I don't think at this point that I need to remind anyone of my geek-level fandom/love for Aaron Sorkin. There are already other clips up for his new show, "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip," which has received a 13-episode pickup for NBC this fall, but this one's the longest. It's worth putting up with the crappy video and out-of-sync audio to get a glimpse of the show.
It's good to see Judd Hirsch as the angry producer, since Sorkin actually pictured Hirsch playing the role of Leo McGarry, who was originally called Leo Jacoby. And of course Bradley Whitford and Timothy Busfield are practically contract players for the guy at this point; Busfield even directed a few episodes of "Sports Night." All that to say that it looks like Sorkin is at least playing to his strengths. It's also my sincere hope that one of the characters is a Jew from New England who sees a therapist about dealing with the death of a sibling. That's pretty much a Sorkinian standard.
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Los Angeles, California I'm a twentysomething white male with ambitions to be a professional film critic and generally spend my days getting paid to watch movies and write about it. I try not to think too hard about how I want to build my life around talking about other people's creations and not mine. A compulsive reader and stubborn cineaste, I take an often contrary stance to my more fundamentalist peers and upbringing by celebrating the pursuit of the good, and the Good, in life, love, art and film. If you watched enough episodes of a few TV shows ("The Hungry and the Hunted," "The Cut Man Cometh," "The Body," "Waiting in the Wings," "Out of Gas," "April is the Cruelest Month," "20 Hours in America," "Colonial Day" for starters), you would understand me completely, and you'd also realize that much of my worldview and philosophical insights are heavily influenced by fictional works/programs, and many of the good things I've said in my life are just a regurgitation of someone else's imaginings. I guess I was made to be a film critic. This Month
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Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When?
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