enthusiastic, but I’m still keeping my fingers crossed until Sons of Anarchy is officially renewed for a third season. Now it’s off to drown my TV grief in holiday cookies and A Charlie Brown Christmas.

I didn’t watch a whole lot of television over my Thanksgiving break, mostly because I was too busy ladling melted butter into my mouth, but most of the television I did watch was appropriately food-based. I don’t get the Travel Channel at home, and so I took the opportunity of two hundred channels (glorious, glorious variety) to sample the delights of one of the most painful food programs I have ever encountered – Man Vs. Food.

When I say painful, I don’t mean painful like One Tree Hill or America’s Got Talent, because it’s actually a reasonably well-made, entertaining show. The host, or “Man,” is Adam Richman, an actor who doesn’t seem to know all that much about food but makes up for this lacuna with bountiful enthusiasm. He’s funny and friendly, enjoys joking with the people he meets at restaurants across the country, and for the most part, refrains from the ultra-cheesy puns that plague a great deal of one-man food programming. (I’m mostly looking at you, Alton Brown.)

This single serving of food includes a whole chicken, a beef rib, brisket, a turkey leg, six sausages, and a pulled pork sandwich

The painful part comes at the end of each episode – after touring the culinary highlights of a chosen city, Adam participates in whatever local food challenge he can find. This tends to take the form of eating an immense amount of food in a short period of time, although occasionally the challenge deals with spiciness, as with Little Rock, Arkansas, where Adam attempts to eat a pulled-pork sandwich heavily doused in a habanera sauce called “Shut Up Juice.” Prizes generally include either a picture on the establishment’s wall, or a challenge-themed tshirt. At first it’s funny. The proprietor brings out a hamburger the size of a Volvo, or hands Adam some rubber gloves to prevent spice burns while he’s eating the Shut Up Juice, and the assembled patrons cheer while he takes the first bite. After that, it’s really about walking the fine line between entertainment and nausea. Maybe I’m particularly sensitive, but watching a guy trying to shovel twenty pounds of beef into his mouth in less than an hour seems not too far from watching someone be tortured. I flash back to that amazing scene from Roald Dahl’s Matilda, when Miss Trunchbull forces Bruce Bogtrotter to eat an entire chocolate cake in front of the whole school. That scene was not supposed to be enjoyable for the assembled audience.

Astonishingly, Adam manages to finish this Shut Up Juice Sandwich, although the final task of keeping it down for five minutes proves difficult

And yet, Adam takes on each new challenge with such excitement and pleasure, you have to wonder if he suffers from some sort of food-induced memory loss. Obviously incapacitated while eating, he narrates each challenge with epic voiceovers (“Nothing helps. Each bite washes over me like a wave of white hot heat…speed is my only ally”) and commentary from the restaurant patrons (“These are intense moments, he’s over there pounding the table, sweat’s rolling down his face”), and I think it’s in the voiceovers where you can see the appeal. It’s just food, after all, but Man Vs. Food makes eating a kind of gladiatorial showdown, universal, momentous, and laudable. The title, which is just like the universal themes of literature we all learned about in middle school English classes (man vs. society, man vs. nature, man vs. man), really captures the show’s tone. It can’t be doing good things to our national obesity epidemic, but it’s so silly and good-natured, you almost forget the pain.