Watched the two seasons of Showtime’s Californication, it’s really cool. In fact, it’s too cool, and that’s because it’s made using a formula with the alternative-atheist-hedonist-rebel-sexdrugsnrock’n'roll demographic in mind. And this is the reason why Californication succeeds while more serious shows (like Showtime’s own excellent Huff) get canceled: it’s trash – really watchable trash, in fact. Stuff like the porn industry or the rock’n'roll world are little more than caricatures of their real-life counterparts, and the writers pull plot twists out of their asses. Still, there are some very good reasons to watch Californication.
The main one is David Duchovny’s Hank Moody, a great character that scores big points on the whole antihero empathy side. He’s a badass, and also makes for a good team with his agent, played by Evan Handler – which, by the way, pales in comparison with Huff’s duo of Hank Azaria and Oliver Platt.
Who doesn't wanna be/bang Hank Moody?
Then there’s all the cool references in the show (except those related to Hank’s teenage offspring) – I especially enjoyed the Cassavetes/Vaginatown episode 
And I just can’t resist the drama and debauchery, I know it’s formulaic and degenerate but oh well, it works.
Both season finales have pissed me off at some point:
- the first one has Hank’s daughter Becca butchering Pink Floyd’s ‘Brain Damage’ beyond recognition by turning it into an angsty song about menstruation (which supposedly she wrote a couple hours earlier)
- the second has this twerp’s pathetic lamentation:
"Boo hoo, I don't get any attention from girls"
Really? Look at the kid’s face, it’s fucking perfect. He has perfectly shaped lips and nose and eyes, he’s annoyingly handsome. And there he is, feeling sorry for himself, it’s disgusting. Hank should’ve punched his pretty face.
