Wow!
The debut episode of The Black Donnellys which aired Monday night was the most dazzling, freshest, surprising, and emotionally charged hour of television I've seen in years. Best thing on TV Johnny Sac's daughter got married on The Sopranos.
It's hard to imagine the thinking of programmers at NBC who chose to waste half a season airing narcissistic drivel like Studio 60 on Sunset Strip when they had this show in the can. (Who wants to watch TV shows about TV shows? Only TV writers I think). Finally something after Heroes I can look forward to watching.
Co-creator Paul Haggis has already dazzled with break though television (thirtysomething) and with story-telling that is almost oppressively packed with emotion and adrenal surprise (Million Dollar Baby, Casino Royale). But none of that prepares the viewer for the first hour of this show--a New York story about four Irish brothers in Hell's Kitchen.
I'm normally not one to worry about including spoilers--if you can't write about what happens in a show, it's hard to make any points. But the story unfolds is so graceful and surprising that my lips are sealed. It's breath-taking stuff. If you can't get the show on YouTube in the morning watch it during NBC's repeat broadcast on Thursday.
As far as plot summary suffice it to say that a sequence of choices propel the action with the suddenness of reality and the inevitability of classical tragedy (think the Orestia) in which characters are forced to make the wrong choices for the right reasons. And as with classical tragedy, murder and death play more than a supporting role.
The story is great on its merits. But just as exciting is the way Haggis and co-creator Robert Moresco have chosen to tell it, jumping around in time--sometimes literally rewinding the action. The images respond to the occasional voice over from a jailed character who narrates part of the story to his interrogators (the original title of the show was The World According to Joey Ice Cream). And the humor is as sudden and unexpected as the violence. Shot in a brooding noirish world of doorway shadows and street light soaked puddles, the show almost cries out for emotional music beds of Irish alt-rock which the creators have judiciously avoided, in fact the hour almost entirely lacks music, a refreshing change for a network show of this sort.
There are precious few things to quibble with but here's one: although some of the locations are clearly New York (there's no mistaking Washington Square Park) many of the other locations look all wrong (since when is there an elevate subway in Hell's Kitchen?). I'll live with the artistic license though it's enough to disorient a New Yorker (especially a former Hell's Kitchen, er, Clinton resident).
An hour doesn't offer much time in which to evaluate the cast, but Jonathan Tucker, with his martian good looks, weak chin, Grinch-curl upper lip, tumble down hair and enormous dark eyes seems a spot-on casting choice for the Michael Corleone/George Bailey role of Tommy Donnelly. He broods. He looks confused. His expression never changes when he decides.
And I'm already in love with Olivia Wilde (though I understand from her bio that she's married to an Italian prince who makes documentary films and plays flamenco guitar--sounds like a character in a teen romance that the nerdy guy competes with for the girl).
Like I said, wow! I'm no longer a big consumer of television. Maybe I watch four hours of TV a week (except during baseball season). But I'll watch The Black Donnellys on the Tivo before Thursday's rebroadcast because I can't wait 'til next week for more.
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