Skip to main content

Deadwood

I'm excited to revisit "Deadwood" sometime soon; there's a strong related Terry Gross piece, with Milch and with Olyphant, on NPR. Some takeaways:

*Milch describes the surprising boon that is censorship. When show handlers will not allow you to use certain words, you're forced to become more creative. Milch says it's *context* that suggests vulgarity. So you can actually be extremely vulgar using classroom words, and you can be less-than-vulgar using dirty, dirty words. As an example, Milch recalls *inventing* a word--and just the sentences he built around it made the word seem extraordinarily filthy. Brilliant.

*Milch wasn't especially interested in Westerns, but he *was* interested in how a civilization is built. He was going to focus on ancient Rome, but I think others had arrived on that terrain first. So "Deadwood" became a way of exploring a theme; the setting didn't come first.

*Olyphant won his role simply by staring silently at Milch, as Milch pontificated. He intimidated Milch. And so the (intimidating) part would soon be his. I love that.

Vulture called "Deadwood" the second-greatest HBO series of all time, above "The Wire," which came in at Number Three. When I first watched "Deadwood," I was still sort of a child, and I missed a great deal. My sense is that things may mean more, to me, if I watch the show now.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...