
Disney Twisted-Wonderland: The Animation
In Twisted-Wonderland on Disney+, Yu finds himself at a school of magic, governed by Disney villain-inspired houses. And he desperately wants to find his way back home.
ABC’s Downfall has all the hallmarks of a corporate brainstorming meeting gone wrong.
Exec 1:“You know, that Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? show worked out OK for us for a while. We could bring that back this summer.”
Exec 2:“True, but really, what happens in that thing? Don’t the contestants just sit around and answer questions? Man, we’re talkin’ a new generation of viewers now. They don’t have that kind of attention span, do they?”
Exec 1:“You’re right. What we need is Millionaire … with … explosions. And a younger, hipper Regis Philbin.”
Lawyer:“Can’t do explosions. Insurance. We’re trying to cut costs, remember?”
Exec 2:“I know! We’ll just drop stuff off a 10-story building! Maybe we can even smash up the prizes contestants are too dumb to win! Miss a question, and splat! Ratings fiesta! Particularly if we drop a gigantic gumball machine every now and then.”
Exec 1:“Sounds intriguing, but don’t we need to …”
Exec 2:“… continually ratchet up the tension? You bet. What if, when things get boring or they run out of questions or prizes or something, we drop the contestants off the roof! Awesome, right?”
Lawyer:“Um, I’m not sure …”
Exec 2:“Oh, com’on, we won’t kill ’em or anything. This is just a summer fill-in show, after all, not a sweeps-week extravaganza. They’ll wear a harness so they don’t get hurt.”
Exec 1:“Great concept. Now, if only we could figure out what to do about the host …”
Chris Jericho:“Hi, I’m Chris Jericho, a former professional wrestler with no experience in hosting a game show but I look awfully good standing on top of a building. You got any work for me?”
Execs 1 and 2:“Perfect!”
And that’s exactly what TV executives think Americans like to watch: strangers winning stuff from handsome guys while things go kablooey.
Contestants answer questions from the top of a 100-foot building while a conveyer belt—holding prizes and cash—slowly pushes everything toward the edge. Miss a question or two, and the prizes (fabrications, actually) begin to fall. Contestants can stop the treadmill with a panic button, but then they have to slap one of their friends or relations or a prized possession on it to continue. Once those objects/people are gone, and the money plummets, too, the only thing left is for the contestants themselves to be dangled and then dropped.
It’s such a diabolical mash-up of consumerism and anarchic destruction as to be practically brilliant—if a show catering to 13-year-old boys with a trivia fixation could ever be called brilliant.
(Editor’s Note: Plugged In is rarely able to watch every episode of a given series for review. As such, there’s always a chance that you might see a problem that we didn’t. If you notice content that you feel should be included in our review, send us an email at letters@pluggedin.com, or contact us via Facebook or Instagram, and be sure to let us know the episode number, title and season so that we can check it out.)
Bridgette, a mother from Colorado Springs, Colo., misses the $25,000 prize after sacrificing to the treadmill her husband and about 60 exercise videos—one of which is titled Carmen Electra’s Fit to Strip. (Chris Jericho cracks a joke about it.) After she runs out of chances, Jericho sends her over the edge with: “You’re the Wonder Mom, and now you’re going to fly.”
Next up is Enrico, a self-proclaimed “jerkaholic” who also is an Iraq War vet. Enrico cruises through a Dancing With the Stars category (nice cross promotion, ABC) and destroys the pop-culture car category, but seems over his head when the questions take a turn away from E! and toward The New York Times. He enlists a friend to stand on the belt, and the two almost make a bold comeback in the “Drink Up” category, with questions all predicated on popular (non-alcoholic) beverages. But they can’t quite come up with the winning answer. So to show his frustration, Enrico’s friend swears—which earns him a censor-sticker and a bleep.
Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.

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