Pushing Daisies is yet another high-class American TV import. Seriously, why does anyone ever bother leaving the house?
With a hyperreal palette worthy of David Lynch and its kooky, Tim Burton-esque set, it’s clear from the opening scene that Pushing Daisies has big ambitions despite being made for the small screen.
Not known for its classy imports, ITV is the surprising home to Bryan ‘Heroes’ Fuller’s stylised American offering. This critically acclaimed new show tells the fantastical story of a pie maker called Ned (Lee Pace) who can bring the deceased back to life. If, however, Ned should touch the second-chancers again, they will return to their inert state forever. This caveat on his gift is highly inconvenient as his first and only love, Chuck (Anna Friel), is among the saved and touching her is something he very much wants to do. Let’s just say, it’s not your average plot, just as the show is not your average Saturday night viewing on ITV. Move over, X-Factor.
Taking inspiration from Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s film Amélie, Pushing Daisies continues the trend towards television of cinematic caliber. I’m thinking of the decade-long quality programming boom from HBO and other US networks that has produced, among others, The Sopranos, Six Feet Under, and Sex and the City. Each series, in its own way, upped the stakes for TV. Thanks to them, Royal Tenenbaums look-a-like Dirty Sexy Money and the expensive period piece, Mad Men are currently gracing our screens. There have always been primetime pearls among the daytime swine, but the high end of programming has better production values than ever. Audiences just aren’t prepared to put up with rickety sets and second-rate acting any more.
As TV draws more on cinema for its visual tricks and meets big league script and acting benchmarks, technological improvements for home entertainment develop apace. In fact, the “box” of yesteryear is looking more and more like the silver screen. With high-definition and surround sound on your widescreen 50 inch plasma, you could be forgiven for thinking you’d actually gone to the flicks.
The last time I braved the multiplex, I had to sit next to a bunch of teenagers who deemed it the ideal venue for a farting competition. So here’s my question: If TV increasingly offers as many aesthetic rewards as film with the added bonus of a weekly fix and without the proximity of strangers and their experiments with smell-o-vision, why go to the cinema at all?
