Though I didn’t include it on my list of 80s movies that need TV series, I could actually see a show based on Heathers being pretty cool. No, I’m not pulling your dick. And no, I didn’t have a brain tumor for breakfast. I’d continue the quoting by saying this isn’t just a spoke in my menstrual cycle, but I don’t have one of those. What I do have is a nearly twenty-year obsession with the movie as well as an odd exception when it comes to the idea of adapting it to other media. Certainly I don’t want anyone remaking Heathers on the big screen, but I’d be first in line for a campy musical version, and I’d read a comic book based on it (the thing would have to be published by Archie Comics, obviously).
Of course, I don’t expect this newly announced series idea to be very good. Network television is no place for a show based on Heathers. Not even Fox can get away with what the thing should be like. It wouldn’t be Heathers without all the swearing. And it couldn’t be as dark as it must be, either. However, provided there were some smart minds behind the idea, it could work quite well as an HBO or Showtime program. With a tone somewhere between The Sopranos and Weeds. The way I’m expecting it to be, as long as it’s on commercial television, the show may as well be called Mean Girls instead. Which would be a great idea, actually, if Tina Fey was behind it.
So, yeah, Heathers: the TV Show could be very, but it won’t be, and I see what everyone’s damage is over this news. But don’t worry, if it does ever end up on the air, it’ll soon be off and just as forgotten as the shows Ferris Bueller, Dirty Dancing and My Big Fat Greek Life.
Check out some blog responses to the news — imagine them recited in a montage of lunchtime poll answers — after the jump:
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“Who’s that? Who’s talking to me?” Moscowitz said, still dazed by the mystical slam-bang postmortem that had transmogrified him into a crustacean.“It’s me, Moe Silverman,” the other lobster said.
“O.M.G.!” Moscowitz piped, recognizing the voice of an old gin-rummy colleague. “What’s going on?”
“We’re reborn,” Moe explained. “As a couple of two-pounders.”
“Lobsters? This is how I wind up after leading a just life? In a tank on Third Avenue?”
“The Lord works in strange ways,” Moe Silverman explained.
A segment from a new story by Woody Allen in The New Yorker, in which two of Bernie Madoff’s victims die, find themselves reincarnated as the swindler’s potential dinner, and plot to get revenge. It’s short and cute and I totally blogged it for the sly drop of Gossip Girl vernacular alone. O.M.G., indeed.
