TV is King

Although my obsession with all things film has been well documented recently I have had to come to terms with a new vice: TV. I have become aware, like a Trainspotting character coming down from a drug fuelled haze, of the extent of my televisual consumption; and its not healthy.

Instead of buying loads of soup and barring my bedroom door with planks of wood, in an homage to everyones favourite skag head, I have instead embraced my burgeoning addicition. Thus far I have not had to rob to fund my habit, I have not severed all ties from various family members and my school career is still on track. In fact my obsession could be seen as a positive, its keeping my away from the abject mediocrity and the sucession of shite shows that fill our screens daily,showing the possibilities of excellence in a world content with rubbish.

My bedroom is currently like Hunter S Thompson's red convertible, roaring towards Las Vegas with an arsenal of dangerous, beautiful, mind bending substances, and I assume I will be confronted with fear and loathing when I finish consuming them and realise how many hours of my life they have taken up. My primary drug of choice is The West Wing. I have currently devoured four seasons of the political drama and am constantly impressed by the stupidly intelligent dialogue, the authentic potrayal of politcal intrigue and the accurate forecasts of real events. It's as funny as it is earnest and totally and utterley engrossing. I doubt there has ever been a better ensemble cast on television and is aided by the fact that its main players were relatively unknown before meaning they are almost real to me and I imagine them knocking about the White House helping Barack Obama save the world.

The West Wing is a strictly DVD affair as I came late to it's brilliance, so late I can watch all seven series unhindered by adverts, a strategy which I should really employ on all TV shows. There is no chance of me using this idea on Lost ;the new series of which I am addicted to beyond rehabilitation. The prospect of having to restrain myself from watching the weekly installments until the DVD's come out is laughable. Lost is almost the highlight of my week amidst sixth-form based drudgery and the revelations are flying thick and fast at the moment in what looks to be the best series ever. The unhurried, languid way in which the story is told compared with the short sharp shit like CSI and House is admirable and the characters are brilliantly drawn. It's ambitiousness and sheer strangeness are reasons to watch avidly every week, which I have done despite many others not keeping up. Three words. Short. Attention. Span.

With Lost the only reason for watching television programs on the television at the moment I have been forced to return to DVD's to fill the time in between. The Wire is anything but filler and doesn't deserve such a lukewarm introduction. It is consistently the most brilliant piece of work I have ever seen. It's like watching a fifteen hour long fly on the wall documentary of life in a modern urban city. Omar's dramatic return in Season 3 and Mcnulty and Bunk's continued drunken antics is a pleasure to watch and all set in a context that allows the writers to go on quietly exploring resonant social and moral themes. It is the pinnacle of great TV with a cast of character's bigger than a Tolstoy novel all of whom you care about in some way, whether you want them dead or alive.

Despite The Wire's brilliance there is one television show that has just finished that in some ways tops it. Masterchef shouldn't be good. It's essentially people cooking in a room with no discernable prize. But it is. A recent investigation found that it was marginally less addictive than heroin and that is mainly due to the brilliance of it's judges. Gregg Wallace and John Torode taste the food as if the fabric of the universe depends on how well it is seasoned, as if there is some celestial battle of the Gods that we are involved in whereby the only way to victory is well cooked duck breast. Their earnest approach and continual proclamations that "This is cooking at the highest level!" make Masterchef a spectacle that belies its humble origins. That coupled with Wallace's verbosity make Masterchef both hilarious and serious. You want to cry when the big New Zealand fella says he wants a small cafe with his family and you crack up laughing when Wallace says that the mango sorbet he is tasting is so good that he wants to bathe in it.

Film will always be the highest form of visual poetry but when theres a man on TV that looks like a potato, tastes food and says stuff like: "That scallop just comes back up and gives you a big kiss" why go to the cinema?