The show explores the colorful goings-on at a powerful tabloid
and the sleazy, disreputable characters in its orbit, from a troubled Hollywood
power couple (Josh Stewart and Laura Allen) with enough skeletons to fill a
warehouse to a closeted gay action hero (Grant Show) to a lipstick-lesbian
smack dealer (Carly Pope). Respected character actor Ian Hart co-stars in the
David Arquette role of a twitchy schizophrenic ace photographer whose
hallucinations allow the show's writers to get all arty with surrealistic
digressions. Paul Reubens, Jennifer Aniston, and Vincent Gallo drop by for
juicy guest spots as a hard-drinking reporter, rival editor, and deranged
former child star respectively.
Dirt is powered by cheap psychology and even cheaper
irony. A drinking game could be devised where viewers do a shot every time a
character clumsily references Cox's father's suicide. And if a character is
introduced as a preening moralist who loudly espouses temperance, virtue, and
chastity, odds are good that he or she will be coked-up and pregnant with Osama
bin Laden's secret love child by the third commercial break. Yet as with far
superior explorations of the dark side of the human psyche, like Profit,
Mad Men, and Action, there's
a transgressive kick in seeing just how far the characters will go. Of course,
the aforementioned shows offered neat little bonuses like fascinating, multidimensional
characters and terrific dialogue. The best Dirt can offer is industrial doses of sex and sleaze,
augmented by T&A;, rampant drug abuse, and threesomes, threesomes,
threesomes. Cox's exposé of tabloid depravity captures something vivid and
punchy about our scandal-mad cultural climate. For better or worse, it does so
mainly by crawling just as lustily through the gutter.
Key features: The
requisite fawning making-of featurettes and decent deleted scenes.
