Ellen Leventry: January 2009 Archives

I thought I would never ever see a more horrifying example of addiction than "Grease's" Jeff Conaway on "Celebrity Rehab, " vacillating between mindlessly drooling on himself and screaming like a banshee at no one in particular while withdrawing from opiates. Then I tuned in to "Celebrity Rehab Presents: Sober House," "Celebrity Rehab's" younger sibling, and watched with disbelief as former Guns ' n ' Roses drummer, and "Celebrity Rehab 2" alumnus, Steven Adler flailed around the titular "sober living" facility, glassy-eyed one moment, then falling into a stupor the next, after sneaking heroin into the abode.

To say that the final season of "Battlestar Galactica" began with a bang is an understatement: the crew discovers that residual radiation from a nuclear holocaust makes Earth uninhabitable; despondent, Dee shoots herself; and Ellen Tigh is revealed to be the fifth of the "Final Five" Cylons. But, it also started out with a whimper, literally, more quite moments of despair and confusion: President Roslin is confronted by the seeming failure of the prophecy she's so adamantly clung to, and Starbuck quietly disposes of the original of which she is, we are led to assume, a copy.

I have to say that I thank the Lords of Kobol for the promising start to the final episodes as I found last season to be mainly repetitions on the theme of Starbuck giving her best Jack Nicholson in "The Shining" impersonation: paranoid and petulant. "Battlestar Galactica" boldy goes where not many other shows have gone before in this post-9/11 era, exploring the concepts of jihad, fundamentalism, transmigration of the soul, and matters of morality when questions of survival are not just academic. In fact, it garnered a Peabody Award for its boldness and I'm glad to see it back in form.

In a recent conference call Ronald D. Moore, co-creator and executive producer of the re-imagined series, wouldn't reveal too much about coming events but promised that Friday night's show will be a smaller, character piece, that the nuclear holocaust on earth and destruction on Kobol are somehow related, and would neither confirm nor deny that Starbuck was a secret thirteenth Cylon.

When I heard that there would be a "cool" Mormon house on the newest incarnation of MTV's "The Real World" -- "The Real World: Brooklyn"-- I thought that the network theat brought us so many reality show cliches had finally run out of tropes for the granddaddy of all reality shows.

After twenty seasons, I expect them to cast one or more hot girl with self-esteem/eating disorder issues, the good-looking guy with rage problems, the gay/lesbian/bisexual, the innocent/virgin and the housemate who can't (or won't) hold his or her liquor. But casting another Latter-Day Saint, Chet, after "New Orlean's" memorable Julie seemed like they had run out of ideas. But I decided to give Chet and the premiere a go even though I stopped watching the show around the Chicago season.

A reader accused me of excess political correctness for saying that I adored Burger King's Whopper Virgins campaign for its ingenuity, but abhorred it for its nutritional irresponsibility.

Well, it seems that I'm no longer in the politically correct camp as I am absolutely loving BK's Whopper Sacrifice Facebook application, a widget that rewards users with a free Whopper for every 10 Facebook friends they de-friend.

"What would you do for a free Whopper?," asks the Whopper Sacrifice Facebook page. "Would you insult an elected official? Would you do a naked handstand? Would you go so far as to turn your back on friendship?

"Install Whopper Sacrifice on your Facebook profile and we'll reward you with a free flame-broiled Whopper Sandwich when you sacrifice 10 of your friends."

I'm not sure when Burger King became an armchair anthropologist/sociologist, but I'm kind of enjoying this 21st century version of "What would you do for a Klondike Bar?" And who couldn't love the snicker-inducing one-two punch of campaign names--Whopper Virgins, Whopper Sacrifice--that recall virgin sacrifices of mythology. (Or maybe just Vestal Virgins tending the flame-broiling fires of the burger wars?)

Maybe it's the current melancholic climate in the country, but I found "Superstars of Dance," NBC's Eurovision-esque dance competition, to be far more engaging Monday night than the "inner beauty pageant" of "True Beauty."

Now I have nothing against the concept of testing the ethical attractiveness of ten of America's hottest men and women, but having to live through an hour of declarations of supreme beauty and rivers of conceit to get to the final twist was rather beastly. And, it's not just beastly for the viewer, but for the contestants as well: After learning that they are not just in a superficial beauty competition and that they have, in fact, been judged on the goodness of their actions as well, the loser is told that they basically aren't a good person. Double devastation!

Ahh, the new year! Time for new hopes, new resolutions and a whole new season of reality TV. I've already sampled VH-1's "Confessions of a Teen Idol"--wherein former hearthrobs such as "Baywatch's" David Chokachi and "The Blue Lagoon's" Christopher Atkins...