March Madness

This title refers not to the NCAA basketball fest (which will end in April), nor to the dread of the Ides (today), one of Shakespeare's lasting contributions to modern superstition, nor to the upcoming St. Patty's day drinkfest (which I celebrate by wearing green, but only because I look good in green). It is a period of frenzy in the TV industry, with the "season" approaching its culmination and most executives hunkered away developing their pilots for next year.

Meanwhile we TV viewers are left with the dross after the February sweeps period, as the nets stock up on the remaining episodes of their surviving shows for exhibit during the next ratings battle period, May sweeps. So couch potatoes are provided a substandard diet of reruns of their favorite shows like "Lost" and "Desperate Housewives," and must subsist on ongoing Reality serial eliminations and some choice first-run episodes of "24" and "Alias."

Against this parade of repetition some wise execs have decided to counterprogram with debuts of series that either entered last year's development season late, or were withheld because of dubious audience testing results. But it's almost an axiom that these tend to be the more daring and creative efforts. I'm not talking about redux renditions of old '70s shows like "Little House on the Prairie" and "Kojak" (yes, "Kojak"!) hoping to either generate nostalgic loyalty or find a new audience unfamiliar with TVLand fare. The nets are also trotting out several new sitcoms, still hoping to breathe life into a wheezing old genre that didn't quite get that hoped-for hypo from "Committed." There is actually some good news to report.

NBC is still trying to bridge the "Joey"-"Apprentice" gap with an Americanized version of the British hit "The Office." Full disclosure, I never saw the original, but it won awards, so this is probably worth a peek or two. Also on the docket is Fox's "Life on a Stick," about kids cavorting in a shopping mall's food court. It had a good write-up in TV Guide (for whatever that's worth), so I will sample it, but with an audible sigh, as I recall the pilot project I pitched nearly twenty years ago called "Off the Mall," revolving around Guess What.

Even more interesting are two comedies that largely owe their creative inspiration to HBO, but thank you nonetheless. ABC has highly touted its "Jake in Progress"--pretentious name--as "Same City, Different Sex," (which would probably make "The L Word" "same sex, different city", but never mind.) Jake is portrayed by John Stamos, a likable romantic lead whose unfortunate ski-slope nose will forever rob him of any gravitas. Here he functions reasonably well as a PR agent and romantic player with sweaty palms (which you'd think would be a major detriment). The pace is quick, the lines are not embarrassing, and there's Wendie Malick's nearly iconic standardized career woman, a contemporary Ros Russell. The male companions are whiny and not nearly as interesting as Carrie's companions on the original "Sex in the City," and in the first two episodes Jake has not made much progress. At least there is the patina of adult sophistication here, thougn I'm not sure this will become appointment TV. Intriguingly, ABC will be pitting it up regularly against "Joey," a real head-to-head match-up of Not-Ready-For-Hollywood" TV matinee idols. "Jake" will be the smarter choice.

But the real choice program, amazingly, is Kirstie Alley's Showtime venture called "Fat Actress." I had major doubts about this vanity project--and it is in the most literal sense. But it's also a true hoot. It takes its cue and style from Larry David's "Curb Your Enthusiasm," if lacking in some of the latter's subtlety. I have major qualms about Scientology but it must have worked well on Kirstie's psyche, allowing her to parade herself in the most blowsy unflattering outfits and attitudes and make her seem endearing. Granted, she is a talented comedienne, but this kind of self-immolation is braver and more grandiose than Larry David's. As she frumps her way through meeting after meeting enduring the stares of producers stupefied by her gargantuan rear end her relentless confidence becomes surprisingly sympathetic. Parading around in her muu-muus she resembles one of those matrons of Late Victorian society with the big bustles in back, only Kirstie ain't wearing no bustle. It helps that every other character, fictional or true celebrity, is portrayed unflatteringly. This is an acerbic view of Hollywood much sharper than what we get from "Entourage." We are all in on this universal joke, and we have a central character whom we root for.

The only probem with this series is that it's already sowing the seeds of its own destruction, as Kirstie is signing up as a spokesperson with Jenny Craig (life imitating art, or vice-versa, I forget which), and in reality has already lost twenty pounds. You just can't have a porgram called "Fat Actress" about a svelte actress, so if the diet succeeds, Kirstie will have to move on--hopefully to a nice role on a funny network show, and I don't mean "Victoria's Closet." But perhaps the franchise could survive, importing other heavyweights like Camryn Manheim, Sharon Gless and maybe even Shelley Winters, in a rotating cast.