[Sven2]

Interview: 'Luck' creator David Milch on the series' premature end
Would he have made the call to cancel? And how does this compare to the 'Deadwood' finale?

By Alan Sepinwall Sunday, Mar 25, 2012 10:09 PM


Though there are a few moments in tonight's "Luck" suggesting creator David Milch had a premonition that the series would be abruptly canceled due to the third horse death during production, Milch told me in an interview on Friday that he never had it in his mind that this would be a series finale. (You can read my finale review here.) In fact, if the ultimate decision-making power on this fell in Milch's hands, the show would have continued, though he says he understands and supports what HBO chose to do.

Instead, it became the third Milch series that HBO has canceled before he was finished telling his story, following "Deadwood" (and he had some illuminating things to say on that subject) and "John From Cincinnati." Because my old partner Matt Zoller Seitz did such a thorough job interviewing Milch and Michael Mann about what exactly happened to the horse, the safety precautions the show took, and about allegations that the horses were mistreated, I didn't go over that ground again. I highly recommend reading Matt's interview before this one. And if you want to know even more details of the approach team "Luck" took to horse safety, I've been given a copy of the show's official safety protocols, plus this note from Milch and Mann:

    Here are LUCK's protocols and safety procedures. They were stricter than anywhere in the equine world and were in place during the production of LUCK's 2,500 horse/runs at Santa Anita. This is in response to the distortions and fabrications stated by PETA about the care of horses on the LUCK production and on behalf of the horse trainers, wranglers, exercise riders, veterinarians and grooms who – with concern and caring – looked after those horses

In the 15+ years I've been interviewing Milch, I've never heard him as emotional as he sounded on Friday. I'm not sure it quite comes across in text, but the best way I can put it is this: like the college professor he used to be, Milch is generally expansive with his commentary, sometimes to a fault, where here he kept his answers brief because it wasn't an easy subject to discuss. This project is something he's been hoping to make for a very long time, a marriage of his vocation and his avocation, and not only did it disappear out from under him in a snap, but he's now being accused of mistreating horses, when he's had a deep love for horses going back to when he was a little boy. There was a lot of pain and sadness — but not, I should say, anger, as he understands why this happened — in his voice as we spoke about the decision to halt production permanently, the differences between this and the "Deadwood" finale (including a fact about that episode that I never knew before), what might have come later, and a whole lot more, all coming up just as soon as I'm an airport profiler...

What were the conversations like that day, between the time when production was suspended and when the decision was made, "Alright, we can't go forward anymore"?

Angry incredulity.

Who was it who ultimately made that call? Was it you and Michael? Was it HBO?

It was HBO, definitively. There was back and forth about it, but their feeling was so clearly that the situation was untenable, that there was really no protracted dispute. We were presented with an accomplished fact. And I don't say that with any resentment. They made the decision they felt they had to make.

But had it been up to you, would that have been the decision?

No, I guess I would have continued. In no way was there any irresponsibility or failure of care in the treatment of those horses. I satisfied myself with that repeatedly. I don't know if you're familiar with the details of how this horse died —

I read the interview you and Michael did with Matt Seitz, so I know a little.

This was an incident equivalent to you walking down the street, being frightened by something, taking a misstep and falling. The horse was not being asked to do anything remotely dangerous or that would put him in jeopardy. In any case, this was something that generated its own momentum and fed off itself. Corporately, I absolutely understand what HBO felt were the necessities of its position. But substantively, there was no dereliction at all on our part.

One of the questions I've heard asked in the wake of the cancellation was whether you could have continued the show without filming new racing scenes, whether using CGI horses or some kind of stock footage.

That was a possibility that was examined. The horses are of the essence of the piece. We really weren't doing anything — you need the horses around. It's like asking an actor to act in company with a cartoon. Long-term, it would've been an erosion of the credibility of the material.

Given your passion for this world and how long it took you to get this on the air, how does it feel to have it go away this quickly?

It's a sick feeling. You realize, what Swearengen used to say, "If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans." We're creatures of forces so other than and more powerful than we are, that it's an illustion to believe anything else, and it's an occasion for gratitude wen you're able to sustain your endeavor and fate and experience accommodates it. I say that with no bitterness at all towards HBO. As I say, I think they were in an untenable position.

How do you mean? Just the bad publicity?

Yeah. Anytime something happened, as it would inevitably have happened, they were going to get lambasted again. Corporately, they just can't withstand that.

I watched the finale again yesterday, and there are a number of moments and lines that feel prophetic — like Marcus saying, "Today's the day they take it all away from us," or Ace's speech at the end — like they were designed to be in a series finale. And that's always how I've viewed the last "Deadwood" episode; like it was a series finale without being intended as one. Were you ever thinking as you wrote this that there would be a chance you wouldn't get to do more?

No, there was no sense of that on my part. By way of contrast, I absolutely knew when I was writing the last "Deadwood" that it would be the last, and I wrote it intending it as the finale.

Interesting. I had never heard that before.

That's the case. I was trying — the last images of Swearengen scrubbing the bloodstain and saying "Wants me to tell him something pretty," that was as close as I felt I could come to a concluding speech.

So you knew even at that point in production that HBO was not going to go forward?

Yes, I did know that. How did the episode hold up for you?

The "Luck" finale? Very well.

Yeah. (pause) We would have found our stride. I don't think that we had conclusively, but the materials were moving in that direction. It was too bad. It was too bad.

What do you think were some of the things that needed to be improved? Or what were the parts of the show where you felt you were close to that direction?

The extent to which the character of Bernstein was living in self-deception was in the process of being revealed. As he encountered that fact and lived into the necessities of his situation, I think he was going to become a more transitive character. And that was very much in the process of being realized. But I try not to think about it too much. (laughs)

(Note: When I interviewed Milch and Mann at press tour in January, I asked Milch whether Ace and Walter never sharing any scenes together in the first season was by design, or if — like much of his work — things just turned out that way.

He responded, "It wasn't planned, but these are characters who have not discovered themselves as yet such as to make their intersection fruitful.  They come together right at the beginning of the second season and it is every bit as provisional and tentative a coming together as you would expect, but these are both you know.  You know Dickens used the expression "mind- forged manacles."  These are isolates of one kind and another and they have a civil exchange with each other, but to expect more from them would be unrealistic.  They have to find more of themselves first." Which leads us to this... )

At the end of the interview in January, you and I spoke about how Ace and Walter would come together at the start of the second season. Looking back, Ace's story is largely separate from everyone else's. Was that something that you realized as you were going on that maybe he was too far apart from the rest of the world?

Yes. I agree with that. It assumed a little bit too much of the viewer, I think.

Since we're not going to see it play out, what exactly was Ace's plan in regards to Mike? The best explanation I've seen was from one of my commenters, who suggests that Ace wants Mike to steal the casino deal out from under him, and that Mike will go to prison as a result because it's crooked. Is that it?

Yeah, that's pretty close. When you compress it, invariably you distort it. You obviously have to do what you think is appropriate, but my own preference is not to linger too much on the would have beens of this show.

Okay, then let's look back on what was instead. In these nine episodes that you were able to make, what do you feel were the strengths of it? What are some scenes you would point to as the show you had in your head all these years?

That's a good question. Everything that demonstrates the human capacity for perseverance and self-deception simultaneously. Those are the scenes that I like. I recall with affection so many of the scenes with the degenerates and that connection. And I enjoyed very much writing the scenes between Gus and Bernstein. In some ways, I felt that those two sets of relationships mirrored each other.

Watching the show, it really did feel like your heart was particularly in the scenes with the four degenerates.

That's right. If I were to point to a favorite scene, I guess it would be the Niagara Falls scene, where they were doing the exegesis of Niagara Fall as opposed to Niagara Falls, and what the might possibly mean.

Now that this is done, are you moving full-force onto the William Faulkner project?

Yes. We were just working on the concluding section of "Light in August" when you called. I had the privilege of working on that with my daughter, Olivia. So it's a compounded pleasure. I'm hopeful that HBO will be receptive. I have no reason to think they won't be.

This is the third time now you've done a show for them and the third time it's ended before you were intending it to end. Are you still okay with the relationship?

Absolutely. Each set of circumstances was unique. You'll have to ask them whether they are (laughs), but to this point, they have been as supportive a partner as one could want or imagine. It's my experience that it isn't a useful exercise to try and figure out the other fellow's state of mind. I'm going to keep carrying the water, and we'll hope that the exercise is well-received.

from:
http://www.hitfix.com/blogs/whats-alan-watching/posts/interview-luck-creator-david-milch-on-the-series-premature-end

[Sven2]

Mr.Milch promises?

"Milch has moved on from the series "Luck," although perhaps not from the complex, unfinished tale that he and Mann said was intended to evoke "the spirit and magic" of thoroughbreds. There is talk of a novel, although Milch said it's early and "typically not very realistic."

from:
http://tv.msn.com/tv/article.aspx?news=715471

[Sven2]

Old and possibly watched already leacture by Milch.

https://www.jiscmail.ac.uk/cgi-bin/webadmin?A2=meccsa;6008ed72.1204&utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter

Needs another click.

An easier access to the same video.
http://mediacommons.futureofthebook.org/imr/2012/04/23/reaching-out-milch-s-teaching-voice-genius

[Sven2]

Deadwood and John From Cincinnati: Societies of Faith and the Incognito God

Andrew Russ
                                         "Hawthorne said that man's accidents are God's purposes.
                                          We miss the good we seek and do the good we little sought"
                                         "...if you bring the right arc to it, any word can be the path to God."
                                                                                         David Milch
David Milch's series Deadwood, (and even more obviously John From Cincinnati), provide
us  with  an  exploration  of  the  possibilities  of  social  redemption  through  emotional  chaos;  of 
faith  as  the  primary  organizing  principle  of  social  life,  before  abstract  codes  of  law  and  order 
supplanted the binding functions of love and grace. This was Milch's stated aim, having been
so rehearsed and learned with the vicissitudes of law and order in his previous cop shows,
Hill Street Blues and NYPD Blue, he wished to show a society that organizes around other signs
and motive powers. Television has not seen a writer who speaks so candidly about society as a
"cohabitation of the spirit", who speaks about God's power as carried through words, and words
as paths to God without our knowledge, and who spurns the modern belief in the isolated self as
"fundamentally an illusion".   
This chapter will explore Deadwood, John from Cincinnat, and David Milch's own testimony in
articles, interviews, lectures and DVD commentary, on his aim of demonstrating to his audience
the idea that society gains strength from faith, not law, and is the disguised workings of a power
we  have  come  through  obscure  acknowledgment  to  call  "God"  or  "Spirit".  It  is  essentially  a 
look at Milch's masterful and entertaining exploration of how faith harnesses and orientates the
energies, talents, faults and purposes of individual people into a body politic, how they come to
"rest transparent in the spirit which gave them rise".

from:
http://fama2.us.es/fco/previouslyon/16.pdf

The article is long, in PDF format, so here's just the first two paragraph, to present the ideas of the author. Not sure where and when it was published.

[SaveJFC Admin]

Dear Monadistas,

As you may know, our SaveJFC campaign also supported WildCoast as Mitch Yoast did PSA's for them.  Here is the current fundraising effort they are engaged in...

Dear WILDCOAST Friend,

On behalf of WILDCOAST, I am excited to invite you to our 4th Annual BAJA BASH Fundraiser!

Join the fun as we celebrate our success in preserving the most beautiful and pristine bays, beaches, lagoons, islands, and coral reefs in California, Mexico, and now Cuba. So let's celebrate our conservation impact together!

This year we are ecstatic to announce that we have been named "Non-Profit of the Year" in the 78th Assembly by former Assembly Speaker Toni Atkins and that we have preserved tens of thousands of acres of pristine coastal wilderness.

Join the action! Participate in an electric boat team competition, an opportunity drawing, and silent auction. Taste the cuisine from four of the best chefs in Baja while you enjoy a selection of beer, margaritas, Baja wines, and the live music of El Jarabe Mexicano.

BUY YOUR TICKETS TODAY! Early Registration $65 per ticket, after May 31st, price will be $85 per ticket.

Sincerely,

Serge Dedina
Executive Director

[Sven2]

Ten years ago, a mafia don faded to black.
A young man appeared, bringing hope, healing, forgiveness and laughter.
Where is that man now?

Let's remember and celebrate.

[SaveJFC Admin]

Wow.  10 YEARS.  Monadistas Untie :D

[Sven2]

Still Remembered.


Revisiting the Strange, Occasionally Sublime 'John From Cincinnati'
The 2007 series is still confounding as plain television—but the surfing is transcendent

By Rob Harvilla Aug 29, 2018, 9:57am EDT



"Do you know what it's about?" The year is 2007. The setting is The Late Late Show With Craig Ferguson. The inquisitor is Ferguson himself. The topic is an imminent new HBO series called John From Cincinnati, a metaphysical surf-noir situation that is already proving difficult to explain or even describe. Ferguson's guest is series cocreator David Milch, a deified TV guy whose credits run from NYPD Blue to the rhapsodically profane HBO Western Deadwood, which ran from 2004 to 2006 and established him as the thinking man's prestige-cable impresario. But Cincinnati is a tough sell, very much by design.

The studio audience laughs nervously. "Well, we have mutual friends who speak of a slow unfolding," Milch begins, by way of explanation. This is unhelpful. "We're not in any kind of creepy, weird cult or anything," Ferguson assures the audience, which laughs more nervously.

Milch tries again, sort of. "The answer is no."

FERGUSON: "You don't know what it's about."

MILCH: "I don't know what it's about. I don't know the bottom line."

FERGUSON: "Right."

MILCH: "But, uh. [Long pause.] If god were trying to reach out to us."

FERGUSON: "Right."

MILCH: "Uh, and if he felt a certain urgency about it."

FERGUSON: "Right."

MILCH: "Umm. [Brief pause.] That's what it's about."

The studio audience's anxiety is palpable. "And, surfing," Ferguson prompts. Milch makes a pained, apologetic, yeesh face, and sheepishly concurs: "That's the bonus!"

John From Cincinnati premiered on HBO on Sunday, June 10, 2007, immediately after the series finale of The Sopranos, which is a Hall of Fame lead-in in terms of audience bewilderment. "Don't Stop Believin'." Cut to black. Roll Sopranos credits as a nation of millions blurts out, "What?!" in flabbergasted unison. And then, one of the most gorgeous and arresting title sequences in TV history.

The best thing about giving yourself over to John From Cincinnati is that you get to watch that title sequence 10 times. It's sumptuous and eerie and joyous. It has a bleached-out vintage feel that evokes exquisite pangs of nostalgia even if you've never set foot in southern California. It's got a killer soundtrack (Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros's "Johnny Appleseed"). And it makes surfing look like the most beautiful and spiritually fulfilling thing you can possibly do. It is the best thing about the show by orders of magnitude.

Milch was taking a big swing, but with no clear sense of what he was even trying to hit. "What is this show about? It is about itself," he'd told The New York Times' David Carr in late 2006. "The smart money is that this show is about a stupid subject."

It bricked. Reviewers were confused and often appalled: The New Yorker called it "stunningly dull" and lamented that "it's maddening to see a show this bad from someone so talented," while The Boston Globe offered the unwelcome poster quote "If Gary Busey were a TV series, he would be John From Cincinnati." HBO canceled it the day after the season finale—which did not exactly end on a cliff-hanger, as that would imply the presence of an arc that implied the presence of a cliff—and made do with the likes of Big Love, True Blood, and Entourage until Game of Thrones came along to reassert the channel's dominance.

Deadwood, too, had been abruptly canceled in 2006 after its third season, but die-hard fans were aghast, and demand for some sort of closure was intense and prolonged enough that in July, HBO finally gave the green light to a Deadwood movie. (Milch has struggled in the interim, including with the 2011 HBO horse racing series Luck, canceled after one season due to animal-rights concerns.) No such revival awaits John From Cincinnati, a singularly confounding and frustrating experience that doesn't qualify as a forgotten classic or anything of the sort. But it doesn't quite deserve to be forgotten, either. The surfing is not the bonus—it's the show's whole, or at least best, reason for being.

Every so often pop culture will attempt to evoke the sacred majesty of surfing, but the results inevitably disappoint. AMC's new cheerful burnout dramedy Lodge 49, starring Wyatt Russell as a down-and-out surfer adrift in Long Beach, waves in that direction, but as the series begins, Russell's character is still laid up after a snake bit him in Nicaragua and the ocean is the mystical utopia he can't or just won't return to. "Stop being a pussy and come back out with me," his exasperated friend at the donut shop tells him. "You gotta get back in the water." The series has its surreal charms, but there's no guarantee you'll ever get to see him catch a wave, in part because the series is mostly shot in Georgia.

Whereas John From Cincinnati, cocreated by novelist Kem Nunn, is steeped in its setting of Imperial Beach, a bucolic and romantically shoddy town fewer than 10 miles from Tijuana. The best you can say is that the show leaves you transported; the worst you can say is that the show transports you and then abandons you. There are worst places to be stranded, though, even if—maybe especially if—you've never surfed a day in your life.

"I'll tell you, a lot of people can paddle out there and get that rush," the predatory would-be manager tells the 14-year-old surfing wunderkind. "But to be able to give them a taste of it just by watching—no, that's something different. And I never had that. Not like you."

The manager, Linc Stark, owns a multimillion-dollar surf-gear company called Stinkweed and is played by Luke Perry; the 14-year-old wunderkind, Shaun Yost, is played by real-life pro surfer and skateboarder Greyson Fletcher, one of several John From Cincinnati actors seemingly hired as much for surfing ability as acting ability. At the show's best, this realism proves invaluable; at its worst, it can feel like you're stuck with a whole theater troupe of A.J. Sopranos. The brainy and cryptic script, furthermore, does nobody any favors. "The thing itself, that's the thing," Linc goes on to tell Shaun, already pushing it metaphysically.

John From Cincinnati is the story of the Yost family, a crumbling surfing dynasty laid low by bitterness and dysfunction. Mitch (Bruce Greenwood) is the crabby patriarch who mysteriously levitates in the season premiere, giving the show its ubiquitous promo image. His son, Butchie (Brian Van Holt), is the ex-wunderkind and heroin addict. Shaun is Butchie's son, raised by his grandparents, Mitch and Cissy (a wild-eyed Rebecca De Mornay, who is compelled to scream at least 30 percent of her dialogue).

The Yosts, as well as various friends and enemies and hangers-on—including Ed O'Neill as a quirky ex-cop who talks to birds, Emily Rose as a flustered videographer, and real-life surfing royalty Keala Kennelly as an extravagantly pierced surf-shop employee—are visited by John Monad (Austin Nichols), a strange and very explicitly Christlike figure whose arrival triggers all sorts of mystical phenomena. This ranges from Mitch's levitation to Shaun's miraculous full recovery from a broken neck suffered in a surfing accident. (One of Ed O'Neill's birds kisses him.)

Galaxy-brain high jinks ensue, and enrapture a whole second tier of support characters—played by the likes of Luis Guzmán, Matt Winston, and invaluable Deadwood alums Garret Dillahunt and Dayton Callie—who are mostly stuck milling about the grounds of a grimy seaside motel. It took me several episodes to accept that Willie Garson's lawyer character was actually named "Meyer Dickstein." I can tell you the precise moment when I bailed on this show during its initial 2007 run, which was a lengthy and baffling scene in Episode 6 in which John starts teleporting around, convenes most of the cast at the motel, and gives a sermon, of sorts. I watched all 10 hours of this show (eventually), and I promise that this makes no more sense to me than it's gonna make to you.

Rewatching John From Cincinnati in 2018, one immediately striking thing is that the cheerfully oblivious John, who at first mostly just repeats whatever anyone else says to him, is the clear antecedent to Dougie Jones. Yes, the bizarre and enraging Kyle MacLachlan character that delighted and/or terrorized fans of 2017's Twin Peaks: The Return for weeks on end. John is clearly not from Cincinnati; whether he is god, or a space alien, or mentally unstable, or something else is never, of course, confirmed. Mitch keeps levitating; Shaun keeps falling into and out of danger as the plot, such as it is, dictates. Shaun's porn-star mother, Tina (Chandra West), shows up and is subjected to much porn star–based abuse, most of it from (a screaming) De Mornay. The single best scene from this series might in fact be this DVD extra of Milch himself, script in hand, standing on the set of the motel sermon and attempting to explain the scene to the actors themselves.

This explanation addresses cave paintings, and the 9/11 terrorist attacks, and "the capacity of art to reorganize experience, to reorganize our sense of reality." It's a much better summary, anyway, than the one Milch gave Craig Ferguson. The cast takes it in as best they can, but on their faces you sense a trace of unease, a stray thought they dare not speak aloud: "I thought this was a surfing show."

Indeed, John From Cincinnati perks up whenever somebody picks up a board: Butchie, a former teenage champion now miraculously cured of his heroin addiction, eventually gets back in the water, one of the few points when this show gets conventionally sentimental. Semi-climatically, Shaun goes missing overnight, only to reappear in the morning out on the waves, with John surfing right beside him to the triumphant strains of Bob Dylan's "Series of Dreams." If nothing else, it's the show's most effective unconventionally sentimental moment.

This is hardly the best depiction of surfing in pop culture history. That honor still goes to, you guessed it, Point Break, which captures both surfing's steep learning curve (think of Keanu Reeves doggedly jumping on his board again and again, right there on the sand) and capacity for cheeseball transcendence. (Think of Patrick Swayze in the movie's infamously perfect final scene.) John From Cincinnati lacks, to put it mildly, a well-made action flick's forward motion and coherence. Nor does it quite manage to capture the highbrow lyrical beauty of longtime journalist William Finnegan's beloved 2015 memoir Barbarian Days: A Surfing Life. But you can sense the show reaching for something on that spectrum, an attempt all the more noble for the fact that it doesn't manage to actually grasp much of anything. Lodge 49 is a better show—most shows are, really—but it is no kind of surfing show. Milch could never really explain his ambitions, much less achieve them. But as for the pure transcendence of the act of surfing itself, he gives you a taste of it just by watching.

From:
https://www.theringer.com/tv/2018/8/29/17795462/revisiting-john-from-cincinnati

[Sven2]

With passage of time, these mentions are rare finds, something a wandering shell collector might discover far from the  seashore, in the dunes, or in the dry grass. It's a surprise they are there, small relics of the now distant past.

One doesn't have to take the shows seriously, they are presented with irreverent humor. It's better to remember yesterdays that way, with a smile, isn't it?

Sven


Nine shows to stream on HBO Max right now

By Bill Frost

"If you were an HBO Now subscriber, you may have noticed that it somehow became HBO Max seemingly overnight this summer. Or not — it's sheer confusion in the land of HBO streaming. Maybe you still have HBO Now, which is just HBO... now, or HBO Go, which is HBO Gone.

Anyway: HBO Max is the New Hotness, because it streams all the HBO shows, plus some exclusive originals, though the only one worth mentioning is Doom Patrol, the greatest series ever—seriously, you need it in your life. The rest are just HBO Meh.

The real draw of HBO Max is its deep library of classic shows from HBO and corporate parent WarnerMedia, which is owned by AT&T, which in turn is owned by ... 5G Satan? Could be, but they don't pay me enough here for that kind of investigative journalism. We'll never know.

Here are nine series from HBO past and present worth discovering, or revisiting, on HBO Max (or regular ol' HBO). Then watch Doom Patrol — have I mentioned how fan-damn-tastic Doom Patrol is?

Los Espookys (Season 1, 2019)
A group of 20-something friends run a business staging supernatural illusions in an undisclosed Latin American country, with support and wisdom from their stateside uncle (show co-creator Fred Armisen). Los Espookys is a loveably weird comedy that packs 60 episodes of story and dialogue (almost entirely subtitled Spanish) into six, establishing a distinct set of quirky characters immediately. Don't be put off by the subtitles; you'll be laughing too hard to notice.

A Black Lady Sketch Show (Season 1, 2019)
Another new series from last summer, A Black Lady Sketch Show is more than just a female version of Key & Peele or Chappelle's Show: it's the first-ever TV show acted, written, and directed entirely by black women (it's not just a clever name). Co-creator Robin Thede leads the cast and numerous guest stars through benign-to-brutal sketches from a fresh (read: usually overlooked) perspective. It's "edgy" without even trying, and universally hilarious.

Boardwalk Empire (Seasons 1-5, 2010-2014)
Everyone's lists of HBO prestige dramas — The Sopranos, Deadwood, The Wire, Carnivale, Watchmen, etc. — always seem to gloss over Boardwalk Empire. The sprawling 1920s period piece about Atlantic City mobster-politicians, fronted by Steve Buscemi at peak cragginess, is more relevant today than ever — at least the elected criminals of Boardwalk Empire were subtle. A 58-episode masterpiece that's among Terence Winter and Martin Scorsese's best.
 

John From Cincinnati (Season 1, 2007)
Speaking of acclaimed showrunners, David Milch closed up Deadwood and jumped right into John From Cincinnati, a single-season "surf noir" series that immediately confused the hell out of everyone. JFC is more of a "vibe" than a coherent drama, like Twin Peaks set against the backdrop of Imperial Beach. Is mystical newcomer John an alien? Jesus? Insane? Doesn't matter. The scenery is stunning, as is the surfing — just go with the flow, bro (yeah, sorry)."


Bored to Death (Seasons 1-3, 2009-2011)
Before he stole the show in The Good Place, Ted Danson swiped Bored to Death from Jason Schwartzman and Zach Galifianakis. A Brooklyn writer (Schwartzman) begins moonlighting as an unlicensed private eye, occasionally dragging his editor (Danson) and comic-artist friend (Galifianakis) along on cases. Bored to Death is charming, smart, droll, and all the other adjectives that get series canceled, but these actors have yet to top it. Where's the movie?

Enlightened (Seasons 1-2, 2011-2013)
Another lauded actor who arguably peaked with an HBO series, Laura Dern absolutely owns every second of Enlightened, even if no one noticed. Dern plays Amy, an office drone whose destructive lifestyle leads to an ugly meltdown and a stint in a holistic therapy center. She emerges ready for positive change, but her world is still negative AF (we've all been there... or currently reside there). Enlightened isn't really a comedy or a drama, but it is all heart.

United Shades of America (Seasons 1-4, 2016-2019)
Comedian W. Kamau Bell was on the journalistic racism beat four years ago — the first episode of United Shades of America was a friendly-ish hang with the KKK! Bell's docuseries also places deep focus on prisons, gangs, gentrification, megachurches, gun owners, LGBTQ rights and, in a prescient 2016 episode, policing tactics. But, United Shades isn't a downer, thanks to Bell's quick wit and hopeful outlook — good luck the next couple of seasons, W.

Arli$$ (Seasons 1-7, 1996-2002)
The Sopranos wasn't the first HBO original, and neither was Oz: In the olden days of 1996, there was Arli$$. HBO funded 80 episodes of sports agent Arliss Michaels (Robert Wuhl) sitcomming it up with real-life jocks and celebrities, and at least half of 'em turned out funny — not a bad return. Arli$$ is mostly notable for being an already-sharp Sandra Oh's (Killing Eve) first steady gig, as well as calling out Donald Trump's bullshit before it was cool/civic duty.

Dane Cook's Tourgasm (Season 1, 2006)
Just a sobering reminder that Dane Cook was once a thing.

from:
https://www.inlander.com/spokane/nine-shows-to-stream-on-hbo-max-right-now/Content?oid=20164642

[Sven2]

No one I assume would hold their breath hoping to restart a conversation about the meaning of the final scene in John From Cincinnati. Or maybe, just maybe, there are some souls, still searching, still contemplating, what do we know.
Here's one at least.

from:
6 unresolved cliffhangers from television that still haunt us
The A.V. Club

Just because I can't tell you what happened in the season-one finale of John From Cincinnati doesn't mean I didn't want to see where it was going. David Milch's notoriously impenetrable surfing drama was canceled by HBO the day after it aired its final episode, an unceremonious end for a show that may or may not have contributed to the premature end of Milch's Deadwood. And while JFC is no Deadwood—what is?—I grew to love the way Milch's lyrical soliloquies flowed from the mouths of his seaside eccentrics and deadbeats. But, while the cast always intrigued me more than the story's miraculous healings and prophetic visions, I still find myself returning to that first season's parting shot. John, the mysterious, Christ-like figure at the center of the narrative, intones, "Mother of God, Cass-Kai," as Kai, a relatively minor character played by Keala Kennelly, surfs across the screen. I've turned it over again and again in my head over the years, weighing it against the show's Christian allusions and explorations of community and miracles, but every time I come up empty. Milch got a chance to wrap up Deadwood with a movie, maybe he can do the same with JFC? I'm not holding my breath. [Randall Colburn]

from:
https://tv.avclub.com/6-unresolved-cliffhangers-from-television-that-still-ha-1845371166

[Sven2]

John from Cincinnati and Post-9/11 Bible Studies
by Sean Parker

Sopranos may be the biggest and arguably the best show HBO has ever brought to television. I was playing catch-up back in 2007 before the airing of the second half of its final season. Airing moments after the series finale of The Sopranos, a weird and interesting new show was set to take HBO into a new era, but John from Cincinnati was doomed from the moment Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros' "Johnny Appleseed" started.

How HBO thought following up David Chase's heavily atmospheric gangster drama with a breezy, supernatural dramedy about spirituality and surfing just minutes after fans' reactions to that Sopranos finale is beyond me. The only thing the two shows share in common is the resilience of their strong performing female leads: Rebecca De Mornay as Cissy Yost and Edie Falco as Carmela Soprano. Imagine your favorite show of the past 7 years closing on something of a dark, ambiguous puzzle and then being brought to sun-filled sandy beaches in Imperial Beach, California where, lo and behold, you have more puzzles to decipher. Sopranos fans were likely walking into John from Cincinnati angry and despondent that this was the show set to take over their precious Sopranos timeslot.

David Milch, creator of Deadwood and NYPD Blue, even threw fans of his shows a curveball with John from Cincinnati, which was a departure from the grit they were used to from a show bearing his name. Co-creating the show with one-time Deadwood collaborator Kem Nunn, the show seemed more like a baffling quirky character study—comparably speaking, it's the SoCal version of Twin Peaks. Characters in both shows behave whimsically, like drug dealers listening to opera in their cars who care about the ailing family of the man they sell their drugs to; a bird conveys its thoughts to its owner much in the way that a woman might converse with a log; an internet café is a good stand-in for the Double R Diner; a run-down motel acts like The Great Northern Hotel, where strange occurrences seem to bring many of the characters together. 

The heart of John from Cincinnati is the dysfunctional, broken Yost family who, on the arrival of phrase-repeating John (Austin Nichols), begin to reconnect and heal. In some ways, Nichols's character feels very similar to Peter Sellers's Chance the gardener in Being There. Both are eccentric and simplistic, arriving in situations that require care and yet also helping the people around them. As John's and the Yosts' lives become more intertwined, more people seem to gravitate to them, becoming involved in their story and being drawn into the central location of the show: The Snug Harbor Motel. 

John from Cincinnati starts weird with an interaction between John and Linc Stark (Luke Perry). John appears, as if out of nowhere, while Mexican immigrants find their way across the border behind him. "The end is near," John tells Linc, and it will take most of the season for the audience to learn what that means. Linc ultimately puts together that John is "the end" and he is standing "near" Linc, but that reveal only begs more questions. There is a lot going on from the first few minutes of the show, and not paying attention at any time in any episode can cost you pieces of the puzzle. When the show aired back in 2007, I'd always re-watch the episodes and find new connections. I've seen the show multiple times now and I'm still catching new things, even thirteen years later.

Linc Stark arrives on that beach to appeal to Mitch Yost (Bruce Greenwood) by allowing him permission to sign his surf prodigy grandson, Shaun (Greyson Fletcher), to a sponsorship with his Stinkweed brand. Mitch recognizes Linc as the responsible party that allowed his son/Shaun's father Butchie (Brian Van Holt) into the lifestyle of an addict. Mitch is told to "Get back in the game" by John, and when Mitch asks Linc, "Is he with you?" the audience, looking for a clue, can recognize we have our hero and our villain showing up in the same place at the same time in an angel versus devil or light versus dark dichotomy. Luke Perry should also be recognized for his criminally under-acknowledged role in John from Cincinnati. The late actor was absolutely brilliant in his portrayal of the cutthroat, greedy, capitalist-incarnate Linc Stark, operating him at a level where you despise his manipulative nature but continually enjoy watching the character.

Mitch steps on a needle while walking to his car, and from then on Mitch randomly levitates. The show becomes blatantly Biblical, though religion never gets jammed down the viewer's throat because these events take place in the modern age—hell, there's enough violence, swearing, and sleaze in this version of John to make the Pope blush. But it is an interesting setup to see these Jesus-era characters and events written into modern-day storytelling and seeing the "what if" surrounding Joseph, Mary, John the Baptist, Mary Magdalene, and Jesus as people living today and not as just a 2,000-year-old interpretation. These are imperfect people living in an imperfect time, witnessing modern miracles, all connected, it would seem, by nature.

We witness the beauty of nature interacting with the Yosts through the ocean, of course, but also before and after Shaun's accident with Zippy, one of Bill's (Ed O'Neill) birds. During an interaction with Zippy, Shaun resuscitates the bird; later Zippy revives him in the hospital during Bill's "Hail Mary" attempt at saving Shaun's life after suffering a broken neck at a surfing competition—Lazarus be damned. And it isn't a preposterous idea to see Mitch meditating and consider his path to enlightenment working in tandem with nature, especially where Mitch pleads in PSA promo ads for the show for an end to illegal sewage dumping, calling the ocean is his church, his sanctuary. 

There's also a very interesting scientific aspect to the actions of the characters in the show being based on Sir Isaac Newton's Third Law of Motion: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Waves break in and they crash back out.

    Mitch catches a good wave. 
    Mitch wipes out. 
    Mitch wipes out Cissy. 
    Cissy shows Butchie how to do that. 
    Cissy wipes Butchie out. 
    Butchie hurts Barry's head. 
    Mister Rollins comes in Barry's face. 
    My Father runs the Mega Millions.

It is very butterfly effect in general: one tiny act can cause a ripple effect that affects the world. And I often wonder where this was going in terms of making it a surfing metaphor, with John's constant attempts to get Mitch and Butchie Yost back in the game, as if this small butterfly-flap chain reaction might somehow save the world. That last line of John's father running the Mega Millions also serves as the end of the ripple as it resonates back to its point of origin. Not only is John saying that his father has the power to make Barry (Matt Winston) a millionaire, but he also initiated a way for the characters to return to each other (and not in a Lost "we created this island" sort of way). Barry buys the motel where Mister Rollins's ghost and Butchie reside. Barry has to face his ghosts and Butchie now is forced to deal with his parents. Mitch Yost should get back in the game, closure can be found, and the ripple can calm.

So, what was the point of it all? I don't think we'll ever know where the show was headed, but to understand where it was coming from, you'd have to take yourself back to that post-9/11 era of war in Afghanistan and Iraq and that helpless feeling in the aftermath of the falling towers. From the first episode, we learn that the new owner of the motel has had a terrible tragedy in this place and seeks to cleanse the place of its ghosts. More and more people become drawn to the Snug Harbor Motel either by pilgrimage or just showing up at the location looking for ways to help the Yosts. The motel becomes symbolic of how people from miles away volunteered at Ground Zero during the devastating aftermath of 9/11, drawing people from everywhere to come help. It's not unlike how a star may have guided three wise men (Willie Garson, Luis Guzmán, and Matt Winston) to Bethlehem, though now they're running the inn. Doctor Michael Smith (Garret Dillahunt), and drug dealers, Freddie (Dayton Callie) and Palaka (Paul Ben-Victor), begin orbiting around or staying as well, observing and assisting in ways that seem counter-intuitive, at least in Freddie's case, knowing that something special is taking place and they need to be a part of it. And similar again to the way a ripple in the water starts from a droplet and becomes a reverberating wave, more people become drawn to the motel by the presence of John, something I think would have continued in Season 2 as the motel would continue its rebuilding efforts and slowly fill up.

When John shows himself in front of a black sheet with a stick figure on it saying, "Shaun will soon be gone," it stirs fear in the hearts of Shaun's loved ones. It's very reminiscent of the al-Qaeda terrorism videos made during that time and sparks thoughts in the Yosts' minds about who the hell John even is. It's easily seen that after his return, this was John's way of asking for permission, or more like telling the Yosts that he was taking Shaun away, but in the moment the action is threatening. The lesson here is more one of understanding than one of fear. We live on a small rock in the middle of space, and we all have a communication problem on this planet. Racism is represented throughout the show between Butchie's views on Tina's (Chandra West) choice of film costars, Joe's (Jim Beaver) take on Mexican immigration, and also in a particular phrase of Joe's referring to Muslims "going to get themselves blown off the planet."

John repeats many unkind things the characters around him are saying when he asks, "if my words are yours, can you hear my father?" I believe many questions are being asked at the same time: if I repeat your words back to you, are you appalled by those words? John acts like a small child when he's repeating the words of the other characters, almost acting like this is what the next generation might hear. When he repeats that Muslims are "going to get themselves blown off the planet," it's almost as if a child is repeating the hateful speech of their parents, and it makes a valid point in the argument that these notions of hate are learned because a child takes the word of a parent as gospel. Shaun is brought back unharmed after the pair's secret trip to "Cincinnati," and by the end of the show concession and forgiveness are made on many sides.

Linc helps the Yosts out of a jam and is asked to "get in the game" by John. The invitation to Linc to join the Yosts is really a fantastic metaphor for what John from Cincinnati is about: hope and forgiveness. John is riding down the boulevard to the pier with someone who was once his enemy, he recognizes the faces of the "vatos" on the street that stabbed him and left him for dead, he changes the mind of the most suspicious ex-cop who gets detained for his efforts, and most importantly he unifies a family through the healing power of community. Jesus didn't change his world on his own—he had disciples, he had help. And the Yosts, like New York City, are not fixed by the end of the series; they're working on recovering and getting stronger together.

There's also the matter of John asking Cass (Emily Rose) to capture everything with her camera, as if asking her to spread the good word and write a gospel through the modern medium. And what is it Cass captured on that camera? John walking through an international festival, smiling with people, dancing to their cultural songs, and getting in a wrestling ring with a luchador and hugging him instead of fighting him. The message is simple if you can see the world the way John sees it—the way a child might.

John from Cincinnati is a beautiful, weird, and transcendent 10 episodes that to this day gets overlooked as "the show that came on after The Sopranos." The fact is that the series was judged too harshly in 2007 when it was likely ahead of its time. This is the type of show that would likely have been cheered in the streaming era because of its interconnectivity and the depth of its characters. The show boasts a fantastic cast and a wonderful continuing story where every episode somehow deepens the mystery surrounding who John is by revealing pieces to the puzzle. We never do find out what was planned for 9/11/14, or if that relates to John being "the end," or even what John actually is, and I suspect we never would have had the show continued. He could have been anything: a horseman of the apocalypse or a fallen angel, an extraterrestrial or a shapeshifter.

In the words of John, there are some things I know and there are some things I don't. Many questions go unanswered and many set-ups for a second season were made but never realized—including a pregnancy for Cissy, Kai (Keala Kennelly) becoming the mother of God, the mysticism around the Snug Harbor Motel Bar, if the El Camino guy that spoke a lot like John was his father, and what the shuffleboards signify. I can make some guesses based on the clues, but I never think there's enough evidence.

The grace the show proposes we have in the face of tragedy and the measuring of ourselves to say what we mean with kindness in our hearts will forever be its message and legacy in my eyes. Even now—in the muddied political climate that we currently find ourselves in, where the United States has never been more divided and people mistake sides of the aisle for religious conviction without the consideration that people's opinions and ideals have to be considered—the show serves as a reminder to communicate. John from Cincinnati was a big believer in perspective and having an open enough heart to welcome people into our lives and not cast them out. As we ride one wave out of 2020 and catch the one into 2021, I think it's important to keep our faith in people. You never know whose father may be running the Mega Millions.

John from Cincinnati is now streaming on HBOMax.

from:https://25yearslatersite.com/2020/12/31/john-from-cincinnati-and-post-9-11-bible-studies/

[Sven2]

10 HBO Shows That Should Get A Many Saints Of Newark-Style Origin Movie

The Many Saints of Newark has opened the doors for more justified prequel pictures to grow out of older HBO classics.
By Daniel Kurland
Published October 23

10.Carnivale Deserves A Return To Its Twisted World

Carnivale is arguably the closest that HBO has gotten to achieving the surreal magic of something like David Lynch's Twin Peaks. Carnivale's Season 1 is a masterpiece in patient storytelling and the payoffs that occur in the second season are truly awe-inspiring and indicate the massive scope of the series' ongoing war between the forces of good and evil.

There's such intricate lore to Carnivale that a prequel movie could be used to explore ancient Avatars, or it could focus on the exploits of a younger Brother Justin before he embraces his position as a Creature of Darkness.

9. John From Cincinnati's Endless Mysteries Would Benefit From A Prequel Full Of Answers

John From Cincinnati is one of the bigger blank checks to be taken on by HBO. The series was the highly anticipated follow-up series from Deadwood's David Milch, but the eccentric "surf noir" series left many audiences confused. John From Cincinnati is a truly bizarre story about the mysterious John Monad's indoctrination of a surfing community in California.

Much of the mystery in the series revolved around John's odd nature and what exactly was up with him. A prequel movie could dig into his origins and provide some closure in a way that the one-season canceled series never could.

8.The Wire Is Full Of Rich, Real Characters With More Stories To Explore

David Simon has turned out a number of prestigious series for HBO, but his five-season examination of Baltimore and its vulnerability to the drug trade and struggling infrastructure is still regularly considered to be one of HBO's magnum opuses. Each season of The Wire expands the story in a beautiful, natural way where it'd be easy to find areas to return to this world.

Curiously, The Wire did engage in some brief prequel stories that revolve around Proposition Joe, Omar Little, and McNulty and Bunk's first meeting. These are all excellent jumping-off points for a full prequel venture.

7. Oz Built A Brutal Playground That Has More Socially Relevant Stories To Tell

Oz deserves a certain level of reverence since it's one of HBO's very first original dramas. The unflinching look into a maximum-security prison lasted for six seasons and functioned as an enlightening character study and vehicle for social commentary.

Most of the characters in the series are truly burnt out by the end of the show, but a prequel that turns the clock back and looks at the start of the Oswald State Correctional Facility could be truly fascinating. The titular prison in Oz was as important of a character as any of the inmates or jailers.

6. Boardwalk Empire Is Filled With Fascinating Criminal Players

Stylistically, a Boardwalk Empire prequel film feels the closest in line with what's happened with the Sopranos' companion piece, Many Saints of Newark. Boardwalk Empire has a lot of the same creative team from The Sopranos and it expertly unpacks Prohibition-era Atlantic City through the lens of Steve Buscemi's Nucky Thompson.

The 1920s are so integral to Boardwalk Empire that the series' five seasons are quite focused on that decade. All of the characters have such fully realized histories that are rich with prequel adventures. A Boardwalk Empire prequel movie would have endless opportunities to explore.

5. The Larry Sanders Show's Perfect Deconstruction Of The Entertainment Industry Is Timeless

The Larry Sanders Show is pretty close to a perfect comedy and it's still one of HBO's very best, most consistent, and eerily prescient shows. The comedy adopts a mock behind-the-scenes aesthetic at a late-night talk show, which allows the fabricated on-screen veneer of Garry Shandling's host to come in contrast with his narcissistic true self.

4. Flight Of The Conchords Could Find Huge Laughs With A Look To The Past

Some of the best shows on HBO are the ones that don't overstay their welcome. Flight of the Conchords is exceptional comedy that helped put everyone involved with the series on the map and confirm their status as comedy legends. Flight of the Conchords is entirely content to engage in small-scale, absurdist storytelling that melds together with unconventional musical numbers.

Fans are hungry for more Conchords, so a prequel film that presents them as younger and even more clueless has lots of potential. It's completely unnecessary, but that's part of the reason why it'd make for such an odd delight.


3. There's More Human Drama To Mine In A Six Feet Under Prequel Film

Six Feet Under was a landmark show that lasted for five emotional seasons. It can get a little aimless in its middle years, but it absolutely sticks the landing and has a series finale that's widely considered to be perfect. After that conclusion, there's no reason to extend the story with a sequel, but a trip back to the past of the Fisher family's funeral home could actually be interesting.

A prequel movie that focuses on a young Ruth and Nathaniel Fisher as they begin their business and start their family is an interesting way to return to this world.

2. True Blood's Bon Temps Is A Hotbed For Paranormal Activity

True Blood became one of HBO's biggest shows for its seven steamy seasons. Horror programming has become the norm on television, but True Blood got in there ahead of the curve with its pulpy take on vampires, werewolves, and other supernatural beasts.

HBO has announced a reboot of True Blood, which indicates that there's clearly still an audience for the property. The original series effectively depicts Bon Temps as a beacon for strange activity. A prequel film that looks at Bon Temps' past, or the younger years of Bill and Eric, would be a big hit.

1. Entourage Is Ready To Detail Vinnie Chase's Salad Days

Entourage is one of the few HBO series that has gone on to release a sequel film after its conclusion. Entourage's depiction of the cavalier lifestyle of an actor on the cusp of their big break might have often felt disposable, but a strong network of characters was created.

Entourage was always at its best when it came down to human moments, not excess and wealth, which is why a more humble prequel film could be an entertaining pivot. Vinnie Chase's days as a struggling indie actor are discussed in Entourage, but it's rich enough to fully dive into that world.

from: https://www.cbr.com/hbo-shows-deserve-origin-movie-like-many-saints-newark/