May 4, 2010 – We gave HBO’s “The Pacific” eight weeks, so to give “Treme” about half that time to decide that it sucks, will get us some of our life back. If watching Speilberg and Hanks play Army as grownups, is for you, than have at it. But “The Pacific” is not about fighting the Japanese in World War II. Unfortunately, what you see Sunday night from 9:00 PM to 11:00 PM is all about power and ego.

The way the business works is like this, when someone does something good, like win multiple Oscars or make a few good movies, or, in “Treme” auteur David Simon’s case, when you lay down a good TV series, you get to do whatever you want. With these two shows, that doesn’t necessarily mean that what they get to do is good.

In the case of “The Pacific,” Steve and Tom have mistakingly expanded on the success of “Band of Brothers,” which had a plot, characters and a backdrop of history which appealed to the war buff in all of us. Both geeks, who probably still have their army men, draw extensively from the filmmaking realism and technical and explosive expense that they first showed us with “Saving Private Ryan,” when Spielberg won best director.

That was the movie that taught us all the lesson, “never let an enemy (Steamboat Willie) go free when at war. Because he comes back to kill you (in this case, Hanks, as John H. Miller, the guy sent to save Private Ryan (Matt Damon, who had lost two brothers in the war) at the end of the movie.” Too bad “The Pacific” doesn’t have anything as meaningful to say.

“The Pacific” is ten episodes of good battle gore, glimpses of the realities encountered by those at Guadalcanal, Peleliu and Iwo Jima, but scant more. There are no investments in any of the key characters, even John Basilone, a guy we already knew, on whose field in Bridgewater, NJ we played New Jersey state lacrosse championships for years, and now at my carwash in Jersey City where a signed portrait of the medal of honor winner sits by the cash register.

This is an indulgent order of ten events, poorly using three characters to string it together, with the bombs bursting in air and the ramparts red glare, in some semblance of history regarding the war in the Pacific. It was nice to be reminded of the sacrafice my uncles and their peers turned in during the 40′s, too bad Spielberg and Hanks and the accolades directed at them, got in the way.

Reviewers tend to cite the real interviews with WWII vets that open the episodes as the only truth to the segments. We should have known, when as a promotion for the event on HBO, veterans were invited to Washington D.C. to commemorate. Hanks and Spielberg paraded out front and camera center, large distances from the soldiers and wheel chairs. They looked like JFK Jr. privately saluting or placing a wreath, the war experience being a private tribute to them for making the movie. As Taps and the national anthem were played, Spielberg watched without removing his ball cap.

David Simon, who won my allegiance for “The Wire,” has a new vehicle, “Treme,” that best demonstrates how success can sell the the next project. There is is very little else to say about “Treme” without repeating that New Orleans is a great American city, that it got the shit kicked out of it by Hurricane Katrina, and that it has great food and music. Simon pretty much employs the entire “The Wire” and “The Corner” casts in Treme, while he strangles the life out of New Orleans, in his failed attempt to somehow have some success outside of Baltimore.

The former portly reporter from the Baltimore Sun, now affects sunglasses, a stingy-brim hat and, is that an earring? Simon’s gone Hollywood, by way of the Crescent City, his new passion for music replacing the wires, the drugs, the schools, city hall, the docks and the Baltimore Sun.

There are no plotlines that give you that feeling of “can’t wait for next week.” Khandi Alexander can’t find her brother? John Goodman as a YouTube phenomena? Steve Zahn as a politico? Will Bunk find his trombone? Will Clark Peters put his tribe back together? Will Kim Dickens’ restaurant go under? Will the piano player lose his fiddler? This is what Jerry Seinfeld meant when he pitched a show about nothing.