Why did I maybe think I might like 666 Park Avenue, possibly?

October 1, 2012 at 11:40 am (Randomosity) (, )

Well, all my favorite shows returned this weekend, by which I mean both shows: Fringe (Squeeeeeee!) and Revenge (which is still full of soapy goodness like mysterious pregnancies and faked deaths). And in the excitement of prepping for Badass! Walter!, I completely forgot ABC’s 666 Park Avenue (starring Terry O’Quinn and Vanessa Williams) existed.

Probably because of the super on-the-nose title.

But the good news is, it aired right after Revenge, and inertia won. (Usually it’s gravity that defeats me, but sometimes inertia too.) So there I was, butt pasted to the couch, too lazy to reach for the remote. And there was 666 Park Avenue, opening with a bloody-fingered violin player getting sucked into some kind of portal to hell.

This could be promising, I thought, but then it turned out I was kind of right and kind of wrong.

“Promising,” like: “This show promised me Terry O’Quinn would be in it and they delivered.”

Right after the credits, we’re introduced to the Bland-Boringsons, a TV couple who isn’t married (if they’re already living in sin, does the devil really have to tempt them?) and are very attractive people who always want to do the right thing or something and are incredibly boring, and I hope they get sucked down a portal to hell, like, immediately, because UGH SO BORING.

Gahhhh, why aren’t you two burning in the deepest pits of hell yet, I swear boring is a sin!

In the meantime, slightly more interesting things happen around them, like Vanessa Williams tries to move her Botoxed face, and some guy murders somebody so Terry O’Quinn will bring his wife back from then dead, and then doesn’t murder somebody else so Terry O’Quinn will keep his wife back from the dead. Then, this same guy, after disobeying Terry O’Quinn’s orders, decides to just go to bed in his apartment at 666 (it’s actually 999, but the eeeeevillll shadows make it look like 666) Park Avenue. When he wakes up, Terry O’Quinn is sitting at the foot of his bed and he says, “How’d you get in here?”, like, seriously, guy? He brought your wife back from the dead and also owns the apartment building. He either used black magic or, you know, a KEY. Anyway, broken contract, wifey still dead, husband pulled through the wall by grasping hands, one of which becomes his, in a very silly yet somehow entertaining sequence.

There’s also a scene where the female main character is changing a light bulb and some dead lady keeps popping up closer and closer to her and then the dead lady just disappears, like why even bother to show up, dead lady, if you’re not going to knock over the damn ladder and just kill her already?

So that happens, and it’s probably the best thing about the show so far, because who cares about the stupid playwright who comes up with a title first and ideas later? Or his bossy wife and the yoga chick across the way? Or especially our boring, boring main characters who somehow charm the devil with their gumption or whatever.

I was excited to see Dr. Dave from ER as the doorman (? Bellhop? Front desk clerk?), because I swear that guy hasn’t aged. But not in a Vanessa Williams kind of way.

Wait, no … it looks like I was wrong. Hazard of not having HD TV, I guess.

So, yeah, I kind of liked it (if rooting for the fiery reaches of hell to just hurry up and take our main characters already is “liking”), and will probably end up watching it next week too, because moving is hard.

In this illustration, I’m the bottle and my couch is the table. Or friction. Or I got a C in physics, whatever.

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