It's no coincidence that HBO's now-famous channel identification begins with the hum of static. One of its first successful shows, Dream On, started with just this view: an old TV set, static, and the promise of something new and interesting. The fledgling premium cable channel had actually been on air for over ten years at that point, but Dream On was the beginning of something - HBO's first wave of programming, inventive, playful, and distinctly HBO. In the late '80s and early '90s, the channel gave shows to many of today's mainstays: Garry Shandling (The Larry Sanders Show), Dennis Miller (Dennis Miller Live), Bob Odenkirk + David Cross (Mr. Show), Tracey Ullman (Tracey Takes On...), and Jim Henson (Fraggle Rock and The Storyteller).
Then, inexplicably, things quieted down - the Arli$$ years, when these classic shows waned into their fifth and sixth seasons. In 1997, Oz hit, and the network was reinvigorated. No longer focused on developing its lineup around personalities, HBO instead became the premiere storytelling network, gathering acclaim for Sex and the City, The Sopranos, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Six Feet Under, Carnivale, Entourage, Deadwood, and Clooney + Soderbergh's Unscripted - all pieces with solid ensemble casts, engaging narratives, and, in many case, a cinematic approach to television.
But now the capo has fallen, and these classics are all wrapped, with the exception of Entourage (Sundays at 10pm EST) and Curb (new season beginning September 9). HBO is hitting another trough, and nothing confirms that more than this season's two cornerstones (back-to-back on Sunday nights), John from Cincinnati and Flight of the Conchords. Both have the aimless feel of first drafts, a stab at something new that hasn't been refined enough yet to be successful.
Of the two, John from Cincinnati feels more like HBO's previous fare, likely because it's a product of Deadwood creator David Milch. In it, the epic battles of surfing - man against nature, will against circumstance, spirit against status quo - are illustrated at their least glamorous, with drug dealers in dilapidated beach houses, uninspired party kids, and hapless suits caught between the worlds. While we might glean some enlightenment from these uncomfortable truths, Milch skews the world away, adding a disconcerting out-of-towner with a heady metaphysical name (the titular John Monad), a quirky retired policeman who knows more than he lets on (Bill Jacks), and a Greek chorus of comic failures (Ramon Gaviota, Meyer Dickstein, Barry Cunningham). The names, like much else on the show, feel Important, and the show's big success lies in reassuring the viewer that more will become clear as the season goes on. However, paper-thin characters and irritating narrative arc - these people seem intent on driving their lives into the ground, becoming worse people with no redemption in sight - do little to inspire return viewing. John does a great job of ratcheting up the rich symbolism that set shows like Sopranos and Six Feet Under apart, but fails without the focus on story of these precursors.
Flight of the Conchords - made up New Zealanders Jemaine Clement and Bret McKenzie, both sporting an amazing deadpan - is a very talented, funny musical comedy duo. Unfortunately, their hipster humor is lost in a show that tries to concoct elaborate situations in which their songs - about robots, second-rate models, and the absurdity of David Bowie - fit naturally. The show's aesthetic seems to try to combine the richness of The Royal Tenenbaums with the low-fi randomness of Lazy Sunday, without achieving either. Ultimately, television's disenfranchised - the hip bespectacled intelligensia who can't stomach more CSI spin-offs - are flocking to the show because it provides just a taste of the offbeat humor they want, a light release from Tony Soprano's enveloping opera buffa. But in a time when low-budget shows like The Burg are starting to be able to compete, HBO will need to refine its formula on shows like Flight.
HBO's surprise saving grace? Big Love (Mondays at 9pm EST). The show by an alternative couple (Mark Olsen and Will Scheffer) about another lifestyle alternative - religious polygamy - is not revolutionary in style, but is in its extreme even-handedness and complexity. Big Love applies the Tony Soprano technique to its entire cast of characters - viewers are both proud and wary, feeling kinship with characters who they also mildly dislike for their very human foibles. Everything about this show is right on - the casting continues to be a delight, the acting is solid, and writing has improved dramatically into the third season - and it remains as one of the best examples of HBO's second wave of programming. It may have several more good years to come, but what happens next?
(HBO can be found on DISH channels 300-309, and comes free for 3 months when you sign up as a new customer.)
