[Televisionary]

Do we do things for the right or wrong reasons? When you cut beneath the surface, are all the "right" reasons really wrong? I've been raving about CBS' gripping and intelligent series The Good Wife all season long, and hopefully the praise has rubbed off on those who wouldn't normally tune into a legal drama. But The Good Wife is no mere episodic courtroom potboiler: it's a canny and critical arbiter of society and technology, a stirring and often emotional exploration of family and morals in the media age, a portrait of working women, and a romance- and intrigue-laden drama that manages to stir both your heart and your mind on a weekly basis. Tonight's episode of The Good Wife ("Great Firewall"), written by creators Robert King and Michelle King (with a story by Leonard Dick) and directed by Nelson McCormick, ranks up there with some of the very best installments the series has produced to date, an exceptionally crafted installment that juxta

If there's one thing that Chuck has dealt with on an ongoing basis, it's matters of trust and fidelity in the spy world, where such things are seen as potential weaknesses to be exploited rather than strengths. Over the course of the last four seasons, Chuck Bartowski has been transformed from a naive asset into a full-blown spy of his own and I don't mean thanks to the Intersect (which still manages to flash and give him information or enable him to engage in some kick-ass Kung Fu), but rather his demeanor and way of handling himself in the field has changed significantly. Whereas he and Sarah were once on separate trajectories (he wants to be extraordinary! she wants to be normal!), they've now settled somewhere in the middle together, a spy couple whose missions are backdrops for their romantic endeavors. This week's episode of Chuck ("Chuck Versus the First Bank of Evil") found the one-time spy wannabe engaging with his own asset, Vivian MacArthur Vo

I have traveled to Pentos and the Inn at the Crossroads. Thanks to HBO (and Campfire)'s new immersive experience The Maester's Path, I've accrued the first link in my maester's chain. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, then you haven't read George R.R. Martin's "A Game of Thrones," the first in the author's multi-volume novel series which is about to hit the airwaves next month as HBO's Game of Thrones . Last week, I tweeted that I had received an ornate wooden box from HBO containing scrolls, vials of various scents (from incense and pear brandy to wood beams and salt harbor). Following the instructions (lovingly embodied in a series of hand-tied scrolls), I was directed to mix the scents to create two blends, each one embodying two locations within the world of Game of Thrones . Pear brandy, wooden beams, and crusty bread combined to form the heady perfume of the Inn at the Crossroads, while salt harbor, incense, and spice market

"We're on separate paths." - Adaleen While the Henricksons have overcome many huge obstacles over the last five seasons, it seems as though the thing that's tearing them apart might be themselves. Through thick and thin, through betrayal and compromise, Bill and his wives have always seen past the here and now to the eternal, to the celestial kingdom where their family would spend forever walking hand in hand. But that eternal happiness is now being called into question, as is their felicity among the quotidian existence of life on earth. This week's episode of Big Love ("Til Death Do Us Part"), written by Aaron Allen and directed by David Petrarca, found the Henricksons besieged on all sides: from Albert Grant's vengeful vendetta against Bill, to the LDS Church, and among themselves, as the paper wedding of Bill and Nicki fast approached. We've been told that their marriage is a legal formality, a means to an end as it would allow the two to le

Just a few quick words about last night's experiment in tedium that was the 83rd Annual Academy Awards. Over the years, the Oscars have gotten the (rightful earned) reputation for being a bloated, boring telecast of an awards show. Overblown and hyperbolic, the Academy Awards have often represented a largely three-hour-plus snoozefest, apart from Billy Crystal's memorable opening monologue/montages and some occasional upsets. But this year's Oscars broadcast, hosted by James Franco and Anne Hathaway, might just go down in the history books as the Worst Oscars broadcast ever. Painfully awkward, unfunny, and sluggish, last night's awards ceremony dragged on for three and a half hours with barely a laugh thrown in. As The King's Speech rather predictably swept through the awards categories (and I say that as someone who was a devotee of the film), the entire affair seemed to be a deflated mess of a show, a bizarre mix of history lesson, stage elements, auto-tuned musi

Home is forever the place we're running to or running from. Or, sometimes, it's both. On tonight's heartbreaking episode of Fringe ("Subject 13"), the writers have once again peeled away the veil of time to offer the audience another look into the past, a sequel to last season's "Peter," set six months after the events of that episode. While that episode, set in the heart of the 1980s, depicted the good intentions of Walter Bishop (the always sensational John Noble) in saving the life of another world's Peter after the death of his own son, tonight's episode shows the poignant consequences of his actions, focusing not on the global aftermath of his actions (those damaging soft spots in the universe's structure) but on the emotional toll that his decision makes on both sides of the dimensional divide. Six months after kidnapping Peter and nursing him back to health, things are anything but stable in the Bishop household. Walter is rarely

Well, the next time a student gets caught cheating off of someone else's paper, they should just say that they were "inspired" by their peer. Or at least that's the defense that Top Chef 's Mike Isabella would apparently give, as displayed by his behavior on this week's episode of Top Chef: All-Stars ("For the Gulf"), in which he was "inspired" by a dish that Richard Blais had concocted in his notepad so much that he executed the exact dish later that day in the Quickfire Challenge. The other chefs, upon learning of Mike's perfidy, seemed to be in agreement with yours truly: it was an act of culinary plagiarism, a serious breaking of "chef law" given that the incident in question happened on camera before our eyes. Let's rewind for a second. Richard Blais, that culinary mad scientist and food visionary, keeps a notebook that's stocked with ideas, should inspiration seize hold of him, even during the stress of