The Dark Knight (which opened last weekend), started surfacing a few weeks ago, I couldn't help but be cynical. Critics, reputable ones, used words like "brilliant" (Rolling Stone) and "terrifying" (New York Times) to describe the late Heath Ledger's performance as the Joker. Folks were chanting "Oscar" before the thing even got spooled up on the reels.

In stills from the film, the character appeared shabby and greasy - like Johnny Depp's Willy Wonka with a bad hangover. And how "brilliant" could a grown man in smeared clown makeup possibly be? We're talkin' Batman here, not Gone With the Wind.

And then I saw The Dark Knight for myself. All I can say is HOLY CRAP!

It's tempting to bust out all the appropriate critic-speak ("multi-layered," "nuanced," "electrifying," etc.), but none of it would be adequate to describe how amazing Ledger's Joker truly is. It's almost as if the drab clothing and half-assed makeup (it looked half-assed, but was somehow perfect) created an empty vessel for the actor to fill with a numbing, complicated evil.

Director Christopher Nolan promised that we "would be blown away" by the Joker. And I am. Unlike the vain, stylish Jack Nicholson "Joker" from Tim Burton's 1989 Batman, Ledger's villain is intelligent, droll, unspeakably cruel, and absolutely relentless. It's not greed or a lust for power that drives him: It's a sociopathic rage so deep that he seems to have forgotten exactly where it came from.

And if the "empty vessel" idea seems a bit on the philosophical side, Nolan's interpretation of the character is very much a study in Eastern philosophy and Western psychology. In a particularly tense scene with Aaron Eckhart (in the dual role of good guy Harvey Dent and bad guy Two-Face), Ledger's Joker, disturbing even in a nurse's uniform and a wig, sums it up like this: "I'm an agent of chaos - and we all know what chaos is." He leans into Eckhart and mutters seductively, "Fear."

As with all great film villains, this Joker is also charming as hell. He may be Gacy-style crazy, but the guy never loses his cool. And even though this film is two and a half hours long (you'll need a catheter to watch the whole thing comfortably), it flies by. In my estimation, Christian Bale as "Batman" is kind of an empty (bat)suit compared to the titanic talent of the supporting cast (Eckhart, Morgan Freeman, Michael Caine, Gary Oldman, Maggie Gyllenhaal). But, with Ledger around, it hardly matters. Batman is simply there to give the Joker something to do.

I can say, unequivocally, that I believe Ledger deserves an Oscar for this performance - and not because he got robbed for 2005's Brokeback Mountain (as did director Ang Lee, who should have won Best Picture over the forgettable Crash), but because he's created a truly iconic character. And, though critics suspect Ledger's posthumous Oscar will remain out of reach because the Batman franchise is viewed as "popcorn" fare, I would argue that his performance is every bit as thought-provoking and intense as Javier Bardem's villainous turn in 2007's No Country for Old Men. Bardem, who won Best Supporting Actor last year, played a similar character in the film - but his role required only a fraction of the vivid, warped mania that Ledger had to conjure for The Dark Knight.

Though I'll refrain from buying into the rumor that the sleeping pills and anxiety medication that caused his accidental overdose were a byproduct of the role, I will say that it's a shame this talented guy, only 28 at the time of his passing, couldn't have stuck around longer. Jeff Robinov, president of Warner Brothers Pictures Group, told the New York Times that, in light of the tragedy, director Nolan felt a "massive sense of responsibility" to do right by Mr. Ledger's "terrifying, amazing" performance. He has done exactly that. And if this is to represent Ledger's final work (he died during early production for Terry Gilliam's The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus), we could hardly have asked for better.

Hopefully, the Academy will put aside the hype and the biases this January and give Ledger the nomination (and the Oscar) he so richly deserves.

Wendy Case is the MOLI View's contributing editor for Arts & Entertainment.

At this point, we all know someone on a reality TV show.  There are so many of these dysfunctional festivals of humanity running on the boob tube's hundreds of cable channels, I feel like the ratio of people who have been or will be on a reality TV show in their lifetime is, like, one out of every 100.  Myself included.

But, for all those clamoring to become famous just for being themselves, let me share some sage advice.  If you get picked to be on one of these reality TV shows, it's just as likely the producers are picking you because they dislike you (and think you'll make for crazy good TV) as that they like you and think you have a modicum of talent.  And it's very likely that once the show airs (if it airs: There are many who shoot TV pilots that never see the light of day), you won't recognize yourself.

Sure, you'll look like you, and the voice is really yours, but the character that's created out of the weeks of filming you nearly 24/7 will be just that: a character. Or even worse, quite possibly, a caricature of you, that people who don't know you will think is really you.  And that version of you will live in perpetuity and possibly be quite a bit bigger than the real you, who will live in its shadow, forever meeting people who think they know you just because they saw your TV show.

And while in some cases you may win $50K+ of prize money, or really get a boost in your career from your TV notoriety, it's also possible that being on a reality TV show will hurt you.  Hurt your career, hurt your credibility, and hurt your feelings.  And if you think about all the reality TV stars who actually turned their 15 minutes of fame into a real career in Hollywood, you might understand that it's an unlikely way to become a respected film or TV actor.

Anyway, I speak with some insight here having witnessed some of the trials and tribulations of my friend Norman Korpi from MTV's The Real World, season one.  Norm and his cast mates shot the very first season of this monster hit in 1992 and had no idea what they were in for.  The concept of eight people in their tender formative years from radically different backgrounds living in a house together took hold and blew up. The Real World is credited with launching the platform of reality TV as we know it today.  The only reality TV show that preceded it is the one that in part inspired it: PBS's 1971 hit An American Family, a documentary about a typical American family in the era of divorce, coming apart at the seams.

Suddenly, the cast members of The Real World, kids whose ages ranged from 18 to 25, were famous. Norm, who moved to Los Angeles after the show, has stories of being kissed by his fan Brad Pitt and running from throngs of screaming teenage girls on the street.  And I think Norm would be okay with me saying that, yes, fame went to his head at that age.  But he was famous just for being himself, not for a particular skill he did or didn't have, and that's where the problems began.

He was offered TV hosting gigs, especially in the gay community, since as the first openly gay person on MTV, he was lauded as a hero. But reading copy off a teleprompter and interviewing people wasn't really a good fit for him.  Norm is more of an ideas guy, someone who should be behind the camera: a producer and director.  And he went on to prove that when in 2001, he wrote and directed a feature film called The Wedding Video, starring 10 alumni of various Real World casts.

It's funny: Norman and the cast from season one are really the only ones who were innocent in the sense that the kids who signed up for the seasons that followed knew what the show was and were probably motivated in some part by the pursuit of fame. Yet, Norm has befriended cast members from many seasons.  In fact, for a while, four Real World people lived with Norm in a giant mansion in Beverly Hills.

But don't think for a second that the Real World made any of the cast members rich.  Norm got a $3,500 one-time fee for shooting the show; that's it.  The cast of The Real World get no residuals from the show, even though Bunin Murray Productions even sold episodes to other cable networks to air.  The only additional monies Real World cast members get is from participating in Real World books and specials, which is why so many of them do.  Because I've watched Norm struggle with holding a regular job.  People just didn't seem to understand that being on TV didn't mean Norman was rich.  In fact, he was working a catering job once for a little extra cash at Arnold Schwarzenegger's house, and David Letterman made it into a joke on The Late Show one night, implying this is what happens to the careers of kids who star on The Real World.

But Norman is luckier than most reality TV stars.  Besides having an enormous generosity of spirit that endears him to many, and really creative and endlessly amusing ideas (I love doing things and going places with him), Norm has one divine God-given talent: his painting.  He was a prodigy painting murals as a child and got scholarships to attend the prestigious private school Interlochen Arts Academy and, subsequently, Cooper Union in New York City.  In recent years, he's put more and more into his paintings, which now hang in the newly renovated Sunset Marquis hotel in Hollywood and the LA Design Center.  

Until August 30, Norman's "Twilight" series of paintings will be on display at the Orange County Center for Contemporary Art.  I always knew Norm was talented, but when I saw this awesome series, I really felt like he'd come into his own.  And I've no doubt the real Norman Korpi has surpassed his alter ego, the character of Norm who stays forever young on reality TV reruns.

Cathay Che is the MOLI View's contributing editor for Travel & Leisure. She posts every Tuesday and Thursday. Today she is trading places with MOLI editor at large Evelyn McDonnell.

The first thing you notice about Comedy Central's revival of the television classic The Gong Show (which debuted last night on the cable channel) is that the set is considerably more subdued than the original. Gone are the flashing lights, quilted curtains, and gold glitter that dazzled us denizens of the '70s. It appears that Adam Sandler's Happy Madison Productions, producer of the 2008 version, didn't want to spend a dime on this thing.

Also gone is the quirky, smiling, huggable host Chuck Barris (now 79). His replacement, the brilliant Dave Attell (of Insomniac fame), is, by all accounts, Barris's polar opposite. The dour, chain-smoking New Yorker had little visible enthusiasm for the parade of wacko "talent" that made it onto the stage last night. But the show, which clipped along at a much livelier pace than the original, was damn funny regardless.

If you are unfamiliar with the original Gong Show, the premise remains unchanged: It's basically a talent show where outrageous guests compete before three low-rent celebrity judges (in the case of last night, comics J.B. Smoove and Andy Dick with rocker Dave Navarro) who either score them or gong them (literally) based on how preposterous the act is. If nothing else, last night's offerings (which included a magician who pulled a bloody, fake rabbit out of his abdomen, a cavegirl/caveman acrobatic striptease, and a Milli Vanilli-looking duo that slapped out rhythms on their buff, nearly bare bodies) prove that, though over 30 years have passed since the original Gong Show's debut, there is still a bounty of painfully bad entertainment out there. Apparently, "stupid" never goes out of style.

Not surprisingly, the new show is darker, bawdier, and more extreme than its predecessor - a sign o' the times. But it's funny nonetheless. Attell has none of Barris's nurturing charm, but he makes up for it with lightning-fast acerbic wit, at one point describing a performance by a pair of wrestling midgets to be "like watching a fight from really far away." The judges, too, seem to relish in this comic spectacle. And though, predictably, his best moments from last night are unprintable here, Andy Dick is one of the funniest people who ever lived. I hope he's on every episode.

The description of the show at the Comedy Central website says it all: "Stars will be made, feelings will be hurt." And, if next week is as good as this week, many, many laughs will be had. Tune in next Thursday at 10 p.m. EST to find out.

Wendy Case is the MOLI View's contributing editor for Arts & Entertainment.

Seventies Smiles compilation as well as the original Boner Records 45!"

I admit: I love this kind of talk. I'm a sucker for rock trivia and, ever the tomboy, I like to hold forth with the guys (that's kind of why I became a rock critic). If the women convene to the kitchen, I'll stay in the living room and dig through the host's CD collection. I'm geeked that way.

Still, many years ago, the way that some men use arcane knowledge to claim authority/ownership over music fandom began to irritate me. Ever since I traded 45s with my best girlfriends in 4th grade, it's been apparent to me that female consumerism is a driving engine of pop history (even if I didn't use those big words back then). Where would Bessie Smith, Frank Sinatra, Elvis, the Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Madonna, and Britney Spears have been without the little girls understanding?

Yet at dinner parties and in the trade magazines, distaff voices tend to get shut out of the dialogue about music. That's why I co-edited Rock She Wrote. It's also why, in the early '90s, I started the All Girls Listening Party, inventing (I believe) what we now call a music club.

The music club is similar to a book club. We meet once a month to drink, nosh, gossip, and discuss. But rather than all converging on one central cultural document (i.e., reading the same book), we each bring our own song to share. The only rule about this song is that it not be too long, so it doesn't hog up the evening. It can be an old favorite, a new discovery, something you recorded or have something to do with, or a track you know nothing about, except that you like it. Each member gives a little explanatory intro of why she brought this song, then plays it. At the end of the night, we make a CD compiling the evening's selections - now we have a group mixtape we can listen to whenever.

The idea of the music club is to share our musical interests and create a critical conversation in a non-competitive, non-judgmental environment. My Miami group - which I now call Ladies Who Listen, because we're no longer girls (and we don't lunch) - is nicely eclectic, so we get to expose each other to diverse musical backgrounds. Last month, Geane brought Brazilian singer Mart'nalia, Laura brought Mexico's Ximena Sarinana, Lolo (whose indie record store Sweat is often our meeting spot) played disco queens Hercules & Love Affair, and I rocked out to MGMT. (Thanks for the turn-on, Wendy.)

You can start your own music club. Check out the MOLI profile I set up for ours to get an idea of how it works: www.moli.com/ladieswholisten. It doesn't have to just be for women. We debate constantly about opening ours to men - and then never do it. So instead, one of our husbands has started his own music club. His is international, and works as an e-mailed playlist. Variations on the theme are encouraged.

Books are great; the women in my book club are my favorite in Miami (and some are also in the music club). But if music is the universal language, then we need to find ways to talk about it that are inclusive, not exclusive. Welcome to the club.

Evelyn McDonnell is MOLI's editor at large. Her Populism blog runs Tuesdays and Thursdays.