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April 12, 2007

Fugday Night Lights

I love, love, LOVE Friday Night Lights. Yes, I know, it's not a soap opera, and it's not by Aaron Spelling, and no one on it has been thrown into a lily pond or returned from the dead; amazingly, I have been able to get over all those drawbacks. If I may drop my brutal, trollish facade for one moment, though, I must note that Friday Night Lights is best show on TV right now -- even better than Heroes, which I also love -- because of the way it's truly funny, moving, relatable, well-developed, perfectly acted, and excellent at both big scenes and the small moments that can really set a show and its cast apart.

Plus, and let's not undermine the importance of this, there is some serious eye candy on this show. Kyle Chandler? Yes, please. And of course there's Taylor Kitsch, who plays fullback Tim Riggins, the long-haired, troubled boozer who somehow makes being a dishevelled, brooding, grouchy, hung-over high-schooler with a heart of gold and an ass of steel kind of fantastically hot. If you are not watching because you think it's all about football, you are missing out on all that masculine longing that Tim Riggins wants to shoot your way. Move over, Patrick Dempsey. You are not the only professional-level gazer on television.

However, even with an order for six more scripts, my beloved Friday Night Lights is still endangered. So Taylor Kitsch, a relative unknown before this job, should probably re-think showing up at movie premieres dressed in a head-kerchief.

I still love him, but Taylor, if Friday Night Lights gets cancelled (please, God, NO) and you need to find another job, it might be best not to show up in public dressed as if your true passion is mopping the floor. Because unless those crackpot developers at CBS are working on a sitcom entitled JaniTorial Duty -- a Tori Spelling vehicle about the trials and tribulations of a roving cleaning staff led by Larry The Cable Guy -- then you might be a tad pigeonholed into actually scrubbing the bathrooms. And I won't stand for that. Unless it's my bathroom.

Posted by Heather at 01:12 PM | Permalink

 

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