If you will indulge me, I'm going to go back to that ridiculous orgy of advertising that accompanied the football game last Sunday. I know many critics found the spots disappointing, lackluster, disconnected from the brand, etc. These are complaints we hear every year. Many of the protests this year said the ads were too political. Still, in all of the hashover, nobody seems to have noticed one breakthrough: No stupid sexist spots! Not a one!
You'd think the Super Bowl, with its powerfully muscled teams of gargantuas pounding on each other, might provide the perfect diversion from the nonstop provocation of The Trump Show. That both sides would be eager for just such an escape. But if the lead-up to the Big Game this year is any indication, we just can't quit the divide.
As thousands of impassioned, personal and emotional memorials pour in, we can agree that Mary Richards was much more than a sitcom character. She was a mirror and a walking Rorschach test (with a great set of L'Eggs) for one generation of TV-focused Americans -- and the next
I wanted to write a lighthearted column about the pomp and ceremony of Trump's Inauguration Day -- you know, the clothes, the gaffes, the memes.
President-Elect Trump's first formal press conference in months was a circus. In his defense, senior advisor Kellyanne Conway announced during an interview that we shouldn't listen to his words, but rather, look at "what's in his heart." There were no MRIs available, but this particular conference was loaded with both visual and verbal cues, some of them unintended, that we can plumb.
At an otherwise fractious and unpredictable time in American politics and media culture, former Fox anchor Megyn Kelly might be the only person around whose career planets are all aligned brilliantly, at this very moment.
Sadly, 2016 has ended with a tsunami of unexpected celebrity deaths, each shocking and hard to process in its own way.
"I will be so presidential, you won't believe it," President-elect Trump famously said, regularly, over the course of his campaign. But that pivot has yet to arrive.
Recently, I caught the tail end, so to speak, of a lavishly produced commercial -- a real holiday showstopper, involving a magical stagecoach, complete with gas lamps on the sides of the old cab, a Marlboro-Man type driver at the reins, and six mighty steeds.
"Jackie," a movie starring Natalie Portman, is a luminous, visual tone poem that covers our previously unknowable First Lady in the compressed week or so after the JFK assassination on Friday Nov. 22, 1963.