Episodes 101 and 102: Coldplay and hot moms

Fear not, you thirtysomethings, who have made the pilgrimage back to the zip code. The directors have not forsaken you. Though the music is cooler than Colour Me Badd (feted radio show host, Nic Harcourt, is the music supervisor for 90210, so expect a kick-ass soundtrack in nine months’ time), the characters drunker (the gramma is hammed for the premiere’s entirety), and the sex more oral (Dustin Milligan’s “˜O’ face now joins the ranks of the moon landing and David Hogan buying birth control on Valerie in the annals of TV’s most memorable moments), the show still launches with the familiar: a montage of establishing shots of Rodeo Drive. In fact I’m almost certain these are the same shots used to launch the old 90210. I suppose it’s the benefit of plastic culture: nothing changes.

I won’t break this down scene by scene (for both our benefits) but the first scene of the series, at least, must be submitted for closer scrutiny. We’re introduced to the family Wilson, who are driving their jalopy amidst convertibles and other midlife crises to some Coldplay tune (which one is negligible). The scene is reminiscent of those from National Lampoon’s Vacation (and, to a lesser extent, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation).

A disgruntled brother and sister sit in the back of the car whiling away the hours of a road trip hurling insults at their overly-optimistic parents in the front seat. At any moment I expect Christie Brinkley to pull up beside Rob Estes – wind running through her hair and naughtiness running through his mind.

But no such luck.

Then we trudge through the most transparent of expositions (he’s a principal, she’s a drama student, he’s the only black teenager who listens to Coldplay, she’s hotter than her daughter). In just under five minutes, after having the show’s primary players – its impetus, if you will – laid out before us for inspection, I can only hope the Wilsons play the everyman, the conduit through which we experience the exoticism and frivolity of 90210 and its wide range of crazy characters.

Dixon, the adopted son more than likely introduced in the new 90210 to alleviate concerns its predecessor did little to represent African-Americans, seems to have chemistry with Navid, the video journalist (because apparently the print version of the Beverly Hills Blaze couldn’t survive post-Awwndrea Zuckerman) who makes Dixon feel at home.

Prior to watching the show, I perused the publicity photos of the cast and thought this guy would be one of the “big men on campus”, but he’s portrayed in the first 88 minutes of the show as some kind of nerd (or, at least, a non-jock which, in American high schools, makes you a nerd by default, right?) thus proving that in TV Land, even the nerds are attractive. May I remind you of Violet Bickerstaff (aka Tori Spelling) in Saved By The Bell? You can have her snort through every forced bit of laughter, she’s still way out of Screech’s league. I’m also trying to pinpoint the precise moment when lacrosse supplanted football as the sport of choice in High School, USA. I’ll let you know when I’m on to something.

The older set on the show (I use this term loosely; I had trouble differentiating between the students and the teachers) are also granted their own storylines – something Jim and Cindy Walsh could rarely boast. Strange though, that the English teacher has assumed the role of class clown.

Speaking of the older set, it does Shannen Doherty no favours to share camera time with Jennie Garth, who, quite frankly, looks umpteen times better now than she did as a student. Obviously guidance counsellors have it much easier than actresses. Of course, this won’t deter Brenda from sinking her claws into Kelly’s would-be boyfriend, the comedian/teacher alluded to earlier.

Two hours in and we can already see the storylines taking shape. The tone, however, has yet to be established. I enjoyed the more humourous moments of the episode (the Gilbert and Sullivan flashback was particularly effective). The concept of the show is inherently funny, lending itself to as many laughs as catfights and tears. Steve Sanders was far more tolerable when he was propositioning store clerks with an egg in search of a nightclub than when he was in search of his birth mother.

The sooner the new 90210 finds that its comedic voice, the better the show will be.