Jimmy Kimmel made his much-ballyhooed move to 11:35 p.m. on Tuesday night, making good on his pledge the upgrade wouldn't fundamentally change his show. Elsewhere, David Letterman wryly implied the idea we need three near-identical comedy/talk/variety programs situated opposite each other to entertain American suggests to a certain lack of imagination.

Letterman's right, of course, though the rationale for Kimmel's move has more to do with flag-planting for the future -- and Letterman and Jay Leno's almost-eligible-for-Social Security status -- than altering the current landscape.

So how did Kimmel -- and the other latenight hosts -- react to the new playing field in their monologues? Here's a brief survey from the first half of each of the shows:

Kimmel: The ABC host has a breezy style, and he seems to revel in spoofing pop culture, from Kim & Kanye to the latest edition of "The Bachelor." Still, it's pretty thin stuff, and the only really inspired bit for his coming-out party involved taking to the street to ask people what they thought of his new show -- the one they haven't seen yet -- and exposing just how many folks will say anything to be on TV. Hence the title: "Liewitness News."

Letterman: It wasn't Dave's best night, although his preoccupation with Al Roker's recent revelation about his gastric-bypass issues -- which not only garnered time in the monologue, but provided the theme for his Top 10 list -- was funny, albeit in a juvenile way. And Letterman benefited from booking Brian Williams, allowing the host to engage in a serious discussion about gun control, and who, if the news-anchor thing doesn't pan out, has a promising career as a permanent talkshow guest. (Best line: Williams said Roker was the first person to mess himself in the West Wing "since Nixon discovered the tapes." Hi-yo!)

Leno: "The Tonight Show" host kicked off his monologue with a litany of sports jokes, going from Notre Dame's loss in the BCS football championship game to the Lakers' struggles to the National Hockey League ending its lockout. If Kimmel has bashed Leno as a sellout, the material certainly felt like a pretty brazen pander to the male audience -- and a weird-products segment that followed wasn't much better. If Jay made mention of Kimmel after bringing out Emma Stone, sorry, I'd seen enough for the night.

And then there's Jon Stewart, he of the decade-long Emmy streak. "The Daily Show" host was fighting off a cold, but he devoted the first two segments of his show to the debate -- or lack thereof -- over gun control, and all the hypocrisy surrounding it. It was smart, pointed and yes, funny. And it made the three guys still doing some version of Johnny's show all look a little dated by comparison.

Game, set and match.

Granted, Stewart's half-hour preceded the three-way network logjam, leaving his lead-out, Stephen Colbert, to note Kimmel was moving to 11:30, but because he's now the competition, he wasn't going to mention it. Which of course, he just had.

These are talented guys, but like Letterman said, this is more white guys sitting behind a desk at 11:30 than is clearly required to tuck us into bed.

That said, goodnight, and good luck.

To its credit, “Enlightened” is a show perhaps only HBO would or could have done -– a series filled with sad-sack characters, quirkiness in lieu of comedy, and the sort of understated, melancholy tone normally associated with French best-foreign-film submissions.

On the down side, the program ambles along at such a plodding gait, with such a maddening protagonist, it’s hard to relish entering series creator Mike White’s numbing world unless you need something to tide you over between therapy sessions.

HBO made all eight episodes of season two available, and it’s fair to say they put an appropriate coda on the whole exercise, which earned star/exec producer Laura Dern a Golden Globe nomination but went almost wholly unwatched. Paired with the return of the higher-profile "Girls" (and look for a separate review of that shortly), HBO has thus provided a service to the show’s loyal if puny audience, which is the sort of luxury only a pay channel could afford.

The second season boasts a somewhat stronger arc in that Dern’s character Amy –- who experienced a spiritual epiphany in season one –- finds a purpose that drives the narrative all the way through: She’s decided to become a whistle-blower against the big, faceless corporation for which she works, enlisting her hang-dog co-worker Tyler (played, with beautiful vulnerability, by White) as her co-conspirator.

Amy also contacts a reporter for the Los Angeles Times, portrayed by Dermot Mulroney, to whom she intends to feed information and strike a blow in her quest to become "an agent of change." At first the journalist understandably doesn’t know quite what to make of her, but the plot grudgingly pulls you along (albeit with various side excursions), wondering how Amy –- a small person, desperate to feel like she’s part of something bigger –- will manage to muck things up.

One reason “Enlightened” can be unsettling to watch is the way White resists taking a firm position about Amy. The show simultaneously wants us to root for her, yet makes her so lacking in self-awareness and oblivious to others (especially poor Tyler) that virtually every encounter is awkward and uncomfortable.

"I don't know why you don't see what I see," she sighs at one point, which conveys both her central problem and how teeth-gnashingly dense she can be.

Now that's fine, in the sense not everything (especially in an HBO series) needs to be spoon-fed to the audience. Still, the series' frequent interludes -– from Amy’s ex, played by Luke Wilson, experiencing his own awakening to Amy discovering the wonders of Twitter -– can be as trying to one's patience as Amy herself frequently is. (One might also question the old-fashioned notion of a Los Angeles Times expose being the remedy to all ills, but let’s give a recovering-from-bankruptcy dog its day.)

Almost anywhere else, “Enlightened” would have had its light extinguished after one season, but HBO doesn’t pull the plug so promiscuously. White has rewarded that creative license with a series that feels extremely true to the filmmaker’s vision, however limited its appeal.

Showtime’s Sunday lineup returns Jan. 13 with three existing series, including "House of Lies," starring Don Cheadle; and “Shameless,” featuring William H. Macy. The third, “Californication,” is such a guilty pleasure it might be the longest-running show on TV that no one has ever publicly admitted to watching.

Simply put, I’ve never been able to get into any of them in a significant way. I stuck with “Californication” for awhile before having my senses dulled by its sex-and-money in some new exaggerated setting formula (season six has David Duchovny's protagonist becoming involved with a rock musical based on his novel). In similar fashion, while I was initially intrigued by “House of Lies'" inside-management-consulting niche and Cheadle’s talents, I found myself rather quickly tiring of its frat-boy mentality and personal subplots.

The second-season "Lies" premiere yields much of the same, hinging on what Cheadle’s fast-talking closer, Marty, and his associate Jeannie (Kristen Bell) can piece together from a drunken encounter neither fully remembers.

It’s perfectly fine -- the pay-cable equivalent of a Saturday matinee -- and perfectly average, especially coming off a fall that featured a reinvigorated “Dexter” and “Homeland,” even with my misgivings about the latter.

Showtime has a pair of promising-looking new shows in the wings (including "Ray Donovan," starring Liev Schreiber; and “Masters of Sex,” with Michael Sheen), which perhaps makes this troika feel even more like a placeholder until reinforcements can arrive.

Not that I blame Showtime for renewing them. I'm sure each has a core of passionate loyalists -- always valuable in the pay space -- and the star quality alone is beneficial from an image standpoint. It’s just despite the ample time they spend fooling around below the belt, it's hard to get up much enthusiasm. And that's the truth.

Network executives can seldom resist the opportunity to brag, but sometimes, it's wiser even if you're No. 1 by some gee-whiz-sounding barometer to avoid calling attention to it.

In this case, NBC used the introductory portion of its TV Critics Assn. tour presentation Sunday to highlight various ratings accomplishments this season, including the fact its median age had ticked down slightly, to 48.4 (from 49), while CBS (56.4), ABC (53.2) and Fox (45.7) have all gotten older.

After getting sand kicked in its face for so long, the temptation is certainly understandable.

So what's the problem? There are several.

For starters, most of the reporters/bloggers/dead-people-who-don't-know-it-yet in the room likely have no idea what median age means or why that would be important. Moreover, other networks are (and once the tidbit hit Twitter, were) quick to point out it really doesn't mean anything, since networks sell demos based on specific programs, not arbitrary averages.

But the bigger issue is that calling attention to median age just points out how broken the system is, and makes all the networks look like they're living on borrowed time.

After all, NBC's tick downward still means half its audience falls at or above the age-49 threshold, when for many advertisers, 18-49 (and for some, 25-54) is their sole objective and thus the end of the line, demo-wise.

In other words, all the major networks -- even NBC -- skew old, so touting median age is like saying (to quote Jon Stewart) you're the thinnest kid at fat camp.

Median age also highlights questions of ageism that, for a lot of people, increasingly make less and less sense. OK, so more than half of CBS' audience is effectively worthless, from a 26-year-old media buyer's perspective. Is anyone -- even younger whippersnappers -- supposed to feel good about that, or the fact NBC disappointed a lot of older people by canceling "Harry's Law" (pictured) just because they didn't fall inside the hallowed target?

Citing statistics that put the other guys on the defensive before their sessions is fine -- hell, it's entertaining; but using data that makes the whole business model look flawed doesn't really help anybody. And my guess is rival research departments are working overtime to come up with some way to kick 'em in the ass for it.

PBS' "The Abolitionists" -- a three-part "American Experience" documentary -- managed to take subject matter I'd normally find extremely compelling and mostly suck the life out of it.

Most of that had to do with the storytelling style, which involves straddling an awkward line between dramatic reenactments that approach full-blown TV-movie territory and traditional documentary elements, like expert interviews and narration.

While the practice has become increasingly common -- especially in tackling historical periods that pre-date video -- coming from PBS, the home of all those terrific Ken Burns documentaries, it simply feels like a lazy, pandering way to try making history come alive.

"Abolitionists" will run over three consecutive Tuesdays beginning Jan. 8, and again, it's a worthwhile topic, perhaps tailor-made for schools and related study guides. Those profiled include Angelina Grimke, the daughter of a Charleston plantation family who took up the cause; Frederick Douglass; William Lloyd Garrison, who founded the newspaper The Liberator; author Harriet Beecher Stowe; and John Brown, who took his zealotry to violent extremes.

But this is one of those cases where the style overwhelmed the substance, and I frankly gave up the viewing fight ater part one. So while I admire the effort and the franchise, all "The Abolitionists" demonstrates is that not every PBS or "American Experience" documentary is created equal.

Well, OK, that was ... pretty much exactly as expected.

MTV introduced the world to the beer-swilling wannabes of "BUCKWILD" on Thursday, and the show about wild young rednecks in West Virginia did little to hide its inspirations, playing like the bastard child of "Jersey Shore" and "Here Comes Honey Boo Boo," with a little "Jackass" thrown in for good measure. (As a fan of the Darwin Awards, I suspect the network's "Don't try this at home" disclaimer about "wild and crazy behavior" won't do much to prevent a thinning of the gene pool.)

"When you ain't got much, you gotta get creative," one of the participants (they're pretty interchangeable) observes at the outset, endeavoring to explain their sillier ways of passing the time.

But "creative" left the barn ages ago. "BUCKWILD" is simply "Jersey Shore" in a different locale, from the drunken girlfights to the night-vision hook-ups to the excuses to get everyone wet and naked or nearly so. (Salwa, a late arrival to the festivities, quickly gets topless, so she's someone to keep your eye on.)

If the show has a poet laureate, it's Shain, who needs to be dubbed into English half the time. And if "Honey Boo Boo" is any guide, people -- especially in the South -- will eat this up.

Yet the real truth is even if these kids aren't acting, they damn well know by now what's going to garner attention and screen time. The only problem is as titles go, "BUCKCALCULATED" is kind of a mouthful.

Critics are a funny, perverse, cynical breed. Frankly, I wouldn't have had much interest in "BUCKWILD" -- I've already got something like 30 shows to review in January -- another MTV reality show, this one set in West Virginia, reaching for the "Jersey Shore" mantle. But because the network didn't make tonight's premiere available in advance, now I'm curious what was so bad that they felt compelled to hide it.

The explanation is usually the series isn't ready, but that only arouses skepticism. And since it's hard to imagine negative reviews hurting the performance of something like this, my guess is the network simply wanted to avoid a potential PR drubbing, in much the way studios opt not to screen certain movies, forcing critics to go catch them the day they open along with the public. (At Variety, these gems earned the nickname "boulevard movies," since in the old days, it usually meant going to see them near the office on Hollywood Blvd. My personal favorite: Catching a noon showing of the Lambada movie "The Forbidden Dance.")

Once, that probably would have worked. It took a couple of days for a review to find its way into print, diluting any damage. With the web, though, such attempts are less effective, and can even kind of backfire. After all, I've got this blog, and an after-the-fact appraisal of "BUCKWILD" is just the sort of thing to fill it.

In short, the youth-oriented network engaged in some rather stodgy thinking, nicely summed up by USA Today's Robert Bianco: "MTV has not made its latest booze-bums-and-boobs funfest available for preview, reasoning no doubt that most of the people who are paid to review such shows won't like it, and most of the people who like such shows won't care."

Bingo. But in the digital age, while something like "BUCKWILD" can run, it can hide for only so long.

The Wall Street Journal made one of those rank-amateur mistakes in previewing the upcoming TV Critics Assn. tour, lazily suggesting the TV networks would face a "semiannual grilling by television critics."

Sorry, but the TCA "grill" is officially closed -- and has been for quite awhile now.

The forces reshaping journalism are responsible, but the bottom line is it's extremely rare for a network -- or even a producer associated with something really heinous -- to be forced to grapple with anything approaching a public grilling, for reasons I've enumerated in the past, but which are worth repeating. (In a column two years ago about the changing nature of TCA, legendary Washington Post critic Tom Shales lamented a general increase in "pap about 'celebrities' -- gossipy crap that really has nothing to do with criticism.")

For starters, calling the TCA an assemblage of "TV critics" isn't accurate anymore. Once, the group consisted primarily of critics and reporters from major newspapers, with a contingent of trade hacks thrown in. Today, it's an all-over-the-place free-for-all -- mixing bloggers, freelancers, celebrity quote hunters, fanboy sites, and genuine critics who increasingly feel like Bruce Willis in "The Sixth Sense." We just need some bright-eyed little kid to break the bad news to us.

As a consequence, the conversation during the public Q&A sessions has virtually no rhythm or consistency to it -- featuring inside-baseball trade talk, peppered with broad consumer strokes, interrupted by off-the-wall non sequiturs or softballs someone's hoping to peddle to US Weekly or put on a place mat.

On top of that, few reporters ask really pointed questions in the main room, saving their fire for the gaggles that follow the public sessions, eager to dig up any crumb they might be able to bill as "exclusive." The networks have obliged by shrinking the time devoted to the public forums and adding longer windows for these somewhat more informal exchanges, though with reporters crowding around the talent and execs, it's merely the equivalent of a press junket sans microphones.

This isn't intended to pine for the good ol' days, other than perhaps for the networks' more generous expense accounts and catering budgets. But as with sports and political coverage, there was more cohesion in the past, simply because the press was largely defined and characterized by a robust daily newspaper industry and wasn't as diffused and riven as it is now.

That's a recipe for a lot of things, not all of them bad. But in terms of TCA, a good grilling surely isn't among them.

Normally, I'd let this pass, but it's illustrative of some of the myopia and sloppiness currently plaguing the news business.

"Hollywood Blasts AMC After 'Walking Dead' Shakeup," read the headline on the Huffington Post, after the head-scratching decision to allow exec producer/showrunner Glen Mazzara to leave the huge cable hit. All Mazzara did was keep the show running smoothly -- and indeed, in many ways improve it -- after the network replaced Frank Darabont, who developed the series based on the comic books.

Look, even without knowing all the particulars, what AMC has done is inexplicable, simply based on the adage "Why mess with success?"

But there's a rather significant oversight in HuffPo's report: Both Shawn Ryan and Kurt Sutter -- the two showrunners who assailed AMC on Mazzara's behalf -- also happened to work with Mazzara on "The Shield." These guys toiled in the trenches together. They're friends. Or at least, they're hardly non-partial arbiters in this case.

Also, if you've been following Sutter on Twitter, the "Sons of Anarchy" producer "blasts" everybody. That's just the way he communicates. He'd probably be the first to tell you his tweets are hardly representative of "Hollywood."

That's not to say the producers are wrong; in fact, I completely agree with them. But the headline "Hollywood Blasts" is misleading. It's sort of like saying "The investment banking community blasts" if the best man at my wedding rose to defend me.

That said, the funniest thing I've read about "Walking Dead" did come from another showrunner, "Lost" co-creator Damon Lindelof, who tweeted, "Walking Dead is to showrunners as Spinal Tap is to drummers."

On a scale of 1 to 10, I'd give that an 11.

There was what amounts to an empty chair at the National Rifle Assn.'s long-awaited press conference Friday, in which the organization unveiled its response to the school shooting in Newtown, Conn.

But the vacant seat was occupied not by Clint Eastwood, but rather his screen alter egos, particularly Dirty Harry.

"Angry NRA Chief Blames Anything But Guns for Massacre" read the headline on Talkingpointsmemo.com, neatly summing up the content and tone.

The key line, though, was when NRA chief Wayne LaPierre said, "The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun," reinforcing the argument that just one gun out there in the hands of someone who knows how to use it -- a.k.a. Dirty Harry -- will solve everything.

It's certainly an appealing thought, and one that has been drummed into our heads through years and years of violent movies, especially those with a cathartic vigilante hook. The problem is the NRA seemingly stopped watching Eastwood's filmography before he got to titles like "Unforgiven" and "Gran Torino," which offered a different take on violence and the horrors of killing somebody -- or being killed by someone with a gun.

LaPierre did reference some movies and videogames in his remarks, but he conveniently left out the fictional characters being used to buttress the NRA's argument and protect its position.

Call it an empty chair, but not -- never -- and empty holster.

Since it doesn't like look the world is going to end tomorrow, I guess I should say something about the final episode of "Jersey Shore."

Except in the context of MTV's record-breaking bunch, Gen. MacArthur only got it half right: Yes, old "Shore" dwellers never die, but they do segue into new vehicles designed to extend their 15 minutes (OK, in this case, three years) of fame.

So despite the nostalgia that crept into the last quarter of the program Thursday, it's not like the "Jersey" squad is going anywhere. "Snooki & Jwoww" returns in January; Pauly D had his shot on MTV as well. And the others will keep returning, somewhere, so long as there's a "Dancing With the Stars" or celebrity diving or, for that matter, "Celebrity Rehab."

MTV did get maximum mileage out of the concept in its current form, and as I've noted, it still takes some guts to call it quits with anything that's become such a lucrative focal point of a network. As evidence of the program's appeal -- and perceptions the signoff would be a major event ratings-wise -- one need only look at the glut of movie ads squeezed into the hour.

Of course, this wasn't the place to advertise baked goods, given a bit that involved tea-bagging a cake.

What really caught me eye in the farewell, though, was the clip of Snooki getting cold-cocked in a bar. As uncomfortable as it was to watch a woman struck that way, it's hard to deny that one moment helped establish the show's edge, and the sense these people -- and the drunken, hooking-up circles they traveled in -- were so unpredictable you almost had to tune in to see what might happen next. That, more than the funny nicknames and strange made-up terminology, helped propel this group to reality-TV stardom, along with an ability to perform naturally in front of the camera, which is both rarer and more difficult than it looks.

MTV also used the occasion to promote other upcoming series in a similar vein that are slated to premiere in January, including "BUCKWILD" and "Washington Heights," which it clearly hopes will pick up the "Jersey Shore" mantle. Having seen the latter (the first isn't going to be made available to critics in advance), don't bet on it.

The chemistry and accident of timing that made "Jersey Shore" such a hit aren't likely to be easily replicated, and MTV's ratings decline this year reflects the challenge the network faces.

Granted, losing the show, at this point, isn't the end of the world. But for MTV, which seems to exhaust its standouts twice as fast as most networks, it is the end of its latest min-era.

Although I frequently lament the sad drift of broadcast news, you will see nothing but respect in this space for foreign correspondents.

And as TVNewser has noted in a nifty timeline of some of the deaths and harrowing incidents that have befallen reporters abroad in recent years, it seems as if it's become increasingly dangerous to put journalists into war zones.

In that context, it's a great relief to hear NBC's Richard Engel and his crew have been released after being kidnapped in Syria -- a rare happy outcome to one of these stories, given Engel's account of what transpired.

News organizations have reduced their commitment to international news amid belt-tightening in recent years, but it's worth remembering -- and offering respect -- to those who willingly place themselves in harm's way. As I like to say, although we both broadly fall into the category of "journalist," about the most dangerous thing I ever do is write a negative review of "Sons of Anarchy."

For a taste of just how perilous such assignments can be, I'd also recommend the HBO documentary series "Witness," which focuses on war-zone photographers, providing insight into the crazy cowboy attitude of those who brave these jobs.

While it's become fashionable to express hostility toward what critics like to call the "mainstream media" -- as evidenced by Rush Limbaugh's ghoulish delight over the detention of journalists in Egypt last year -- nobody should be blinded to these sobering realities, or forget the risks these people take.

During Sunday's "This Week" with George Stephanopoulos, Cong. Jason Chaffetz (R-Utah) fielded a question and somehow turned it around to a discussion of the movie ratings system's inadequacy.

Clearly, if only "Rise of the Planet of the Apes" had received the R rating some people think it deserved, we wouldn't be quite so awash in random acts of violence today.

And so it begins. As my colleague Ted Johnson reported on his blog, the "Blame Hollywood" deflection has already begun. And trust me, if it means making any kind of progress on the gun issue, Democrats -- who have been responsible for most do-gooder attempts to curb media violence -- will be more than happy to throw Hollywood under the bus.

Violence in movies, TV, videogames and music inevitably gets accused of "coarsening the culture," and there's no doubt that it has -- at least, in terms of boundaries regarding what's acceptable. That said, there's a big difference between being coarse and homicidal, especially in the destructive way assault weapons can.

It's also worth noting that despite all those studies by the likes of George Gerbner and Leonard Eron (and yes, I've read a bunch of them), the relationship between viewing violence and behaving in a violent way has at best been correlative, not causal. Granted, that's because social science doesn't allow for the kind of studies that would establish the latter, but as someone who viewed a tremendous amount of violence as a kid, I still think there's a pretty wide chasm between watching violence and rough-housing, as children have been shown to do in the immediate aftermath of seeing violent programs, and actually acting out in the most terrible ways.

It's difficult to ascertain what puts crazy people over the edge. But there's simply no debating that the level of damage they can inflict in a short amount of time is exacerbated by rapid-firing guns.

Assuming it's impossible to eradicate such mass killings, the best society can do is to reduce the number of them. And limiting access to guns with the capacity to kill promiscuously is simply the most pragmatic way to achieve those objectives.

So while I won't bother to defend first-person shooter videogames, the torture porn of "American Horror Story" or the kind of horrific slasher movies the industry churns out (and seriously, there's nothing more festive than "Texas Chainsaw 3D" ads and billboards right before the holidays), any attempt to raise media violence in the wake of what happened in Connecticut is, quite simply, a red herring.

Politicians can complain about movies, or talk about random acts in countries that already have strong gun-control laws. In this debate, nothing is perfect or foolproof.

But we've been fooled before by efforts to turn attention away from guns by citing other factors. And if the media allows that to happen again, then shame on us.

Variety generally doesn't approve of putting out "best" lists, and reading today's year-end rosters from TV critics in the New York Times and Los Angeles Times, I have to say I agree.

In fact, while I can see the obvious merit of (or at least rationale behind) year-end film "best" lists -- everybody is focused on winnowing down candidates for the Oscars -- trying to do the same for television seems every bit as arbitrary as the traditional September-through-May TV season was.

For starters, movies are movies. Sure, you pick 10 of them, and a lot of critics will throw in favorites that have absolutely no chance at (or aren't even eliglbe for) an Academy Award. A little self-indulgence now and then never hurt anyone.

TV, by contrast, is a much more diverse animal. So you get lists mixing primetime network shows with cable dramas with latenight talkshows with Adult Swim confections with random moments, like the Karl Rove election-night meltdown on Fox News Channel or the opening ceremonies of the London Olympics.

Do we really need another list of things that don't naturally go together? We already have the supporting-actor categories at the Golden Globes for that, mixing performers from "Saturday Night Live," primetime series and movies into one great big unwieldy gumbo.

The American Film Institute, notably, breaks its year-end movie and TV lists into 10 movies and programs, respectively, and then augments each with "moments of signficance." Even that isn't a panacea, but at least it keeps the apples away (mostly) from the oranges. (I haven't forgiven the jury for including "American Horror Story: Asylum," but let's not digress.)

Admittedly, I understand the appeal of every discipline feeling compelled to get into the year-end spirit, but for most, this is really just the journalistic equivalent of a half-drunken argument in a bar. (Do people get into drunken debates over year-end dance or art lists, by the way? And does asking prove that the crowd I hang out with isn't particularly refined?)

So for now, even if I had a year-end best list, I'll be keeping it to myself. Or at least, you'll have to buy me a couple of drinks first.

Nobody will win a Pulitzer for the little investigative project I've been working on recently, but I'm still grateful to everyone who participated.

A few weeks ago I posted on this blog about the death of Tommy Culla, a wildly colorful figure who worked in PR in New York and London during the "Mad Men" era, who had been peppering me with calls over the last decade. Although he seemed to know everyone, I was having a hard time getting details about his death, and couldn't publish a formal obituary -- which I felt like I owed him, and was finally able to do -- without them.

Fortunately, the post brought out remembrances from all over: Gretchen Wayne, the daughter-in-law of John Wayne, who had been a longtime friend, and who graciously handled the arrangements; actor Barry Newman, who had known Culla since the late '50s, and described him as "a true original;" "Hunter"-and-former NFL star Fred Dryer, who met Culla during an ill-fated stint Tommy spent as a publicist for then-Rams owner Georgia Frontiere, speaking warmly of his longtime pal (who stood more than a foot shorter) and saying, "The real fun thing was seeing him fight against modernity:" former boss Sheldon Roskin, of Solters/Roskin/Friedman, who was urged to hire Tommy by Tony Curtis in the early 1960s, and told tales of Tommy squiring around the likes of Curtis, Frank Sinatra and Roger Moore, saying, "He made it his business to know everybody."

Several people offered overlapping anecdotes, perhaps the funniest being how Tommy was so obsessed with keeping his pants neatly pressed, when riding in a cab he would prop himself up so his butt never actually touched the seat.

The list could go on, and on -- including many of the reporters and journalists Tommy knew, among them my colleague Steven Gaydos; former Hollywood Reporter columnist Martin Grove, who filled in valuable background; and New York Times reporter (and fellow Los Angeles Times survivor) Michael Cieply, who fielded at least as many calls from Tommy as I did. Tommy didn't have kind words for a lot of people, but the ones he respected, such as Cieply, could do no wrong in his eyes.

I even heard from a member of the medical team who cared for Tommy in his final days, and spoke of what a memorable and "fascinating" character he was.

As Dryer noted, Tommy didn't have a clue about the Internet; he banged out notes on an old Remington typewriter, and would rip out pages from Variety, circle passages I had written that he liked and mail them to me. Frankly, he wouldn't have believed his own obituary unless he saw it in print. "The town's dead," Tommy used to complain regularly, and while there was hyperbole in that (and indeed, a lot of what he said), I have to say "the town" feels deader without him.

It was a lot of time to produce what amounts to such a small token of appreciation, but honestly, I'll sleep better knowing the "Rosebud" aspects of this riddle have been solved, and that Tommy had his moment in one of those old rags he scoured so ravenously.

And when I kick, I hope some young (or at least younger) bastard does the same for me.

First, let's get the obvious out of the way: Writer-director Brad Hall probably wouldn't have gotten HBO to pick up and showcase his short film "Picture Paris" if it didn't star his wife, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, who also headlines the pay channel's series "Veep," for which she just received a Golden Globe nomination. Nobody said life's fair. Get over it.

As for the film itself, it's a really nice idea, doing a 28-minute self-contained story, and at first blush the project has a nifty bittersweet quality to it, a bit like some of Woody Allen's recent movies. But without giving anything away, while I was with "Picture Paris" most of the way, I disliked the payoff enough to leave a nasty aftertaste.

That's too bad, since I'd actually like to see the pay services do more of this -- dabbling in short-form projects that might not cry out for a flight of episodes, or even possess the heft for a TV movie. In TV terms, "Picture Paris" (which premieres Dec. 17, and of course repeats a bunch of times thereafter) is almost like a haiku -- a throwback to the anthology series of the past, only with a comedic voice and gorgeous scenery.

As Hall explains in a Q&A on the film's website, "I like the compressed nature of the story telling. There aren’t any subplots, and the story is very compact. Because it’s only a half an hour long, the plot’s twists and turns fall all over each other, which is just a ton of fun." That's about half right.

Louis-Dreyfus plays a bored housewife who dreams of visiting Paris. When her son heads off to college, she's free to pursue her fantasy trip, though not everything (OK, very little) goes according to plan.

Narrated in French, the cast includes Rachael Harris, D.W. Moffett and Jeff Perry in small roles, but it's mostly Louis-Dreyfus' show, and she's such a gifted comedienne she can make the most out of thin material (including, I'd argue, "Veep"). And hey, at least the family got a nice vacation out of it, presumably.

Ultimately, for all the pretty pictures, the idea for "Picture Paris" no doubt looked better on paper than it does on screen. Still, let's hope the film leads to more experimentation of this sort, even if, in the particulars, it's pretty easy to forget "Paris."

The Golden Globes have an unerring knack when it comes to putting together a list of nominees that spreads the wealth and manages to populate its ceremony with as many marquee (and telegenic) names as possible.

It's almost as if somebody sat down with a list of "Q" scores, and (in the case of TV) networks, and made sure all key constituencies were represented.

Still, there's one nomination in the long list that jumped out at me more than any other -- and no, it's not the outstanding drama bid for "The Newsroom," HBO's Aaron Sorkin series, which drew at least as many brickbats as bravos from critics. (That said, I'm very happy to see Jeff Daniels recognized.)

Among the outstanding TV comedy contenders, the NBC musical "Smash?"

Aha! Now I understand why I so frequently found myself scratching my head during the second half of the show's season. It was a comedy!

I wish someone had told me sooner. Or for that matter, the cast, writers, and NBC.

To be fair, the category is technically comedy or musical, which is how "Les Miserables" gets into that half of the field on the movie side. But let's face it, TV musicals are as rare as unicorns.

Perusing the nominees in both movies and TV, I find the Globes looking less and less like a reliable bellwether for the major academy nominations, which was always one reason the event was monitored so closely.

Still, based on the varied and star-laden assemblage of showbiz talent, I'll say one thing: They sure know how to roll out one hell of a red carpet.

And now, I'm going to go relax watching another of my favorite comedies, "Cop Rock."

Spoiler alert: The following post will discuss certain details from "Homeland's" current season.

When I mentioned the subject of today's column in the office -- that "Homeland" should do the unexpected and wrap up its story, for good, in season three -- colleagues looked at me like I was crazy. The show is just coming off record ratings. Why on Earth would Showtime agree to that?

And here's my answer: Because just as not every novel is meant to run 800 pages, not every TV show is equipped to run five years.

Although I was pretty excited by the start of the second season, and actually quite enthused when the series made its surprise flip midway through by having the POW-turned-terrorist, Nick Brody (Damian Lewis), exposed, the episodes since that moment have left the series with no plausible end game that keeps its cast intact.

I'll leave the speculation to others, though Maureen Ryan at the Huffington Post has done a nice job of rounding up a lot of the chatter surrounding the show. But suffice it to say any payoff that doesn't leave Brody dead or in jail for the rest of his life will ring false, and either of those options -- or worse, trying to sustain the idea of Brody operating as some kind of fantastic congressman/double agent -- would leave me significantly less interested in sticking around.

Now, to be fair, I've previously lamented some of the overblown reaction to dramas that are perceived to disappoint critics -- who act like they're having personal relationships with shows -- including the hysterical response to the non-resolution at the end of "The Killing's" first season.

But to me, saying "Homeland" should start plotting its finish isn't an indictment. If anything, it suggests the producers actually did their job (which involved adapting an Israeli series) almost too well. Write enough hairpin turns, and unless you're "Breaking Bad," the odds of hitting a dead end rise exponentially.

Admittedly, "Homeland" could have some incredible ace up its sleeve that nobody has anticipated, and if so, I'll happily recant. For now, though, I stick by my reference to "Blade Runner" and the notion of the bright-burning flame exhausting itself that much more quickly.

"Homeland" has certainly had its day in the sun, including an endorsement from President Obama, winning the Emmy, and the frenzied swirl over the prospect of Brody blowing himself up at the end of season one.

It turns out, though, the real danger, creatively speaking, was imploding. And I don't think they've invented a vest that can fix that.

The only thing that makes Bill O’Reilly angrier than arguing with him, it turns out, is refusing to argue with him.

The Fox News host lashed out Monday at Jason Whitlock, a Foxsports.com columnist, who declined to appear on his show. O’Reilly took umbrage at the racially tinged language the writer used -- which was unnecessary and provocative -- but my guess is he was equally irked by Whitlock dismissing him as “a TV entertainer.”

Because here’s a newsflash: O’Reilly’s program, and indeed a lot of cable news, is theater, built on conflict. And if O’Reilly can’t get people who have angered him to come on the show so he can confront them, he’s stuck talking to Bernie Goldberg, Juan Williams, and the other Fox talent he regularly brings on to talk for as long as he can endure the sound of their voices.

Whitlock didn't state all of his column very artfully, but he was spot-on regarding one key point: “The O’Reilly Factor” isn’t a courtroom, and there’s nothing that says its host has a God-given right to confront his critics. Moreover, if you do venture into the lion’s den, the game is rigged, since O’Reilly and his producers control every aspect of the appearance.

I say all this as someone who has been on “The Factor,” and more recently turned down an invitation (or a “summons,” if you prefer) because it seemed so utterly pointless. You're not there for your insights, but rather as a prop. (Another disclaimer: Although I wrote a column in the past for Foxsports.com, I have never met Jason Whitlock, and don’t share much with him other than our apparent fondness for food.)

Frankly, whatever the motivation, I wish more people would adopt a “Just say ‘No’” policy when it comes to such shows. Trust me, the five minutes on air are seldom worth the aggravation. Nobody’s mind will be changed. I doubt your book sales will go through the roof. And about all you usually have to show for it is the moment when a neighbor says, “Hey, I saw you on TV,” and then inevitably struggles to remember what you were brought on to discuss.

Although Glenn Beck nearly got away with it, cable talk is hard to sustain as a monologue. So racial language aside, Whitlock hit O’Reilly right where he lives by telling him to go it alone, with no one to talk to except a monitor. And that’s why in this latest mini-fracas, the person O’Reilly is looking out for, at least in part, is himself.

One of the familiar rejoinders from networks and reality TV producers is that viewers are sophisticated and understand when reality shows are shaped and staged, which has gradually taken on the vague, not-completely-accurate description "structured reality."

Now we have more evidence not even people who watch TV for a living really "get" how all this works.

As an example, read Linda Stasi's review in the New York Post of the new Discovery series "Amish Mafia." To be fair, Stasi and I seldom have the same taste, but this boils down to buying all the artifice that went into the show hook, line and sinker. (Thanks to my colleague AJ Marechal, who had the same reaction I did, for bringing it to my attention.)

As I noted in a recent column about the program's practices and a related review, Discovery freely acknowledges the show relies heavily on reenactments because of the difficulties dealing with the Amish community, while carrying a disclaimer that the show is "based on eyewitness accounts, testimonials and the legend of the Amish Mafia."

But Stasi accepts the whole thing at face value, which includes marveling that the lead character "allows the cameras to follow him and record it all. If they exchanged their Amish clothes for sweats, you’d swear he was Tony Soprano with his boys." Except the writing and acting in "The Sopranos" was, er, somewhat better.

This isn't meant to pick on Stasi (OK, maybe a little), since I see reviews all the time that don't reflect even a hint of skepticism about reality shows. And if that's the way viewers want to watch these things, fine, more power to 'em. Far be it from me to break the news that there's no Santa Claus, or that it's not an accident when Donald Trump decides to call Joan Rivers, and she happens to have a camera crew following her at that exact moment. Personally, being able to see just how manipulated things are sort of spoils the exercise for me, but I get it, a lot of people don't mind if there are wires on Peter Pan.

But please, spare me the "Everybody's in the joke" explanations. When it comes to reality TV, the Amish aren't the only ones who exhibit naive about what goes into the stew.

For David Chase, and his new movie "Not Fade Away," "The Sopranos" is an inevitable double-edged sword.

It's questionable whether there would be so much interest in a coming-of-age period piece about wannabe New Jersey rockers if it didn't mark Chase's feature directing debut after his storied run on the HBO mob drama. That included features this weekend in the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal.

Getting noticed isn't always easy for that sort of movie, and every little bit helps.

Still, I was struck by one question in the WSJ Q&A, both for the passive-aggressive way it was phrased, and Chase's answer.

"Are you ready for 'Sopranos' comparisons?" he was asked, which is a rather mealy-mouthed way of invoking the series without actually directly making the comparison. It's sort of like those Fox News "Some people say" questions.

Admittedly, dumb question. But Chase's response, perhaps guilty of being too polite, wasn't really up to the task:

"I think I am. It's time to move on," Chase began. "[Producer] Mark Johnson said that there's no way I was going to win with this thing because, he said, 'I don't care how good the movie is. It's going to be compared to "The Sopranos,"' and I didn't believe him. But I've seen people compare it to 'The Sopranos.' I've seen someone say it 'doesn't live up to the promise of 'The Sopranos.' Well, no shit. You know, the Beatles' second album was better than their first album and their third album was better than their second. But that doesn't happen with most people."

But there's a far better answer for that. Off the top of my head, try this: "While I understood people might mention 'The Sopranos' -- it's what I'm best known for -- this is a completely different project. It's as foolish to compare something like this to 'The Sopranos' as it is to compare 'Jurassic Park' to 'Schindler's List.' Yes, Steven Spielberg directed both of them, but they're very different pieces, with completely different tones and objectives."

Despite its controversial (I would say disappointing) ending, "The Sopranos" will never fade away for Chase, nor should it. Everyone should be so lucky to have a series like that to lead their obituary, and make their passion projects possible.

Anyone associated with a huge hit carries it around with them, especially when faced with lazy interviewers. But assuming Chase doesn't plan to fade away after this movie, the shadow of "The Sopranos" is as much as a blessing as it is an albatross.

For all the TV I watched last year, there probably wasn't a more purely entertaining hour than "Mel Brooks and Dick Cavett Together Again," a one-hour conversation in front of a studio audience (including a visit with Carl Reiner, Brooks' "2000-Year-Old Man" collaborator) turned into an HBO special.

The pay channel dips back into that well with "Mel Brooks Strikes Back!," and while there are some very amusing moments courtesy of Brooks' rapid-fire wit and skill as a raconteur -- including a story of how Gig Young had to be replaced on "Blazing Saddles" -- it's a fairly pallid follow-up to the previous showcase.

Here, Brooks is interviewed by BBC director Alan Yentob, who comes across as a less-inflated version of James Lipton. Obviously, Yentob is just there to play straight man, but the conversation (edited from an evening taped at L.A.'s Geffen Playhouse) spends too much time on Brooks' early life, and not enough on his career.

The clips chosen are also just so-so given the wealth of material that's available. With only an hour to kill, was Brooks and Anne Bancroft singing in Polish from "To Be or Not to Be" really the best they could do?

If the first special felt like an effervescent romp, this one (produced by Brooks' company, Brooksfilms) is breezy, yes, but also more self-indulgent, and considerably less memorable.

At 86, Brooks remains something of a marvel, but his latest victory lap -- however well-deserved -- is another one of those sequels that just sort of makes you long for the original.

"Mel Brooks Strikes Back!" premieres Dec. 10 on HBO.

I'm never surprised to see people in reality shows try to cash in on their new-found fame or notoriety.

But it's a little unusual to watch them begin that process even before the show actually premieres.

Lana Fuchs clearly wants to be one of those outspoken characters people love to hate in TLC's new Vegas-set "Real Housewives" wannabe "Sin City Rules," boasting about her lifestyle and saying things like, "I am God."

Still, even a jaded type like me was a little taken aback by this press release announcing intentions to cash in on all things Lana, down to an especially amusing typo about her "thrown" as the "reigning queen of entertainment."

Lana Fuchs, the star of TLC's new reality series Sin City Rules, has partnered with CEO Ken Collis and President Tracy Keyser of VIIVIIVII to finish off 2012 with a bang and start 2013 off with an even bigger explosion. Tune into the premiere of Sin City Rules Sunday December 9, 2012 at 10PM C on TLC to see Lana take the reality show thrown [sic] as the reigning queen of entertainment.

Lana Fuchs started her fame with her first clothing line Lana Fuchs Couture and spread her wings in 2008 after launching the luxury clothing, accessories, and jewelry line Billionaire Mafia and FVCHS Brand, her new high-end denim line for women. Lana also has a record label, Billionaire Mafia Entertainment and her non-profit organization Mafia Worldwide, M.A.F.I.A. standing for Music.Art.Fashion.Inspires.All.

Sin City Rules will film Lana Fuchs and 4 other influential women in Las Vegas as they follow her lead on how to make things happen with the right amounts of ambition and attitude. As for her newfound partnership with VIIVIIVII, Lana says, "Ken and Tracy are known for building brands, for taking empires and making them even grander. I'm looking forward to world domination with VIIVIIVII."

VIIVIIVIII will work closely with Lana on strategic alignments and marketing.

"I'm really excited to be working with Lana. She is one of VIIVIIVII's V.I.P clients and we plan to push the envelope with this one," said Ken Collis. "Lana is THE power female in the industry right now. She's talented in so many arenas and we are thrilled that she picked VIIVIIVII to continue promoting her success." added Tracy Keyser. Lana associates herself with the phrase, "Whether you love me or hate me, you will remember me" and VIIVIIVII plans to make sure nobody forgets Lana Fuchs.

By all means, good luck with managing those 15 minutes of fame, Lana. And remember, the more polish you put on that "thrown" of yours, the harder it is to stay firmly perched on it.

Oh, and one more thing: I didn't love or hate you, and doubt very much I'll remember you 20 minutes from now. But for your sake, I hope you're a better marketer than you are a reality-TV actress.

Shrewdly scheduled to follow coverage of the Heisman Trophy presentation on Dec. 8, ESPN's latest "30 for 30" documentary, "You Don't Know Bo," does service to the legend of Bo Jackson, both for those who saw him play and those to whom he might be little more than the vague slogan from a Nike ad.

The 76-minute doc, directed by Michael Bonfiglio, includes an extensive interview with Jackson -- the two-sport star who remains the only man ever chosen to play in Major League Baseball's All-Star Game and the NFL Pro Bowl, yet who made the Hall of Fame in neither sport because of his injury-shortened career.

Jackson was, by any measure, a phenom -- so big, so fast, so athletic. "With a player like that," his college baseball coach, Hal Baird, says, "just get him in uniform and get him to the park on time."

Jackson grew up poor in Alabama, won the Heisman at Auburn and was drafted to play baseball, where he combined enormous power with staggering speed. The Raiders then picked him up to play in the NFL as well, which he called "a hobby" at the time.

The best comment might belong to journalist Jeremy Schaap, who notes Jackson was "ideally suited to the age of the highlight."  What really makes the doc sizzle, though, are reminiscences from other retired players about how they marveled at Jackson's exploits along with everyone else. As fellow Raider Howie Long says, Jackson was one of those rare talents who could "make great athletes look average."

Today, Jackson (who still likes to refer to himself in the third person) is a middle-aged guy with an interest in archery who just might have been the most gifted athlete of his generation.

And Bo -- along with a lot of other people -- knows that, too.

"The Walking Dead" has enjoyed the kind of breakout success this fall to make the entire TV industry sit up and take notice, and AMC -- the home of prestige dramas, but never one as successful as this -- has pretty masterfully managed the asset. That includes its bifurcated seasons, which will spread the wealth from the fall into the next calendar year.

By that measure, Sunday's cliffhanging "midseason finale" (a somewhat oxymoronic term, if you think about it) was a nifty bridge to keep the audience hooked until the show returns in February. And for those who might complain that the hour was insanely violent, unlike the torture porn of something like FX's "American Horror Story," "Walking Dead" is violent with a purpose, establishing a world without legitimate authority, where the "dead" really refers to the people as much as the zombies.

The series has also been pretty fearless when it comes to parting with and adding characters, which is essential to keep viewers (even those familiar with the comics, given the frequent departures from that source) off balance. With a few exceptions, this is a world where practically everyone is one of those guys wearing the red shirts on "Star Trek."

In a sense, it's useful to compare the current season of "Walking Dead" with "Homeland," which is struggling to remain plausible as it lurches from one twist to the next. Somehow, the post-apocalyptic zombie show seems far more grounded, with innumerable possibilities, whereas the Showtime series appears to be writing itself into a dangerous corner.

Of course, the other brilliant part of AMC's marketing is that even when it's not on the schedule, "Walking Dead" never entirely goes away -- including plans for a New Year's Eve marathon that will repeat all the episodes, baiting the hook for new meat (heh heh). And let's not forget the enormous roll of the dice the network undertook when it opted to replace Frank Darabont, who developed the series, after its first season. Not only did the the move trigger near-panic coming out of Comic-Con that the show was a "chaotic mess," but it appeared to violate the rule about not tampering with a nascent hit at such a fragile moment.

Still, look at our little "Dead" now -- 10.5 million viewers on Sunday for its main telecast, per Nielsen estimates, with nearly 5 million more taking in repeat airings. In addition, the network will shrewdly expand its inexpensive chat show devoted to the program, "Talking Dead," to an hour come February, which in TV terms is a bit like using every part of the chicken.

While a phenomenon of this magnitude doesn't come along every day -- indeed, in basic-cable terms, it's pretty fair to say nothing quite like it has ever come along before -- the folks at AMC didn't just catch lightning in a bottle, but carefully stoked and nurtured it.

I guess what I'm saying is kudos to the producers and AMC. Because whether you're trying to survive a zombie apocalypse or just profit from one, the fates tend to help those who are smart about helping themselves.

Tommy Culla passed away recently, in his late 70s. That was all the manager of his apartment complex would tell me, since I'm not family, even though it wasn't uncommon for him to call more often than anybody who shares my last name or DNA.

If you knew him -- and to hear Tommy talk, he seemed to know almost everybody -- this is a loss, and I post this partly as a plea for information.

Although I met Tommy in person only once, he called all the time during the nine years I've been back at Variety, voraciously reading everything I wrote that ran in the print editions, and extensively sharing his thoughts about it. (He would have never seen this, by the way, since he didn't own a computer or have the slightest interest in learning what this whole Internet thing was all about.)

From what he told me, Tommy had lived in London, pitched items to the legendary columnist Walter Winchell and worked for director John Boorman. Although he wasn't Jewish, he frequently threw out Yiddish terms to punctuate sentences. When I referenced "Sweet Smell of Success" in a column, Tommy told me he was going to make sure Tony Curtis -- who co-starred in the movie -- saw it. About a half-hour later, damned if Curtis didn't leave me a message on voicemail complimenting the piece.

Tommy practically spoke his own language. He called everyone "Darling," said things like "He doesn't know shit from velvet," "I don't lie to get laid" (in Tommyspeak, this was meant to establish one's credibility) and "It's over. The town's dead" every time he read something about Hollywood of which he disapproved. He insisted on referring to my daughter as "The royal heir."

I guess what I'm saying is for someone I really didn't know that well in the bigger scheme of things, I'm going to miss him terribly. And I suspect a lot of people on the other end of his phone calls will too.

So if you knew him and by some chance this finds you, let me know (email: brian.lowry@variety.com). Of course, Tommy himself would never see this. After all, it's only on the Internet.

Still, on the Tommy scale, I hope it was closer to velvet than, you know.

Angus T. Jones had one fleeting scene on "Two and a Half Men" on Thursday -- the first episode since he urged people not to watch the program because it's "filth," then subsequently apologized.

So what did his character say? Put it this way: He got to utter the episode's title, "I Scream When I Pee."

Jones has been appearing sporadically in "Men" as he transitions to college, having been largely written out by a subplot that had him joining the army, frequently reducing his presence to Skype calls home.

Still, the series has always pushed network standards on sex jokes, and his shtick in this latest half-hour involved Jake bragging to his dad Alan (Jon Cryer) about getting "the clap" from his girlfriend. Why brag about that? Because, he explains, it's "a sexually transmitted disease" -- proof to the world, in Jake's addled mind, that he's getting some.

Actually, the episode was pretty funny -- at least, relatively speaking, given how "Men" has drifted creatively after a solid initial burst with last season's arrival of Ashton Kutcher -- bringing back April Bowlby in a guest shot as Alan's ex-wife Kandi, now the star of a "CSI"-like TV show. The writers have always appeared to enjoy writing stupid characters (hence Jake), and Kandi's modern-day Marilyn Monroe act is about as ditsy as they come.

And no, there was nothing on producer Chuck Lorre's vanity card about the latest controversy. In fact, it was more existential than filthy. (It's available, as usual, via his website.)

Even if Jones' indignation is a little hard to swallow this late in the game, I'm inclined to cut the 19 year old considerable slack, mostly because I have tremendous sympathy for child stars, and stick by my argument that we should deal the E! True Hollywood Story" a blow and CGI them out of existence whenever possible. And if that upbringing has left him a bit confused and casting about for answers to life's imponderable riddles, well, mommas, don't let your babies grow up to be actors.

Dear Jeff:

For starters, it's been awhile since you left NBC, so let me just say, as they used to put it on "Ally McBeal," "Bygones."

Now regarding this new gig you've apparently landed, overseeing CNN.

You might have missed it, but I wrote a letter (OK, column) about some of the challenges you'll be facing in this job about a month ago. Not to pat myself on the back, but given your flair for clever promotion, I hope you'll forgive me when I say it's Must-Read (About) TV.

Realizing you're probably kind of busy, let me summarize some of the key points. Here's one passage worth repeating:

CNN, by contrast, more closely mirrors newsradio, where listeners tune in to check news, weather or traffic and scatter just as quickly. It's a valuable role when there's a major breaking-news event -- and CNN's international presence still dwarfs competitors -- but not so swell on run-of-the-mill news days, forcing the channel to engage in a level of hyperbole that does nothing to buttress its credibility.

At the end of the column, I then presented the new head of CNN (and here's a little secret: I suspected at the time it would be you) with a series of questions, including:

Can you become "stickier," to borrow a phrase from prior regimes, without being just plain oily?

Do you ever watch "The Daily Show" pieces about CNN? Because you really should -- they're not only entertaining, but quite enlightening about its shortcomings.

The good news is it's probably still possible to improve ratings at CNN. The bad news is every move you make that tarts up the product will be scrutinized, analyzed and dissected by wretches like me, who actually like the idea of holding CNN -- silly us -- to journalistic standards, which makes the whole balancing act that much trickier.

Anyway, best of luck avoiding the landmines. You're going to need it. And no matter how tempting it might be, let me just say three little words of friendly advice: "NO DONALD TRUMP."

Your pal,

Brian

Looking at the TV review list for December, I've come to a rather unpleasant realization.

While the end of the year yields prestige movies eager for awards recognition, the TV window between the November sweeps and the arrival of midseason fare -- other than remaining episodes of elite cable dramas, Christmas specials and sports -- is largely the time for desk-clearing dreck.

If December is a relative feast for movie critics -- at least, compared to the summer, when they load up on sequels and superheroes -- it's a time of brain-numbing famine for their TV counterparts. (The movie side of the equation, notably, could be heard articulated by New Yorker critic David Denby Tuesday morning in an interview on NPR station KPCC, plugging his new book "Do the Movies Have a Future?" Denby complained, among other things, that studios check their brains 10 months of the year, before getting serious come November.)

TLC, in particular, seems to be trotting out a couple of new programs a week in December to suppress critical appetites, with titles like "Cheer Perfection," "Amish Mafia" and "Extreme Cougar Wives." As I noted in my recent column, the glut of holiday movies and specials can also reduce one's teeth to paste, through a combination of sweetness and gnashing.

Of course, the slowdown in December is only a minor respite before a crush of new programs in January, the traditional midseason onslaught. Happily, that includes the third season of PBS' "Downton Abbey," which showed up in the mailbag right after Thanksgiving. (No, I haven't begun wading in yet; some things need to be savored -- and, oddly, binged on.)

Still, if movie critics saddled with the latest "Transformers" sequel occasionally feel envious as TV scribes sit down with a new batch of "Mad Men" or "Treme" episodes, well, come holiday time, the stocking is on the other foot.

Ho friggin' ho.

Television promos yield more than their share of hyperbole, with a lot of "can't miss" and "spellbinding" and "dramatic conclusion" claims.

To their credit, the producers of "Boardwalk Empire" and HBO have let their program do most of the talking as it builds toward this season's climax, and having seen the last two episodes (relax, no spoilers here), it's hard to believe those watching the show will be disappointed or feel, pardon the expression, Gyp-ed.

Gyp, of course, would be Gyp Rosetti, the insane mobster with the hairtrigger temper played with an almost simian quality by Bobby Cannavale, who seems to have spent some time watching Paul Muni in the original "Scarface." At first I wasn't entirely sure where the Gyp plot was going, but his face-off with bootlegger Nucky (Steve Buscemi) has become a tour-de-force of tension and the sense anything can happen -- even more impressive considering the show's historical moorings, which create some limits regarding who can get whacked when.

Moreover, all the plotting, scheming and shifting alliances have infused the third season of "Boardwalk" with a touch of HBO's other addictive drama, "Game of Thrones," only with different turf being ruthlessly fought over.

Tense, twisted and surprising, the last flurry of episodes have been and are so taut I find myself thinking about and puzzling over story beats well after they're done. They've also managed to conjure juicy storylines for a number of the supporting players while showcasing Buscemi better than either of the previous runs. No small feat given the cast members that have been, er, retired along the way.

Initially, there were some misgivings about HBO doing another mob show post-"The Sopranos," but "Boardwalk" quickly laid such concerns to rest, carving out its own empire within the genre.

Despite the current embarrassment of riches in terms of cable dramas, there's a tendency for demanding fans to quibble and second-guess even their favorite shows. Yet other than perhaps Michael Shannon's subplot (and even that improved as the season progressed), such gripes have been muted, and it's hard to think of a single substantive thing I'd change about this third trip along "Boardwalk" -- particularly as it pertains to these last few hours.

HBO has already picked the show up for season four, which qualifies as a no-brainer. Because while I like a drink now and then, if everything on TV could be this good, by all means, bring back Prohibition.

In TV terms, Larry Hagman died with his boots on.

Reports that the "Dallas" star died Friday at the age of 81 are especially sad given the resurgence he was enjoying as part of the "Dallas" reboot. Even as an octogenarian who had survived plenty -- including his own tussle with alcoholism -- Hagman managed to steal every scene he was in.

As I noted over the summer, one of the things that made TNT's new version of "Dallas" such a kick was the manner in which it embraced its original characters -- turning Hagman into an improbable Entertainment Weekly cover boy -- as opposed to just treating them like window dressing. The down side, in this case, is that Hagman's death leaves an enormous void in the show, since J.R.'s treachery was such an integral part of the action.

Usually, such programs focus on the younger characters, driven by a desire to appeal to those demos. The makers of "Dallas" had the good sense to recognize what the first-generation players brought to the party -- even if that meant the risk of something like this happening.

The show will go on -- they almost always find a way to -- but there's no way around the fact Hagman's death is a Texas-sized loss. And while I wasn't really the right age to appreciate "Dallas" in its Reagan-era run -- that was the kind of stuff my mom watched -- damned if J.R. didn't catch up with me and make me a fan over the long haul.

Turns out the guy who started in "I Dream of Jeannie" conjured up a little magic of his own.

Well done, pardner.

The deluge of holiday specials actually begins right after Thanksgiving, with CBS airing Nickelodeon's "It's a SpongeBob Christmas" (in advance of its DVD release) and Hallmark Channel trotting out "Jingle and Bell's Christmas Star" -- a second half-hour tied to the Hallmark Cards product -- both on Nov. 23.

It's hard to make much of a case for watching either, although if forced to pick one, go with SpongeBob, if only because the switch to stop-motion animation does such a nifty job of recalling the old Rankin & Bass specials of the past.

If only the story -- or really, the absence of one, since they also have to squeeze in a number of songs -- were anywhere near as good as the nostalgic look.

As for "Jingle and Bell's Christmas Star," I kept thinking of "Davey & Goliath," the Christian-based TV show of the 1960s. Built around a little boy named Andrew and his husky pup Jingle, the plot involves a new girl who moves to town and gets a lesson in Christmas spirit.

It's not bad, necessarily, for small kids, but it's so soft and predigested as to be the animated equivalent of empty calories. Plus, I like dogs, and this one got on my nerves.

Mostly, watching these new holiday specials only made me appreciate the perennials, like "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" and "A Charlie Brown Christmas," which will be airing next week on ABC. Some of the stuff they made in the '60s, in hindsight, was really built to last.

Still, in the spirit of the latter, maybe SpongeBob and Jingle aren't such bad little specials, after all. They just need a little love. And maybe a set of earplugs.

For TLC, Thanksgiving weekend isn't considered time for a breather when it comes to serving up a steady diet of junk food.

Thanksgiving night brings the premiere of "Along for the Bride," a half-hour series about bridesmaids -- and particularly tension surrounding the maid of honor -- designed to tap into the "Bridesmaids" audience. Fortunately, no sinks were harmed in the making of the first two episodes, but any distinction pretty much ends there.

To the producers' credit, it isn't easy to set up a handful of bridesmaids, a bachelorette party, a mini-crisis (The maid of honor had a DUI!), and a wedding all in a half-hour. But they speed matters along by giving each bridesmaid an onscreen nickname ("Farmer-in-Law," etc.), so they can still make it to "You may kiss the bride."

Also, you get to hear brides say things like, "I'm the most important person here," reminding us that weddings are perfect for reality TV, inasmuch as they tend to breed drama and behavioral excesses.

Speaking of excess, "Extreme Cougar Wives" -- for now merely a pilot, airing on Nov. 25 -- is really just a case of repackaging, since one of the three women, 76-year-old Hattie (pictured), has already had her moment in the spotlight on the network's "Strange Sex." Hattie likes guys in their 20s, but boasts about having bedded an 18 year old recently.

While Hattie is on the prowl for new conquests (and as the most extreme, age-wise, clearly the star of the show), the other two women -- Stephanie, 65; and Jude, 53 -- are each in committed relationships with guys more than 30 years their junior. In the latter case, Jude has an awkward exchange with the disapproving parents of Kevin, who is 21, which results in more tears than a rose ceremony on "The Bachelor."

"This is a mess," the father says.

Hey, leave the criticism to me, buddy!

Actually, the main problem with both shows is they feel pretty conspicuously staged, and it requires an enormous suspension of disbelief to watch Hattie pick up a guy at the pool without him wondering why she's being followed around by a camera crew.

Assuming you can get past all of that, the show has a certain car-accident quality, which ought to work to its advantage, provided that most of the target audience isn't glued to Lifetime's "Liz & Dick." (I'll resist the temptation to reference "The Walking Dead." Oops.)

"While these couples are in relationship bliss, friends, family, and onlookers often do little more than gawk or pass judgment," the press release says.

Or at least, TLC certainly hopes so.

So after raving about the new season of "Glee" in the early going, I feel a little silly revisiting the show now and finding it, once again, to be disappointing.

Yes, there's an original episode on Thanksgiving night, but nobody can confuse this with a "very special" holiday installment, except perhaps that it's mostly a turkey.

The plot, such as it is, involves a superhero club (everyone picks a made-up identity and powers) and a purloined trophy the school won the year before. It's an excuse to do songs with heroes as the loose theme and showcase the attractive cast in wacky costumes, but the result is highly uneven, which has often been characteristic of the show in the past.

There's certainly ample vocal talent in the new recruits, but as this latest hour makes (sometimes painfully) clear, the characters have yet to really pop. Moreover, all the teen angst over relationships -- lately involving Kurt (Chris Colfer, absent here) and Blaine (Darren Criss) -- has begun to grow tiresome, in part because the old romances have played out so many combinations, and the new ones involve kids it's difficult thus far to care much about.

Even with a flat hour, "Glee" tends to yield a few high notes, but they're simply too few to sustain the level of interest the show generated initially, when it looked possible to strike a balance between its graduates adjusting to college and the new batch of high schoolers. (USA Today's Robert Bianco took another look at the series recently and came to a similar conclusion, in the context of the "Grease" episode.)

In a way, the superhero theme is a perfect metaphor for where "Glee" once again finds itself: It's colorful, and energetic.

Creatively speaking, it's just not a consistent force for good.

Investigation Discovery specializes in cheeky titles -- see the upcoming "Wives With Knives," or the Susan Lucci-hosted "Deadly Affairs" -- but occasionally tries to aim a little higher than its customary fare, which specializes in distilling what used to become fodder for Lifetime movies into episodic programs.

Enter "My Brother the Serial Killer," a movie-length documentary about serial killer Glen Rogers, told primarily from the perspective of his brother, Clay, but also Rogers' sister. ID will air the project on Nov. 21.

The persistent fascination with serial killers is certainly fair game -- particularly for a network with a true-crime profile -- and airing right before Thanksgiving, the movie should make a lot of us at least feel better about the most irritating person/biggest loser at any of our family gatherings.

Still, the production overreaches, seemingly, by spending a considerable amount of time flimsily trying to link Rogers' murder spree to the Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman killings, which prompted the high-profile trial (and eventual acquittal) of O.J. Simpson.

Whatever Clay and an investigator associated with the Simpson case might believe, there's really not much here to make a convincing argument regarding Rogers' involvement. The result thus feels not only like dredging up the Simpson trial to boost the titillation factor but -- in the implications Rogers had a relationship with Brown Simpson -- creates the queasy sense the documentary is slandering the dead, potentially, strictly to goose its appeal.

The sad part is these excesses are unnecessary, since there's enough compelling stuff here for crime buffs -- including local news footage of Rogers' capture and the inevitable questions about how that little boy in those family photos grew up to become a monster -- without resorting to such an approach.

As is, "My Brother the Serial Killer" just winds up feeling trashy. On the plus side, like those who over-indulge on Thanksgiving, viewers who do tune in will have a nice long weekend to shed their exercise in gluttony.

Produced by Essential Media. Executive producer, John Terp.

On Tuesday's "The O'Reilly Factor," Bill O'Reilly referred to me as a "left-wing loon." (Video below) This was based on a recent blog post that devoted one whole sentence -- actually, less than that, since he shared it with Sean Hannity -- to Bill O'Reilly.

As I have noted before, O'Reilly is big on calling people loons, and likes to brand anyone who dares to criticize him as a "Fox news hater." Yet I have always marveled at his eagerness to publicize negative appraisals of himself that must leave his audience scratching their heads -- so determined to lash out and settle scores that he veers way out of his lane.

Still, there are some nice things about being singled out for scorn on national TV. In fact, with apologies to David Letterman, here are the Top 10 Reasons to Relish Being Called "A Far Left Loon" by Bill O'Reilly:

10. It proves my theory that "The O'Reilly Factor" employs at least one producer whose entire job is simply Googling "Bill O'Reilly."

9. Generates emails from people who would be perfect if they ever do a remake of "Deliverance."

8. Gives me a good excuse to say "No" when some publicist calls asking if I want to write about one of those books he churns out every few months.

7. Instantly qualifies me for consideration to host a show between midnight and 4 a.m. on MSNBC.

6. Makes me appreciate the Variety paywall for who it helps keep out.

5. Exposes which of my friends or family members are secretly watching "The O'Reilly Factor" in their spare time.

4. Means my name will be the last thing a lot of nice old people hear before they clap off their TVs.

3. At least he didn't send that stalker producer guy to yell questions at me off note cards.

2. Gives legitimate "far left loons" reason to go to sleep feeling bad about themselves.

1. Reminds me that compared to the average Fox News viewer, I am relatively young, virile, and well-informed.

Many conservatives were shocked -- not "Casablanca" shocked, but actually, honestly shocked -- to lose the 2012 presidential election.

Just as I predicted they would be.

Back in mid-September, I wrote the following:

Unfortunately, there's little sense hard-core conservatives and liberals are even watching the same content, or braced for disappointing outcomes.

Conservative icon Rush Limbaugh, for example, has dismissed recent polls showing President Obama moving further ahead, painting them as an attempt to depress the GOP base. He has even spoken about Republican Mitt Romney potentially winning in a "landslide."

Those following the data -- such as Nate Silver's fivethirtyeight.com, whose forecasting was remarkably accurate in 2008 -- know that while the national popular vote remains extremely close, the electoral-college math is becoming much more challenging to the Republicans. With huge states like California and New York firmly in the Democratic column, Romney needs numerous things to break his way in order to win. (At presstime, Silver put the likelihood of Obama winning, vs. Romney's percentage, at nearly 4-1.)

Are people on the fringes -- particularly those whose media diet seldom includes venturing beyond comfortable echo chambers -- aware of such formulations? And do the media egging on supporters, right or left, really have any incentive to give their audience the full story -- or permission to stop hanging on the campaign's every nuance?

In this, I take no credit for being a political genius, but merely being able to read and do math. Yet as many have noted -- including moderate conservative voices, like David Frum -- conservatives haven't necessarily been well-served by conservative media, at least in terms of being fully informed as to how the election was likely to turn out.

Indeed, New York Times columnist David Carr essentially lauded Fox for acknowledging reality on election night, which is true, perhaps, but really ought to be the bare minimum for something that has "news" right there in its name.

In terms of any change, though, there's an inherent problem: Conservative media also couches itself as existing in part because the mainstream media is untrustworthy. Moreover, it wraps itself in protective armor that says any criticism from the so-called liberal media should be discounted or ignored. Hence, someone like me becomes a "vile Fox News hater," in the words of Bill O'Reilly, because I have questioned the network's practices. As such, nothing I say about them is to be taken seriously.

It's a remarkable shield against any sort of outside analysis. So while there's a lot of talk about Republicans engaging in soul-searching, there's precious little evidence their preferred media outlets will do the same. Indeed, Rush Limbaugh dismissed the notion he might in any way be responsible for creating an environment that turned out badly for the GOP, proving it by noting the suggestion was coming from Democrats. (The very fact I found this link on mediamatters.org is no doubt further ammunition.)

But the answer to that is simple: Limbaugh is good copy. He's a big target. And a lot of people listen to him.

If the Republicans are going to adapt, in other words, they're going to have to mostly do it alone. Because while they might not have liked the outcome of the last two presidential elections, for like-minded media, the whole situation is working out just fine.

The fact "Family Guy" is hitting the 200-episode milestone this Sunday is a terrific story. After all, as series creator Seth MacFarlane has recalled in Esquire, it's a series Fox canceled, which picked up steam in reruns on Cartoon Network and via DVD sales, and eventually came back to the network, becoming the cornerstone of MacFarlane's animation empire.

On top of that, MacFarlane has been tapped to host next year's Oscars, in part because of his reputation for being adept at tapping into a younger audience (witness his surprise hit "Ted") even the staid old Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences must court and covet.

If only the show itself was as good as its history.

Watching a preview of the "Family Guy" episode, I was reminded why I'm not a regular viewer. The scatter-gun approach to comedy means if you don't like a gag, another will be along momentarily. But it's so hit-miss that the genuinely funny stuff is sometimes overwhelmed by the groaners.

The anniversary show isn't really that -- just an episode where the dog, Brian, uses the time machine created by baby Stewie (both voiced by MacFarlane) to bed women. Let's table the whole talking-dog-has-sex-with-humans part, though along with a mass-vomiting scene that starts kind of funny and goes on way too long, it does betray a certain comedic sensibility.

Admittedly, "Family Guy" has a very loyal, non-traditional Academy Award audience (that is, younger, and more male), and if the Oscars can attract even a small part of them because of MacFarlane, it's probably a win for all concerned.

But "Family Guy" still strikes me as a show that isn't particularly inspired, creatively speaking, but which is successful enough to get a pass. Besides, at 200 episodes, it's become an institution -- and an extremely profitable one at that. Or as John Huston's character put it in "Chinatown," "Politicians, ugly buildings, and whores all get respectable if they last long enough."

Ditto for TV shows.

After my election-night column -- which focused largely on Fox News Channel -- I received an email from someone asking why I was picking on Fox. After all, isn't MSNBC -- which doesn't chain up its opinion hosts for election coverage -- just as bad?

In some respects, yes. But the reason why Fox merits extra attention and consideration is because the channel wields such out-sized influence -- a point summed up nicely by New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof in his piece today. Here's the key passage:

Part of the problem, I think, is the profusion of right-wing radio and television programs. Democrats complain furiously that Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck or Sean Hannity smear the left, but I wonder if the bigger loser isn’t the Republican Party itself. Those shows whip up a frenzy in their audience, torpedoing Republican moderates and instilling paranoia on issues like immigration.

All this sound and fury enmeshes the Republican Party in an ideological cocoon and impedes it from reaching out to swing-state centrists, or even understanding them. The vortex spins ever faster and risks becoming an ideological black hole.

MSNBC and other liberal-leaning outlets simply don't possess the same clout within their sphere as the combination of Fox News (which dwarfs MSNBC's audience) and Limbaugh (the most-listened-to radio program). Moreover, Fox's own marketing -- you can trust only us, as opposed to the rest of the "mainstream media" -- magnifies and strengthens this bond with its audience.

That's why Fox's reaction since the election has also been notable, with hosts like Bill O'Reilly and Sean Hannity lamenting the shift in the U.S. electorate, but not advocating any give or compromise in response to it. Hannity, in particular, has simply advocated that true conservatives dig in their ideological heels.

As I noted previously, Fox thus benefits from the election, and allows its viewers to feel victimized by the demographic tide rolling past them. And to the extent that posture influences -- and in some ways, handcuffs -- the Republican Party, Fox is more than just another TV network.

The disconnect is what's good for Fox News and conservative talkradio, from a business perspective, isn't necessarily good for the GOP.

Of course, such observations (or for the Republicans, potentially helpful advice) are easy enough to dismiss as coming from the "liberal media" -- just another unfair, unbalanced attack, that has no place inside the cocoon.

My former colleague Joe Adalian takes a timely look at NBC's performance this fall, and whether its competitive gains are legitimate.

Frankly, I say we hand the whole question over to Nate Silver. He appears to be on a roll after calling the election right.

But just to throw in my two cents, I have to say the "NBC comeback" story feels premature, in part because seven hours of its primetime lineup -- or roughly a third of the entire schedule -- will be gone during the first quarter of 2013, with "The Voice" taking a breather and "Sunday Night Football" (which fills in four hours on Sunday nights) going away.

Granted, NBC has had the Sunday problem for years, and managed to eke out a decent showing with "Celebrity Apprentice," which also means dealing with the publicity train-wreck that is Donald Trump. Then again, in this business you can't make an omelet without whipping up a few attention-starved bozos.

Still, I'm not entirely sold on some of NBC's new shows, most notably "Revolution" and "Go On," having legs, and the dismantling of Thursday night looks like a problem with no exit right now.

NBC brass deserves credit for rolling the dice on a fall edition of "The Voice" and being rewarded. Not only has the show performed well, but it has given the network a launching pad it has sorely lacked.

That said, I'm not sure there's really a way to pump up something like "Smash" when it returns, and all the networks are finding getting positive reviews of new comedies is somewhat easier than inspiring audiences to watch them.

NBC has made some inroads, but in terms of its competitive standing, the best weapon in its arsenal might be the collective challenges broadcasters are facing. In other words, gravity.

So unlike the judges on "The Voice," I wouldn't be jumping out of my chair just yet.

Weeks before the election, when it was reported Mitt Romney's campaign was essentially pulling its advertising from Pennsylvania, I emailed a couple of friends saying, "I think this thing's over."

This isn't meant to imply I'm a political genius. But I had been following the election and sites like Nate Silver's fivethirtyeight.com, and without Pennsylvania, it looked as if too many dominoes would have to fall into place for Romney to win the electoral college.

The race ebbed and flowed after that, but by the time the actual voting began, President Obama again appeared to be firmly in command according to the polls. The results Tuesday, in other words, didn't really qualify as a "surprise."

Unfortunately, those who derive most of their news from the conservative echo chambers were likely ill-prepared for the outcome, with many talking heads predicting a Romney landslide. Such pundits were often hostile toward Silver, accusing him of being an ideologue, which falls into the "I'm rubber and you're glue" category.

In that regard, the shift toward partisan punditry has done not just its consumers but the entire nation a disservice, to the extent such misleading information prompts the political fringes to question the vote's legitimacy. And as I noted in my column today (a point also made, in a roundabout way, by Michael Kinsley), there's virtually no penalty for pundits being wrong. Even Dick Morris issued a rather lame defense of just how terribly off the mark he was, which should have damaged his credibility enough to make Fox News question making him a go-to source for such analysis.

Rush Limbaugh -- who also projected a landslide in the GOP's favor -- repeated Wednesday on his radio program that the election "should have been a slam dunk," before offering a litany of questions (and excuses) regarding why the Republicans lost.

Maybe Bill Clinton got it right at the Democratic National Convention. The blinding influence of partisanship is only part of the problem. When you're busy fanning the flames, it's easy to get smoke in your eyes. And that makes it hard to do math.

Time Warner Cable Sportsnet took out a full page ad in the Los Angeles Times sports section today saying unless you have one of the providers with which they've made a deal, "you will miss the next 12 Lakers games starting tonight."

So what happens if you call the number 1-855-4-MY-LAKERS, listed at the bottom of the ad, which the copy urges you should contact "to switch to a provider that carries Time Warner Cable Sportsnet?"

First you get a message from James Worthy, the former Laker the network has hired as an analyst, thus transforming "Big Game James" into "Big Shill James."

Then you're prompted to select whether you're a cable or satellite customer, and to designate the precise service.

When I pushed "1" for DirecTV, it transferred me directly to DirecTV's recorded customer line, telling me I should tell them I want Time Warner Cable Sportsnet.

That's it? You're just enlisting me to join in your pressure campaign against the carriers -- assuming I'm willing to sit through their hold system, which usually takes the better part of a Sunday even when somebody isn't trying to clog up their lines?

This is one more reason I hate the way companies in carriage disputes handle these matters. There's no evidence they really give a rat's ass about consumers. They just want the public to help lobby on their behalf and irritate the other guy.

Oh, and did I mention the Lakers are currently 0-3? Maybe I don't really care if I miss the next 12 games -- or the 67 after that (roughly 40% of which, come Christmas, will be carried by ESPN, TNT or ABC anyway).

Wake me up for the playoffs, Time Warner Cable Sportsnet. Until then, I suggest you place a toll-free call to GET-LOST.

Somewhere along the way, the celebrity telethon became our 21st-century version of a bucket brigade -- the go-to media response to a disaster, natural or otherwise.

It began with Sept. 11, and has included such events as Hurricane Katrina, and now"Hurricane Sandy: Coming Together," which NBC Universal's networks (and a few others) pulled together and aired on Friday night.

It's difficult to avoid questions regarding the appearance of self-promotion in these situations -- NBC had Matt Lauer host, opened with "The Voice's" Christina Aguilera belting out "Beautiful" and featured latenight host Jimmy Fallon performing a duet with Steven Tyler -- but when the cause is just, such cynical thoughts are easier to banish. People need help. If having celebrities come out and sing gets them to open up their hearts and wallets, whatever the shared corporate parentage, so be it.

"You've probably seen a few of these telethons recently," Jon Stewart noted, hitting just the right note, before explaining the good donations can do.

Like Aguilera, most of the performers and presenters -- Jon Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen, Brian Williams, Stewart -- have well-known ties to the region, which added a personal touch. As for style points, it was a little jarring to hear the small audience applaud after each performance -- if memory serves, past telethons, and at least the Sept. 11 one, were more somber -- and some of the taped pieces felt somewhat overproduced.

Then again, in the face of such a devastating bolt from the blue, there's hardly much call for subtlety, as Williams explicitly stated. And it was worth tuning in if only for Sting's acoustic rendition of "Message in a Bottle" and to hear Springsteen -- an appropriate choice to close the night -- crush "Land of Hope and Dreams."

All in all, it wasn't a bad hour, under the circumstances. And I think I can safely speak for everyone by saying let's hope there's not another one like it for a really long time.

Part of me sort of admires the idea behind the season premiere of ABC's "Last Man Standing." Knowing the show was being held until Nov. 2 -- days before the presidential election -- they've churned out an episode about voting, with Tim Allen's conservative character, Mike, trying to convince his younger daughter to vote for Mitt Romney, while his liberal older kid pushes for President Obama.

The execution, alas, just made me desperately pine for the days of "All in the Family."

Then again, that was a different era, and it was perhaps easier to reduce political talking points to a collection of one-liners. Here, it's a litany of lame gags, trying too hard to even-handedly dispense barbs at both sides.

Here's Mike on Obama's history, referencing the South Side of Chicago: "It runs like a watch down there. You can't wear one...." Or griping about Democrats taking tax money to fund "gay weddings for illegal aliens."

On the flip side, the daughter references Romney's opposition to Obamacare, calls him a robot, and makes a joke about him strapping his dog to the roof. Clearly, someone has been reading Gail Collins' New York Times columns.

Finally, there's Mike's wife (Nancy Travis), who refuses to discuss her vote in order to maintain harmony in the household. It's all treated like a big joke, but struck me as perhaps the most tone-deaf element of the half-hour -- as if the little woman has to keep her politics secret, lest she unleash a whole new slew of arguments for her, Papa Bear and the Baby Bears. Hilarious!

Such exchanges can work, at least potentially, when they flow out of the characters. Here, they sound about as convincing as two talking heads (excuse me, "political strategists") exchanging jabs during a typical midday joust on one of the cable-news networks.

Again, there's nothing wrong with a sitcom trying to be about something. But this just feels like a crass marketing tie-in -- cashing in on the happenstance of scheduling and the proximity to the election.

There's been a lot of talk about voter suppression during this election season, and the episode does include a message to get out and participate, whatever one's views.

If only "Last Man Standing" promoted some laughter.

All this talk about Lucasfilm and the "Star Wars" franchise has me tripping down memory lane, and thinking about the strange but true story of how I got my original "Star Wars" one-sheet.

So it's early 1977, and I'm in school. A kid I didn't even know that well -- and honestly, I can't even remember his name -- comes up to me and says, "Hey, you like science fiction and comic books, right?" Since this was usually followed by an ass-kicking, I sheepishly said yes.

He then explained that his dad worked at one of the studios, Fox, and had given him a poster for an upcoming movie, called "Star Wars." It looked stupid to him, so he wondered if I wanted it. I took the thing but had no real use for it, taking it home and putting it in the closet. It wasn't even rolled up properly, just kind of tossed in there.

Several months later, the drumbeat for "Star Wars" builds. My brother sees it and says I have to. I wind up waiting in line for a couple of hours at the Avco Theater in Westwood and sitting there, transfixed. I would wind up seeing it -- in the theater, mind you -- another half-dozen times that summer.

Some time after seeing it, I remembered the poster, and rummaged through the closet to find it. Frankly, I had some problems with the art -- it augmented Mark Hamill and Carrie Fisher's physiques in very flattering ways -- but I decided I better get the thing framed, just to preserve it.

Based on some collectors websites and chats with dealers at Comic-Con, the poster now goes for somewhere north of $2,000, although I'm not sure mine would fetch that, given how it was abused in its pre-release life. Not that I'd sell it, since it's easily the classiest piece of "Star Wars" memorabilia in the house, although I'm still kind of partial to that double-ended light-saber toy I bought after "The Phantom Menace" came out.

So belatedly, thanks kid, whoever you were.

Thanks to the quick hook for "Made in Jersey," CBS' "Undercover Boss" returns a bit sooner than expected, but without any rust on its feel-good premise.

The premiere -- which joins the Friday lineup starting Nov. 2 -- features the CEO of Modell Sporting Goods, Mitchell Modell, who actually shaves his head to obscure his identity as he infiltrates the ranks of his company. Either that, or he's hoping for a part in the next "Pirates of the Caribbean" sequel.

Fortunately, the boss is a big old softie, who cries as easily as his employees do when he gives them good news in what the show bills as "the most dramatic reveal ever." Presumably this involves grading on a curve.

As I noted in my latest column, the really amazing part about "Undercover Boss" is how adept the show is at getting viewers to suspend disbelief, including the fact the boss is clueless as to what's happening farther down the food chain. Even assuming that's true, it's a hoot that the show manages to spin that into an asset, instead of making him look like Ebenezer Scrooge.

Then again, this is one of those shows where it's hard to imagine people don't get more suspicious than they let on. Put it this way: If a a middle-aged guy (or in the case of the third episode, gal) shows up with a camera crew asking a lot of questions, there's good reason to be skeptical that he or she is really just the new clerk, bartender or janitor. (Granted, some of these folks are not what one thinks of as the likeliest of heavy CBS viewers.)

"Boss" does catch a potential break, scheduling-wise, in that it goes up against two ABC comedies, "Last Man Standing" and the new Reba vehicle "Malibu Country," as opposed to "Shark Tank," creating a somewhat clearer choice for viewers.

And for CBS, eager to plug this hole in its lineup, there's no doubt some comfort and relief in saying the new "Boss" looks a whole lot like the old one.

David Letterman has delivered a lot of weirdly wonderful moments in the last 30 years, but it's easy to sometimes forget a guy who's such a fixture, especially amid the din of latenight comedy.

Then a night like Monday comes along, with the CBS host mounting an audience-free show because of Hurricane Sandy, and creating an entire program just riffing at the desk in a manner that almost nobody else could.

When Letterman hired Tom Snyder to follow him years ago, he explained it was because Snyder was a broadcaster -- a term Letterman takes seriously. A broadcaster, in his view, is somebody like Regis Philbin, who doesn't have to sing, dance or even make you laugh your ass off; instead, he or she can simply sit talking to a camera and hold an audience, day after day or night after night.

Letterman's rain-soaked show -- with only titters from his crew and band -- was a perfect demonstration of that quality. Even the low-tech flourishes -- like a hand-scribbled Top 10 list with alternative "Frankenstorm" names (my favorites: "The New 'Hurricane Loco' From Taco Bell" and "iPaddle") -- were sort of spectacularly silly.

Denzel Washington also showed up, plugging "Flight," and the absence of an audience made that portion intriguingly awkward.

Then again, the whole night was a bit more animated, mostly because you could see Letterman rising to the challenge, in the same way he seems more engaged on nights when he's booked a really novel guest,  particularly from the political realm.

"Good night, and good luck, everyone," Letterman said to close the show, quoting Edward R. Murrow's signoff.

Bravo, Dave. Bravo.

Oh, by the way, the Lucy Liu photo above has nothing to do with this column. But there wasn't anything from Monday on the website, and I just kinda liked it.

There have been a series of stories about the impact of DVRs this fall, from a column I wrote a few weeks ago to today's Page 1 Los Angeles Times article about the issue, and what a double-edged sword it's becoming for ad-supported networks.

(A small footnote here: The Times piece again quotes execs saying people actually watch more commercials in playback mode than one might think, a question I addressed in the column -- namely, if your audience can't figure out how to fast-forward, they might not exactly be the best target for premium products.)

Still, one of the biggest problems in taking DVR data into account is the lag in receiving it, and the pressure for instant information and "thumbs up" or "thumbs down" rulings.

Remember, we once waited until weekend boxoffice data was fully tabulated on Mondays before publishing stories on Tuesdays. Now, everyone can read estimates during the weekend and full stories on Monday morning, even if the numbers have to be adjusted later.

Similarly, I received a press release from ABC today with "Live+7 Day Ratings for the week of 10/8/12," or Week No. 3 of the new TV season. But those numbers are more than two weeks old, and we've already moved on to obsessing over how well "Once Upon a Time" and "Revenge" held up against the World Series and Sunday Night Football last night.

Networks haven't been quite so quick on the cancellation trigger finger this fall, in part because they need to absorb this kind of data. But from a simple perception standpoint, it's very difficult for a series to catch up with the sense it's a flop, even if it adds another 20% or 30% to its ratings when all the numbers come dribbling in two weeks later.

In this regard, there's some truth to the adage "Speed kills." But given the hunger for more information on all fronts -- just witness the crazed polling being conducted in advance of the election -- it's unlikely the rules are going to change any time soon.

In other words, counting on the DVR to prop up your grades is a dangerous way to live, especially for any new series.

There's nothing particularly distinctive about Syfy's "Viral Video Showdown" -- a half-hour series premiering Oct. 30, after "Total Blackout" -- except for what the producers had the chutzpah to call their "Grand prize."

To the victor in each week's contest to create a web video with limited time and a meager budget goes -- drum roll, please -- a whopping $5,000!

Or roughly .001% of what you'd earn for winning "The X Factor."

The show itself has the potential to be interesting, at least for aspiring filmmakers. Still, the premiere doesn't really do much to illustrate the process of cobbling together a 90-second video -- here, a cheeky movie trailer -- for $4,000 in just four days.

What really made me chuckle, though, was sitting there watching one team consisting of six people, who -- should they come out on top -- would walk away with a cool $833 each.

Of course, based on the minimalist set and talent (in addition to three guest judges with some sort of web-video credentials, "Attack of the Show's" Kevin Pereira hosts), "Viral Video Showdown" is an exercise in economy all the way around. In fact, my guess is producer SallyAnn Salsano has a higher craft-services/tanning/protein-supplement/hair-gel budget on her best-known enterprise, "Jersey Shore."

In that respect, give Syfy some credit for ingenuity in terms of concocting original programming on the cheap, I suppose. As for the contenders, well, if you do walk away with the grand prize, try not to spend it all in one place -- like filling up the car in order to get home.

Discovery's "Curiosity" has sought to be provocative in its current run, with titles like "Plane Crash" and "I Was Mummified."

Still, I was intrigued by the subject matter of "Brainwashed," which asks, "Can the human mind be programmed?" and "Can we be brainwashed to kill?"

Fascinating stuff, especially if you grew up on movies like "The Manchurian Candidate," remember the case of kidnapped heiress turned Symbionese Liberation Army member Patty Heart (whose story is mentioned near the outset) or simply watch "Homeland."

But "Brainwashed" (which premieres Oct. 28) can't really dive into its subject as a full-blown experiment for obvious ethical reasons, so the title becomes something of a misnomer. "Hypnotized" would be more accurate, and as a consequence, it's a rather thin gruel.

Not that the producers don't labor to make the show credible, which includes the rather silly approach of introducing neuroscientists as if they were the Avengers.

Once we get past the preliminaries, though, the whole hour boils down to what people can be convinced to do while under hypnosis, and that sort of "social norm abandonment" isn't the same thing as breaking someone down and convincing them to engage in surprising behavior.

There's also a lot of time put into trying to determine whether the test group of subjects are just playing along because of the incentive to be on TV. This includes a cold-water-immersion examination to see if they are truly in a "deeply hypnotic state." (Another test involves having people strip down to their underwear, which only made me wonder what a hypnosis program on Showtime might look like.)

Like I said, the discussion by itself is interesting, and it's not giving too much away to say the experiment leaves behind as many questions as answers.

Yet at the risk of splashing cold water on the whole thing, about the only way to completely buy into "Brainwashed" would be if you were highly susceptible or, um, coerced.