Morning Shots: No Bedbugs At TIFF, No David Mills, And More Housewives : Monkey See In this morning's overstuffed roundup: there are no bugs found at the Toronto Film Festival, but there are plenty more Real Housewives where the existing nutjobs came from. All this, plus a critic who thinks no experience is required.
NPR logo Morning Shots: No Bedbugs At TIFF, No David Mills, And More Housewives

Morning Shots: No Bedbugs At TIFF, No David Mills, And More Housewives

a cup of coffee

Happy to lead with a follow-up to yesterday: it appears that it was a false alarm regarding bedbugs at the Toronto International Film Festival. On behalf of everyone I know who goes to these events: whew.

Many critics were stunned when writer David Mills (who wrote for NYPD Blue, The Wire, and Homicide: Life On The Street among other shows) was left off the Emmys' "In Memoriam" segment the other night. The official statement from the Academy comes about as close as you can come to saying "Oops, we goofed" without actually saying, you know ... "We are sorry."

The Guardian dares to ask: is cruise-ship theater actually good for theater?

This is a great interview with Alastair Macaulay, The New York Times' dance critic, who has this to say about how much experience you need to be a critic: "None." He goes on to say, "I would rather read a fresh critic coming new to the art form with all his/her wits than an old-fart critic who's tedious to read." (via ArtsJournal)

I continue to be completely charmed by reading fetishists (who are, please note, different from paper-book fetishists): The Guardian is hosting a discussion of whether you read sitting, lying down, or standing. (My answer: yes.)

More Real Housewives. No, seriously. Of Beverly Hills this time. Dear Bravo: There is still time to save yourselves. Please stop.

I can officially declare that I love this story about the hazards of public art. At least they're being creative with their disdain, right?

There's an interesting debate going on about whether to move the movie/miniseries categories out of the main Primetime Emmys telecast. HBO, which essentially wins all of them, is against it, unsurprisingly, insisting (through people like Barry Levinson, who produced the HBO film You Don't Know Jack) that networks are just "crying over [their] own inadequacies." But speaking as a viewer, it's certainly always been the least interesting part of the telecast to me, and the idea that you'd lose Al Pacino is not the most compelling argument I've ever heard.

Apparently, The Washington Post failed to find it hilarious when one of its sports columnists played a Twitter prank, the point of which was to prove, basically, "I could report that something was true, and you'd believe me, fools!" Uh..."Good one"?

The American Journalism Review looks at AOL and Yahoo and their increasing interest in (gasp!) original content to complement their portal/search businesses.

And finally: this observation courtesy of Monkey See contributor Marc Hirsh, who provided it on Twitter last night: Cee Lo's unrepeatable hit can be sung right along with "Love Train." (He later accused me of trying it out in my head, to which I said, "Yes, if by 'in my head,' you mean 'out loud, with the YouTube video playing, while waving my hands in the air like I just don't care.'")