STARDUMB: Wicked Spooky Monster Politician Edition

WITH SNAGGLE-FANGS BARED, DEBDUSA UNLEASHES HER INNER KRAKEN. WHERE’S PERSEUS WHEN WE NEED HIM?

When you stockpile Toni Home Perm solution and use it as often as meth-heads suck on a glass pipe, all those noxious fumes are bound to cloud your judgment and reasoning. In the case of DNC Chair DEBBIE WASSERMAN-SCHULTZ, the damage goes much deeper than a fry job on her poorly coiffed rat’s nest. Debdusa has always been viewed as an evil monster by those on the right. It’s something she’s well aware of and openly relishes. She feeds on their hate like a feral cat set loose at a buffet station of poached Evangelical canary.

Debdusa is also an equal opportunity political beastie with a reputation for going Gorgon on anyone who questions her authority. Just ask DNC Vice Chair Tulsi Gabbard (D-HI), the latest Democrat to draw the ire of this power-mad harpy. Gabbard is a decorated combat veteran and rising star within the party. She’s also two things Wasserman-Schultz is not: respected and well-liked. When Gabbard dared to suggest that the DNC should sponsor more than six Presidential debates, the response from on high was Debdusa at her most petty and petulant: she disinvited the Congresswoman from attending the Las Vegas event.

Unfortunately for Her Majesty, she couldn’t turn Gabbard to stone and silence her. Once word got out, reaction was swift and vociferous: Debdusa had gone too far. Post-debate, the blowback has not died down and key party officials are calling on Wasserman-Schultz to pack up her hair snakes and crawl back to her lair. When one of your only remaining allies is Harry “The Walking Dead” Reid, you better thank your lucky stars that Perseus isn’t real.

TRUMPENSTEIN LIVE TWEETS, GIVING MILANIA A FEW HOURS OF RELIEF WHILE HIS HANDS ARE OTHERWISE OCCUPIED.

On Tuesday night, while Hillary Clinton, Bernie Sanders and Martin O’Malley were busy showing us what political discourse among thinking adults should look like, DONALD TRUMP was diddling with something other than his flaccid member. Trumpenstein announced he would be live-tweeting during the Democratic debate. Like cheap whores on bended knee, mainstream media dutifully swallowed the news then spit it back out. Trumpenstein promised to be a bigger draw than the Dems and was convinced he would own Castle Trendingtopicus for the night. Things didn’t go quite the way he had hoped or reporters had predicted.

During the course of the debate, Trumpenstein’s name was pretty much left for dead by the five candidates. Democrats have clearly figured out how to sap his power. You could almost hear the silly monster growling with anger: “Raaaar…Me getting weak…No one saying my name…Aaargh…Grrr.”

Post-debate, angry villagers gathered torches and pitchforks but, much to his chagrin, it wasn’t Trumpenstein who drew their ire. Thanks to a horrendously racist tweet from the warped mind of Mike Huckabee (yes, he’s still alive somewhere out there), the biggest mouth in the GOP didn’t draw the hate-buzz he was hoping for. To add insult to injury, Trumpenstein’s own prediction that no one would be interested in a debate without him on stage was…well…dead wrong: a record audience of over 15 million tuned in.

HILLARY WARDS OFF THE COUNT BEFORE HE STAKES HIMSELF WITH A DEBATE ANSWER DEATH BLOW.

No offense to the “biggest little state in the union” but, what the hell were Rhode Islanders thinking when they cast their votes for human Laffy Taffy like LINCOLN CHAFEE? While many were wondering why he was even on the Democratic debate stage, no one could have predicted that “comic relief” and “self-immolation” would be among the reasons. He didn’t just look like Bizarro Big Bird, he acted like him too.

Going into the Vegas event, Count Chafeula already had a rep for being a political shape shifter (something CNN moderator Anderson Cooper gleefully pointed out on Tuesday night). Apparently, this batty dingbat thought a great way to counter critics of his Dem street cred would be to join one of the GOPs anti-Hillary witch hunts. He jumped on the “secret e-mail server” bandwagon and rode it all the way to Sin City. Even after Bernie Sanders’ rousing rebuke of the brouhaha, Count Chafeula wouldn’t withdraw his fangs. He doubled down on his assertion that there was still blood in them thar veins and, when Cooper threw to Hillary for comment, she whipped out a crucifix. Never has a single “NO” packed more power or punch on a debate stage. She didn’t have to drive in a stake because The Count took care of that himself.

When asked to explain his 1999 vote to repeal the Glass-Steagall Act, Count Chafeula wasn’t satisfied with giving the worst possible answer, he had to make it icky too. In short, he did what he did because he had no idea what he was doing. He was new to the Senate and, well, oopsie! Oh yeah, it was also kinda his father’s fault. Why? John Chaffee died in office and his son, The Count, was appointed to serve out his term. It’s bad enough to admit you cast a vote on major legislation that you didn’t bother to read but, pulling the “dead dad” card to rationalize an already horrible rationalization…yikes! That sound you hear: the last nail being pounded into Count Chafeula’s political coffin (and he swung the hammer).

WE NOW KNOW WHICH DEM WAS THAT ANNOYING KID WHO CRIED ANYTIME SOMEONE GOT MORE CANDY THAN HE DID.

As laugh-out-loud ridiculous as Lincoln Chaffee was during Tuesday’s debate, the scary monster on stage was JIM WEBB. Looking like a peevish Mr Potato Head, Dr. Cobwebb was such a stick in the mud, he made Bernie Sanders seem like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. From the get-go, the former Virginia Senator acted like a spider had crawled up his ass and wouldn’t crawl back out.

During rambling opening remarks that concluded with a semi-lucid stumble through the LinkedIn profiles of his large brood (including an oddball shout-out to one kid who’s a massage therapist), Dr. Cobwebb made the first of many introductions to his third wife, Hong Le Webb. While she certainly seems like a lovely woman with a fascinating personal story, I’d much rather hear it from her. In Dr. Cobwebb’s clutches, she’s reduced (repeatedly) to “immigrant who fled Vietnam” complete with awkward cutaway shots to her watching from the audience. She certainly deserved better than being deployed as one of two poorly chosen political crutches used by her hubby during his hobble through the debate.

Thanks to an almost paranoid penchant for kicking off every response with a rant about how much time he wasn’t getting to respond, we ended up finding out more about Dr. Cobwebb’s family, friends and assorted loved ones than we did about his Presidential aspirations. Ordinarily, such babyish bellyaching would be more apropos in a playground sandbox. Unfortunately for Webb, his cavalcade of cranky was the only stuff that didn’t land like a crashing bore. If Frick and Frack are still around for the next debate, Debdusa could at least make herself useful by seating them at a kiddie table, separate from the adults. Clinton, Sanders, O’Malley and voters deserve the consideration.

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BLINDSPOT: Terrorism and Tattoos Make Terrific TV

NBC CAN CLAIM BRAGGING RIGHTS TO THE BEST NEW DRAMA ON ANY BROADCAST NETWORK THIS FALL

AIRS MONDAYS AT 10PM E/P ON NBC (NEXT-DAY STREAMING ON HULU)

Over the course of the past few seasons, Comcast-owned NBC has amassed a spotty track record when it comes to scripted drama. In addition to the last vestiges of the venerable LAW & ORDER franchise, there have been numerous high profile flops like SMASH, ALLEGIANCE, CONSTANTINE and THE SLAP. The network is also home to inexplicably popular junk like THE BLACKLIST and inexplicably renewed howlers like MYSTERIES OF LAURA. That’s why my expectations for BLINDSPOT were set pretty low. Boy, was I wrong. This cracker jack thriller starts out firing on all cylinders and never stops.

What makes BLINDSPOT such a pleasant surprise is how deftly each episode navigates a potential minefield of pitfalls and face plants. In less capable hands, this is one of those “high concept” hours that could have flown off the rails. Instead, creator Martin Gero has crafted a near-perfect balance of big action, great acting and eye-popping boom boom. Each episode plays out on a cinematic canvas that feels ambitious because it is. BLINDSPOT isn’t just set in New York, it works the city like no one’s business.

Much has been made about the opening set-piece, a taut and terrific scene that more than lives up to the hype. A cop spots a duffel bag sitting unattended smack in the middle of Times Square. In short order, the area is evacuated and the bomb squad is on the scene. Before anyone has a chance to size up the mysterious package, a naked, tattooed woman emerges from inside. This “Jane Doe” (Jaimie Alexander) has no idea who she is or how she ended up stuffed in a gym bag. Her body art is also a mystery and one that is central to each twist and turn of the plot. On paper, it all sounds gimmicky and trite but the final product is riveting stuff. If you think this is just PRISON BREAK with a hot chick, think again.

Jane is hustled off to FBI headquarters, where she’s placed in the care of Special Agent Kurt Weller (Sullivan Stapleton). This is no random assignment; Weller’s name is front (or back, in this case) and center in the aforementioned tattoo. Much to his surprise, he is drawn to Jane almost immediately. It’s a vibe that goes much deeper than sympathy or professional curiosity. By the end of episode two, their connection comes more into focus as does the method to the madness of Jane’s elaborate ink job. Each piece of the tattoo unlocks a clue to a crime or terrorist act that has not yet been perpetrated. It’s up to Jane, Weller and his team to figure out the “whos and whens” in order to prevent death and destruction from raining down on NYC.

Action fans will be happy as piggies in a mud wallow with BLINDSPOT. There’s plenty of car chases, pyro and combat. In a refreshing twist, much of the really juicy mano a mano comes courtesy of Jane. It seems our mystery woman has extensive training that may (or may not) have come courtesy of a stint in Navy Seal Special Ops. Without doubt, she is not a woman to be tangled with. There’s a rollicking, balls-out beat-down in the pilot that will have you out of your seat cheering. Let’s just say, you don’t want to get caught abusing your old lady if Jane is within earshot. Other highlights in the opener include a runaway MTA subway train rigged with plastic explosives and a climatic shoot-out in the head of the Statue of Liberty. It will rock your socks.

Pulling off Jane is a difficult balancing act and Alexender is more than up to the task. She’s capable and complex, with gorgeous eyes that convey a world of hurt and desperate confusion. Still, as FBI psychologist Dr. Borden (nicely played by Ukweli Roach) reminds her, she is not helpless. We haven’t seen a female action hero this well realized on the small screen since Jennifer Garner was knocking heads as Sydney Bristow in ALIAS.

Stapleton is also strong here, with a sly, nuanced take on the stock “tough guy” character. He’s handsome and rugged, to be sure, but there’s genuine heart and soul in his portrayal of Agent Weller. It’s a nice touch that makes scenes with Jane work especially well and keeps the audience firmly in his corner. He’s got the acting chops to anchor a show this frenetic and hold his own with veteran thesp Marianne Jean-Baptiste (playing Bethany Mayfair, Assistant Director of the FBI field office in NYC). That’s no mean feat as Jean-Baptiste is a talent to be reckoned with. Like almost everything in BLINDSPOT, her character also has a dark past that is only hinted at in the first couple of episodes.

Rounding out a nicely gender balanced (and effortlessly diverse) cast are Audrey Esparza, Rob Brown and Ashley Johnson (yes, Chrissy Seaver from GROWING PAINS, all growed up). Each is a key player on Weller’s crack team of FBI agents. Brown and Esparza have small roles thus far but the former does manage to toss off some pointed one liners that inject a nice dose of humor into the proceedings. Esparza, however, barely registers. She looms in the background and glowers a lot but we have no idea why. Bad fish perhaps? Who knows? Maybe we’ll find out more in later episodes…unless she’s BLINDSPOT’s redshirt.

Faring infinitely better is Johnson, bright and engaging as Patterson, the resident forensic science expert. She nails every scene by not overplaying the part. Big props to her and the writers for creating a fully fleshed-out character; a welcome change from those asinine, loopy/quirky “tech geek” caricatures seen in CBS dreck like NCIS, CRIMINAL MINDS and SCORPION. Yeah, I know a lot of people watch those shows but that doesn’t mean they don’t suck.

BLINDSPOT is so good, it’s almost a pleasure to overlook the occasional plot holes and lapses in logic. You won’t care that sometimes the FBI is chock-full o’ agents and other times, for no good reason, it’s grossly understaffed. It won’t bug you at all when a major landmark or public transit system is targeted by a terrorist, Feds are on the scene but the NYPD is nowhere to be found. Seriously, Mayfair couldn’t dig up even one cop to back up Weller at the Statue of Liberty? Silly rabbit, these tricks aren’t for kids and asking a question like that of a show like this is a buzz kill.

If you’re looking for a series that’s not stingy with satisfying answers to intriguing questions and one that’s got plenty of meat to go with the hooks, then BLINDSPOT is definitely “must see” TV. Don’t miss it.

EDITOR’S NOTE 10/6/2015: Just finished screening episode three on Hulu and I have to say, BLINDSPOT keeps topping itself. The opening ten minutes alone is wall-to-wall action (plus one very messy head shot during a robbery gone wrong). Love this show. Big plus: the ratings continue to stay strong!