To anyone who watches "Mad Men," I recommend reading my colleague Cynthia Littleton's interview with series creator Matthew Weiner. But to me, here was the key passage -- especially in regard to some of the criticism I've heard leveled at the show in its just-concluded season:

Does it bother you when the show is criticized for what some feel is the slow pace of storytelling?

Weiner: One thing I’ve been very happy about is that with my desire to tell a certain kind of story, the show will hold it up. The show has a way of telling stories that I can take something very small in the human experience and make an entire episode about it.

Weiner worked on "The Sopranos," a series that also told the stories it wanted to tell, often at its own confounding pace -- dropping plots, leaving wounded Russians in the woods, etc. But for those hooked on the show, the fun was in succumbing to series creator David Chase's storytelling and basically enjoying the stories he chose to present, on his own terms. (Except for the ending; I still can't stomach that.)

The same appears to be the case with "Mad Men," which has adopted some of the same idiosyncratic qualities. Intriguing plots flare -- and then disappear. Some return in a big way later. Others stay dormant for awhile.

It's easy to second-guess every beat of a show like this, especially for those completely engrossed by the series. But with "Mad Men" and a few other programs I tend to accept that the narrative isn't always going to be linear, which will inevitably yield some bumps along the way.

For my money, the AMC show's merits more than compensate for its occasional frustrations and shortcomings -- and I certainly felt satisfied by the season finale. But the "Mad Men" approach -- essentially "We serve you what we want on our timetable, take it or leave it" -- is one of the reasons these programs aren't for everybody and deliver the TV equivalent of an art-house audience.

For years, the Academy of Television Arts & Sciences has waged an internal battle to determine the direction of the Emmy Awards: Are they a showcase to honor excellence -- that is, the best in television -- or an annual TV special that will generate a big license fee and fund ambitious academy-sponsored activities?

The decision to "time-shift" eight of the 28 awards handed out on Emmy night -- prerecording those award presentations in order to squeeze an extra 15 minutes out of the broadcast and pay homage to more popular (if potentially less excellent) programs -- makes clear which side won.

To be fair, the academy, CBS and producer Don Mischer were seeking a compromise, and on paper it's a fairly artful solution. But like many compromises, while it was enough to pass muster with the organization's board, it's unlikely to please everyone.

Unlike the Oscars, the TV academy doesn't control the production of its own show. They have licensed the rights to the four major networks, who share the awards on a rotating basis and, frankly, have largely fallen out of Emmy contention for many of the highest-profile awards.

Said broadcast networks want to put on a show that will generate high ratings and make them some money. And they're convinced (self-servingly, but not necessarily inaccurately) that recognizing programs like AMC's "Mad Men," HBO's "John Adams" or Showtime's "Dexter" evokes a big "Huh?" response among too much of the audience to fulfill that objective.

The Oscars -- faced with a similar dilemma, as little-seen indie films piled up award bids -- announced that they would expand the best-picture roster to 10 nominees. The Emmys came pretty close to that, upping the best drama and comedy list, with seven contenders in each category based on the latest voting. But that still wasn't enough.

As the host network, CBS was all for cutting back on time allotted to categories that don't feature recognizable stars. After all, the Tonys and Grammys both performed better ratings-wise this year, and each of those academy-backed exercises have reduced the number of on-air award presentations. Why should the Emmys be immune?

Besides, the networks are tired of watching HBO talent keep parading up to the podium. Last year's Emmy ratings were a disappointment. What better excuse to give the heave-ho to some TV movie categories (where HBO -- yet again -- nabbed the lion's share of nods), outstanding miniseries, and maybe even writing for a drama, where "Mad Men" garnered four of the five nominations. (For the record, "Lost" rounded out the category.)

But the academy also knows that this policy shift will not sit well with prominent members of the TV community, which is why the organization has at best been coy about its plans since a preliminary vote to amend the awards in February.

Based on reaction to Thursday's announcement, the roster of aggrieved parties begins with writer-producers, who are television's top dogs. The Writers Guild of America West made clear that it's not happy about the move, saying, "Last year's Emmys suffered a tremendous decline in quality and ratings because of a lack of scripted material. That the Academy would then decide to devalue the primary and seminal role that writing plays in television is ridiculous and self-defeating."

Asked how writers would feel about the news, one showrunner -- alluding to some of the sensitivity that surfaced during last year's writers strike -- said wryly, "As you may have noticed, writers are a little touchy on this respect issue."

Altering the Emmy format might help improve ratings, which would make the networks happy -- and assist the academy in negotiating a more lucrative license fee after its current contract expires in 2010. But it is sure to alienate those who see the Emmys as a rare oasis devoted to lauding excellence, amid a TV landscape where commercial considerations can often be downright cruel to quality programming.

In this decades-old struggle, something eventually had to give -- a little like the psychological war between Norman Bates and his mother. Just don't expect the combatants on the short end of this existential struggle to sit there, quietly, like they wouldn't hurt a fly.

"Storymakers," the sporadic AMC specials on the movie business, premieres its second installment this Friday (May 15), with Tom Cruise, Judd Apatow, and Cameron Diaz (along with her "My Sister's Keeper" director Nick Cassavetes) as guests.

The show is hosted by Variety editorial director Peter Bart along with producer Peter Guber, so for obvious conflict reasons I'll skip a review. What does emerge, though, is an interesting and unusually illuminating look at Cruise, who in this unguarded and leisurely setting (relative to most conventional hit-the-mark, tell-pre-screened-anecdote TV interviews, anyway) reveals a thoughtful side about his business.

Admittedly, most interviewers can't casually reference a dinner that he shared with Cruise at his house, as Guber does. But given the drubbing that Cruise's image has taken over the years (see that infamous couch-hopping "Oprah" appearance and his testy exchange with Matt Lauer on the "Today" show), this conversational format suits him much better than the lion's share of his carefully orchestrated media exposures.

In short, he comes across as a different guy when the discussion is confined to the process of making movies as opposed to, say, allowing him to hold forth regarding mental-health treatment or his personal life. It's a reminder that actors initially become famous for their work and subsequently become infamous for everything but, once that fame opens the door to picking apart the rest of their lives.

As for Apatow, the director discusses, among other things, the duration of the frontal-male-nudity scene in "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" and how the number of people who walked out of advance screenings dropped as he gradually reduced the time that actor Jason Segel was shown naked. However ego-deflating this might be for Segel, the moral of the story per Apatow is, "There is a certain amount of penis that America can handle in 2009."

Now there's a sentence you probably won't hear on "Entertainment Tonight." Although come to think of it, "ET's" very existence helps prove its veracity.

Lacking a budget, my "prize" for the Jim Cramer-Martha Stewart caption contest was to allow a reader to determine and contribute part of an upcoming post. Scott Killinger, an aspiring writer in Brentwood, was the winner (see related post), and he opted to devote his space to the second-year AMC series "Breaking Bad."

Scott writes as follows:

"Since the final episode of 'The Sopranos' aired in June of 2007 there has been a gaping void in my life. Over the course of eight years David Chase and company took me on an epic emotional journey that made me both laugh uncomfortably and hysterically, cower in fear and jump for joy all in an episode’s time. This Sunday night ritual was capped off by what I consider the true test whether a drama is worth planning my life around -- constantly rewinding and re-watching the cryptic previews for next week’s episode. If you are partaking in this futile act then you know you have hooked into something special.  (Side note:  if you have a Time Warner DVR and are using one of their remotes then you REALLY understand the pain and frustration this causes, but still we try).  For the past two Sunday nights I have found myself doing just this.

"There have been many suitors who have attempted to restore Sunday night as event television in my life. Along the way I’ve kissed many frogs like 'John from Cincinnati' and had my heart broken in 'Rome,' but at last the void has been filled by none other than a meth-making, terminally ill, high school science teacher. 'Breaking Bad,' you have finally restored meaning to my Sunday nights. I could list countless reasons why you’re so great, how you’re an allegory for capitalism going off the rails or the layered, ultra-nuanced performance by an actor who I best knew as Jerry Seinfeld’s dentist (sorry 'Malcolm,' even a bit part on 'Seinfeld' trumps being a regular on your show).  But the main reason you have stolen my heart is simply because you are truly compelling and original television. The only missing element is an east coast feed so I don’t have to wait until 10 p.m. for our weekly meeting."

Thank you, Scott. Personally, I'm not sure that I'm prepared to elevate "Breaking Bad" to quite that level yet (and it sounds like I enjoyed "Rome" far more than he did), but I have found the AMC show equally addictive -- a series that, like it's main character, appears to be hurtling out of control, which when it's done right is pretty thrilling to watch. Plus I'm absorbing all kinds of useful information about how to cook drugs, and as a journalist, having a fallback career sounds like an increasingly good idea. Having already seen this weekend's episode, I can assure you that it doesn't disappoint.

Oh, and one anecdote about the show's star, Bryan Cranston: Years ago I went to an open house in my neighborhood and noticed that there were several pictures of him on the walls. Being the intuitive reporter that I am, I immediately assumed that the home was occupied by a big Bryan Cranston fan -- until I got into the bedroom, saw a bunch of family photos, and realized it was actually his house.

Moral of the story: If you are on a hit Fox comedy that's fortunate enough to go into syndication, you will be moving out of my neighborhood.

Anyway, when we were actually introduced awhile later at I think a charity event, the exchange went like this:

Cranston: Nice to meet you.

Lowry: I've been inside your house.

This explains why I do better work when I stay away from people.