After reading Anne Thompson’s post on the dismal reception given to the youth-baiting rethink of At The Movies starring Ben Lyons and Ben Mankiewicz, I decided I had better watch The Two Bens’ first episode online to see what all the griping is about. It actually starts off rather well: Mankiewicz is totally qualified for this job, although it’s a bit of a wonder he was even hired, what with his TCM-honed, “I am going to explain this very slowly because my viewers may be aged” manner of speaking. But then he tosses it to Lyons, who says something completely incoherent about Burn After Reading being “almost like an exercise in drama,” and then they cut back Mankiewicz, who struggles to croak out, “Yeah, that’s an interesting point,” whilst swallowing his own testicles. At that point, I stopped.

Interestingly, another thing that I wasn’t able to force myself to watch all the way through this week also had to do with the sorry contemporary incarnation of the former gold standard for televised movie reviews.

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Screw it. I am herewith declaring Mad Men fair game for this movie blog, even though it is not technically a movie. It’s inspiring too much good bloggishness to ignore.

• Emily Nussbaum has gotten some grief for posting a spoilery clip in her Vulture post, but her short, salty take on maybe the biggest “They can’t do that!” scene of the series so far has been indelible. I’ll redact the spoiler: “But this scene, the one with Don Draper [redacted!] an odious she-manager into submission, sent a message. You think this is escapism, lifestyle fun, Entourage with better suits? Wrong-o.”
• Two different interpretations of the final scene. First, Andrew Johnson at The House Next Door: “[Betty is] unexpectedly happy. Like her husband, she’s just paid her freight by sucking up to the people who pay for her lifestyle–and, like Don, she just did so by managing expectations. The episode ends with something we rarely get from Mad Men–a scene in which Don and Betty feel like both a real couple and a real team.”
• And then, the one I’m more inclined to agree with, from Alan Sepinwall: “As Betty sits in that car at episode’s end, reflecting on another night of her husband using her as window dressing for a deal — or, in this case, worse: bait for the leering of a famous drunk — she can’t hide from it anymore. She plays to Don like she’s happy to be part of his life, but she’s crying because she realizes that, yes, she is profoundly sad, and has no idea how to go about improving this state of things.”
• Finally, a word from What Would Don Draper Do?: “The face in the mirror and the name I’ve claimed almost become one. But no matter how many times I answer or accept responsibiliy, just almost. I’d give anything to bridge almost - to fill myself out completely, leaving no empty spaces, not even the fingertips.”

There are some stories I never tire of. Stories told through books, stage or film that I go back to over and over. Now that I’m performing in the stage version of The Wizard of Oz for 26 performances, I’ve been thinking about why I don’t seem to mind this particular repetition. In fact, the repetition started as a kid. Every year, I remember waiting, checking the TV Guide sometime late November to get the night right. Then, the whole family would gather to see Dorothy go off to the magical land of Oz where trees talk, lions are cuddly, and it’s easy to accidentally kill witches.

You know what’s going to happen, of course. You know the Wicked Witch of the West will blast up from the earth before the Munchkins finish singing “Ding, Dong, the Witch is Dead.” You know Dorothy and her walking buddies see the wizard and he sends them off to get the witch’s broomstick. Heck, you know the Wizard isn’t even a wizard at all. Everybody knows this.

So I’m wondering why … why do I care? Why do I watch this movie again and again? Why am I re-reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire a third time before seeing the movie?

With DVDs and the Internet, there’s no waiting, no checking TV Guide, no anticipation. I could watch a new film every night. That’s 365 films a year. If I dedicated the next decade of my life to this, I’d have seen 3,650 films and just scratched the surface of what Netflix and Amazon offer.

Here’s my problem: I’m confused.

I never know what to watch now. There are just too many options. My friends recommend films, but if I don’t write them down, I can’t remember them. I’m a busy woman. I don’t make the time to watch films that aren’t fun or thoughtful. Sometimes I fall asleep. Sometimes I get bored. When I do make it to a rental store, I wander around, picking up DVD cases, looking at the photos, reading the back. Will I regret this? Will I embarrass myself? Will I get scared? I hate being scared. So I go home, put in The Wizard of Oz, and spend time with what I love.

When I see the Spout website taking shape here, I get excited for me, not just because Paul will introduce me to Wong Kar-Wai. You see, I like a good solid happy endings. I like to know characters may be a little messed up, but they’re on the right track. I like things that are cute and funny. Basically, I like movies that most people are talking about when they say, I just want to see a movie tonight. I just need a helping hand in finding that movie.