This guy, apparently.

No NBC sitcoms–see y’all after the Olympics!

Ashton Kutcher has now hosted Saturday Night Live four times. Does that seem weird to anyone else? I wouldn’t immediately guess that he’d be the That ’70s Show cast member to host most often, or that he’s hosted more than, say, Scarlett Johansson or Justin Timberlake, who both have their own recurring characters. Looking through the invaluable SNL transcripts site, I see that none of his episodes have been particularly memorable, though he did appear in a Falconer sketch as “the Muskrateer,” and his most recent appearance, in April 2008, was surprisingly decent.

This week’s episode, then, fits right into the Ashton Kutcher SNL oeuvre that we all forgot existed. It was surprisingly good in the sense that it was one of the least recurring-character-heavy episodes of the season, with only a typically middling and pointless View sketch and some amusing Update appearances representing the retread factors. The first post-monologue sketch wasn’t The View or a Kristen Wiig tic-fest, but a very funny bit with Kutcher playing a golddigging pool boy spurned by his departed 110-year-old lover. It exploited a funny idea without just hitting a single joke over and over; that sounds simple, but isn’t always as easy as it looks.

But also like some of his past appearances, the episode was a bit rote; nothing else matched that early high. The sketch with Will Forte as a Roman leader taking creepy pleasure from grape-feeding was appealingly weird, but thin; same goes for “What Is Burn Notice?” — the game show that challenges contestants to describe the apparently popular USA network series. Personally, I’d have more trouble with “What is Criminal Minds?” — a couple of my regular SNL-watching buddies actually love Burn Notice and it’s certainly among the top three or five cooler-sounding cable shows that I never watch but suspect I might like if I did, whereas I have no idea what separates Criminal Minds from its cop-show brethren apart from it not being set in the Navy, not involving crazy forensics or cold cases, and not, as far as I know, taking place in Miami. But anyway, it was still a kinda-sorta funny sketch poking fun at the show’s admittedly vague ad campaign.

The kinda-sorta-pretty-good stuff kept on coming all night. Andy Samberg’s Rahm Emmanuel impression isn’t one of his most dead-on, but the laughs it gets are certainly the most cathartic the show, which hasn’t been specializing in political humor since late 2008 at best, can offer these days. The Oscar nomination bit was funny enough. I liked that band of dads reuniting their eighties punk band at a wedding at the very end of the show. Kutcher didn’t do much to help or hurt, apart from a downright puzzling Mel Gibson impression — he got Gibson’s weirdo defensive posture right, but the voice was a gravelly mess.

So I guess Kutcher is a kind of gap-filler, inconsequential host; he hasn’t worked up enough strong material to qualify as a hosting event, like a Steve Martin or Alec Baldwin appearance, and he doesn’t give off that Jon Hamm major-repeat-host-of-tomorrow vibe, either. He just does pretty typical episodes that you probably won’t remember when he hosts again in a couple of years.

Episode Grade: B-

Thank the Lord for small mercies, Friday Night Lights fans. This week’s episode was mostly lighter than last week’s, which is good, because I don’t think I could handle that kind of emotional upheaval two weeks in a row. To recap: Matt buried his father, who was killed in Iraq. Julie struggled to support Matt in the face of enormous and staggering pain and cope with facing mortality for the first time in her life. Becky hit on Tim Riggins and was rejected, which drove her into Luke’s slightly less muscular arms. And Vince went in two directions at the same time, earning player of the week honors and learning to hotwire cars. So, now for something a little bit lighter? Please, Jason Katims, don’t make me cry again.

I’m not so think as you drunk I am.

As if James Franco’s giggle-inducing, suspicion-arousing guest spot on General Hospital wasn’t enough, here’s another weirdly out-of-place guest star. Gavin Rossdale (the singer of crunchy nineties “alternative” band Bush, the dweller of Gwen Stefani’s shadow and possessor of unfashionably long hair) recently did a guest spot on a show you never hear mentioned on this humble blog, Criminal Minds. This happened a couple of weeks ago, but I can’t imagine you’d actually want to watch the show. So no biggie.

On the show, Gavin plays a guy who is possibly a murderer. And possibly a vampire. But definitely some sort of gothic singer for a cover band. It sort of reminds me of a basic cable remake of The Crow.

It’s the nineties plus vampires plus murder minus dignity.

Go over to VideoGum to see him perform Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart.” Do them a favor — they could use the boost in traffic that our link will provide.

Last week on Friday Night Lights, Tim became an assistant coach for the East Dillon Lions, while Coach struggled to scrape together funds for his scruffy team. Matt learned that art is about being a miserable, unbathed recluse, which understandably freaked Julie out. Buddy Garrity went off the reservation re: the Panthers under the odious thumb of Revoltin’ Joe McCoy. Vince, Landry, and Luke continued to flail about on the ragtag Lions team. And now, on to episode four, Dillon: A New Hope.

We’ve got spirit, yes we do! And barbecue!

Last week on Friday Night Lights: Coach is at East Dillon. So is Julie. Matt is delivering pizzas, and JD McCoy is a jackass. New people include Vince, who is very fast and quite surly, and bartender Alicia Witt and her National Anthem–singing daughter. The East Dillon football team got whipped so badly in their first game that Coach forfeited the second half. We cried. So: onward!

On Halloween we watched A Nightmare on Elm Street on TV, as one does, and thanks to HD technology and a massive TV we noticed the best thing ever in the background of a scene in the Sleep Institute.

This movie terrified me as a child, and now the poster of a giant cat riding the San Francisco trolley has officially erased any residual fear I ever felt. Thanks, set dresser!

I am now obsessed with this image, as every right-minded person in the world should be. I’ve been talking about it non-stop on twitter, but now I bring this quest to you, faithful readers. Happy late Halloween.

Whenever they add new characters to the cast of The Office — or, lets face it, to Parks and Recreation, since those characters are basically in the same tableau as The Office — I’m amazed at how they always find a new way for a person to be funny. So many sitcoms rely on basic comedy types: the Overgrown Frat Boy (see Two and a Half Men), the Maladjusted Nerd (see Big Bang Theory), the Sarcastic or Surly Teenager (see any family comedy ever), etc. These types aren’t always used in bad ways — How I Met Your Mother does a great job with Marshall’s Overgrown Frat Boy type — but they’re easy for audiences to spot, recognize, and understand quickly, so lots of comedies use them.

All of the characters on The Office and Parks and Rec are basically Office Workers — they’re all in the same type. The shows have to work harder, then, to make sure that they’re all funny in different ways. They can’t all be wacky, and they can’t all be sardonic. Right now, I’m really tickled by Erin. While she doesn’t get so many punchlines, Ellie Kemper does a great job of making her sweet and people-pleasing, and the fact that she grates on Pam (the pervious sweet, people-pleasing receptionist) really gets me. Erin asking Michael’s permission to put out Pam’s candy (and his thanking her for asking), and her calling Michael and saying “people are asking questions” after he fell into the koi pond, to me was funnier than Michael’s squirm-inducing attempt to mock himself.

This is all just a really long way of saying I’m really pleased that Ellie Kemper is featured so prominently in the video for “Male Prima Donna,” the new hit sensation by Subtle Sexuality. The video is pretty amazing.

Welcome back to Dillon, Panther fans. And Lions fans! Because we’re Lions fans now. Okay, to catch up. When last we left the good folks of Dillon, Coach Taylor had lost his job as head coach of the Panthers to his conceited QB’s private coach. He is now the coach at under-funded, athletically gerrymandered East Dillon High. Tami is still the principal at the now-renamed West Dillon High. So: conflict. Matt Saracen has been accepted to art school in Chicago. Lyla has gone to Vanderbilt and Tyra has gone to UT and we will miss their pretty, pretty hair. Tim is…going to college? Kind of? And also: Clear eyes, full hearts.

All right, all right, all right.

I don’t know if this is widely known, but George Clooney has not always been the fabulous jet-setting prankster superstar he is now. In the distant past, he was a struggling actor just like so many others, who was well-known but not totally famous and who, like his peers, would sometimes be cast in pilots that — to put it kindly — did not catch on with the general populace.

Oh my god, you guys. Sunset Beat. Sunset Beat is a show that exists. Once you read everything I have to say about it, you might not believe me, but I assure you in advance that this really happened and was not some sort of fever dream.

The pilot of Sunset Beat, George Clooney’s show that was never a show, has been airing on MGM recently as part of their First Taste of Fame series. Now, Sunset Beat is not one of those undiscovered gems, that you root for and wish there could’ve been more. No. Sunset Beat is TERRIBLE. Like, truly, horribly, mind-meltingly bad. But it’s bad in a way that makes me laugh and laugh and laugh.

SUNSET BEAT!

Here’s what you need to know about Sunset Beat. It starts with a truck crashing into a helicopter. The truck is delivering something to someone nefarious, and the driver is talking on his CB or whatever, saying “I don’t see him! Where is he?!” and other guy’s like “Um he’s like right there dummy!” and then the truck turns a corner and there’s a helicopter parked in the middle of the road. Then they crash and fall down a cliff. Classic truck-crashing-into-helicopter stuff. You know how it goes.

Then George Clooney is playing lead guitar in a band whose name is, and this is not a joke, Private Prayer. Some crazy strung out chick interrupts the performance! She used to be the lead singer! And she was married to George Clooney! And he got her hooked on the junk!

But before you go thinking George Clooney is only the lead guitarist of a medium-popular band, get ready, because George Clooney is ALSO A COP IN A BAND OF UNDERCOVER MOTORCYLCE COPS. George Clooney is driving his motorcycle down the street, thinking about how he shouldn’t have gotten his ex-wife hooked on the junk, when he sees a helicopter and a truck at the bottom of a cliff. And so he investigates and he finds a giant pile of money, because what else could a truck be delivering to a helicopter in the middle of the day on a twisty LA mountain road?

And so George Clooney calls up the other undercover motorcycle cops to alert them that something weird is going on. This scene takes FOREVER because each of the cops has to have some sort of cute introduction that tells us a little about their personality and home life. ENDLESS. Also George Clooney calls them on his 1990 cell phone, which is awesome because he’s George Clooney with chin-length curly hair on a motorcycle with a 1990 cell phone.

Some of the other undercover motorcycle cops are Doakes from Dexter and TJ from Gilmore Girls.

Then I skipped the middle because it was boring. One of the cops saved an underage prostitute? Another one told his parents he was going to med school? I don’t know. That guy from the David Mamet movies shows up in relation to the A-plot, somehow, with something tattooed on his chest, because criminals are always kidnapping innocent people and tattooing shit on their chests just to send a message.

LATER, George Clooney is performing a big outdoor Private Prayer concert (of course) and his undercover motorcycle cop mentor named JC (of course) is thrown from a helicopter onto the stage and dies. Some people in the audience threaten everyone with guns because they want their money and then they leave. And the dumb lead singer ALMOST STARTS SINGING AGAIN but then George Clooney leaves because he has to catch the bad guys and avenge JC’s thoughtless helicopter-toss-murder, and also what? Why would you think that the concert would magically keep going after a human being is tossed from the sky and lands on stage and dies, not to mention all the guns? Were there lots of terrorism-riddled outdoor concerts in 1990?

So that’s really the climax, even though there’s another climax that involves another helicopter (I think, or maybe it was a crane? Somehow George Clooney is up in the air), and George Clooney gets dumped into the ocean and saves the day (somehow) and everyone thinks he’s dead but he’s not because it’s only the pilot. George Clooney climbs out of the water onto the dock and somehow his leather jacket is still dry, and the other undercover motorcycle cops are so glad to see him because if they had lost both JC and George Clooney in freak dropping-from-helicopter accidents that would have been a really bad week.

And then, tragically, Sunset Beat got canceled.

Search your DVR for more showings! It’s very, very boring and very, very hilarious at the same time.