Full Frontal Episode Review: Samantha Bee Breaks the Tape in the Three-Yard Dash

No, I am not trying to conjure up the picture of Full Frontal host Samantha Bee in a track suit or shooting herself up with steroids. I just found it somewhat surprising that, after so few shows back from her earlier hibernation, she seems to need another one. We will not be getting our next edition of the show until March 8th. Don’t these people realize there is a President still out there to mock? Who knows where he will be by March 8th?

Actually, the most recent edition of the show explored other avenues than the lethal absurdity of the incumbent, even if he did sort of serve as an eminence grise over the whole proceeding.

The first of the show’s segments artfully compares sinister to crazy as it takes the spotlight away from Trump and beams it on our doughty Congress, most members of which seem to have donned red suits and white beards in a pell-mell effort to give all the good little plutocrats everything on their wish lists, confident that the idiot will sign whatever they set before him. Oh, don’t worry about all that legalistic mumbo-jumbo, Mr. President, it’s just another bill to kill all Muslims…there we go…GOOD BOY! Sad to say, this bit is as scary as it is funny, so, to make sure you catch at least this portion of the show, I am throwing this in with today’s package.

The second segment was probably the most sarcastic of the three, as it profiled Paul Ryan. There were a number of segments featuring Republicans praising him as, not only the brains, but the conscience of their party. Well considering the party, maybe he is. Sadly none of these myopic legislators had a kind word to say about his exceptional skill as a tap-dancer, which he has displayed on countless occasions whenever Mr. Trump has managed to really stick his foot in it. Yet, for all his vaunted skill in the arts terpsichorean, surely at some level, Mr. The Conscience of the Party must realize that, when the Trump flying machine crashes and burns, his scorched carcass will be right there in the first-class cabin (if not the cockpit).

The third segment was not so much a stitch as it was a tasteful tribute to those lesser-known civil rights pioneers, who went about doing the grunt work, while the firebrands and orators were doing what they did best. Apparently, it was still a hard road to travel, whether you worked right in the spotlight or backstage, behind the scenes. This bit achieved the somewhat delicate feat of paying tribute to Black History Month without sounding at all hypocritical. Kudos for that and for the whole show in general.

Sources

Full Frontal, TBS, February 15, 2017

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Thomas Cleveland Lane

Thomas Cleveland Lane is a semi-retired freelance writer for pay and a stage actor for nothing more than the opportunity to make a fool of himself. Well, he does get a small stipend from the Washington Area Decency League, after playing the role of Hinezie in The Pajama Game, to never, ever appear on stage in his underpants again. When he has not managed to buffalo some director into casting him, Thomas can often be found at his favorite piano bar, annoying the patrons with his caterwauling. Thomas is the author of an anthology called Shaggy Dogs, a Collection of Not-So-Short Stories (destined to become a cult classic, shortly after he croaks). He is also the alter-ego to a very unbalanced Czech poet named Glub Dzmc. Mr. Lane generally resides in Gaithersburg, Maryland, and was last seen in the mirror, three days ago.
Thomas Cleveland Lane
Thomas Cleveland Lane
Thomas Cleveland Lane is a semi-retired freelance writer for pay and a stage actor for nothing more than the opportunity to make a fool of himself. Well, he does get a small stipend from the Washington Area Decency League, after playing the role of Hinezie in The Pajama Game, to never, ever appear on stage in his underpants again. When he has not managed to buffalo some director into casting him, Thomas can often be found at his favorite piano bar, annoying the patrons with his caterwauling. Thomas is the author of an anthology called Shaggy Dogs, a Collection of Not-So-Short Stories (destined to become a cult classic, shortly after he croaks). He is also the alter-ego to a very unbalanced Czech poet named Glub Dzmc. Mr. Lane generally resides in Gaithersburg, Maryland, and was last seen in the mirror, three days ago.