The premise of this attempt to capitalize on the NBC program's
success was that after Bea Arthur's character had remarried, the
remaining seniors sold their house and bought a hotel in South Beach.
While it only lasted one season, that touchy-feely feminine cable
channel Lifetime has decided to bank on one of its core demographics
and do a limited nightly re-run of the show's 24 forgotten episodes in
August and September.
The other night I caught the "Christmas" episode, where
the Scrooge-like Marin is visisted by the Ghosts of Christmas Past,
Present, and Future, played by the trio of spinsters. Throughout this
program's duration, I was reminded just how much I fucking loathe
sitcoms. These days I can barely sit through the first few minutes of
any of these prime time pap smears whose hyperformulaic,
paint-by-numbers style could be replicated in a few short hours by a
diapered chimp with an eight ball and a banana-yellow laptop. While
some of these so-called "writers" think that having a remotely unique
premise will save them from the bin of mediocrity, nearly every one
rests on gelatin pillars of remarkable sloth with their predictable
plots, excruciating one-liners and canned laughter. YOUR WACKY
NEIGHBOR(S) WILL NOT SAVE YOU. TEENAGERS SNEAKING OUT OF HOUSES OR
STEALING/WRECKING CARS IS NOT FUNNY. WHAT? IT WAS ALL A
MISUNDERSTANDING? YOU MEAN 'CHARACTER A' JUST OVERREACTED? WOW THAT IS
A RIOT! And of all of the grievous sins that can be committed in a
situation comedy, none is greater than the Christmas episode.
So fuck off to the makers of The Golden Palace
and all other comedy shows that opt to be this agonizing to watch. May
your dreams and genitals be doused with gasoline before being set
ablaze.