Summary of “A Pandemic Is Not the Time for Food Snobbery”

For chefs, cookbook authors, and TV hosts whose shows have halted production, Instagram is perhaps the most natural venue for reaching audiences.
Garten is known for being a stickler about not cutting corners; on her show, Barefoot Contessa, she regularly instructs her audience to make recipe ingredients such as pie crusts and stock at home.
Read: Ina Garten’s Instagram will get you through quarantine.
Among the more natural Instagram users are food-world Millennials whose profiles have risen as people turn to them for recipes that are both satisfying and doable.
The cookbook author Alison Roman, for example, first shared the caramelized-shallot-pasta recipe that has taken over Instagram the past few months.
Bon Appétit’s YouTube channel features discrete shows with personable, goofy hosts who’ve attracted expansive fan bases.
As my colleague Myles Poydras wrote in our recent guide to free pandemic entertainment, “Few things are more pleasing than watching a meal take shape, whether on-screen or in your own kitchen. Bon Appétit’s informal tutorial videos for recipes that range from hibiscus cocktails to classic ratatouille make meals that seem out of your wheelhouse look simple.” As with Nadiya’s Time to Eat, the fun of watching Bon Appétit videos doesn’t necessarily lie in the prospect of re-creating the dishes depicted.
Though her show was filmed in the Before Times, Hussain doesn’t travel to fancy restaurants or culinary institutes.

The orginal article.

Summary of “The Best Television Shows to Stream Now”

T.P. “Miami Vice”: As done by Michael Mann, our great analyst of men in suits at work, this holds up better than most cop shows and many other existential queries after masculinity.
T.P. “Schitt’s Creek”: A family affair from Eugene Levy and his son, Daniel.
T.P. “Six Feet Under”: Now is the time to raid the canon.
D.S.F. “Terrace House”: The Japanese reality show proceeds from the elemental premise of “The Real World,” or, for that matter, college: a carefully curated selection of young strangers gather under one roof to flirt and fight with one another.
T.P. “Top of the Lake”: Tropes of the puzzle-box detective story are built and undone in Jane Campion’s “Top of the Lake,” a moody, impressionistic portrait of a strange New Zealand town, starring Elisabeth Moss as the police officer Robin Griffin.
D.S.F. “TV Party”: No disrespect to “The Robin Byrd Show,” but “TV Party” represents the highest achievement of New York City public-access cable programming.
T.P. “Undone”: Kate Purdy and Raphael Bob-Waksberg’s series “Undone” is created using rotoscoping, by which animation is traced over live-action footage.
Loosely adapted from Deborah Feldman’s memoir, “Unorthodox: The Scandalous Rejection of My Hasidic Roots,” the show tells the story of Esty, a young wife living in the Satmar community of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and her escape to a secular life in Berlin, Germany.

The orginal article.

Summary of “‘Los Espookys’ Shows There’s Nothing Weirder Than the Gig Economy”

“I don’t necessarily have a big passion for horror movies or anything,” Ana Fabrega told me, as we sat with her Los Espookys co-star and co-creator, Julio Torres, just ahead of the launch of their HBO series, which premiered in 2019.
While it might initially seem surprising that two of the people behind something called Los Espookys aren’t all that into horror, the truth is that, while the show might traffic in the visceral, what it invokes in viewers doesn’t include terror, but rather a sense of the surreal and the uncanny-as well as a familiar kind of angst, one that speaks to fears that are more existential than they are explicit.
Los Espookys takes place in a fictional, unnamed Latin American country and centers around a group of friends who join together to form a “Horror group,” through which they stage grotesque events as a way of pursuing their creative fantasies.
Torres plays Andrés, the blue-haired, adopted scion of a chocolate magnate; Fabrega plays Tati, who is seen performing a series of odd jobs in one of the best representations of the gig economy I’ve seen on-screen; Cassandra Ciangherotti plays Úrsula, stuck in the drudgery of her job as a dental assistant; and Bernardo Velasco is Renaldo, whose passion for all things gory served as the true inspiration for the formation of Los Espookys.
While Los Espookys isn’t really part of the horror genre, what it shares with films that are, is the way in which it reflects so much of the troubling things happening in the real world, only it does so using a kind of fun-house mirror.
All art, of course, is a reflection of the time and place in which it’s created, and it’s no coincidence that Los Espookys would grapple with issues of immigration and identity, even if the Latin American country in which it’s set is imaginary.
There’s an aspect to watching Los Espookys that feels dreamlike; this is not only because it’s set in an impossible place, but rather because of how immersive of an experience it is to watch it.
This is because, at least for me, a non-Spanish speaker, unlike those TV shows that I watch with one eye on the screen and the other on my phone, I had to pay a different kind of attention to Los Espookys; since the show is almost totally in Spanish, my eyes were glued to the subtitles, within which tons of jokes live.

The orginal article.

Summary of “After the Coronavirus, What Happens to the TV Industry?”

Before the people who run linear TV networks and streaming services start dealing with the very real and very serious implications of closing down the industry, their first task at hand is figuring out how to adjust their programming to match a viewing landscape dramatically different than even just one week ago.
While not everyone is going to want to watch more TV or stream Prime Video, the potential audience for video entertainment is about to skyrocket.
Hulu last week moved up the streaming premiere of its new Pete Davidson feature, Big Time Adolescence, to coincide with its theatrical release, while Disney+ dropped Frozen II more than a month earlier than planned.
Streamers should play a part, too: Replays of any PBS-produced educational programming could be added to all the major commercial platforms, as well as free streamers such as Pluto and the Roku Channel.
The rise of streaming has made watching TV a far more personalized experience: There are no timeslots on Netflix, and only the biggest of shows – Stranger Things, perhaps this month’s Love Island finale – result in the sense that we’re all streaming the same show within a two- or three-day period.
The early conventional wisdom about coronavirus and the streaming business is that, in the short term, it should be a major boon: At-home audiences no longer buying movie tickets, drinking in bars, or seeing live shows will want as many streaming options as possible to help fight boredom.
If the traditional cable bundle starts collapsing even more quickly in coming months – and the lack of professional sports on cable could be the thing that gets many older consumers to finally ditch the cord – it will be in every established streamer’s best interest to make streaming subscriptions more attractive than ever.
The beloved sitcom is currently on a streaming break, having left Netflix on January 1 and not scheduled to return until the launch of HBO Max in May. But imagine the great PR WarnerMedia would get were it to put all episodes of Friends on HBO’s current direct to consumer offering HBO Now, rather than waiting for the new platform to arrive in two months.

The orginal article.

Summary of “The Aesthetic Splendor of “The Simpsons””

By general consensus, whether on Reddit or in more qualified critical assessments, the Golden Age of Fox’s “The Simpsons” began no later than its third season, and did not extend past its tenth-or even, in the view of some doctrinaires, eighth-season.
Those classic mid-nineties years of “The Simpsons,” which is, unbelievably, still on air, and in its thirty-first season, served more than anything, for me, as a kind of ideological guide to life.
The show’s plots, which followed Homer, Marge, Bart, Lisa, and Maggie on a variety of more or less realistic capers in the American everytown of Springfield, were written with a sharp eye, but their takeaway was hardly ever unsympathetic.
“The Simpsons” had a million cracks and gags, not to mention exceedingly quick and incisive-and sometimes even slightly mean-assessments of American popular culture, but its tender tenor was just as important.
As the years went by, I largely stopped watching “The Simpsons,” partly because its cultural acuity and centrality had passed, and I began using other cultural primers to point my way.
Recently this wistful feeling has lifted a bit, thanks to a new, pleasurable way I’ve found to reëngage with “The Simpsons.” A few months ago, I began to come across Instagram accounts that post single frames from the show.
Another enjoyable aspect of these “Simpsons” Instagram posts is their singling out of a potentially overlooked moment, in all its glorious detail.
More broadly still, there is something about observing a single image at a time, as opposed to watching a full episode, or bingeing on several, that makes for a new kind of perspective on the show.

The orginal article.

Summary of “Join Me in My Obsession with “Desert Island Discs””

The first episode of “Desert Island Discs” was recorded at the bomb-damaged Maida Vale Studios, in West London, on January 27, 1942, and aired on the BBC two days later.
It’s an interview show with a simple premise: each celebrity guest discusses the eight recordings that he or she would bring if cast away alone on a desert island.
The show is less concerned with logistics-in the early days, it clarified that guests would have “a gramophone and an inexhaustible supply of needles”-than the trigger of sound.
Each guest wrestles with the question of what you would want a song to remind you of.
Besides the eight songs, guests are allowed one luxury item-the Danish chef René Redzepi asked for a day of snow-and one book other than the Bible and the complete works of Shakespeare, which every castaway automatically receives.
How could you whittle down your personality to eight or ten songs? Could your essence be distilled to one side of a cassette? Some guests, like Morrissey, still playfully self-deprecating in 2009, or John McEnroe, who ratchets up his American bad-boy-isms, delight in sharing a personal canon that has become synonymous with their unruly public images.
For most of the episodes, the guests’ selections are full of inspirational highs, offering insight into why these people chose the paths that eventually brought them fame, or infamy.
Guests usually accustomed to delivering the same old talking points drift off as a stray tune reminds them of the lean times of their youth.

The orginal article.

Summary of “Alan Sepinwall: Best Shows to Binge in Coronavirus Quarantine”

You already know those shows are 100-percent certified great.
If you want to lean into the apocalypse instead of running from it:The Walking Dead seems like the obvious fictional end-of-the-world scenario to dive into, but HBO’s The Leftovers – about a sideways rapture where two percent of the world’s population vanishes without explanation – is a vastly better show.
If you need an animated laugh:A lot of people will likely be taking advantage of Disney+ having over 600 episodes of The Simpsons ready to stream, but Hulu’s complete catalog of Bob’s Burgers feels like the more suitable quarantine option, both because it’s a fundamentally warmer show, and because Bob Belcher’s role as the one reasonable man in a wildly unreasonable and unfair world feels very cathartic right about now.
For similar B-movie-style thrills, Amazon also has the first three seasons of another Cinemax show from that era, the globe-trotting special forces adventure Strike Back.
If you’re feeling old-school:A wonderful thing about the streaming revolution is that many of the greatest shows ever made are just a click away, and a lot of them hold up incredibly well all these decades later.
The Andy Griffith Show makes fine all-ages viewing with some good lessons for the kids, while Cheers offers more sophisticated comedy that for the most part still feels incredibly modern.
If you like a touch of levity with your darkness:A pair of FX shows now on Hulu – one long-running and beloved, one consigned to obscurity – do a great job of mixing wry humor into tough settings.
If you want to watch stuff with your kids:The aforementioned Andy Griffith Show is splendid, but for something much more contemporary, Amazon Prime Video’s Gortimer Gibbon’s Life on Normal Street is a sweetly whimsical show about a group of adolescent friends dealing with supernatural phenomena in the midst of their otherwise bucolic suburban neighborhood.

The orginal article.

Summary of “What Comes After TV? Snap Originals.”

It’s tempting to define Snap Originals by comparing them with more familiar formats, but they’re not TV and they’re not movies chopped up into little pieces.
Snap Originals must be hypercondensed, each episode edited down to a few minutes of ultralean narrative machinery.
If TV is a semi-truck, capacious and capable of traveling long distances, a Snap Original is a moped, fun and fast, carrying little but zipping through traffic.
Snap Originals ask to be watched in a way that reminds me most of spending time on social-media apps: endlessly refreshing, moving rapidly from one platform to the next.
More than anything I’ve seen, Snap Originals are a form of storytelling that replicates the rhythms of digital life.
Snap Originals are so well suited to the app they exist in it’s almost astonishing how poorly their platform supports them.
Even before its release, Quibi has used an immense marketing budget and high-profile names to produce the kind of buzz Snap Originals has never had. Mills hopes that, rather than being a zero-sum game, Quibi will make all mobile shows more visible, Snapchat’s included.
Any new medium is a system of gains and losses, and while the potential gains of Snap Originals are huge, there are also losses.

The orginal article.

Summary of “The Joy of Fran Drescher”

Literally, as in the phrase: It sneaked into the theme song to describe the stock-in-trade of the flashy girl from Flushing, as the Nanny was, and as Fran Drescher, its star and creator, was.
The Fran Generation is now grown up, and its members have carried Drescher with them.
Dan Levy, a producer and writer for the ABC show The Goldbergs, created a “Fran Drescher-type” mother figure in his new NBC sitcom, Indebted, which premiered last month; he told every development executive that he’d pictured Fran Drescher in the part and then, bowing to Occam’s razor, cast Fran Drescher.
Drescher is not unapprised of the singularity of Fran.
“You’d think there’d be a lot more shows where people were overtly Jewish, considering the disproportionate amount of Jewish people writing and creating shows. But there’s this idea of ‘We don’t want to alienate Middle America.’ ”. Drescher and Jacobson based Fran Fine on the young Fran and insisted on her being Jewish even when a major conglomerate offered to sponsor the show provided Fran be rewritten as Italian.
“We thought about it because we knew it was our big break,” Drescher says, “And we didn’t want to be difficult. But I thought of Neil Simon because he said, ‘Write what you know.’ I didn’t know Italian like I know Jewish. So I mustered up my chutzpah and told them Fran Fine must be Jewish. And they said, ‘Okay.’ ”. There were occasional complaints that Nanny Fine and her Queens clan – a domineering, guilt-tripping Jewish mother and a yenta grandmother, Yetta, named after Drescher’s grandmother – didn’t represent the best of Jewish womanhood.
Drescher took care to insert enough Fran into the character to make it her own; early scripts, she said, made Debbie more of a traditional, hectoring mother-in-law type.
The studio, Jacobson recalled, originally pushed for Fran to wear T-shirts and jeans in an effort to be relatable; he and Drescher doubled down on the brights, even making the sets a polite, neutral cream to make the costumes pop.

The orginal article.

Summary of “‘Mad Men’: The Last Great Drama of TV’s Golden Age”

“Breaking Bad” – which started six months after “Mad Men” and ended two years earlier than “Person to Person” – marks the last show in the medium’s sudden transformation.
Because “Mad Men” ended later – and because “Mad Men” ended, it felt, multiple times, with a protracted two-part goodbye where every scene felt like closure – it has the privilege and the curse of being the one to turn off the lights.
At the point where “Mad Men’s” finale was slowly unfolding, it seemed bizarrely out of pace with the TV boom it had helped to spawn.
When “Mad Men” debuted it was still astonishing that dramas would make bad men their lead characters.
Where other lights of the TV revolution tapped into and reworked existing TV stories – the mob movie, the cop show, the Western, the high school soap – “Mad Men” kind of created its own subgenre, an aesthetic procedural.
It’s a period antihero/workplace drama about the cultural history of an increasingly pervasive and singularly American craft – branding – and whether Weiner knew it or not, “Mad Men” came to the viewer just as branding was moving away from being simply the purview of companies to a practice that every individual had to partake in.
Reported a “Mad Men effect” that is still present today – how else to explain the preponderance of Old Fashioneds at seemingly every hipster bar? “Mad Men” took us all back in time for a little while, whether we wanted to embrace the midcentury modern or not.
If “Mad Men” had ended up at HBO, as it well could have – Weiner was a writer on “The Sopranos” because the “Mad Men” pilot script impressed Chase – the last 10 years of television might look very different.

The orginal article.