Just to step away from politics for a moment, I thought I’d let y’all know that I’ve finally given up on “John From Cincinnati.”
I’m not one of those “Deadwood” devotees who were royally ticked when HBO kicked “Deadwood” to the curb in favor of this new series from the same creator. I actually hated “Deadwood.” I need a little more to my dialogue than “cocksucker” this and “cocksucker” that.
But “John From Cincinnati” is no better. I’ve waited four weeks for a character with any redeeming qualities to enter the scene, but all I get are the same boring misfits. Rebecca De Mornay plays a screeching harpy whose emotional setting is set on permanent high. I keep expecting her to drop from an aneurism. I’m tired of her one-note hysterics.
Her grandson Sean, the surf wonderkid, is played by a real-life surfer/skater/non-actor, which you can tell by the way he stares woodenly through strands of long blonde hair and utters lines like “but I’m supposed to go surfing tomorrow.”
Everyone else is a loser/drug addict/whore, except for the character John, who moves through each episode wearing the same wry smirk and a dorky James Dean cowlick. John is some kind of Jesus Christ figure but he can only repeat the words he hears around him. I’m sorry, but Chauncey Gardener he ain’t. Jerzy Kosinki and Hal Ashby handled this sort of thing with a lot more finesse.
Snore. Big snore.