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"From her creation of the first 'Approval Matrix' in New York magazine in 2004 to her Pulitzer Prize-winning columns for The New Yorker, Emily Nussbaum has known all along that what we watch is who we are. In this collection, including several substantive, never-before-published essays, Nussbaum writes about her passion for television beginning with Buffy--as she writes, a show that was so much more than its critical assessment--the evolution of female protagonists over the last decade, the complex role of sexual violence on TV, and what to do about art when the artist is revealed to be a monster. And, she also explores the links between the television antihero and the rise of Trump. The book is an argument, not a collection of reviews. Through it all, Nussbaum recounts her fervent search, over fifteen years, for a new kind of criticism that resists the false hierarchy that places one kind of culture over another. It traces her own development as she has struggled to punch through stifling notions of 'prestige television,' searching for a wilder and freer and more varied idea of artistic ambition--one that acknowledges many types of beauty and complexity, and that opens to more varied voices. It's a book that celebrates television as television, even as each year warps the definition of just what that might mean"--… (más)
A collection of articles and essays by TV critic Emily Nussbaum. There's one (about The Sopranos) that was was originally published in 2007, but otherwise they all seem to be from the 2010s, including a couple that are original to this 2019 collection.
They're fairly varied. Some are short commentaries on individual shows, others use specific shows to make larger points, and some are rather broader, like an essay on the subject of product placement in TV. There are also some profiles of particular showrunners.
Nussbaum writes with a distinctly feminist sensibility, although it is a variety particularly her own, as someone who enjoys edgy, raunchy humor and sees a valid place for stories about sexual assault and violence against women on TV, but who also has very strong feelings about the way television, and especially the shows that get labeled as "prestige television," so overwhelmingly center the straight white male perspective both in front of and behind the cameras, and about the ways in which stories more squarely aimed at women tend to be treated dismissively.
She's a good, interesting writer making some good, interesting points, and, somewhat to my surprise, I found that even when she was talking about shows I'd never seen -- which was probably at least half of them -- she almost always still easily kept my attention. And, really, I'd say this entire collection might be worth it just for the long, thoughtful essay she wrote in the wake of #metoo, grappling in a deeply honest way with the impossible question of how much it's possible to separate art from artist and what we can or ought to do with good art by terrible people. ( )
I was surprised at how much I liked the three profiles in this collection--interesting and revealing. I didn't like the long essay on Me Too. There were some interesting insights and questions raised, but it went on a long time without coming to conclusions/ suggestions I could apply. ( )
I like to watch, and I apparently like to read about watching. Television, of course. I wrote a list of every tv show in the book and now I never need to leave my apartment again, or turn off my tv again, which is every girl's dream! Television is now my spouse and I'm throwing a bridal shower where every item on my registry is a subscription to a different streaming service. ( )
I really enjoyed most of these essays. A few gave me new ways to think about series I've seen, and others encouraged me to watch some shows that I haven't gotten around to yet. Of course, the opposite is also true! ( )
I spotted this in one of those free libraries you see on the street that's usually filled with dusty paperbacks. I recognized the cover from twitter and grabbed it immediately. Like TV, I Like to Watch is self referential jumping forwards and backwards from a Sopranos piece from 2007 to a sprawling profile of Ryan Murphy from 2018. Connections bubble to the surface. A conflicted love letter to Joan Rivers sets up a pan of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel . Nussbaum drops in before each essay to muse on them like a director on a DVD commentary track. Sometimes to reflect on the writing process or sometimes just to say, "One of the SUR ensemble tweeted a winky-face emoji to me after this piece came out." A healthy mix of pans, raves, think pieces and profiles, I Like to Watch is the perfect guide to the last 40 years of television. ( )
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
Dedicated to my husband, Clive Thompson, and my sons, Gabriel and Zev, the world's biggest fans of Jane the Virgin and Parks and Recreation.
Primeras palabras
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
What happens when your side wins the fight, the drunken cultural brawl that you've been caught up in for nearly two decades?
Citas
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
Fights about art had always doubled as fights about what the world takes seriously—which is another way to say, they were fights about politics. They were fights about power.
The wall between comedy and drama fell so far into disrepair that Orange Is the New Black got nominated in both categories at the Emmys, on alternate years.
I had no trouble advocating for watching Cosby while reviling Bill Cosby. Certain artists, certain art forms, I could see from a distance. It was easier to detach myself when it came to music or painting or sculpture; it was much easier with mediums (jazz and abstract expressionism, say) that felt less narrative, more mathematical. It was harder with someone who made you laugh, because laughter is intimate, a loss of control. It was easier when I hated both the art and the artist. It was harder when the work felt like it was about me, my world. It was easier, too, to have a soothing sense of dispassion when it felt like it was not my place to judge.
I remembered my deep irritation at a fan note in which a woman had praised me for writing like a man. And the double irritation when people compared my work only to other female writers, like Pauline Kael; I disliked it when people referred to me as a female or a feminist critic rather than a critic. Soon after I got my job at The New Yorker, a few female writers with whom I was friendly wrote to me to say they were impressed that I had strutted into this big job and not folded under the pressure, which made me nervous, because it made me feel like I should have folded under the pressure. The career advice that I gave to young women was the same tactic that had helped me: You should walk into a big mid-career job pretending, inside your head, that you are Norman Mailer. A messy genius, but worth it! If you act like a polite associate editor in a beige cardigan, your voice will be small. If you pretend you’re Norman Mailer, you can take up some space. Making a mess is what men get to do.
Trump’s call to Make America Great Again was a plea to go back in time, to when people knew how to take a joke. It was an election about who owned the mike.
...the truly dangerous people were the weak and resentful: That was the kind of person (often but not always a man) so ravenous for control that he’d embrace evil rather than risk rejection.
Últimas palabras
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
He reached across the aisle, searching for Miller's hand.
"From her creation of the first 'Approval Matrix' in New York magazine in 2004 to her Pulitzer Prize-winning columns for The New Yorker, Emily Nussbaum has known all along that what we watch is who we are. In this collection, including several substantive, never-before-published essays, Nussbaum writes about her passion for television beginning with Buffy--as she writes, a show that was so much more than its critical assessment--the evolution of female protagonists over the last decade, the complex role of sexual violence on TV, and what to do about art when the artist is revealed to be a monster. And, she also explores the links between the television antihero and the rise of Trump. The book is an argument, not a collection of reviews. Through it all, Nussbaum recounts her fervent search, over fifteen years, for a new kind of criticism that resists the false hierarchy that places one kind of culture over another. It traces her own development as she has struggled to punch through stifling notions of 'prestige television,' searching for a wilder and freer and more varied idea of artistic ambition--one that acknowledges many types of beauty and complexity, and that opens to more varied voices. It's a book that celebrates television as television, even as each year warps the definition of just what that might mean"--
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They're fairly varied. Some are short commentaries on individual shows, others use specific shows to make larger points, and some are rather broader, like an essay on the subject of product placement in TV. There are also some profiles of particular showrunners.
Nussbaum writes with a distinctly feminist sensibility, although it is a variety particularly her own, as someone who enjoys edgy, raunchy humor and sees a valid place for stories about sexual assault and violence against women on TV, but who also has very strong feelings about the way television, and especially the shows that get labeled as "prestige television," so overwhelmingly center the straight white male perspective both in front of and behind the cameras, and about the ways in which stories more squarely aimed at women tend to be treated dismissively.
She's a good, interesting writer making some good, interesting points, and, somewhat to my surprise, I found that even when she was talking about shows I'd never seen -- which was probably at least half of them -- she almost always still easily kept my attention. And, really, I'd say this entire collection might be worth it just for the long, thoughtful essay she wrote in the wake of #metoo, grappling in a deeply honest way with the impossible question of how much it's possible to separate art from artist and what we can or ought to do with good art by terrible people. (