Like Monkey
I want to love Love Monkey. I really do.
Technically speaking, it hits on all the pre-qualifiers necessary to peak my interest on a weekly basis. It's dramatic, but it's also a comedy -- a dramedy if you will. It centers on the likeable guy from Ed, the record industry and music in general, sex, sports, and being single in Manhattan. All very good. Did I mention Jason Priestly is prominently involved? Well yeah, he is.
For all intents and purposes, I should love this show.
This baby was sooo close to being there. After all, as a 25-year-old single male living in the big city (or Hoboken, whatever), it's as if Love Monkey is the brainchild of a Hollywood power meeting in which they rolled out a $50,000 projector, flashed my face on the screen and said, "This is the guy we want. Reel the bastard in." (Appeased, the honchos moved on, canceling Emily's Reasons Why Not before summarily executing Heather Graham.)
And maybe that's why I'm so bothered by the show. I'm supposed to relate to Monkey. It's in my predisposition to connect with Monkey the way women intrinsically connected with Carrie Bradshaw and Sex and the City (I suppose). I say this because Monkey is essentially about my life. Not in the literal sense of course -- I'm not a record executive, nor I am in my mid-30s, nor have I ever shot the shit with one Brandon Walsh. But there are clear parallels nonetheless.
Look at it this way. Let's say some random lunatic with a robust white beard and a pipe (preferably wooden) came up to me on the street and told me to boil down the essence of my life into a crude, three-tiered structure. And let's say instead of a) running or b) punching said vagrant in stomach, I complied. The list would probably look something like this (in no particular order):
LIFE GOALS (01/06)
1) Establish and build a career
2) Navigate through love, sex and relationships
3) Hang out with friends, drink beer
This is not my whole life, obviously. I do have to walk my dog. But these are the three basic touchstones of it right now. They also happen to be the core principals of Monkey.
So we have a home run then, right? Wrong...the show is still somehow whiffing on me. Let's look at other potential deal-breakers. Maybe it's the casting/acting? Nah, I don't have a problem there. 7/10. The writing? Cliched, yes, but it genuinely works at times. 7/10. Female sex appeal? Could be better, but there are some prospects. 7/10. Jason Priestly? 11/10.
And that's when I realized -- I've been looking at the whole thing backwards.
Here's the death knell of a show like Monkey for me: This is a show that may be about me, but it's not geared for me. There's a vital distinction there. It's probably how high school kids in Laguna Beach feel when they tune into The OC (or Laguna Beach: The Real OC, presumably). Or how a Dallas socialite felt as she watched Dallas back in the day. Or how Gary Sheffield reacted to a plotline from Dean Cain's The Clubhouse. Okay, scratch that last one, but you get my point.
When Tom listens to "Rock 'n' Roll All Nite" by Kiss each morning, it makes me furious because I know a true music guy would dig far deeper in Gene and Paul's back catalogue for some sunrise inspiration. I know for a fact that no one that works for a small indie label would ever say that their favorite song ever was Starship's "We Built This City" (even ironically). I know that a true Dylan fan would never swear by a greatest hits compilation -- they'd insist you picked up Blonde on Blonde, Blood on the Tracks, Freewheelin' Bob Dylan, or even one of his born-again albums.
I know that it's not easy to hang out with all your guy friends at once without girlfriends (and I presume, wives) getting in the way of things. I know that bars in NYC are not packed wall-to-wall with beautiful and flirtatious females craving carnal knowledge. I know that if I was a star of the 2000 National League champion Mets, I'd probably be noticed in bars more often than Tom's friend is.
In short, I notice everything. And it ruins the show for me. I'm too close to it, and I cannot help but tear it apart because of that connection. I suspect this is not the case for most people across the country, and since the show is well-scripted, acted, and advertised, I assume it will do well.
Next Tuesday at 9 p.m., I'm going to be faced with a quagmire. Should I watch reruns of MTV's The Gauntlet, looking for the exact frame when I decided that Beth was the most unattractive woman on Earth? Or should I continue my NBA Live '06 season on PS2, succeeding with a Knicks team (and female front office) that is safe from the evil clutches of Isiah Thomas? Should I do something actually constructive like read or go the gym?
Nah. When push comes to shove, I think I may just tune into Monkey once again. But why would I want to watch a show that drives me absolutely insane; a program that stings me constantly with its inherent flaws; an hour of T.V. that is seemingly about my life (but not really about it at all)?
I guess I just want to know how it all turns out.
***UPDATE 2/14: Love Monkey has been cancelled after three episodes. Turns out the show just sucked. My apologies.***
Technically speaking, it hits on all the pre-qualifiers necessary to peak my interest on a weekly basis. It's dramatic, but it's also a comedy -- a dramedy if you will. It centers on the likeable guy from Ed, the record industry and music in general, sex, sports, and being single in Manhattan. All very good. Did I mention Jason Priestly is prominently involved? Well yeah, he is.
For all intents and purposes, I should love this show.
This baby was sooo close to being there. After all, as a 25-year-old single male living in the big city (or Hoboken, whatever), it's as if Love Monkey is the brainchild of a Hollywood power meeting in which they rolled out a $50,000 projector, flashed my face on the screen and said, "This is the guy we want. Reel the bastard in." (Appeased, the honchos moved on, canceling Emily's Reasons Why Not before summarily executing Heather Graham.)
And maybe that's why I'm so bothered by the show. I'm supposed to relate to Monkey. It's in my predisposition to connect with Monkey the way women intrinsically connected with Carrie Bradshaw and Sex and the City (I suppose). I say this because Monkey is essentially about my life. Not in the literal sense of course -- I'm not a record executive, nor I am in my mid-30s, nor have I ever shot the shit with one Brandon Walsh. But there are clear parallels nonetheless.
Look at it this way. Let's say some random lunatic with a robust white beard and a pipe (preferably wooden) came up to me on the street and told me to boil down the essence of my life into a crude, three-tiered structure. And let's say instead of a) running or b) punching said vagrant in stomach, I complied. The list would probably look something like this (in no particular order):
LIFE GOALS (01/06)
1) Establish and build a career
2) Navigate through love, sex and relationships
3) Hang out with friends, drink beer
This is not my whole life, obviously. I do have to walk my dog. But these are the three basic touchstones of it right now. They also happen to be the core principals of Monkey.
So we have a home run then, right? Wrong...the show is still somehow whiffing on me. Let's look at other potential deal-breakers. Maybe it's the casting/acting? Nah, I don't have a problem there. 7/10. The writing? Cliched, yes, but it genuinely works at times. 7/10. Female sex appeal? Could be better, but there are some prospects. 7/10. Jason Priestly? 11/10.
And that's when I realized -- I've been looking at the whole thing backwards.
Here's the death knell of a show like Monkey for me: This is a show that may be about me, but it's not geared for me. There's a vital distinction there. It's probably how high school kids in Laguna Beach feel when they tune into The OC (or Laguna Beach: The Real OC, presumably). Or how a Dallas socialite felt as she watched Dallas back in the day. Or how Gary Sheffield reacted to a plotline from Dean Cain's The Clubhouse. Okay, scratch that last one, but you get my point.
When Tom listens to "Rock 'n' Roll All Nite" by Kiss each morning, it makes me furious because I know a true music guy would dig far deeper in Gene and Paul's back catalogue for some sunrise inspiration. I know for a fact that no one that works for a small indie label would ever say that their favorite song ever was Starship's "We Built This City" (even ironically). I know that a true Dylan fan would never swear by a greatest hits compilation -- they'd insist you picked up Blonde on Blonde, Blood on the Tracks, Freewheelin' Bob Dylan, or even one of his born-again albums.
I know that it's not easy to hang out with all your guy friends at once without girlfriends (and I presume, wives) getting in the way of things. I know that bars in NYC are not packed wall-to-wall with beautiful and flirtatious females craving carnal knowledge. I know that if I was a star of the 2000 National League champion Mets, I'd probably be noticed in bars more often than Tom's friend is.
In short, I notice everything. And it ruins the show for me. I'm too close to it, and I cannot help but tear it apart because of that connection. I suspect this is not the case for most people across the country, and since the show is well-scripted, acted, and advertised, I assume it will do well.
Next Tuesday at 9 p.m., I'm going to be faced with a quagmire. Should I watch reruns of MTV's The Gauntlet, looking for the exact frame when I decided that Beth was the most unattractive woman on Earth? Or should I continue my NBA Live '06 season on PS2, succeeding with a Knicks team (and female front office) that is safe from the evil clutches of Isiah Thomas? Should I do something actually constructive like read or go the gym?
Nah. When push comes to shove, I think I may just tune into Monkey once again. But why would I want to watch a show that drives me absolutely insane; a program that stings me constantly with its inherent flaws; an hour of T.V. that is seemingly about my life (but not really about it at all)?
I guess I just want to know how it all turns out.
***UPDATE 2/14: Love Monkey has been cancelled after three episodes. Turns out the show just sucked. My apologies.***
posted by Dan Hanzus at 7:25 AM
4 Comments:
Totally. That's why I can't watch things like "Sex and the City." Or "The Parkers." Or "Fear Factor." Hits too close to home, you know?
i feel the same way.
He gave that particular Dylan album to his siter from a knowledgable music guru to an adolecent Dylan mind. But I agree with the Kiss gripe. And the only reason the hip indy label rep liked We Built This City On Rock & Roll is because she's a woman.....and women are evil.
I like how you said "Navigate" through sex and relationships..
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