There’s a scene in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan that most people will probably never forget. It left an impression on many people, myself included, and forever shaped our expectations of what a movie could do on an emotional level. It showed us that death, even on film involving an imaginary character, could have as much impact as it does in real life. It was powerful, and it brought people to tears.

The scene is, of course, Spock’s death. In the moments leading up to the scene we are treated to an emotional buildup; we witness Spock make the conscious choice to sacrifice himself for the good of the many, all the while hoping that some deus ex machina will fall out of the sky and save both the ship and him. Then we watch in sorrowfull, stunned silence as no such vehicle emerges, and Spock whispers his final goodbye to his friend and captain.

Ironic then, that a character devoid of human emotion could evoke such strong feelings from the audience. And yet here we have X-Men: The Last Stand, giving us characters with supposedly more human emotion than Spock, yet evoking so little reaction from the audience.

X-Men: The Last Stand is littered with death. Important characters that we have come to know over the past two films are disposed of with such little fanfair that some of them are killed off-screen. We aren’t given any good reasons for their deaths, and their loss seems to only exist for the purpose of advancing a poorly realized plot. Even when death comes for characters that we consider “untouchable” in the franchise, the scenes are executed so poorly, with so little buildup, that no emotional energy is spent.

The poorly realized plot I mention is the Dark Pheonix Saga. It is a very important and epic part of the X-Men canon, reduced and condensed to 105 minutes of below-average filmmaking. It’s not even the main story in The Last Stand, which has more to do with a cure for mutation than it does the Dark Pheonix. X-Men fanboys are rightfully pissed off at the treatment it received in the film. Imagine if the entirety of the Lord of the Rings had been condensed and thrown in as a side-story in a movie about Hobbits.

And that is basically the whole problem with X-Men: The Last Stand; it misses too many opportunities to be great. The main story arc involving a cure for mutation is actually very interesting, with lots of modern-day sociological and political parallels (what would happen if you could “cure” homosexuality, for instance?), but the filmmakers miss several opportunities to capitalize on this plot device and give the movie more weight.

A perfect example is the character Rogue (Anna Paquin). Her mutant power allows her to suck the life force out of any living being, allowing her to absorb other mutant’s powers at the same time. This makes her very powerful (she can effectively become other mutants), but it also prevents her from enjoying the most simple human affections, like kissing her boyfriend (Iceman) or holding his hand. She seems a perfect candidate for a cure. But wait… Wouldn’t her mutant power make her the ideal combatant against the all-powerful Dark Pheonix?

When Rogue makes the decision to leave Xaxier’s school to get the cure, I expected her to change her mind at the last minute, realizing that she could be the difference; that she could save lives. In storytelling it is an important theme called sacrifice. I was hoping Rogue would come to the realization that yes, her power is a terrible thing to live with, but it’s also a gift that could help her fellow X-Men save the day. I expected the movie to turn at that moment. I expected it to become Rogue’s movie. Sadly, like most of the opportunities for storytelling in this movie, it’s never realized. The filmmakers seem less interested in telling stories with meaningful themes and more interested in special effects and summer box office receipts.

And that’s sort of sad, considering X-Men is based on a longstanding comic series, and comic books are renown for their themes and messages. In comics, the central point is never that mutan powers make cool looking special effects, or that death is meaningless. Comics have always been about major themes: sacrifice, redemption, justice. They have always been about good defeating evil and realizing the best in humanity.

In X-Men: The Last Stand, the filmmakers got it backwards. The good guys die for no reason, and the bad guys become human.

Last week I lameted the passing of HBO’s Deadwood, which returns in June for the third, and what appears to be final, season. In closing that post I said, “At least there’s still Lost, Grey’s Anatomy and Conviction. TV-Land isn’t totally doomed yet.”

Well, apparently I was wrong. TV-Land just took one more step toward doom. NBC announced that they are cancelling Dick Wolf’s latest series, Conviction. Everyone who appreciates the scant few good shows that exist on network TV should be crying in their beer right about now.

Conviction is one of those rare television shows; it’s smart, well-written and the characters are interesting. It’s that latter quality that makes it Tivo-worthy. Much like other character-driven shows, such as Grey’s Anatomy, I find that I can’t miss a Conviction episode. I’m too interested. I have to know what is going on with these characters. After the first episode aired it immediately made its way onto my Season Pass Manager.

I’ve always been a fan of Dick Wolf’s shows. I discovered Law & Order late into its run, and couldn’t believe I had dismissed it as “one of those dumb cop shows.” NYPD Blue it was not (thank God, because that show just about gave me epilepsi with it’s stupid handheld camera technique). Then came Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, which tweaked the formula slightly by focusing more on the cops investigating the crimes. Christopher Meloni and Mariska Hargitay are great on that show and keep me coming back. When Wolf brought Law & Order: Criminal Intent into the picture I thought he was nuts; would I really have time for another Law & Order show? Would anyone? But Vincent D’Onofrio’s character, Robert Goren, is by far the most interesting cop on any of Wolf’s beats. He alone made that show worth watching. It was too bad he fainted from fatigue and had to be hospitalized last year. I don’t watch the show anymore because every other episode they split time with Chris Noth. Talk about black and white. D’Onofrio is smart and creative. Noth is boring and dull.

I can understand if people have Dick Wolf overload. I’ve certainly reached my saturation point with his Law & Order series as well. So I think it was a smart move that they didn’t bill Conviction as Law & Order: Conviction. Still, NBC plugged it as a Dick Wolf show, and maybe that was its downfall with viewers. Maybe people just didn’t want to see yet another series from the Czar of Courtroom Drama. Whatever the reason for the ratings slump I don’t think the show’s lack of success can be attributed to the program itself. It’s one of the best shows on television.

What surprises me most is the quick hook that it got. It’s not 1999 anymore. This is the era of the Tivo. Not everyone watches a show on the night it airs. We’re too busy. We Tivo the things we can’t afford to miss and then we catch up when we have the time. I was about six episodes behind on Conviction and spent this past Sunday afternoon catching up. After about four episodes I wanted to track down NBC executives, tie them up with duct tape, put their bare naked feet into a bed of hot coals and interrogate the hell out of them so I could figure out why they were cancelling such a great show. I can understand cancelling a mediocre show that doesn’t have potential, but have they seen this cast? Have they watched any episodes?

A show this good sometimes needs time to draw everyone in. Some people will get attached right away. Others are busy watching their regular programming and just haven’t been introduced yet. It’s a shame that it’s being cancelled so soon. It’s just wrong.

This is why I hate TV.

I haven’t read Dan Brown’s book yet. That choice was intentional. A coworker handed me the novel a week before the movie opened, and I considered consuming it prior to the film’s release. Instead, I left it unchecked. I wanted to see the movie in isolation. I wanted to see if it could stand on its own two feet. I didn’t want the book to influence my thinking.

But a book influenced me nonetheless. Only it wasn’t Dan Brown’s book, it was the Bible.

I admit I’ve never read the entire work. I evacuated from organized religion long before I ever got through the heafty tome. I’ve formed my own opinions on God, Jesus and the gospels, using logic and reasoning as my guides. They do a decent job of guiding my life in all other aspects, so I figured I’d give them the spiritual workload as well. So far so good.

The problem with the Bible is that, whether you believe in it or not, your opinions about it will affect the way you think about about this film. The conspiracy arc is centered squarely on Christianity and there isn’t a moment in the movie when that fact isn’t abundantly clear. Because of this, it becomes impossible to separate the entertainment value of the film from the impact it has on one’s own religious beliefs. Much like how reading the Lord of the Rings can affect your viewpoint before seeing Peter Jackson’s brilliant films, having any knowledge or opinion on organized religion immediately affects your thoughts on Howard’s film. Yet unlike the Lord of the Rings, everyone has an opinion on religion. It is the one truly ubiquitous things in all of life.

I caught myself several times during the film thinking about my own opinions on religion. We’re aware at all times that his movie is fiction using fact as a base, and it feels awkward. We either want the movie to stray far enough from fact that we don’t have to take it seriously, or we want it to be prefaced by “Based on real events.” Instead, the movie does neither, choosing to squirm around in some middle territory that we find unfamiliar and strange. This movie takes itself seriously when perhaps it should not; it is similiar to Nicolas Cage’s National Treasure, but it lacks that movie’s carefree spirit and adventurous attitude.

As a film it’s mediocre. It is one part treasure hunt, one part conspiracy theory, and one part psychological thriller, and yet put together as a whole it has neither the excitement or entertainment value of those three. The action in the movie is substandard for a film shot in 2006, and often feels contrived and unnecessary, as if the filmmakers were trying to dress it up for summer audiences accustomed to seeing the White House blown up by alien death rays. Most of the movie’s dramatic scenes lack weight and impact; they are all buildup and not enough payoff. And the intellectual portions of the movie are explained in longwinded, boring, dialog-heavy scenes that patronize the viewer. To top it off, the movie strays into unrealistic territory even when dealing with the physical realm.

For instance, the opening of the movie involves a murder in the Louvre, where a man is shot in the stomache and left for dead. He then has the time and stamina to write hidden messages on several paintings in the building, hide a key, leave a message drawn in blood on the floor (in secret code, no less) and mutilate himself to depict a famous piece of art by DaVinci. Only a few weeks earlier I saw a similiar shooting when Tony Soprano took one in the gut from Uncle Junior. His injury was treated with much more realism by the creators of the Sopranos; his character fell to the ground and struggled to reach a telephone on a wall so he could dial 911 before he nearly died. Jacques Sauniere, the man murdered in the opening of The DaVinci Code, could have been Tony’s grandfather, yet he had superhuman fortitude in the moments preceeding his death.

Tom Hanks does about everything he can with the Robert Langdon character, but unfortunately he’s written so shallow and thin that there’s just not much there to grab on to. About the only noteworthy characteristic of the man, other than his near photographic memory, is his clausterphobia. The movie plays this up in a few scenes, but the forshadowing is never brought to a satisfactory payoff, and when it is finally resolved we’re left wanting.

The real meat of The DaVinci Code is not the manufactured chase scenes or the thin character development though, it is the treasure hunt and the religous ramifications that spawn from it. In this regard Howard succeeds as director, at least partially because he’s already had practice with A Beautiful Mind, the movie that garnered him the Academy Award for best picture in 2001. In that film, you’ll recall, Howard used a visual technique to show how John Nash could decipher hundreds of seemingly unrelated numbers and extract a meaningful code from them. The same technique is used in The DaVinci Code to show Langdon selecting the key letters out of coded phrases, or important visual clues from works of art. It’s not done as clearly this time around but it is still effective.

Howard also relies on a grainy, washed out lense for flashbacks and scenes of historical significance. It is particularly effective during one brief scene in the movie depicting the Council of Nicaea, where the Bible was constructed. Ian McKellan’s Sir Leigh Teabing has a very funny line when he describes this event, saying, “The Good Book did not arrive by facsimile from heaven.” That sort of dialog is certainly one of the reasons for the protests from Catholics and Christians around the world, as it reminded everyone in the theater that human beings have been, and always will be, the architects of their own orthodoxy

In the end, it feels like the movie tries to do too many things, and ends up doing none of them well. We can easily imagine a more adventurous movie might have turned out like National Treasure or Indiana Jones, or that a more thoughtful movie might have ended up like A Beautiful Mind or Presumed Innocent. Instead we get a film that tries hard to live up to its own weighty subject matter, but falls far short of the heavens.

Last week I had a conversation with a guildmate of mine while playing Everquest 2. We were discussing American Idol, the talent show that has taken over America. Even Tony Kornheiser can’t go a single day on Pardon the Interruption without mentioning his love for all things Idol.

My guildmate made the argument that Idol was everything that was good and right about music in America today. He said that for all the people who have a problem with the music industry today, Idol was the answer. He said it was, “real people singing real songs.” My reply was that I thought exactly the opposite. Idol is everything wrong with music. It is the antithesis of great music. My guildmate asked me to elaborate on that, but time did not permit. And as I thought about why he made his comment and why I made mine, it became clear to me that, although we both love music in a general sense, we don’t hear the same things when a song is played. And I think I know why that is.

I think there is a huge disconnect between musicians and listeners.

I am a musician. Not the best one, for sure, but a musician nonetheless. I picked up my first instrument at age 19, much later in life than most musicians. Because I started so late as a musician I can remember clearly what it was like to think about music before knowing anything about it. To be a truely uninformed fan. Since I started playing guitar, however, my views on music have changed drastically. I understand a lot more about what is actually going on in a song when I hear it. I understand that a song is much more than lyrics and singing, and I’m far more interested in what the instruments are doing than what the singer is saying.

Real music, at least to me, is art. It is not commercialism. It is musicians bearing their souls to the world, not just through singing, but through all the things that make a piece of music great. It requires knowledge of music theory (at some level), excellence with instruments, and the ability to actually compose notes. When most people hear that someone “wrote” a song, they are likely thinking about the poetry - the lyrics. That is not the music, however. Lyrics are only one facet of a song, and a very thin one at that. Music is the stuff on the staff sheet. It’s the actual notes, the time signature, the key signature, melodies, harmonies, and everything that happens in between the first measure and the last. The real “music” of a song is much more difficult to create and reproduce than the words sung over the top. And you can bet that when a musician writes down a note, whether it’s a whole note at 90 bpm or a 16th note at 170 bmp, it is an important note. The artist puts that note in that song at that exact location for a reason. It belongs there. It was not mean to be chopped, edited or removed.

Idol is that antithesis of great music because it strips away everything that makes music an artform (and thus great), and reduces it down to the one commercial thing that every non-musician can understand: the lyrics. The producers of the show chop songs in half, cut out instrumental passages and destroy the very soul of the songs so that some “real people” can show off their singing ability. I understand why they do this; they have to cut time off already short pop tunes to make room for commercials and witty remarks from Simon (by far the best part of that show because he’s the only one there with the guts to tell the truth). But that still doesn’t change the end result. The songs are butchered in the process, and the real music - the art - is lost.

When I watch American Idol (which is rare, but since my wife watches it I can’t help but see it while walking through the living room) I feel very sad for the original artists who wrote those songs. I know many famous artists actually work with the singers on the show, but I bet every single one of them, in private, would tell you they hate having their songs chopped on national television. It’s a bastardization of their songs. It’s a cheap immitation of art. What people are hearing on Idol is a knockoff. A counterfit.

When I meet someone who loves Idol for the music (I can understand someone loving the show for the theater of it) I feel compelled to help them. I want to rush out and buy them albums from real musicians, and then lock them in a room for a week with nothing but food, water, and a CD player. They need a healthy dose of Dream Theater, Rush, Yes, Kansas, The Beetles, Led Zepplin, Liquid Tension Experiment, Steve Morse & the Dixie Dregs, Rick Wakeman, Motzart, Beethoven and Bach.

Then, after a week, they can come back out into the real world.

American Idol is many things, and some of those things are very positive. It’s a chance at stardom, at living a dream. It is hope to a lot of people. I personally think that’s the greatest appeal of the show; it represents the American Dream, that we can do anything if we’re talented enough and work hard enough.

But Idol is not what is best about music. It is a prime example of what is worst about the music industry. It is a commercial vehicle designed to exploit young, talented singers and their dream to become famous. It is a cash cow for Fox and Simon Cowel. It is the antithesis of great music. It is the anti-art.

CNN.com and AICN are reporting that the third season of HBO’s Deadwood is probably its last. Apparently the network has decided not to pick up the contracts of the actors for another season and has released them to pursue other work. CNN.com says that series creator David Milch is switching his focus to another project.

This is incredibly sad news to me. Deadwood has been one of the five best shows on TV since it aired. From the first episode I’ve been hooked by the raw, gritty authenticity of the show. When I try and put myself in that situation, when I let my imagination go, that’s how I imagine the Old West must have been. Dirty, filthy, hard, crass and rude.

I’ve never much been a fan of westerns, partially because I’ve always felt that the whole John Wayne era really obscured the truth and painted it in too pretty of a light. It was Hollywood dressing it up in hero’s clothing, but it wasn’t reality. Clint Eastwood changed that a bit by bringing characters to the screen with more grit, but when his movies came along I was mostly too young to appreciate them (or even be allowed to watch).

Deadwood struck me because it felt genuine. It felt real. It was my first time seeing something like that. The creators pulled no punches; they didn’t provide the show with any clear-cut heros, they didn’t litter it with cliches, simple writing or bad dialog that we’ve all heard 100 times already. They brought a rawness to the show instead, a bare naked truth that reflected the time period in an accurate manner. Some of the characters swear, and swear a lot. It’s not swearing for effect, it’s embedded in their being just like the clothing they wear or the stains on their teeth. The characters have real, often selfish, motives, and those motives drive the course of the show.

Part of what I love about Deadwood is the way creator David Milch goes about creating so many unique and instantly memorable characters. For instance, William Sanderson’s character, E.B. Farnum, isn’t a swearing man, but he’s a reprehensible character nonetheless because he lacks scruples. He’s a deceitful little wretch of a man trying to carve out a space in Deadwood for himself, using the God given talents that he possesses. It’s compelling watching him; I despise him for who he is, little worm of a man, yet relish that he’s in the show.

That’s pretty much the way I feel about everyone involved with the show. Deadwood is television at its best. Great writing, great directing, and great acting. It feels authentic. I feel less like I’m watching a television show and more like I’ve just hopped off H.G. Wells’s Time Machine.

I’m sad Deadwood won’t be on television after this season. It’s one less great show to watch. The good news is that HBO is much more likely to use that time and money to develop another great series. If this were network TV we’d probably get another insipid show like Deal Or No Deal to replace it.

At least there’s still Lost, Grey’s Anatomy and Conviction. TV-Land isn’t totally doomed yet.