#the worst of the comedy central era was the beginning when they immediately hit you with the iphone parodies and stuff

[realian]

the Hulurama episodes suck so bad holy shit.

[myhahnestopinion]

THE AARONS 2019 - Best TV Show

Last year, I said that I had become content with knowing that there are far too many streaming service with far too many great TV shows for me to ever watch everything worthwhile. This year, I signed up for a bunch of free trials and canceled immediately before they billed me. I’m not sure where the contentment went, but I do know that I found a bunch of great contenders. Here are the Aarons for Best TV Show:

#10. Evil (Season 1) - CBS

Why, yes, Evil is good. The rare CBS show able to make such a list, the procedural hailing from The Good Wife creators Robert and Michelle King twists the languishing network-TV formula into the devil’s playthings. A spiritual spiritual-successor to The X-Files, Evil blurs the lines between skepticism and belief as its trio of investigators unravel a series of uncanny phenomenon, while asking the viewer if supernatural malice looks any different from human cruelty. The show’s attempts to incorporate modern technology can sometimes be a bit clueless, but overall the show is sold by its ambition. The devil’s not in the details. 

#9. The Good Place (Season 4) - NBC

Why, yes, Good is good as well. The NBC comedy had questionable long-term sustainability when it first premiered, but thanks to nimble inventiveness, it’s tough to imagine saying farewell four seasons later. The Good Place has been a safe haven during uncertain times as an exaltation of the virtues of forgiveness, kindness, and self-improvement. While less structurally ambitious than past seasons, the fourth season was the show’s most thematically ambitious as the creators played god by crafting a whole new afterlife. In this philosophical debate over the concept of justice, the show more than justified its long-term existence.

#8. Arrow (Season 8) - CW

Arrow truly became something else over the course of its run, growing from a gritty Batman Begins-inspired melodrama into a network-dominating superhero universe that just powered-through its most ambitious crossover yet. With a shortened season order and an ominous prophecy of death hanging over its hooded head, Arrow pulled out all the greatest hits from its quiver in a rapid-fire revisitation of settings and reunion of cast members. Bringing Oliver Queen face-to-face with his adult children from the future, the show finally made its litigating of legacy literal. The Green Arrow is gone, but the hero left quite a mark.

#7. When They See Us (Limited Series) - Netflix

Representation matters. The stories we choose to tell and the stories we choose to listen to make a powerful impact on the betterment, or worsening, of equality and justice. When They See Us shows us a failure, and hopes for an uplifting. Director Ava DuVernay’s intimate, authentic recreation of the tragedy of the Exonerated Five, boys wrongfully imprisoned for a violent assault in Central Park, unravels the prejudice, malice, and laziness that upend our justice system and destroy lives. The story’s true-to-life intersection with the currently-in-power, forever impeached President is all the more reason that now is the time to see When They See Us. 

#6. Mr. Robot (Season 4) - USA

The early episodes of Mr. Robot were met with trepidation that it would be little more than an infantile Fight Club rip-off. In its final episodes, creator Sam Esmail codifies that he is no hack. The show’s well-researched technological thievery is as thrilling as ever (Experimental episode formats this season include an entirely dialogue-free heist), but its real endgame boils the conflict down to one of mind and soul. With its final season, the ever-elusive show finally brings all its various string-pullers into the light in gut-wrenching yet deeply-empathetic reveals. Who could have guessed Mr. Robot possessed such humanity? 

#5. Dickinson (Season 1) - Apple TV+

I would not have stopped for Apple TV, but I would gladly stop for thee, Dickinson. Though inspired by the life and poetry of Emily Dickinson, Alena Smith’s comedy mixes the artist’s love of the macabre with a sense of millennial malaise. Throughout its 19th Century-set trials, tribulations, and guest spots from John Mulaney as Henry David Thoreau, the cast behave as modern teenagers and are backed by a contemporary soundtrack. The approach laces the sitcom’s situations with a delightful ironic wit, but, more preciously, forges a sense of camaraderie across eras. In the relatable burdens of past lovers, we find ourselves, and Dickinson find immortality.

#4. Tuca & Bertie (Season 1) - Netflix

While its shared style caused many comparisons to a certain other Netflix series, Tuca & Bertie was in fact a horse of another color. Confident in its voice, and the voices of its stars Tiffany Haddish and Ali Wong, from the get-go, the show stretched the wings of its animation with more substantial surrealism than its sister show. While a scintillating showcase of cartoon buffoonery, the series’ content is not just for the birds; Tuca & Bertie find courage in the face of addiction, power in the face of trauma, and persistence in the face of sexist power structures. Coupled with Bertie’s boyfriend Speckle, perhaps my favorite character from all of TV, these birds of a feather have impeccable chemistry and insight. Who knows what heights it could have soared to had it not been cancelled after one season?

#3. Green Eggs and Ham (Season 1) - Netflix

With unusual grandeur for a project its size, Green Eggs is a show that’s one of a kind. It’s hand-drawn animation (Expensive, I’m sure) gives this adaptation a can’t-miss allure. With an all-star cast, cute jokes, and surprising twists too, you’ll want to follow the Chickeraffe’s road-trip escape from the zoo. And don’t forget the very best part! This TV serves up a whole lot of heart! If you want a show whose theme song is a jam, you surely will love Green Eggs and Ham.

#2. Watchmen (Season 1) - HBO

The original graphic novel has long been an essential read for the genre; the new sequel TV show is now a must-watch, man. Respectful of its source material but not beholden to its ideas, Lost co-creator Damon Lindelof’s ‘remix’ revitalized Watchmen’s power by substituting Cold-War nuclear anxiety for the insidious threat of entrenched white supremacy. With a harrowing recreation of the Tulsa Massacre and ingenious retcons to a few comic characters, Watchmen provoked complicated questions on race relations. In true Lindelof fashion, it also wisely left many things unanswered. The quality is good enough that the comic’s writer might just have to rethink his stance on adaptations of his work, and good enough that the viewer might want HBO to rethink their decision to end the show after one year. Yet the retroactively limited series ends on a perfect note, and there is no more.

AND THE BEST TV SHOW OF 2019 IS...

#1. You’re the Worst (Season 5) - FXX

Evil is good, and The Worst is the best (What a list I have this year!). Of all the series on this list that capped their run in 2019, You’re the Worst has always had the lowest stakes, but its ending by far hit the hardest. In season five, the whirlwind will-they/won’t-they resistant romance between narcissistic writer Jimmy Shive-Overly and self-destructive PR executive Gretchen Cutler reached its decisive culmination. To suggest the show reached an ending, though, would be a disservice to the beautiful decisions made. Such decisions were a perfectly imperfect solution for two imperfect people, striving each day to be better and do well by one another, meeting each other where they are. In the end, the show’s initial billing as an “anti-rom-com” was proven a mismarriage; the laugh-out-loud show had a profound outlook on what it means to love another person. Hilarious and heartful from beginning to end, You’re the Worst will go down in history as one of TV’s greatest.

NEXT UP: THE 2019 AARON FOR BEST TV EPISODE!

[wazafam]

Now that Netflix has completed three adaptations of Jenny Han's To All the Boys book series, it's possible to rank them to determine the best of the trilogy. In 2018, the original film established the overall tone and premise for the series while introducing the world to up-and-coming stars Lana Condor and Noah Centineo. For the second and third installments, cinematographer Michael Fimognari took over the directorial duties from Susan Johnson and added his own unique touch as a filmmaker. All three movies have been well-received by critics and will resonate with Netflix audiences for different reasons. However, one particular installment stands out above the others.

When To All the Boys I've Loved Before released in 2018, it became a cultural phenomenon with Condor starring as the 16-year old Korean-American protagonist, Lara Jean Song Covey. The Netflix movie appealed to audiences with its endearing love story, fresh character dialogue, and dream pop music. In 2020, the sequel To All the Boys: P.S. I Still Love You arguably lost some cultural momentum, if only because the narrative complicated the central love story between Lara Jean and Peter Kavinsky (Centineo) by introducing a new suitor, John Ambrose (Jordan Fisher). Then, in 2021, To All the Boys: Always and Forever fully locked into the focal romance, and added a clever twist by having Lara Jean fall in love not with another man, but with the city of New York.

Related: To All The Boys: Always & Forever Cast & Character Guide

Each one of the franchise films adheres to romantic comedy tropes, and perhaps too much at times. Depending on one's perspective, the meta-references may add to the experience or possibly interrupt the narrative flow. There's also the question of whether or not the Lara Jean & Peter romance feels natural and timely, and whether the focal performances stand up to classics of the past. Overall, critics and general streamers alike seem to agree that To All the Boys is a special movie franchise, yet it's still worth identifying what differentiates each production in terms of filmmaking. Here's a ranking of each movie in the To All the Boys trilogy on Netflix.

Written by Sofia Alvarez and J. Mills Goodloe, To All the Boys 2 ends with a romantic resolution for Lara Jean and Peter but gets lost along the way. Early on, the film hits all the right story beats as the main protagonist experiences her first date and gets swept away in emotions. But rather than focusing on the dynamic between the two focal leads, the sequel immediately incorporates conflict involving John Ambrose, one of the recipients of Lara Jean's love letters. The character initially appears at the tail end of the original film, but then has an entirely different appearance in the sequel with the casting of Fisher. So, that filmmaking decision alone is perplexing and stands out as an immediate red flag.

Unfortunately, Fisher's performance as Ambrose doesn't add much value in To All the Boys 2. The character is indeed kind-hearted and charming, but he seems to represent nostalgia for the past more than anything else. Ambrose doesn't really fight for Lana's heart but rather seems to enjoy her company as a friend. Meanwhile, side-conflict involving Peter and his ex-girlfriend Genevieve (Emilija Baranac) makes the story more interesting/dramatic, but the film also loses some of the rom-com magic that makes the original production so captivating.

Even though a rom-com sequel like The Kissing Booth 2 may not necessarily be objectively better than To All the Boys 2, it does introduce a strong character in Marco Peña (Taylor Zakhar Perez), who seems like he could steal away Elle Evans (Joey King) from Noah Flynn (Jacob Elordi). Overall, Fimognari's sequel does its best to set up the third franchise installment yet shows little imagination in terms of character conflict. Lara Jean does indeed grow as a character, but she's hampered by the presence of John, a character who seems stuck in 6th grade, and thus makes the film feel somewhat cutesy rather than progressive.

Related: Every Song In To All The Boys: Always & Forever

To All the Boys 3 succeeds by re-focusing on the romance between Lara Jean and Peter. The third franchise movie feels much more mature than the previous two, as there's less attention paid to the main protagonist's naivete. Now, Lara Jean comes across as a confident young woman who seems genuinely ready for the next step in her life, whether it's with Peter at Stanford University or across the country at New York University. To All the Boys 3 also resolves the conflict between Lara Jean and Peter's ex, Gen, and effectively uses Kitty (Anna Cathcart) as a source of comic relief, all the while developing her character. To All the Boys 3 brings all of the main players together, rather than underlining what drives them apart.

As an actress, Condor displays incredible depth while communicating Lara Jean's insecurities and highlighting her agency as a young woman. Whereas many young rom-com protagonists feel like they're making life or death decisions, Lara Jean often takes moments to collect her thoughts and to remind herself that she's not living within a rom-com movie. Condor is especially effective in conveying her character's attraction to Peter, and it's almost like the couple's relationship is just beginning. As for Noah Centineo, he plays it a little too cool at times as the prototypical Homecoming King of rom-com movies, yet he truly does shine when capturing Peter's vulnerability, whether it's with the character's estranged father or when trying to process Lara Jean's fascination with New York City.

Charming as To All the Boys 3 may be, it's a little heavy-handed with its meta rom-com messaging, which makes some of the character dialogue feel stiff and unnatural. Also, the film doesn't invest much time exploring the complexities of Lara Jean and Peter's relationship beyond their obvious connection, which contrasts with some of the heavier conversations from the sequel. As a whole, To All the Boys 3 expects that the audience is already familiar with the basics, and doesn't really prioritize character development for Chris (Madeleine Arthur) or Lucas (Trezzo Mahoro). Aside from some tiny pacing issues, the third Netflix movie works especially well in terms of developing Lara Jean's story, but it might've been worth re-structuring the film to add a little more depth elsewhere.

To All the Boys I've Loved Before is the best of the three franchise films because of its storytelling, along with the element of surprise. For one, there's the love letter premise; the narrative hook to keep audiences engaged. Two, there's Condor's central performance as a 16-year-old trying to understanding her place in the world. The filmmakers take their time while covering the appropriate narrative groundwork, and establish the personalities for each of the main characters, along with how they connect to Lara Jean's backstory. The second and third films have similar energy and spirit but don't necessarily work as stand-alone films.

Related: To All The Boys 3: Biggest Changes To The Book In Always & Forever

Years from now, To All the Boys I've Loved Before will be recognized as a defining film from the Streaming Wars era, and maybe even the last great rom-com before the era of COVID-19. Storywise, there's a traditional coming-of-age narrative for audiences to enjoy, one about a middle child who relates to her young sister Kitty but wants to be more like her older sibling Margot (Janel Parrish). To All the Boys I've Loved Before pays homage to romantic comedies but doesn't feel the need to be extra clever with its citations. The Netflix movie also incorporates social media in a way that feels natural rather than didactic, a major plus in a time when filmmakers feel inclined to explain what audiences already know about Twitter, Facebook, etc.

Most importantly, To All the Boys I've Loved Before values the power of a big movie moment. The first kiss between Lara Jean and Peter has all the magic that their intimate encounter in To All the Boys 3 lacks. There's even some scrunchie-themed drama that's at once juvenile but also incredibly important for the character conflict. As a whole, To All the Boys I've Loved Before shows much more nuance than the second and third Netflix films. It's subtle when commenting on rom-com tropes and slowly develops the central relationship. The little moments stand out, whether it's how Lara Jean looks at Peter or vice versa. The sequels don't take such things for granted, but there's less attention paid to the build-up of big moments. To All the Boys I've Loved Before is truly a Netflix Original, one that's driven by character chemistry, star-making lead performances, and a specific style of storytelling.

Next: Will To All The Boys 4 Ever Happen?

To All The Boys: All Three Movies Ranked From Worst To Best from https://ift.tt/3djZOJr

[wardepiano92-blog]

Superbad at 10: The Agony and Ecstasy of Growing Up

Oh, christ. It's already been 10 years since Superbad was released? To immediately date this piece, this author was two weeks away from his freshman year of college when Greg Mottola's smash hit was unleashed on the public. Audiences eagerly looked forward to the latest feature from the creative hivemind responsible for The 40-Year-Old Virgin and Knocked Up, but didn't exactly anticipate that the film would enter almost instantly into the pantheon of the all-time great raunchy teen comedies. After a total box office haul of $169 million (nice) worldwide and a lengthy tenure as the most quoted movie in dorms across the nation, Superbad has ended up standing the test of time as one of those teen movies that people will undoubtedly show their kids for years to come, probably sooner than they should, while gritting their teeth through the parts that don't age as well.

Every few years, a generation gets their graduation movie. For some, it was Ferris Bueller's Day Offor any of John Hughes' iconic '80s hits. For others, it was Can't Hardly Wait. (Sorry, those of you who graduated in the late '90s.) For the weird kids, it might've been Donnie Darko, and even a few months later into 2007, Juno hit home with many viewers in equally quotable but more pensive ways. Superbad distinguishes itself by capturing that listless sensation of the time when high schoolers already have three limbs out the door, waiting on the future even as its uncertainty begins to crush those of lesser mettle under its fist. At once, you've never been more excited or more thoroughly scared shitless. You're an adult now, and at the time, it means that you can get trashed with relative impunity, even if it only means that you've transitioned from stealing your parents' liquor to relying on your friends with piss-poor fake IDs. In reality, it means that the nebulous point at which you have to figure it all out is no longer four years of high school away. It's now.

For best friends Seth (Jonah Hill) and Evan (Michael Cera), that's more than either can process, and so they don't. As they slack through their waning days of school, they discuss which porn sites they'll subscribe to (oh, the quaint internet of yore), gay-bash each other as only dumb young men do, get drunk in their parents' basements, and aggressively avoid any real conversations about how they're going to separate colleges in a few months' time. Neither wants to consider what this could mean for their friendship going forward, so instead Seth drools over Evan's mom, and Evan mocks Seth's Belushi-esque blustering about his untapped sexual prowess, and both of them attempt to negotiate their long-standing crushes, who could disappear out of the realm of possible consummation before long. All of this strife arrives while they're still dealing with pointless classes run by checked-out teachers and obnoxious classmates, and most of all their incorrigibly dorky third wheel, Fogell (Christopher Mintz-Plasse).

But when Fogell gets his fake, in the unflappable new guise of Hawaiian organ donor McLovin (it was either that or Mohammed), the trio embarks on an unplanned night of self-discovery in the unforgiving darkness of the adult world. A liquor store robbery sends Fogell into the orbit of Officers Slater (Bill Hader) and Michaels (Seth Rogen, who co-wrote the film with his longtime friend Evan Goldberg.) Meanwhile, Seth and Evan struggle to come to terms with their impending separation while being dragged through a seedy party full of coked-up twentysomethings and nursing their own unrequited desires. For Evan, Becca (Martha MacIsaac) is only as far away as his anxiety will prevent him from going; despite his compulsive inability to have a conversation with her, she's as clearly interested as somebody can be. Seth, meanwhile, strains to impress Jules (future Oscar winner Emma Stone), the consummate cool girl and seemingly one of the few people in the whole school who treats him with respect. As Evan bluntly puts it: She definitely hasn't figured out how hot she is yet, because she still talks to you.

Rogen and Goldberg started writing Superbad together while in high school themselves, and it shows in the small details. Seth's blustering conversation with a Home Ec teacher perfectly mirrors the exasperation of a dwindling school year, and his degradation of Evan's PE classmate (a young Dave Franco) hits perfectly on the casually vicious bullying that teenagers sort of just visit on each other without ever stopping to consider it at length. That's to say nothing of the 186 fucks throughout the movie, atop its many other vulgar punchlines; it's an absolutely crass iteration of the teen movie, but in this, it's also possibly the most faithful representation of modern teenage life put to screen. In a decade where movies like Thirteen (a good film, but a melodramatic one just the same) painted teenagers as walking manifestations of alarmist PSAs for adults, Superbad cannily understands the dualities of being a teenager. You're a filthy, half-formed version of yourself that wants to have sex pretty much constantly, and if you're the kind of person (like the film's central trio) who hasn't found an outlet for it yet, the latent frustration eventually turns inward.

This constant thirst is vividly captured by Cera and Hill, who deliver a pair of star-making performances as one of the great modern onscreen comedy duos. For as much as Cera's halted mannerisms have become a criticism (often undue) of the actor over time, Superbad uses them to immaculate effect. His deadpan delivery of his comebacks to Seth gives the film some of its biggest laughs (well, at least you got to suck your dad's dick), and his climactic attempt to get drunk enough to not worry about sex features some of the best faux-trashed character delivery since Anthony Michael Hall in his heyday. (Hall's geek performances in various Hughes movies is a visibly huge influence on Cera's work here.) Meanwhile, Hill rips through one showstopping bit after the next; his famous soliloquy about his childhood dick drawings is as uproarious as many of his rapid non-sequiturs throughout. (I flip my boner up into my waistband. It hides it and it feels awesome.)

Far more could be said of Superbad's top-to-bottom great performances, whether it's MacIsaac playing wasted in ways that came to define cinematic drunk teens for a certain age group, Stone already demonstrating a command of the dry charisma that would become her calling card, or Mintz-Plasse as the sort of nerd whose nerddom is particularly egregious even by the standards of other nerds. But given the listlessly conversational structure, Goldberg and Rogen's screenplay is the truest star. While the Apatow factory took mainstream studio comedies in a more hangout-minded direction over the years that followed, Superbad fuses the loose structure of so many of its followers with the quotability of some of the best comedies of years past. A case could certainly be made that it's one of the last truly great quotable comedies in this regard, a movie that die-hard fans can (and frequently will) recant at length to other fans.

What sets the movie apart from so many other gleefully juvenile exercises in dirty talk, though, is how it's as much a case study in several different kinds of insecure manhood as anything. Even Virgin, for all of its emotional authenticity, honors the immaturity of its leads as much as it criticizes it. Superbad arrived just two years after Wedding Crashersand four after Old School, a pair of bro-comedies that took the extra step of actively canonizing its idiot leads' boorish behavior. (That said, at least Old School is clever enough to justify it for most of its runtime. There's a case to be made for Crashers as perhaps the single worst-aged comedy of its era.) Where Fogell is at least a classic dweeb, all bluster and little ability to function in the real world, Seth and Evan are more familiar types to any formerly awkward high schooler, or worse, anyone who tried to date one.

Even as it observes the traditions of the one-night teen movie, Superbad plays with these tropes in ways that subvert them, and yes, sometimes uphold them. Evan is a brutally insecure young man, but he's also a good person at his core, to the point where Seth's constant suggestions that female inebriation is their only path to sex start to repel him. When his moment of possibility finally arrives, he has to practically be dragged into sex, reluctantly half-struggling against it even as he's being undressed, out of moral concerns. For Seth, who's initially the least likable of the trio by far, all of his own poor self-image comes dribbling out in his slurry confession to Jules near the end: You wouldn't get with me if you were sober. In these choices, Superbad occasionally pushes the boundaries of audience identification; on its face, this is a movie about two young men attempting to get their love interests drunk enough to sleep with them. But it's also a movie about how ignorant their ideals are, and the importance of outgrowing them.

The former shouldn't be dismissed out of hand as commonly as it sometimes is, particularly as it relates to real-life young idiots who (at least at the time of its release) tended to miss that Seth and Evan and Fogell are the movie's biggest targets, even as they're also its heroes. But Superbad is also a rebuke to the retrograde politics of so many other teen classics, as much as it periodically lapses into some of the same. To return to Sixteen Candles as an adult is to try and overlook the major plot point of Jake Ryan giving away his blacked-out girlfriend to a high school freshman for sex (and at that point, let's be frank, rape) in exchange for information. Revenge of the Nerds cuts out that hand-wringing vagary and culminates in a triumphant climactic scene of sexual assault at a carnival.

In assuming the perspective of teenage morons for better and worse, Superbad occasionally verges on dealing in some of the same ugly material as its characters. While Rogen has taken ownership of the film's borderline-glorified casual homophobia and sexism in recent years, and the film is smarter about tearing down these ideals than it's sometimes credited for being, it's still as tacky at points as its wannabe delinquents can get. A central gag about the horrors of period blood is the film's most tired setpiece for the committed performances involved, and the gleeful rules-free hedonism of the police cannot help but read differently than it did a decade ago, despite Hader and Rogen's affable presence. To return to the notion of subversion, though, Superbad also served as a crucial bridge between the alpha male-driven comedies of the early aughts and much of the sharper material that arrived in its wake. It laid quite a few harmful genre standards to rest, while allowing for the notion that even the worst teenagers can grow up and usually will. And that, as true as it ever was and ever will be, most teenage boys really do spend an excess of time talking in graphic detail about all the sex they're not actually having and wish they were.

Its bold-for-the-time third act makes this plain. When the police officers raid the big house party around which the film is built, rescuing Fogell and sending the revelers home for the night, Seth drunkenly carries an even drunker Evan out of the party, loudly announcing his love for his best friend. In sleeping bags, their running off-the-cuff homophobia gives way to a genuine sort of love, even beyond the bromance half-posturing of the time. They care about each other, sincerely, and Superbad informed a generation of young men that mutual affection didn't necessarily have to be followed with a no homo, even as it usually was in real life. It's a movie about sexual desperation, but by its end it's also one about platonic love between friends and the unsettling truth that not all friendships make it. For all of the Hughes influences, the one that Superbad best matches is in its final scene. As Seth and Evan go off with their possible future paramours, beginning their own lives, Mottola realizes that sad moment in Ferris Bueller's Day Off when Matthew Broderick acknowledges that he and Cameron probably won't stay in touch or remain friends, and he and Sloane might not last too much longer either. For Seth and Evan, they may or they may not, but it's not for the film to say. That's life.

The R-rated teen movie returned with force in the decade since Superbad, and many of the best owe one degree of debt or another to it. Yet what's most heartening is that its biggest lesson seems to have been the four-letter optimism, over all of the debauchery. Hill would go on to star in the Jump Street movies, which would continue to subvert both high school clichs and male relationships in their own right. Fare like The Edge of Seventeen carried on its candid ear for the narcissism and the periodic venom of teens. Superbad is every bit as imperfect as its influences and its protagonists alike, but that imperfection only makes it all the more enduring. Two of its three leads never actually get laid, and the third one only does for a second (oh my god, it's in), but that's not really the point. The point is that Seth and Evan are soulmates and that one of the hardest parts of growing up is knowing that it might not stay that way forever. But for the moment, in the seclusion of Seth's basement, all is as it should be.