Loosen those ties and grab a Styrofoam cup of stale joe: The Newsroom premieres on HBO this Sunday. The fluorescent den of newscasters has been a tried and tested bastion of cinematic greatness for years: the ring around the (unbuttoned) collar, the insubordination, the leggy, ball-busting female executives and the narcissistic, damaged, maverick newsmen who love (to hate) them, the do-or-die stakes and corporate greed that envelops it all. Going live in five, four, three… whether you’re ready or not.
It’s high time someone dusted off the fictional newsroom. That it’s Sorkin who’s manning the duster is just gravy—chunky, delicious, “My name is Andrew Shepherd and I am the president” gravy, ladled atop generous portions of “You have part of my attention—you have the minimum amount” and “What I do want is for you to stand there in that faggoty white uniform and with your Harvard mouth extend me some fucking courtesy!” You have to ask him nicely, after all.