Friday, December 3, 2010

Michael C. Hall Gives People Cancer

So, apparently your prize for starring in a great pay-cable show is Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma. Michael C. Hall, star of Showtime's sporadically excellent Dexter, has recovered, kicking his habit for embarrassing FUBU headgear in the process, but in the meantime, Andy Whitfield has had to drop out of Starz' (Starz's? Starz'z?) sporadically boner-inducing Spartacus: Blood and Sand for the very same reason.

Best Superpower Ever
Now I'm not butthurt about MCH's awesome cancer-swapping powers -- Dexter is a solid show that totally deserves to exist -- but I am terminally butthurt about the loss of Spartacus. Yeah, sure, it'll continue with some other no-name, vaguely Australian dude (at least it's not Sam Worthington, that guy can eat a bowl of dick), but obviously it will never be the same, and neither will television.

Why, might you ask, am I mourning the death of some show on Starz whose most famous cast members are Xena and that awkward dude from The Mummy franchise? Well, where else on tv can you see a smoking hot shorty by the name of Viva Bianca (I'm guessing this is her first non-pornographic imdb credit) smash another model-hot chick's face until one of her eyes is hanging out of its socket? Where else can you see a show's hero disembowel and decapitate a frail old man, and his closest homie perform an impromptu abortion? Where else can you hear lines like "By Jupiter's cock!" and "You dogs smell like piss! Perhaps I should shit to complete the aroma!" A squad member once described the show as "the most violent porno ever," but that only scratches the surface of its charm.

Spartacus stumbled out of the gate, seeming at best a guilty pleasure, only bearable if one had taken the necessary precautions (i.e, chugging three to six cans of Four Loko) but it soon proved to be so much more. Eight or nine episodes in, I found myself completely absorbed in its drama, cheering its heroes, cursing its villains, and hanging breathlessly on Viva's every chirping syllable. And when events turned tragic in episode ten? Manly tears were wept. Then came the season finale, "Kill Them All," which was easily one of the most violent and cathartic episodes of television I've ever seen.

Now, many of these elements may still be in place even without the show's leading actor, but I strongly sense that the first season of Spartacus was a happy accident, a gathering of hapless and mediocre talents that produced something of shabby brilliance. There was something fragile and transitory about its successes, it was never meant to thrive. Even before I had heard of Michael C. Hall's dastardly cancer swap, I felt like the party was already over. This resulted in a particularly vicious case of butthurt, as their simply is no ointment, no equivalent in television, with which I can sooth my anally retentive rage.

P.S. - If you get the urge to leave me a comment about how Spartacus sucked and I should just get over it, or that Rome was way better, or that Sam Worthington is actually a cool actor worthy of my respect, then prepare to be sodomized by Jupiter's cock. Just a heads up.