I went on a little three-day quiet-time retreat a week or so ago (via @getawayhouse and you should ALL do it, it’s fantastic) and I’d like to tell you that I spent the whole time centering myself and doing a self-reckoning while yoga-ing to the sounds of birdsong provided by a flock of yellow-beaked fannyswingers nesting nearby. But no, I didn’t do that.
I’d also like to tell you that I spent all that time on Bigtime Creative Ideas, like fleshing out an idea for a sitcom called The Delta Variants, which is like Orphan Black, but with clones of Delta Burke instead of Tatiana Maslany. But no, I didn’t do that either. (I know—there’s a meme floating around that is almost this same joke but I thought of it FIRST, so note to self to © or ™ or whatever as soon as you think of things).
Nope! I spent the whole time (well, about three and a half hours) re-watching season one of The Other Two, which originally aired on Comedy Central and after a looong wait is now back with a brand new second season on HBO Max. I am an enormous fan of the first season; it’s right up there with Party Down and The Comeback when it comes to shows with fervent cult followings, by which I mean “shows DG will not stop talking about until you watch them too and then he will talk about them ten times more.” Just so you know.
Quick elevator pitch (showbiz talk!): A 13-year old Bieber-like singing phenom has two, uh, less successful adult siblings, Cary (an “actor”) and Brooke (who used to be a dancer). Their mom is Molly Shannon and it’s a good thing she took the part because no one else on earth could play Pat Dubek (author of the children’s book “Dolphin Dreams” and, oh, let’s just pick “jewelry designer” to save some time) the way Molly Shannon does. No one. Season Two sees Pat get her own talk show and I am Ready. For. It.
It’s a deeply cringe-inducing comedy; prepare yourself for that. It’s as much about failure as it is about success; the processed-cheese teen-dream singer’s stage name is “Chase Dreams” and that seems like a dumb throwaway joke until you notice how the older sibs practically burst into tears every time they hear (or say) his name. The show can be occasionally filthy and fitfully sour, but there’s an underlying sweetness to the familial bits that ultimately wins the day. Warning: you will also be mad at me about it because you are going to sing a song called “Stink” for two weeks straight. Sorry, not sorry!