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2002: September 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 30
A-a-and... we’re back!
The biggest shock of this “season”-opener?
Not the new host and correspondent. Not the new bumpers, credits, and feverish techno theme-song experiment, or even the arguably-unwise Dom Casual employed for onscreen typography.
No.
Here is the shock: TFO upgraded from aging Suburbans to Chrysler minivans to... GMC Safari minivans.
How could French people be caught dead in a vee-hickle of such poor taste?
But on with the show!
Actually, not quite yet. What happened to Félix’s hair?
All right.
It seems the esteemed TFO braintrust came to their senses. Losing a host, a producer, and an in-house contributor led to the scarifying realization that the show could go under completely or could be rewritten virtually from scratch. Wisely, the latter was chosen.
Still stuck with the same cramped 2180, rue Yonge set and fixtures, of course.
En tout cas, fantastic photo of the late lamented Mathieu Pichette brandished by the New Kid, Frankie Ozon Grisé. Now, where is Mathieu Pichette? He took a step over and a step down: Now he’s a mere correspondent on La revanche des nerdZ (perverse corporate orthography). At least he got the fuck out of Toronto. What self-respecting francophone would not want to?
You think I’m not watching him? Please. I’m watching him right now: He sits around the table high above the finery and sophistication of east-end Montreal admitting he is a «Mac! Mac!» person in the show’s wrap-up. Actually, Z resides in the west end, one small block from where I used to live (and near the late lamented downtown Alexis Nihon Ikea location). La revanche is structurally identical to Volt, hence my submission that working as mere correspondent is a demotion.
(Readers may well be wondering why I’m already nicknaming the new kids on the block when they haven’t even bugged my arse yet. Well, tradition, obviously!)
Frédéric Choinière is the new «journaliste de Volt.» Everyone on staff save for Nadyne has pure-laine dark hair. (What happened to Félix’s? And Nadyne is now two full heads [of dark hair] taller than everyone on staff!)
And thus the questions begin: Are they gay or are they French?
I would say the outright product placement by Obus Forme is unbecoming of a public educational broadcaster.
Also, did you ever think to ask them to produce scientific studies backing up the health claims of their products? (What if there aren’t any?)
It appears I spoke too soon about the Pure-Laine Dark-Hair Rule of Voltistes. Nadia Campbell, the new Ottawa chick (when is TFO going to give up that losing venture?), is an avowed redhead. Not that I go for that sort of thing. On girls.
I dunno. She seems all right.
Nadia did, however, say her mom and dad are anglos. I suspect she didn’t mean that, going on as she did to say she lived both languages at home.
Now, what I want this Nathalie Carrier chick to be doing is not, in fact, to be plugging whatever third-tier French rural-dead-end community college she works for but reviewing music.
Where’s Chucky these days, anyway? I walked regally past him quite a while ago on a hot day. At the time, I wondered how his gleaming, clean-shaven head could stand the blazing sunshine. I couldn’t. Perhaps he is merely plus butch que moi.
Now. Is all well in the magic kingdom?
Not quite.
Well, look what the cat dragged in. “NOT THE REAL” Mathieu Chantelois is back to disseminate the lessons of his good sense, propriety, professionalism, and unblemished TFO work history to Volt’s benighted audience.
It must have come as a crushing disappointment to be passed over for the plum job of Volt host (a huge step up from nude photography modeling and throwing to porn on PrideVision), and, moreover, to be demoted from salaried staff to occasional correspondent.
Evidence suggests he got off easy. Oh, but look on the bright side: Things could always get worse for him. Among other things, there isn’t a U.S.-style statute of limitations here in Canada.
But what’s that other detail, so readily missed in the lightning-fast scrolling of end credits? “Relationniste: Marcelo Gomez-Wiuckstern.” A relationniste spends a lot of time on the phone, which must be murder on the cartilage of the ears.
Two simple questions:
It is of course risible to hire a tweeked-out semiliterate to review cinema. He can’t even pronounce “Van Wilder” correctly. (Freebie hint to amateur nudists: It isn’t “Vahn Vidlair.”) However is he going to cope when Atanarjuat comes out on DVD?
What – you thought I wouldn’t be on this case? Again: Please.
Right-excellent execution of a pleasingly imaginative concept in today’s fausse pub: «L’affection entre amis: Quand c’est trop, c’est trop.»
I’ll say! I could hardly be described as “huggy.” I make Irshad Manji look as rubbery as Robin Williams.
But: You couldn’t have walked over to Mt. Pleasant or something for some fresh exteriors?
And yeah, I was right about Nadia’s flub.
Good concept to phone up kids around the province and ask them what’s been up with Julien’s Ski-Doo breaking down or Manon’s daring experiment with Nice & Easy. Actual service to its audience, as opposed to the audience the show’s mid-20s staff wishes it had.
All videos all the time. Still.
“Days Go By” by Dirty Vegas. Still. (Yes, I pimped it. It is well and truly known by now, though. Little of the magic remains. At least you weren’t running the Mitsu version.)
“Blind Date” by Blink-182; you’ve got to be kidding. “Time and Time Again” by Papa Roach. «Le troubadour» by les Ordures ioniques, with zero-blink-rate captions. “Without Me” by Eminem.
It has been decided that the new St. Vitus’ dance techno theme song is OK. It was running through my mind this morning.
Where’s Steve “THE DIGGER” Diguer, if not his consort, when you need him?
Amusing detail revealed by the Godzilla vs. Megalon–style diorama-of-the-Iraq-“conflict”-in-puppetry today: Frankie’s got a wedding ring. (Engagement band, shurely?!) Maus the segment was not.
I cringed throughout that poor anglo guest’s attempts to speak comprehensible French. You should hear me.
Whereas the first thing I thought of during Frankie’s anglo segment was “What a gay voice.” (“Commitment ceremony” ring, shurely?!) Certainly I liked the segment, though, all ten seconds of it.
Fred’s adorable. I’m sorry.
But does he have poor eyesight? Magnification of the eyes as seen through his glasses seems quite high.
La FESFO. Fine. (If it’s a group for «jeunesse,» where’s the J in the acronym?) But what is Nadia doing still in Toronto?
She’s certainly highly fluent.
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