Yeah, I was curious about Brian Cranston’s new show - good to hear that it is well done. I don’t receive that channel in my cable package, unfortunately.
I have caught a few episodes of HBO’s documentary called “Murder on Middle Beach.” This is a documentary done over several years by the son of a murdered woman and producers who help him. The son interviews various people involved, and the local police department and a private detective, in an effort to figure out who killed his mother. It is particularly painful for the son to do this investigation, because three family members are suspected of possibly being involved for different reasons, and there were also other reasons uncovered during the investigation, very unflattering to the victim, for suspecting there could have been any number of other people very upset at the victim and possibly motivated to murder her. So the son has to grapple with the implications of what all of this information means with regard to his views of his mother and other family members. I have not seen the last of four episodes, that airs tonight (I think). Interesting documentary.
He is doing what should have been done with the last three of the Skywalker Saga.
Jon Favreau is going back to what made Star Wars great. Hat tips to story tellers of the past and believable character interactions. The way they are writing the other venerable old hunter is outstanding. He is not a Vilnian, not an Anti Hero, not a Hero. He has his own code and is abiding by it. Such good writing.
In one episode, House had a dream in which Cuddy was pole dancing (or something similar). Still trying to figure out if she got a body double to do that dance scene.
You get some chick screeching at the top of her lungs, flailing around like a crazed octopus at the pair of pix — her baby and ostensibly da baby-daddy — up on the Big Screen…
“Look, Murray! Murray… Murray… look! Lookit the eyes, lookit the haid, lookit the mouf! They twins! How he deny his baby?? They both got the same big haid! Look!”
She “a thousand percent sure!”. Uh-huh.
And the audience is happily cheering her along.
And meanwhile, they’re:
And I’m like, “Uhhhhh, wait… what??”.
Of course, the results are in, and it’s invariably, “Antonio, you are not the father…”.
And then the chick runs backstage and flops around on the floor like a freshly-landed fish.