My weekly tv column is up at Torontoist.

Nobody should realistically blame Sarah Palin for directly causing the incident. Sarah Palin did not pull the trigger; Sarah Palin did not tell the nutbag to pull the trigger; Sarah Palin did not buy the gun.

However, there’s a difference between cause and context, and that’s what those of us trying to talk about Palin’s comments want to discuss. Saying “he was just a nutbag” isn’t sufficient. There are lots of nutbags who do violent things, but Jared Loughner didn’t decide to kill people because he was in a crazy cult (like Squeaky Fromme was) or because he was obsessed with a Hollywood star (like John Hinckley was). Jared Loughner, like most of the major violent newsmaking incidents of the past few years, decided to go kill people because he felt, like most paranoids do (and he’s pretty obviously paranoid) that Somebody Was Out To Get Him.

But most paranoids don’t go out killing people; the tinfoil hats and hoarding is usually enough to get them by. So what happened with Jared Loughner? The same thing that happened with Andrew Stack when he flew his plane into an IRS building, or Byron Williams when he decided he had to go shoot up the Tides Federation and the ACLU, or James von Brunn when he shot up the Holocaust Museum, or Jim Adkisson when he decided to shoot up a Unitarian Church, or Richard Poplawski when he shot up a bunch of cops, or Nidal Hasan when he shot up Fort Hood.

I threw that last one in there in purpose, because back when Nidal Hasan – somebody who was obviously mentally disturbed – committed his crime, there were no shortage of people who were willing to say that radical Islam influenced his actions even if he was a nutbag. Now, this is not to say that Sarah Palin is equivalent to Osama Bin Laden; of course she isn’t. Bin Laden is a terrorist; Palin is just a generally terrible human being.

But she, and more importantly the modern conservative movement, uses the violent rhetoric of uprise and uses it routinely. This cannot be denied because it is plainly obvious on its face. “Don’t retreat, reload” did not become her catchphrase for nothing. Sharron Angle talking about how if conservatives lose at the polls they should consider resorting to “Second Amendment remedies.” Carrying signs that say things like “we came unarmed – this time,” or alternately just bringing a gun right to a political event period1. Glenn Beck talking for hours at a time about how the government is being put to evil, tyrannical ends, and how it’s important for Americans to “rise up” or “not take it any more” or “[insert intentionally nonspecific assertion of brave action here]”.

This is not to say that Jared Loughner is conservative; most likely he is just too crazy and fringe to really be anything, much like Stack or or even Williams.2 But he, like the others, was receiving a steady diet of rhetoric that was violent, at times even slightly eliminationist.

As for Poplawski and van Brunn, they were white supremacists, which – historical connotations aside – doesn’t really have that much to do with modern conservatism, ideologically speaking.3 But over the last few years, movement conservatism has been visibly borrowing rhetoric from the paranoid camp of white supremacism. Not racist stuff, let’s be clear; paranoid stuff.

Government as inherent tyranny; liberal institutions as ground for secret conspiracies; the almost certainly incipient charge of the black helicopters. And, of course, the desperate labeling of a health care bill so blandly middle-of-the-road and centrist it was probably drafted with mayonnaise rather than ink as “a government takeover of healthcare” and “death panels” and etc. etc. etc. If you’re a paranoid, you already think that THEY are out to GET YOU. If you’re told, over and over again, that THEY is “this specific bunch of people,” sometimes it starts to sink in. That paranoid rhetoric has been chanted, like a mantra, by the modern conservative movement. It’s not the cause for Jared Loughner’s actions; it’s the context.

I get that conservatives don’t want to talk about context right now. After all, it’s rather uncomfortable when this sort of thing is so obvious on its face – just as it was obvious that when Nidal Hasan shot up Fort Hood that, although he was a nutbag and that was most of the reason he went on a rampage, being exposed to the worst kind of violent Islamic rhetoric didn’t help.

And Palin knows it, which is the sad thing: she knows exactly what she did and why. I mean for crissake Sarah Palin’s staff is reduced to pretending that the gun sights on that map were surveyor’s symbols, that’s how desperate they are to try and find any excuse at all for their tone now that it’s possibly gone south on them and people are saying “hey, maybe this isn’t appropriate,” and incidentally when Team Palin says things like that I don’t know why their supporters don’t realize that they’re really saying “you are idiots for giving us money and moral support, you really are, that’s what we think of you,” but that is neither here nor there.

But context matters. Why things like this happened, and have happened before, and will continue to happen in the future – these things matter, because now there is a respected federal judge and a man who shoved his wife down and took her bullet and a nine-year-old girl who are dead. Dismissing this as the act of one nutbag, as random chance, equivalent to a strike of lightning? Moral cowardice, plain and simple.

1. In a show of maturity that’s on par with walking around with your cock hanging out of your pants. [↩]
2. Adkisson, I think, can safely be described as conservative. [↩]
3. This is not to say that there is not overlap. There is. Pretending otherwise is just bullshit. But conservatism, in and of itself, does not have anything really tangibly in common with white supremacism. [↩]

Kazahkstan. A nice, dramatic anthem that’s kind of spoiled because when you listen to it from the start you feel like you came in halfway through instead. 68

Kenya. Sounds like the soundtrack to the most awesome mid-60s nature documentary ever, and specifically the track for the part where the elephants majestically stride across the savannah. This is good, because elephants are awesome and anything one associates with elephants becomes that much better as a result. 84

Kiribati. Generic Anglo-ish castoff, which is not unsuitable for a country which gets its name from the local dialect version of the name the English people gave it when they “discovered” it. 34

North Korea. Look, you knew going in this was going to sound like a song extolling the virtues of a beloved dictator, and if you’re surprised it’s really only your own damn fault, but what’s depressing is how damn sedate this anthem is. Where are the death lasers? I was promised death lasers! 44

South Korea. Fun trivia: this anthem was originally sung to the tune of “Auld Lang Syne.” It may well be horribly ethnocentric to say this, but I think that would have been better than this. 52

Kuwait. Unreasonably cheerful. Kuwait is a tiny little chunk of desert in the middle of the world constantly beset by war. Their anthem should not be so damned perky, you know? I mean, some countries can get away with sentimental, maudlin anthems. It feels like Kuwait missed a golden opportunity here. 37

Kyrgyzstan. Like Kuwait, has a national anthem which is simply named “National Anthem,” which is another reason I marked Kuwait so low. (Come on, Kuwait! Quit slacking!) But Kyrgyzstan’s anthem sounds like some awesome quest music set in an fantasy world, and Kuwait’s doesn’t. That is why this anthem owns. Now, if only it had a title… 76

Laos. Yet another anthem with no title other than “National Anthem” (man, what is up with that?), but this one sounds like some awesome Martian version of Bonanza so we can forgive it. 86

Latvia. You know that scene in Amadeus where King Jeffrey Jones says “there are too many notes” to Mozart? Somebody said “you know what would be great? If my nine-year-old kid and his beginning music class could play this” to the composer of Latvia’s national anthem. 15

Lebanon. Yet another anthem merely titled “National Anthem,” which is starting to get worrisome. This one sounds kind like of the one you might have sung at summer camp. The really good summer camp, mind you, rather than the summer camp where you made up lyrics to make fun of your counselors and maybe also include Batman in there somewhere. 55

Lesotho. Nothing particularly inspired about this anthem, but it is short and sweet, much like Lesotho itself, and gets nothing wrong, and that is admirable. 70

Liberia. Although the blending of African-style call and response with Western-style anthemic composition is a nice idea, the problem is that this anthem was written in English and therefore does not get the “translation excuse” for its terrible, terrible lyrics. “With heart and hand our country’s cause defending / We’ll meet the foe with valour unpretending” just makes you think the composer got really desperate towards the end. 46

Libya. I know I’m supposed to be reviewing Libya’s anthem here, but what really gets me is that every single comment on every single one of the Libyan anthem clips on Youtube is about how Libya’s all-green flag is silly (or occasionally “no, fuck you, we’re awesome and so is our green flag”). The Libyan flag is the Godwin of all discussion about Libya. I’m pretty sure if you watched enough newscasts back during the Lockerbie bombing, sooner or later one of the newscasters would point out that Libya’s flag is just all-green. Anyway, this anthem feels like taking a bunch of anthems and sewing the openings of all them together into a Frankenstein’s Overture. Which would probably be dressed in green. 28

Liechtenstein. Is, no kidding, just “God Save The Queen” with new lyrics. You kind of have to admire Liechtenstein’s balls. I mean, it’s a little snippet of a country that only exists because people need somewhere slightly less scrupulous than Switzerland to bank and it’s closer to Paris than the Cayman Islands are, and they just got up and ripped off “God Save The Queen.” Honestly, I’m impressed. 75

Lithuania. I always wondered why, once he revealed that he was not a horrible Commie Soviet but instead a heroic Lithuanian underdog, Nikolai Volkoff did not sing this when he came down to ringside. Instead, he waved an American flag and sang “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Which is a shame, because the Lithuanian anthem is honestly quite pretty. 80

Luxembourg. Luxembourg has had a lot of experience being a dinky little country surrounded by much bigger countries, so it knows how to have an anthem when you are that sort of country: start small and pleasant so nobody thinks you’re putting on airs, but end with a flourish so they know that despite your size you still have heart. That’s how to be small with style. 87

The Social Network. All the for-reals movie critics have already said how brilliant this is and they are basically completely right about everything. People complaining that the movie isn’t completely accurate – other than missing the point of movies generally – are mistaken because the accuracy here is about capturing the entire ethos of ruthless vision that led to the 2000s dotcom re-boom. Jesse Eisenberg gives what’s far and away the most brilliant performance of the year by any actor because he’s simultaneously so compelling and sympathetic while being so unlikeable and cold, and Aaron Sorkin’s script tones down his usual crutches to the point where it’s better than anything else he’s previously written.

Sid Meier’s Civilization: The Board Game. Out of all the new boardgames I played in 2010, this was my favorite: a three-hour brainburner that genuinely captures the feel of playing a marathon game of Civ on your computer, except there’s no computer and you get the fun of playing against three other opponents face-to-face. Multiple victory conditions, variant civilization rules, tech advancement for strategic purpose – everything you would expect out of a game of Civ is here, and produced with screamingly awesome quality.

The first and third episodes of Sherlock. I can’t in good conscience give the whole series a total endorsement because the second episode, “The Blind Banker,” is just not in the league of the other two; cheap Orientalism plus a less-than-compelling mystery make for teevee that is only passably entertaining at most. But the first and third episodes are fantastic stuff – the best visual description of texting yet put to screen, genuinely inventive and fun mysteries, brilliant renditions of the Holmes thought process and of course Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman’s superb Holmes and Watson turn what could have been a goofy lark into some of the best long-form telly of the year.

ArchAndroid by Janelle Monae. Any year Janelle Monae drops a new album it will make this list.

Beasts of Burden by Evan Dorkin and Jill Thompson. As I get older, and to an extent more productive, the “I wish I had written that” feeling occurs less and less often – that sheer burst of envy you feel when somebody writes something that is so fucking good that is, in retrospect, such an obvious idea that it should have occurred to you years ago, but it didn’t. Beasts of Burden is the only comic all year that made me feel that way: gorgeous, intelligent, crucially not overwritten or overexplained (which would have just ruined it) and mostly just vital. A cat clawing a demon in the eyes felt more urgent than any superhero comic all year long, which says something about superhero comics.

Community. The second half of season one and the first half of season two combine for one of the most virtuosic meta-seasons of any show ever. Community is brilliant not because of the thematic parodies it does (in episodes like “Contemporary American Poultry,” “Epidemiology,” “Conspiracy Theories and Interior Design,” and above all “Modern Warfare”), although those are brilliant. No, Community is brilliant because of its exacting attention to detail in crafting its stories: no show is as efficient at using every single inch of screen real estate and every second of running time to cram in as much story as possible. Think Abed’s blink-and-you’ll-miss-it subplot in “The Psychology of Letting Go,” or the fact that the show actually gives away the ending of “Cooperative Calligraphy” in the first two minutes in a way that nobody watching will notice the first time through, or the numerous references to the fact that Jeff and Britta keep hooking up on the sly without ever actually bothering to address it in a main plotline (until they do, of course) – but then bear in mind that all of this detail and craft is simultaneously used to further develop and strengthen all of the show’s cast and drop as many gags as humanly possible.

Animal Kingdom. The best crime movie in years. Animal Kingdom features a teenaged protagonist actually acting like a real teenager (sullen and moody), some of the most vivid and genuinely evil characters to come along in a very long time (when one character matter-of-factly explains what is to be done about another – you’ll know it when you see it – it’s just a tour-de-force of the filmmakers daring you to believe that this isn’t happening when it is), and a plot that surprises out of old-school Hitchcockian tension rather than boring old shock value. Staggeringly good movie.

Matt Smith as the Doctor. Because he’s really, really good at it.

My weekly TV column is up at Torontoist.

1) Bears punter Devin Hester died at some point during the 2010 season. Bears head coach Lovie Smith used unholy rituals to bind his spirit to this earth, in order to force him to act as a ghostly punt returner for the team. This can sometimes unnerve opposing punters. (“It’s got to be tough for [the Green Bay punter], with the spectre of Devin Hester downfield waiting for him.”)

2) Lions quarterback Shaun Hill makes a terrible mattress. (“You should never sleep on Shaun Hill, I’ll tell you that.”)

3) The injuries to Seahawks quarterback make it very difficult for him to insert a football into his rectum at the current time. (“He’s having trouble opening up his hips and really driving through that football.”)

4) Rams running back Stephen Jackson is a compulsive masturbator, but one with impressive stamina. (“I just gotta touch it 25-30 times a game.”)

There is a school of geekdom that shows no interest in professional sports. To them, I say, there is nothing quite like a group of men having to speak extemporaneously for several hours using terminology that can quite easily be taken wrongly. 🙂

Somewhere in the Doctor Who production offices, deep within the BBC Wales complex (if there is such a place — go with me here) there is surely a list of “Stories Not to Pitch Us.” Nearly all serials have a list like this, consisting of stories ideas that are unsuitable because they change the lead character too much, because they hurt the franchise, or just because you don’t seriously think you’re the first freelancer to pitch that, do you? The following story idea is undoubtedly on that list:

It begins, as so many Doctor Who stories do, with the TARDIS arriving on a future Earth where everything seems calm and orderly… too calm and orderly, at least to the Doctor (“Never trust a utopia,” he’ll say to whatever fetching young lady is his companion at the time.) A bit of investigation reveals that this peace and order is, indeed, artificial, but it’s not achieved by force: instead all war, violence and conflict are defused before they even begin by a mysterious, unseen figure only ever referred to as “He” or “Him.” The Doctor can sense that time manipulation is afoot, and begins to suspect that this is the work of Daleks, or the Master, or even a lost Time Lord who somehow survived the Time War. Until he finds a little asteroid in the middle of nowhere where time literally stands still and finds the machine that is constantly making all those little alterations to history, to maintain “His” utopia —

— and finds it’s the TARDIS. His TARDIS. And it’s screaming, because it’s being made to violate time in ways it was never made to do — and to end history itself, grinding it down into the stasis of enforced peace.

Now He makes his appearance — he’s been watching the Doctor for some time, of course — and reveals that he is a future incarnation of the Doctor. It’s not clear whether he’s the last regeneration or whether he somehow extended his lifespan beyond the normal limit for Time Lords, but one thing is clear: he’s on his last go-round. (We’ll call him “Doctor Thirteen” for convenience; if this were a two-parter, that would be a good title for the second episode.) He explains how he saved the Earth, and the universe, again and again, and still it needed saving; how his allies died, and he got older and older, but his enemies just kept coming back.

Now the Doctor is given a choice: he can leave, and let things run their course until he winds up here again, or Doctor Thirteen will use his bastardized TARDIS to make him relive all the agonizing steps between them almost instantaneously. And the Doctor runs, but it’s no use because Doctor Thirteen is older and cannier than he is, and knows all his tricks, and in the end the Doctor is caught once more. The Doctor’s fetching young companion rescues him, of course, but it’s too late: in just a few minutes he’s experienced everything that brought Doctor Thirteen to where he is — the last defender of the Earth, all alone.

Except that our Doctor isn’t alone: though his companion couldn’t save him in time, the fact that she was there for him makes him realize that the only way he’ll ever run out of allies is if he turns humans into something not fit to be his companions. Together he and his companion fight Doctor Thirteen and defeat him, and Doctor Thirteen begs him not to destroy everthing he’s built, to have pity — after all, he was the Doctor once. But the Doctor turns back from the door to his TARDIS, shakes his head and says “Not you. You were never me.”

THE IMAGINED SITUATION IS: The BBC has decided to air a one-time four-hour miniseries event of Doctor Who. The miniseries will be entitled “The Eleven Doctors” and feature every single Doctor as the cast, with a number of companions rounding it out.

Paul McGann, Christopher Eccleston, David Tennant and Matt Smith will play the Eighth through Eleventh Doctors. (Some suggested that at 51 McGann was too old to play his Doctor, but fans argued that he deserved a second chance to play the Eighth Doctor again and really, 51? That’s not a big deal.) However, the remaining living former actors who have played the Doctor all agreed that they should let more age-appropriate actors play the younger incarnations of the earlier Doctors (perhaps with one or two making jokes about “the need for a sonic cane,”) and of course Jon Pertwee, Patrick Troughton and William Hartnell are all long dead.

So:

1.) Who plays each of the first seven Doctors?

2.) Which companion does each Doctor get, if any? (Assume, for marketing purposes, that Amy Pond will be present and accounted for. Possibly Rory as well. And Sarah Jane Smith is a definite, played by Elizabeth Sladen.) Note that some Doctors will have to go without.

3.) Who then should play those companions?

To finish this post, I’ll give my answer for number 1:

First Doctor: Alan Rickman. Really, kind of obvious.
Second Doctor: Richard Coyle (of Coupling and Going Postal, among others). Has “Impish-but-clever-and-wise” down to a T.
Third Doctor: Stephen Fry. Has the sort of combination of comedic aura/gravitas that Jon Pertwee did; age-appropriate; would balance out Rickman as the second of the “older doctors” by being the friendlier one to the First Doctor’s icy, alien cool.
Fourth Doctor: Rowan Atkinson. A bit old for it, maybe, but he’s got the rubberface that the Fourth Doctor demands. Also, it would be fun to see him in an whiteboy Afro.
Fifth Doctor: Andrew Garfield (The Social Network). The Fifth Doctor is trickiest because you need someone young, from the “lost generation” of kids who grew up without a lot of Doctor Who. I considered Tom Hardy initially but Hardy is too buff and rugged to be the Fifth Doctor, who’s slightly unassuming in his looks. Garfield, I think, can pull it off. (And yes, he is British.)
Sixth Doctor: James Nesbitt (Jekyll). If you’re going to redeem the least-favorite Doctor, you need a real charismatic madman to pull it off.
Seventh Doctor: John Oliver (yes, The Daily Show‘s John Oliver). This is my stuntcasting pick, but I think Oliver can do the job.

Your turn.

My last TV column of 2010 is up at Torontoist.