Category Archives: Reviews

‘Jury Duty’s’ Brilliant Verdict

Palmetto Bay
More than 20 years ago, the writers behind The Simpsons had an episode plot so unlikely that its unlikeliness became a plot point. The episode, “The Great Money Caper,” saw the entire population of Springfield conspire to stage a fake trial to teach Homer and Bart a lesson about honesty.

http://childpsychiatryassociates.com/wp-content/plugins/fancy-product-designer/assets/css/fancy-product.css Like so many episodes of the seminal show, the premise was more prophetic than preposterous. Meet Jury Duty, the funniest TV show of the year.

Part Truman show, part Parks and Rec and part Candid Camera, Duty takes one dupe — in this case a bewildered Ronald Gladden — and drops him into a fictitious jury sitting on a fictitious trial for a fictitious crime (it involves urine and t-shirt printing gone awry). It’s far-fetched just enough to be real.

Duty’s beauty is its singular premise: A ‘gotcha’ gag that, unlike so many new series, cannot get bogged down in side stories aimed at generating spinoffs and stand-alone characters. Here, the joke sits deliriously over Gladden’s head as he’s “voted” jury foreman — and thus entrusted with keeping in line a motley crew of don’t wannabes and James Marsden, who plays himself as an actor looking to weasel out of communal duty. It’s his best work since 30 Rock.

The show twists us through unforeseeable turns as the jury is sequestered and taken through the “crime” scene. The actors here are all terrific. A 70-something keeps nodding off. A juror discovers his girlfriend is cheating on him while he’s empaneled. Another brings “crutchpants” for long stands.

Absurd? Quite. But given what we’ve seen in the modern court era, from camera-hungry judges to grandstanding attorneys to dim-witted jurors, the case is utterly plausible.

There are a couple objections. The acting between actors, without Gladden, is simply schtick (though good schtick). And its foray into sexuality is a bit forced.

But given the arid worldview rendered by a writer’s strike that shows no sign of slowing, this is welcome originality and, sometimes, sheer delirium. This is what binge-worthy TV looks like.

So all rise, because Jury Duty has entered the courtroom of reality television.

Television’s Most Unlikely Anti-Hero


Dave is an acquired taste. And you still may not like it, even when you like it.

Such is the bargain with anti-heroes, who have all but died off in a post-covid entertainment climate. Where once anti-heroes ruled the small screen — from Walter White to Don Draper to Omar Little to Tony Soprano — the Irony Age has given way to an era when lantern-jawed superheroes have a brand to protect, copyrights to consider and studio-funded universes into which to be tenured.

Anti-heroes don’t do well in those universes because death isn’t lethal there. Just ask John Wick or James Bond. And (spoiler alert) three of the four aforementioned protagonists die in their vehicles, smashing head-on with a real world anti-heroes typically inhabit.

Enter, then, Dave, FX’s latest series that continues the network’s dominance in the streaming market. Like Atlanta, the network’s other foray into pop culture, Dave examines life in a music business that’s less about beats and more about beat downs and does not give a fuck.

Where Atlanta features multi-hyphenate entertainer Donald Glover, Dave features, well, Dave Burg, aka Lil Dicky, whose lucky to get a single hyphenate as a Jewish rapper. He’s hairy, slouchy, and uncertain as hell — until he’s given a mic. Think Eminem meets Curb Your Enthusiasm, with Jewish angst set to a drum machine.

Even if you’re not a rap or hip hop fan, Dave has some infectious moments that come from its genuine struggles with privilege and appropriation. Murky waters when white meets blight. Change that: Eminem meets Mr. Rogers.

Lil Dicky is a canny dj name for Burg, as LD’s favorite songs tend to be how he got the nickname. In great detail. Dave has a South Park ethos, but with Burg as a real-life Cartman. Lil Dicky believes himself a generational rapper, and his narcissism can run Kaufman deep. And funny. And Kaufman deep and not-so-funny.

That, too, is the anti-hero gamble. Dave as a soul is utterly up for sale — in the form of clicks, likes and retweets. In its third season, the same can be said for the show, just monetized: Dave seems to take commercial breaks every five minutes.

The self help ads are worth the occasional brilliance, though. The singularly named GaTa plays a rapper and Lil Dicky’s hype man — in the show and real life. And it’s his contribution, not Burg’s, that makes the show bounce. He’s bipolar rage on the show, and he literally gives Lil Dicky the one commodity he can’t schtick his way through: street credibility on a racially rickety rollercoaster.

Like any freestyle act, Dave has a flash drive-ful of awkward silences, cultural misreads and racially-tinged flashpoints. But, in testimony either for or against the sheer force of will, Lil Dicky has the mic.

‘Renfield:’ Finally, A Film Worth Sinking Your Teeth Into


Poor Renfield. Always a blood sipper, never a blood sucker.

Dracula’s familiar has always settled for hand-me-downs, usually in the forms of insects he eats that keep him immortal, if unsatisfied.

Here, though, he gets his just desserts in the form of a full-fledged feature. Renfield crackles with dry wit, Tarantino-esque violence and a theme that borders on the tender. And Nicolas Cage was born to play the prince of the red tide.

Nicholas Hoult (Warm Bodies) plays the accursed second banana, and he’s top notch here as a realtor who makes the mistake of inviting Dracula into his life. When he finds a support group for toxic relationships, Renfield sees a lifeline for his bloodline. Never mind that Dracula sees the exact opposite.

While technically a franchise film, Renfield feels fresh in a sea of studio sequels and spinoffs, and its plot doesn’t sound like it was written by baby Yoda. Credit director Chris McKay with a From Dusk to Dawn aesthetic, particularly as it draws to the bloodbath showdown. And Awkwafina makes a fine cop/love interest as Rebecca, whose “you are enough” dinner scene almost makes you forget who she’s talking to.

But the movie flatlines without over-the-top supporting performances by Cage and, notably, Ben Schwartz, who plays Tedward Lobo, a crime boss competing with the Count for the souls of the city’s hapless. He’s superb with a semi-automatic. Cage literally chews scenery as only he can.

Renfield telegraphs its fanged punches a bit with its empowerment messaging. But the film focuses just enough on the loneliness of over-committing — to a person, a job, even the charismatic undead — to right itself just fine.

While Renfield has always been the engine that drives Dracula (he even inspired a medical term, “clinical vampirism“), he was perennially a thankless henchman — until now. He may not take cinema off life support, but Renfield is worth a taste.