Author: Allison Keene

Like the fulfillment of a prophesy, 18 years after the advent of his cult horror film From Dusk Till Dawn, writer-director-producer Robert Rodriguez has revived the storyline for a series based on its original characters and concepts. From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series will air on the El Rey network, an English-language channel geared toward Latino audiences that Rodriguez created as part of a partnership with Univision. So far, the series is the network’s marquee program, though there are other projects from Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman, as well as Mark Burnett slated for later in 2014.

El Rey is surely hoping to create momentum for itself through this new series, whose story, almost two decades later, finds itself in a very different TV landscape. Supernatural and violent series are essentially the norm. Besides the draw of Rodriguez’s involvement, and a potential interest and nostalgia for some regarding the original film (the straight-to-video releases shall remain unmentioned), the challenge will be for From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series to distinguish itself on an unfamiliar channel in the midst of so many other genre shows. 

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As of the pilot, it seems the series may have some trouble distinguishing itself from the original film, though spread out over 10 episodes, it does promise to take the concepts deeper. Once again, the plot follows the violent Gecko brothers, a bank-robbing duo made up of smooth-talking Seth (D.J. Cotrona) and psychotic Richie (Zane Holtz). As the brothers leave a trail of blood after their latest bank robbery, they find themselves holed up at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, along with Texas Sheriff Earl McGraw (Don Johnson) and Ranger Freddie Gonzalez (Jesse Garcia), as well as a clerk and two young women who Richie has taken hostage.

As befits its Western style, violence erupts quickly and with plenty of blood, and the stand-off lasts for the better part of the premiere. Though the timeline shifts between the present and the events leading up to it, the action (and the talking, so much talking) is confined to Benny’s World of Liquor (with its helpful reminder of a sign: “Still here!”). The brothers Gecko are on their way to Mexico to meet up with the mysterious Carlos (Wilmer Valderrama), who promises to help them escape to freedom. As things continue to spin out of control at the liquor store though, the premiere concludes with the story in Gonzalez’s hands, as a tale of vengeance. “Even if you have to follow them to the gates of hell, kill ’em for me,” he’s asked. “I swear on my daughter, I will,” he obeys, eyes narrowed towards the dusty trail that leads to a bar on the border.

There are certain aspects that make the pilot point in a promising direction. It was written and directed by Rodriguez (directors such as Eduardo Sanchez and Joe Menendez are slated to helm upcoming episodes, with Rodriguez also returning), though as a 40-minute expansion on the first 10 minutes of the original film, the action can seem needlessly drawn out and played for time rather than for narrative sense. But the occasionally snappy dialogue (“Say anything else that sounds like a code, and you’ll become a noun without a goddamn verb”), twisted humor and cinematic direction — which are all in Rodriguez’s hallmark style — bode well for the rest of the series. An expansion of the Aztec mythology, hinted at through the Carlos storyline as well as a gruesome cold open, also suggests a deeper exploration of the more supernatural elements, which are embodied through Richie’s “visions.” (It’s unclear yet whether he’s manufacturing them in his mind or being tormented by an external force).

Assuming the first season follows the model set up by the original film, there’s plenty for the next nine episodes to explore, even if the first episode did drag on the setup. It seems that From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series could be, like the film, a very mixed bag. Even the Geckos themselves are a toss-up: Cotrona’s George Clooney impersonation is distracting (and doesn’t hit its mark), while Holtz’s new conception of Richie is one of a well-crafted creep. But the real standout of the first hour is Johnson’s Sheriff McGraw, a grizzled and confident man, whose monologues about the loneliness and consuming nature of the job are befitting of True Detective‘s morose philosopher-lawman Rust Cohle: full of world-weary wisdom. The ultimate wisdom of pulling this story back out of the vault, though, remains to be seen. 

Like the restaurant of the same name, A&E’s new reality series Wahlburgers puts Mark and Donnie Wahlberg‘s family front and center. While the famous brothers have a stake in the business, it is run day-to-day by their older brother, Paul, “the talented one.” Wahlberg matriarch Alma, always at the ready with strong opinions, is also heavily featured and doesn’t mind fueling her children’s competition on who really is the favorite son. 

Wahlburgers focuses a great deal on the camaraderie and squabbles among the brothers (whose other siblings do not appear on the show), and the first two episodes are packed with anecdotes about growing up in their old Dorchester neighborhood in Boston. Donnie talks about eating “welfare cheese,” Mark’s nutty childhood friends still hang around the place, and when Paul complains about the hand-me-downs he’s wearing in an old photo, Alma shakes her head emphatically and corrects, “only school clothes were hand-me-downs. Easter, we took out a loan.” 

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Much of the Wahlbergs’ appeal is related to their rags-to-riches story, and A&E was right to want to produce a series that focused on the source of this down-home Bean-town interest, instead of disastrous knock-offs like the forgettable Southie Rules. Donnie and Mark agree that while their upbringing was often difficult — and “one of us was usually locked up or running away” — dinner time was always a positive experience, and that’s something they hope to bring to the restaurant.

In many ways, Wahlburgers can feel like one long advertisement for that growing chain, but the family and their restaurant are also obviously inextricably linked. Some of the series’ more sitcom-like moments though include a parade of “colorful characters” from the family’s old neighborhood, including the original Johnny Drama (who shows just how right Entourage‘s Kevin Dillon played him), and a food-related daredevil of sorts, known as Nacho. Jenny McCarthy, Donnie’s girlfriend, also drops in early in the season to meet Alma, and convince Paul to name a burger after her. “I was a little star struck,” the gentle and focused Paul admits sheepishly. 

There is a little bit of charm to Wahlburgers, but ultimately, only a true love of the Wahlbergs will keep viewers interested in their comings-and-goings. Unfortunately, there’s nothing about the series’ style or format that makes it stand out among other family docu-dramas. And while sometimes the interactions feel natural, often they are noticeably stilted; there’s a keen sense of the proceedings being carefully crafted. But as the family knows, their appeal is still a driving factor for a certain niche audience, both regarding their restaurant and the show. It is obvious, as Mark says: When it comes to the Wahlbergs, “it always comes down to family.”

A&E

Reality television’s worst nightmare is reality actually becoming real. For viewers of the A&E ratings juggernaut Duck Dynasty, there’s never been an illusion about the show being set up more as a sitcom than a docuseries. Still, one of its greatest appeals is that, despite its heavily-prompted format, something about the Robertson clan felt believably folksy. They represented, like so many of these gold-seeking pawn broker Alaskan ice-road trucker alligator wranglers, an entertaining and appealing version of middle American life, for all Americans.

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But there can be a difference between the appearance of folksy — or the carefully crafted PR of folksy — and the actual folk. While, again, there’s never been any illusion about the Robertson’s beliefs (their adherence to their Christian faith is surely a big appeal for many), it’s another thing when people are faced with the brass tax of it. But those beliefs in general don’t seem to have been too problematic in their presentation, or the ratings would never have been so high. 

The issue therefore doesn’t necessarily seem to be that Duck Dynasty patriarch Phil Robertson said what he did (it shouldn’t be a shock that people think this way or say these things), but more about the who and the where. He was talking to a reporter from GQ, and not a friend down the way. Comments perhaps usually reserved for other ears were cut loose for the world, on a platform that amplified them and shocked because, “that’s not who we thought you were.” Robertson went unscripted.

Robertson’s comments crossed a line by making a lot of people uncomfortable for a lot of different reasons. A&E is surely particularly uncomfortable, because the reality broke free from its constraints. The “realness” of the show, however personally defined by viewers beforehand, has just now taken on a very different look. 

The result has been a hiatus for Robertson, though not the show, which seems like a confused knee-jerk reaction that ultimately will probably mean very little, after the next few scandals make this one recede from public consciousness. Meanwhile, articles are being lobbied left and right, politically, in the never-ending circuit of, “No, YOU’RE the bigot!” The same lines are being drawn as they always are, about what can and should be said, by whom, and how.

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A&E’s problem though — and for all purveyors of reality programming — is that if an actor or a musician or a filmmaker do or say something controversial, there can be a separation, for those who choose to make one, between the art and the artist. In the case of reality television, there’s not supposed to be that delineation. This person is “playing” themselves. That means the appeal becomes personal, not general. It’s like suddenly finding out a close friend is a racist. Who even is this person I thought I knew? It’s a similar connection viewers have to charismatic characters on TV, and those feelings become safe because the reality is controlled. What you see is supposed to be what you get. Only sometimes it isn’t, which is where the problems start.

There are plenty of people who will defend Robertson and continue to watch Duck Dynasty, just like there will be plenty of people who will condemn him and not tune in, and that’s really all ok. The real issue that seems to have upset everyone the most, though, is that Robertson’s comments shattered the illusion that we all get along. Despite the crazy idea that it was the industry of duck calls that brought us all here in the first place, the fact is, Duck Dynasty represented common ground for very different populations. That’s over. And that’s not something easily confronted or reconciled.