Monday, April 12, 2010
Thoughts on Underbelly 3: The Golden Mile. I am sort of ashamed to reveal that I was really looking forward to the new season of Underbelly. It's the same sort of shame I felt about being excited about The Society Murders.
Australian event TV is not nearly as exciting to my peers as American event TV; for instance, my housemate has been going on about Treme (pronounced "tre-MAY") the new show about Katrina-devastated New Orleans by the creators of The Wire, which also premiered last night. I also remember being absolutely thrilled to watch Glee for the first time when Ten cruelly offered us a one-episode taster months ahead of its actual plans to screen it.
The two things I liked most about The Golden Mile were the Oz-'80s soundtrack and that wussy waitress who turns to prostitution. Her no-good boyfriend's outfits were classic; I had an acid-wash denim jacket like that. Also, why did she have to make a scene and throw money in his face? If I were her I would have just quietly found a new place to live and moved without telling him. Or even, y'know, changed the locks on her flat. Now you just know something terrible will happen to her cat.
Also, that scene in which she fundamentally misunderstands the meaning of "blow job" was excruciating television. Merely looking away or covering my face with my hands was not enough to soothe my acute embarrassment; I had to cover my face with a cushion and make agonised groaning noises of the sort she probably ought to have been making.
Australian event TV is not nearly as exciting to my peers as American event TV; for instance, my housemate has been going on about Treme (pronounced "tre-MAY") the new show about Katrina-devastated New Orleans by the creators of The Wire, which also premiered last night. I also remember being absolutely thrilled to watch Glee for the first time when Ten cruelly offered us a one-episode taster months ahead of its actual plans to screen it.
The two things I liked most about The Golden Mile were the Oz-'80s soundtrack and that wussy waitress who turns to prostitution. Her no-good boyfriend's outfits were classic; I had an acid-wash denim jacket like that. Also, why did she have to make a scene and throw money in his face? If I were her I would have just quietly found a new place to live and moved without telling him. Or even, y'know, changed the locks on her flat. Now you just know something terrible will happen to her cat.
Also, that scene in which she fundamentally misunderstands the meaning of "blow job" was excruciating television. Merely looking away or covering my face with my hands was not enough to soothe my acute embarrassment; I had to cover my face with a cushion and make agonised groaning noises of the sort she probably ought to have been making.
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