Television and the Id

DETAIL, THE ROMANS OF THE DECADENCE, 1847

It's quiz time once again boys and girls.  The quote below is a bit lengthy, but I'd hope you agree it's worth it. I've removed a couple of words that would help you to identify the writer and the context of the quote because I think that's one of the most interesting things about this excerpt. As you read it, consider what it says not only about our culture today, but also the world of entertainment, television in particular. As usual, I'll identify the speaker and the context at the end.

We live today in a world that is as deeply devoted to material things as was [theirs]. For example, [they] were obsessed by health, diet, and exercise.  They spent more time in baths and health clubs than in churches, temples, libraries, and law courts.  They were devoted to consumption. A man could make a reputation by spending more than his neighbor, even if he had to borrow the money to do it. And if he never paid back his creditors, he was honored for having made a noble attempt to cut a fine figure in the world.

They were excited by travel, news, and entertainment. The most important cultural productions [...], from books to extravaganzas in the theaters and circuses that occupied a central place in every [...] city or town, dealt with amusing fictions about faraway peoples and with a fantasy peace and happiness that did not exist in their real lives. They were fascinated by fame and did  not care how it was acquired. If you were famous enough, the fact that you might be a rascal or worse was ignored or forgiven.

[They] cared most about success, which they interpreted as being ahead for today, and let tomorrow take care of itself. They were proud, greedy, and vain.  In short, they were much like ourselves.

A pretty good description of the world today, don't you think?

The only difference is that it was written in 1991, and it was written about a people living in the fourth century—the Romans, near the end of the empire. The late Roman world, indeed, was quite like ours.

And the author? If you're a classic television fan, you'll probably recognize the name of the late Charles Van Doren. Yes, the same Charles Van Doren of the quiz show scandals in the late 1950s. Following his disgrace, Van Doren went into a self-imposed public exile, eventually returning to a life of writing (at first under a pseudonym) and becoming an editor at Encyclopaedia Britannica. He authored a number of philosophical and scholastic books (some with his friend Mortimer Adler), the best known of which is probably the one from which this excerpt came, A History of Knowledge.

The relationship of this to television? Well, I can't imagine a better description of the celebrity-infused culture of TMZ, the world of "reality" programming that has little relation to reality, knows almost no bounds, and seems to consist primarily of people who've become famous for being famous. Can you say "Kardashians"? "Real Housewives"? And if Van Doren's description of reality stars and viewers hits the mark, he's no less accurate in describing the world of consumption in which television dwells, not only in how advertising dominates the medium, but in how so much of the programming—not only reality but scripted—glorifies such consumption.

If there's anything optimistic to be taken from this, it's in how it shows that there is truly nothing new under the sun. Van Doren obviously felt that this series of paragraphs were fairly descriptive of the cultural world of the 1980s and '90s, even as it was written about a society that existed some 1500 years before that, and could doubtlessly be used similarly to describe countless societies and cultures in between.

On the other hand, we have to recall that the Roman Empire crumbled - not at the hands of a military enemy, but from internal decay. The historian Arnold Toynbee, himself a writer in the pages of TV Guide, posited that "the Roman Empire itself was a rotten system from its inception, and that the entire Imperial era was one of steady decay of institutions founded in Republican times." I'm afraid that if you're looking for reassuring sentiments in that statement, you're going to have to look elsewhere.

The id of Sigmund Freud has been described as the devil on the shoulder of the super-ego, an inflated sense of self-worth, "a mass of instinctive drives and impulses [that] needs immediate satisfaction." It is to the id that television thus appeals, in its ability to satisfy the insatiable desire for fame that consumes so many of its participants, and its ability to transmit that to viewers who consume it voraciously and live it vicariously. Something, in fact, that Charles Van Doren himself fell victim to at the pivotal moment in his life.

All this is not to lay the blame solely at the feet of television. As regular readers know, I've always felt that television as a medium is morally neutral—it's how you use the technology that counts—although I'll admit that I've been wavering in that belief over the last few years. (A subject for a future article, perhaps?) My fear is that the technology is not being used very well, nor has it been for some time, but even there one can suggest that it is at least as much of a reflection of out culture as it is the source of our dilemmas. And while it's true that television does satisfy that voracious appetite for what Van Doren called "amusing fictions about faraway peoples," but the people and the appetite had to exist in the first place - television merely exploited it and expanded it, but it has been a part of the human condition since Original Sin.  Sic semper erat, et sic semper erit: Thus has it always been, thus shall it ever be. TV  

Around the dial

It looks like someone didn't get the lesson in school about never sitting too close to the television set. Remember how they used to tell us it would ruin our eyes? They never said anything about it runing our mind. At any rate, your mind will only be enhanced by today's offerings. 

First off, in case you haven't seen this (I retweeted it earlier this week), you have to see this very smart, hilarious video by Rachel Lichtman of "Programme 4," the funniest network that never was, this side of SCTV. "Pinpoint parody," one viewer called it; I settled for "Sheer genius." Either way, you can see it here.

Next is Classic Film & TV Café, where Rick reviews Saddle the Wind, a 1958 movie written by Rod Serling, someone we generally associate with television. But this big screen movie, with a big-name cast including Robert Taylor, Julie London, and John Cassavetes, is well worth your time despite its flaws.

At Comfort TV, David returns to the concept of "Terrible Shows I Liked," or, in this case, would have liked: Dick Tracy, a 1967 pilot for a proposed series that never came to pass. It was produced by William Dozier, the brain behind TV's Batman, and would have been in much the same vein (even including Batman vet Victor Buono as Mr. Memory); it's too bad nothing came of it. 

There's a new subject in the Hitchcock Project at bare•bones e-zine: Charlotte Armstrong, who penned the fifth-season story "Across the Threshold," a tight little mystery with a twist ending, starring George Grizzard, Barbara Bel Geddes, and Patricia Collinge. A worthy addition to the Hitchcock collection.

At Cult TV Blog, John continues his series on the American Dream as seen in The X-Files, and I hope you've been keeping up with it, because it's the kind of thing that's going to make you think, something I thoroughly enjoy. I particularly like this entry, because it's excursions into capitalist wealth, Watergate, and allegory make some very good points.

You won't be surprised to know that I'm typing this on Thursday evening; as much as I love you all, I'm not getting up at 6 AM Friday morning to get this ready. And Thursday is the 45th anniversary of the murder of Hogan's Heroes star Bob Crane. Bob Crane: Life & Legacy remembers the event, and reminds us there was much more to him than some would have you believe.

The Broadcast Archives does some remembering as well, of Sonny Fox, best-known for hosting the children's show Wonderama, but responsible for much more, including the book But You Made the Front Page!, published in 2012. Ah, the stories he had to share.

It's never too early to start thinking about Christmas, especially if the name of your website is Christmas TV History, and this week Joanna announces her plans for this year's Christmas in July. I can promise you'll want to keep up with this!

At The View from the Junkyard, Roger and Mike put their minds to the wonderful Avengers episode "The Girl from AUNTIE," which of course has nothing to do with The Man from U.N.C.L.E. beyond the title. But it's The Avengers, right? And Steed is the centerpiece of the story. What more do you need?

One of the most controversial, as well as most influential, television programs of the 1970s was the PBS docuseries An American Family, which aired 50 years ago this year. I wrote about it a few years ago, and this week Travalanche looks back at the series and how it influenced television for decades to come.

Television's New Frontier: the 1960s looks at the medical series The Eleventh Hour, starring Wendell Corey and Jack Ging. Those of you following along here know that this has been one of my favorite series of recent years, and this gives you a good look at the 1962 episodes. Why WB never released the second season of this series—well, we probably know why, but I'd snap it up in a second.

I told you this would be an educational week, didn't I? TV  

Television and the Id

It occurs to me that I haven't written anything serious in a while, and I probably ought to do so. And since quizzes are always popular (except in school, and especially when you haven't studied for it), let's start this somewhat-serious thought with one of those who-said-it quizzes—or, in this case, who wrote it, and when. The quote is a bit lengthy, but I hope you agree it's worth it. I've removed a couple of words that would help you to identify the writer and the context of the quote because I think it's one of the most interesting things about this excerpt. As you read it, consider what it says not only about our culture today, but also the world of entertainment, television in particular. As usual, I'll identify the speaker and the context at the end.

We live today in a world that is as deeply devoted to material things as was [theirs]. For example, [they] were obsessed by health, diet, and exercise. They spent more time in baths and health clubs than in churches, temples, libraries, and law courts. They were devoted to consumption. A man could make a reputation by spending more than his neighbor, even if he had to borrow the money to do it. And if he never paid back his creditors, he was honored for having made a noble attempt to cut a fine figure in the world.

They were excited by travel, news, and entertainment. The most important cultural productions [...], from books to extravaganzas in the theaters and circuses that occupied a central place in every [...] city or town, dealt with amusing fictions about faraway peoples and with a fantasy peace and happiness that did not exist in their real lives. They were fascinated by fame and did not care how it was acquired. If you were famous enough, the fact that you might be a rascal or worse was ignored or forgiven.

[They] cared most about success, which they interpreted as being ahead for today, and let tomorrow take care of itself. They were proud, greedy, and vain. In short, they were much like ourselves.

A pretty good description of the world today, don't you think?

The only difference is that it was written over 30 years ago, in 1991, and it was written about a people living in the fourth century, near the end of their empire—the Romans. The late Roman world and all its decadence was, indeed, much like ours.

And the author? If you're a classic television fan, you'll probably recognize his name: Charles Van Doren. Yes, the same Charles Van Doren of the quiz show scandals in the late 1950s. Following his disgrace, Van Doren went into a self-imposed public exile, eventually returning to a life of writing (at first under a pseudonym) and becoming an editor at Encyclopaedia Britannica. He authored a number of philosophical and scholastic books (some with his friend Mortimer Adler), the best known of which is probably A History of Knowledge. from which the above excerpt came. 

The relationship of this to television? Well, I can't imagine a better description of the celebrity-infused culture of TMZ, the world of "reality" programming that has little relation to reality, knows almost no bounds, and seems to consist primarily of people who've become famous for being famous. Can you say "Kardashians"? "Real Housewives"? Take your pick, you're not limited to them; choose whatever witless soul you prefer to name. And if Van Doren's description of reality stars and viewers hits the mark, he's no less accurate in describing the world of consumption in which television dwells, not only in how advertising dominates the medium, but in how so much of the programming—not only reality but scripted—glorifies such consumption.

If there's anything optimistic to be taken from this, it's in how it shows that there is truly nothing new under the sun. Van Doren obviously felt that this series of paragraphs was fairly descriptive of the cultural world of the 1980s and '90s, even as it was written about a society that existed some 1500 years before that, and could doubtlessly be used similarly to describe countless societies and cultures in between.

On the other hand, we have to recall that the Roman Empire crumbled, not at the hands of a military enemy, but from internal decay. The historian Arnold Toynbee, himself a writer in the pages of TV Guide, posited that "the Roman Empire itself was a rotten system from its inception, and that the entire Imperial era was one of steady decay of institutions founded in Republican times." I'm afraid that if you're looking for reassuring sentiments in that statement, you're going to have to look elsewhere.

The id of Sigmund Freud has been described as the devil on the shoulder of the super-ego, an inflated sense of self-worth, "a mass of instinctive drives and impulses [that] needs immediate satisfaction." It is to the id that television thus appeals, in its ability to satisfy the insatiable desire for fame that consumes so many of its participants, and its ability to transmit that to viewers who consume it voraciously and live it vicariously. Something, in fact, that Charles Van Doren himself fell victim to at the pivotal moment in his life.

All this is not to lay the blame solely at the feet of television. I persist in my defense of TV as a medium which is morally neutral—it's how you use the technology that counts—but I confess that over the years, even since I started this website, I've been finding that defense more and more challenging to maintain. My fear has always been that the technology is not being used very well, nor has it been for some time, but even there one can suggest that it is at least as much of a reflection of our culture as it is the source of our dilemmas. And while it's true that television does satisfy that voracious appetite for what Van Doren called "amusing fictions about faraway peoples," the people and the appetite had to exist in the first place—television merely exploited it and expanded it, but it has been a part of the human condition since Original Sin. Sic semper erat, et sic semper erit.

But that begs the question: what if television isn't neutral, can't be neutral? Perhaps, like social media or the U.S. Constitution, television is a medium that doesn't work unless those involved are good and true. Absent that, it will inevitably take on the characteristics of those who create it and those who watch it. I don't find that a particularly pleasing thought, because it implies that television was doomed to fail from the start, to become a toxic, corrupting force in society, and what does that say about us?  The Christian knows that good will ultimately triumph over evil, but that won't happen universally until the end of the world, and you can bet television won't be around to cover that. 

I'm not quite sure I like that thought, even in a serious piece, and because I'm also not entirely sure it has an answer, I'm not going to try to provide one. Of course, what you watch matters, and I suppose that has an effect on the level of corruption you experience. But must it inevitably corrupt, even a little? Remember what the man said about power corrupting, and remember that television, as the most intimate of media, is also the most powerful. TV  

Image: Detail, The Romans of the Decadence, 1847

TV Jibe: The unReality show

TV  

Around the dial

Xet's start this week with bare-bones e-zine, as Jack's Hitchcock Project introduces us to a new writer: Sarett Rudley who adapted the magazine story "The Baby Sitter" into a teleplay of the same name for the series' first season. The story stars two greats, Thelma Ritter and Mary Wickes, but still lacks that certain, what, je ne sais quoi? 

Being a writer myself, I tend to attach a certain importance to how well-written a television show is, and my fellow writer David shares that interest in this week's Comfort TV entry, in which he looks at what may be the best written shows in TV history, as selected by the Writers' Guild. How much did they get right? You be the judge. . .

Great news from Jodie at Garroway at Large: the document has gone to the printer! That means we're that much closer to getting the definitive Dave Garroway biography. And yet, as she points out, there still a lot of work to be done. Pretty exciting!

The Broadcasting Archives links to an NPR piece on the end of the Maury Povich show after a 30-year run. That sound you're hearing is champagne corks popping everywhere, although I don't mean that as a personal slam at Maury, who is probably a great guy. It's just that—well, you know my feelings about reality television.

At Silver Scenes a favorite episode from The Avengers: "You Have Just Been Murdered." It's a terrific story from the Steed and Mrs. Peel era, with a clever, witty script and a great villain in Mr. Needle, played by George Murcell. 

Over at Cult TV Blog, John continues the Orphaned Episodes series with a closer look at "A Woman Sobbing," one of the surviving episodes from the 1972 supernatural anthology Dead of Night on BBC. think Gaslight, and you're on the right track.

Next up, Terence at A Shroud of Thoughts reviews the classic Maverick fourth-season episode "Hadley's Hunters," which includes just about every Western star on a Warner Bros. series. And I'll say one more time, no relation! If you know or have heard of anyone named Hadley, we're not related!

At Drunk TV, Paul undertakes the massive task of looking at Gunsmoke, one of television's most influential shows (of any kind, let alone Westerns), starting with season one (of 20). I really enjoyed reading this piece for a number of reasons.

Finally at Once Upon a Screen, Aurora has a warm, touching tribute to her mother, who passed away last December. Her stories about watching television with mom remind us—and we could use it—that television was always intended to be a communal experience, to be watched and shared with others. That, in large measure, is where it derives its power from, and let's not forget it. TV  

A wilted rose by any other name is still Hell

Fernando Blanco Farias

First, let me explain.

I don’t actually watch The Bachelor (or The Bachelorette), and I’m pretty sure I'm not going to start—sure in that “Even with the possibility of nuclear war looming, I’m pretty sure the sun will rise tomorrow” sense of the word. 

This isn't the first time I've written about the show, though. I write about it because sometimes I get bored; and when I get bored, I read; and when I read I often go to sites that I like and writers that I enjoy, and read about things that I ordinarily might not have any interest in, just because. And so that’s a long way of going about explaining how I've been happening to read Rodger Sherman’s Bachelor episode reviews in The Ringer.

ABC

Writing about this is also a good way of segueing from last week’s column about being a stranger in a strange land, because after reading about the people who populate the world of The Bachelor, I realize that I’d feel more extinct in that environment than the dodo bird would in ours. More than that, in fact, because the dodo actually existed in the real world at one time, whereas I’m pretty confident that no normal person has ever existed in the ecosystem of The Bachelor.

Anyway, catching up on the lead-in to this season's thrilling finale, it's apparent that, even for the weird world of this show, this season's bachelor, Clayton, has committed a breach of protocol. Several, in fact, as we discover Clayton has told not one, not two, but three different women that he was wildly, madly in love with them. Oh, and he's also slept with two of them. (Well, I doubt there was any actual sleeping going on, but I'm still old fashioned about these things.) He made this revelation to the only woman he loved that he didn't sleep with, which may have been a tactical error on his part. 

Upon hearing the news, Susie—the one whom he says he loves "the most"—rips into him and tells him she doesn't want anything to do with him if he's been sleeping around. Clayton, mature fellow that he is, doesn't apologize, doesn't backtrack, doesn't try to explain that he's made a mistake. No, he blames Susie for his problems. It's not like he was just being a male slut; "I was having feelings of love with this person, and I slept with them because I love this person so I’m gonna see how the physical connection is." And her response hurt his feelings, so he doesn't love her anymore. 

It took me a while to finish that last paragraph, by the way; I had to go to the bathroom. I think you know what I mean.

Sherman sums up the whole situation thusly:

[Clayton] still shouldn’t have told three women that he loved them, especially in a way that made it seem like he was saying those things to only one person. And if he really loved Susie the most, he shouldn’t have had all that sex with everybody else. Meanwhile, Susie shouldn’t have issued a retroactive ultimatum on something she knew Clayton would likely do. She went on the 'have sex with multiple people' TV show and drew a secret line in the sand about whether it was OK to have sex with multiple people. Clayton is playing by Bachelor rules, while Susie is playing by the rules of real life. Both sets of actions are obviously flawed when you look at it through the other’s lens.

Bingo! This is not real life. Oh, it may be the way people behave, but it's not real life. It's a pretend world, one in which words don't mean things, actions don't have consequences, and nothing is more important than what's happening this very instant. This kind of world sounds kind of grotesque to me. 

There's a wonderful moment which Sherman recounts, when Clayton is trying to explain to his parents how something like this could happen: how he could tell three women that he loved them, sleep with two of them and insult the other one, and then decide the woman he really loves is not one of the two who decided to stick with him even though he's clearly an idiot, but the one—Susie—who actually took a hike. When Clayton tries to explain to his mother that Susie actually does like him, because "she could’ve walked away at any moment," mom replies, "She did! She did walk out!" Did I mention that this isn't real life? 

l  l  l

Bishop Fulton Sheen, in one of his television programs, said that there are three kinds of love, and used their Greek words to describe them, because there was no English word that could really measure the difference between them. The first is eros, or affectionate love, which I assume is what Clayton was thinking of in the case of these three ladies, since eros is where we get the word erotic. Then, there's philia, which is love for others made in the likeness of God. Brotherly love, as the name Philadelphia might indicate. The third is agape, or sacrificial, divine love of God for man. Pure love.

So, as I say, I think we can assume that when Clayton says he loves these women, he's talking about eros. There's an easy way to tell, though. Just because we have three distinct kinds of love doesn't mean that they don't overlap, though. One can love their spouse (eros), and because of that they're willing to sacrifice their lives for them (agape). One can love their country, and because of that they're willing to sacrifice their lives for their fellow countrymen (philia). 

So, we could have asked Clayton if screaming “I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU!!!” at the top of his lungs to each of these women means that, at this very moment, he's willing to lay down his life for them. And I'm not talking about dying in the act of saving one of them from being attacked; any of us might do that, even if the person for whom we're dying is a stranger. No, I'm thinking of that white-faced, dark-clothed Death that played chess with Max Von Sydow in The Seventh Seal. Would Clayton have played chess with Death, knowing that if he loses the game, he dies? No more parties, no more high-fives with his fellow bros, no more falling in love with the next pretty face—no, it's finito for you, pal! Somehow, I don't think his answer would have been in the affirmative.

Of course, you've probably figured out by now that love has nothing to do with what Clayton's experiencing. At best, what he feels for these women is infatuation. Almost certainly, we're talking about lust. But to call it love, at this point, simply cheapens the word. That's not to say that it can't grow into love, but not in the length of time it takes between scoring with a woman and getting out of the bed. That may sound crude and cheap, but it's only because it is.

It also cheapens the meaning of being human, because it reduces us to animals, incapable of controlling our emotions. Man (and woman) may act in superficial ways, but we certainly aren't created that way, and when we fall to that level, we disgrace ourselves, and become a disgrace in the eyes of others.

Susie, the one woman with whom Clayton didn't sleep (and, SPOILER ALERT, the one he winds up choosing; so much for taking a principled stand), more or less admitted that, while sex is famously a part of The Bachelor, and while we can all pretend that it's painless fun for everyone, in real life, when it happens to you, things change.

I wonder how long this relationship lasts? It was revealed, in last night's live broadcast, that Clayton had chosen Susie (thereby breaking the heats of the two women he'd slept with who had, perhaps against their better judgment, chosen to remain in the competition for Clayton's "love"), so I suspect they're still together today, although given the world of The Bachelor, anything's possible. But will their love withstand it all? Will they make it to the altar, and if so, will their vows include anything about "for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health," vows that date back at least to the 1300s, by the way, or will it be more like, "So long screwy, see ya in St. Looie"?

You can say what you want about television from the 1950s, that it was unrealistic, that it painted an idealistic portrait of America and of family life. But, as I've said before, it was also a recognizable portrait, one that others could understand and aspire to, even if they never made it themselves. If it wasn't the most illuminating programming, if it wasn't the most dramatic or the most educational or the most realistic, at least it followed the Hippocratic Oath: "Do no harm." Can we say the same about this? You may scoff at Norman Rockwell's America, but it's a hell of a lot better than finding yourself the subject of a Dorian Gray portrait.

I know, I know, this is the way things are now, and I might as well tell the kids to get off the lawn right now. But, dammit, there is something seriously wrong with this kind of lifestyle, and there is something even worse about splashing it across television where anyone can see it. Look, we know that people are influenced by what they see on the tube, or else no company would bother to advertise on it. We know that television sets trends, and we know that the more people see a particular kind of behavior on it, the more likely they are to find that behavior acceptable, even if they choose not to engage in it themselves. Well, it's not, and even if everyone else told me that it was, I'd still say that. (Mom to child: "And I suppose if everyone jumped off the Empire State Building, you would too.") 

There's not much more to say, really. Except to throw another quote out there, not from The Bachelor, but from Thomas Jefferson, who famously said, "I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just: that his justice cannot sleep forever." No, indeed it can't. He may just be dozing right now, in which case we truly have something to fear when He awakens completely. TV  

Television with (Golden) Balls

The brilliance of television, and the tragedy, lies in its uncanny ability to reflect in its tube the essence of human nature. Nowhere is that more apparent, for better or worse, than in reality television, which isn't really real at all—except for when it is.

I was reading an article from a few years ago by Joe Posnanski, one of the best sports writers around, and while he may be an unlikely source of information for a TV website (although I think by now you'll agree that I can find inspiration from just about anywhere), he provides a brilliant insight into just how television does this. It concerns a British game show called, believe it or not, Golden Balls. It's a really good piece, and I would have linked to it even if I didn't have one thing to add to it. In fact, I think you should stop right here and read it now. If you don't, though, I'll give you another chance later.

As we learn from the always-reliable Wikipedia, Golden Balls was a show that tested every facet of human emotion—trust, greed, betrayal, passivity, lust—and did it all under the naked lights of a television studio. The premise was simple enough, as Posnanski describes, starting with a team of two contestants. "[They] would open these, well, golden balls and build up money in what was sort of a joint bank account. It’s actually a bit more convoluted than that, but for the point in this post that doesn’t really matter. Just know that money gets piled up."

At the end of the show, with the two having amassed something between £10,000 and £120,000, the denouement comes. Each of the contestants is presented with two golden balls to choose from. One says "Split," the other "Steal." The contestants know which ball is which, so there's no confusion there. Each one of them chooses a ball, in a variation on the old Prisoner's Dilemma. One of three things then happens:

• If they both choose to split the money, they will split the money.
• If one chooses to split the money and the other chooses to steal, the stealer gets everything.
• If they both choose to steal, nobody wins any money.

When the big moment arrives, you can cut the tension with a knife. It exposes, Posnanski says, "the stark and bare humanity" of our lives. Most of the time the two players agree in advance that they're going to choose "Split"; after all, half of the prize is better than nothing. But what if one of them gets greedy? That's where the psychology comes in. If you can convince your partner that "Split" is the only logical choice, and then choose "Steal" yourself, you get everything. But if your partner is overcome by a case of the greeds and goes for "Steal" as well, thinking that he's going to outsmart you, then each of you winds up with nothing. The only safe, logical choice, therefore, is "Split"—but, as most of you are probably thinking, a man doesn't become rich by playing it either safe or logical. Particularly, when money is concerned, by being safe.

The whole thing is a fascinating, grotesque look at the human psyche. Posnanski focuses on one particular episode involving two gentlemen named Ibrahim and Nick, in what could serve as a master class in psychology, running the gamut of all those emotions I listed above, but centering on trust and greed. You see, unlike most contestants, Nick tells Ibrahim outright that he's going to steal. But—and here's where it starts to get interesting—he adds that if Ibrahim will just choose split, allowing Nick to get all the money, then he—Nick—promises that he will, in fact, split the money with Ibrahim 50/50, as if they had both chosen split.

See the difference? Instead of Nick appealing to Ibrahim’s essential goodness like everyone else does, he challenges Ibrahim’s fury. OK, he’s basically saying, I’m telling you straight out I’m going to steal. I know that ticks you off but, frankly, I can’t help that. I’m stealing. Now, what are you going to do? How badly do you want to punish me for choosing steal? Are you so angry that you will choose steal yourself, assuring that neither of us will get a dime? Or will you choose split and take the chance—however low you might believe it to be—that I really will give you half the money?

Posnanski discusses this in quite a bit more detail which I won't repeat here—he's a much better writer than I am, you'll enjoy his account more—but suffice it to say I found the whole thing spellbinding, if not absolutely brilliant.  (You can also see it play out for yourself in this YouTube clip.)

And here's the point of it all, the reason I brought this up in the first place (besides sharing a piece I really liked). Since the beginning of this blog I've talked about how television is an indicator of our culture, our society. It shows us our DNA. No matter what people might say about television influencing the viewer, it's clear to me that most of the time it merely magnifies what's already there. A schemer on Survivor or Big Brother isn't going to be any less of a schemer in real life; television merely gives him or her the chance to magnify that trait in front of a national audience. Granted, reality TV can create a monster, but I'm willing to bet that nine times out of ten it's a monster that was already in there, in the psyche of that individual; the id, the libido, the ego, what have you. Woe be to the producer that magnifies or exploits that particular trait, for they may well find it better had they never been born. But all the same, it's probably true that there's more "reality" in reality TV than we'd like to think.

I'm assuming that by now you've read Posnanski's piece and watched the clip of Ibrahim and Nick, but if you haven't, that's all right—I'll wait until you've caught up. Go ahead.

(Sound of absent-minded humming, toe tapping.)

All right, everyone back? What did you think? Was not that one of the greatest examples of psychology you've ever seen on television? I don't want to read too much into it, or exaggerate its importance*, but I thought there was a deep existential element to the whole thing, an exploration of the meaning of trust that goes far beyond what you're likely to see in most scripted programs.

*Exaggeration: something I never, ever, ever do.

I'm not advocating that we all become reality television fans; that's probably the one and only episode of Golden Balls that I'll be checking out, at least anytime soon. But this particular example, and Posnanski's retelling of it, is utterly fascinating. It is as good an example as we're apt to see of the way television can show us what we're all about. I would like to think that the best drama, and even the best comedy, can still do that; unfortunately, at least on the networks, it often doesn't. But, at least in this case, it's given us storytelling every bit as gripping as anything you'll see in scripted TV. TV  

Around the dial

We start the week with a couple of articles from The Ringer; first, Michael Baumann hearkens back to the days of the opening title sequence, for both TV and movies, and says it's time to bring them back. He's absolutely right: a great title sequence can tell you everything you need to know about a show's story and tenor—think, for instance, of The Fugitive and The FBI, two of the very best.

The other Ringer piece, by Claire McNear, has nothing to do with classic television whatsover, except insofar as to illustrate the difference between then and now. It's about Too Hot to Handle, the new Netflex reality series, which sounds as godawful as any show that's ever appeared on television. I don't think it's to strong to say that this is what the fall of Western Civilization looks like. Just don't read it on an empty stomach.

After that, I think I might need something a little stronger that a soft drink (were I a drinking man), but it's welcome nonetheless to see these pop/soda/Coke/whatever-your-region-calls-it ads from the past, courtesy of Michael's TV Tray.

At bare•bones e-zine, it's time for another Hitchcock episode from the writing duo of Morton Fine and David Friedkin, as Jack looks at the 1964 episode "The McGregor Affair," with the great Andrew Duggan and John Hoyt among those in a standout episode that is very nasty indeed.

The Horn Section salutes the late Andrew J. Fenady, a television vet who died last weekend at the age of 91. Among his many credits are the three westerns he produced in the 1960s: The Rebel, Branded, and the series that's near and dear to Hal's heart, Hondo. R.I.P.

Another passing in the classic TV family is Tom Lester, Eb Dawson in Green Acres, who was 81 when he died on April 20. At A Shroud of Throughts, Terence looks back on the career of the man who was the last surviving cast member from a much-loved show.

The October 1982 issue of The Twilight Zone Magazine is a best-of-1982 issue, with the greatest stories of the year, and Jordan from The Twilight Zone Vortex is here to review it all, including stories by Stephen King, George R.R. Martin, Harlan Ellison, Joyce Carol Oates, and Rod Serling himself, among others.

Last, but most certainly not least, it's time for another episode of the Eventually Supertrain podcast, as Daniel and I discuss the further adventures of Bourbon Street Beat, plus more fun features!

Steady on, and we'll be back tomorrow with—well, I don't remember what issue we're looking at tomorrow, so it will be a surprise for all of us. A good one, though. TV  

Human misery for fun and profit

You're going to have to trust me on this when I tell you that I’ve never, ever watched an episode of ABC’s The Bachelor, nor is it likely that I ever will. In fact, there seems little reason for someone writing about classic TV to mention it at all, other than to speculate on what the bastard offspring of The Newlywed Game and The Dating Game might look like, though I’ve always thought Chuck Barris would have had more class than to come up with something like The Bachelor. 

Nevertheless, there’s a local angle to this most recent season in that one of the finalists involved is apparently from Minnesota, and the finale was apparently so dramatic that it’s been difficult in the last couple of days to avoid the headlines.

A quick recap: this season’s Bachelor, Arie Luyendyk Jr.*, had narrowed his choices down to two: Becca (the aforementioned Minnesotan) and Lauren. We are to understand that he was hopelessly in love with each of them, despite having spent less time with them than the average person might take to buy a pair of shoes. In the end, he chose Becca. However, he apparently began having second thoughts almost immediately, and contacted Lauren to see if she would be willing to give it another shot – while at the same time house-hunting with Becca, in case Lauren’s answer was no. Lauren agreed that yes, she was willing to give him a second chance, whereupon he broke things off with Becca – and here is the key part – blindsiding her while the cameras were running and she was preparing to talk with him about their future life together.

*Son of Arie Luyendyk Sr., famed racing driver and two-time winner of the Indianapolis 500. Arie Jr., a washout as a racer himself, was hilariously referred to by one wag as "Fail Earnhardt, Jr."

As I understand it, the confrontation was riveting, in a morbid sort of way, with the Bachelor staff using a split-screen to air the unedited footage. On one side we had Arie, trying to explain his decision in a way that was not quite the “You deserve someone better than me” schtick that we’re accustomed to, but still highlighted his desire to be loved by someone whose life he had just crushed; on the other side sat Becca, reacting with a fairly impressive amount of poise for someone who’s just been ambushed and humiliated on national television, having the rug pulled out from under her while being asked not only to understand her now ex-fiancée’s decision, but to actually bestow upon him her forgiveness and blessing. The fact that she didn’t pick up the nearest sharp-pointed instrument she could lay her hands on and drive it like a stake through his heart was admirable, although it did deprive the viewing audience of the opportunity to see whether the production crew would have intervened to prevent an on-air murder, or that they might have figured that this truly was real-life TV, warts and gushing blood and all. For a split screen consisting of Becca weeping while Arie is being wheeled out by paramedics, murmuring all the while, “this is so amazing.”

There’s a lot to ridicule in all this, but it would be wrong to simply dismiss The Bachelor, and its reality counterparts, as so much programming designed to prove correct P.T. Barnum’s axiom about there being a sucker born every minute. To do so would be to forget that this was not scripted drama, that these were real people acting out their actual (however unreal) lives on television, and that we were complicit in the whole thing.

As Juliet Litman put it in a very perceptive article at The Ringer, the whole premise of a show like The Bachelor is “the belief that watching heartbreak and disappointment is fun for the uninvolved audience at home.” In order to rationalize our behavior, we remind ourselves that, after all, everyone involved on programs like this know what they’re getting themselves into. Nobody forced them at gunpoint to take part in it, and the inference is that they’re freely exchanging the possibility of losing their human dignity in return for fame and fortune, and the longshot chance of future happiness. It’s about as close as one can get these days to saying of them that “She (or he) asked for it,” without immediately being condemned as suffering from some type of -phobia.

But did they? Does anybody really “ask” for something like this? We may find ourselves in situations where we say that we understand the risks involved, but how many of us actually do? Unless we’re police officers or soldiers, people who truly understand that death can visit them at any moment, few of us would probably agree that we signed up for the possibility, however remote, that something like this could actually happen. To us.

In watching a drama like that on The Bachelor unfold for our entertainment, writes Litman, “We became voyeurs much like the producers and editors who piece together footage to weave a coherent story each season. By watching year after year and demanding that [host Chris] Harrison’s promise that ‘this is the most dramatic season of The Bachelor yet’ eventually come true, the audience was just as complicit in stabbing Becca in the back as the cameras ran.” Arie may have been the villain of the piece but “The split-screen effect implicated the audience as accessories to the Bachelor crime.”

◊ ◊ ◊
What is perhaps most depressing about this is the lesson that can be taken from it. While The Bachelor finale may have been grotesque, it was also, as Litman writes, “the best television episode of the year so far, and it was in part because Becca was ambushed.” Viewers in the know were aware of Arie’s switcheroo, thanks to an article in Us Weekly, so the final outcome was no real surprise. It was the way it was aired, and the way we reacted to it, that is the real story. Litman reminds us that “at the heart of this novel and successful TV experiment lies living people with real emotions. Becca’s pain and shock was authentic.” Yes, there are other ways in which the show could have been presented, but for viewers “the TV experience would not have been as compelling.” In other words, the likely lesson that ABC will have learned is not about human dignity, but that surprise revelations, broadcast in such a way as to maximize the sight of naked pain and shock for public consumption, make for successful television.

So we can probably look forward to more scenes like this in the future, although the encore is rarely as successful as the original; the law of diminishing returns suggests that before too long the producers will have to come up with something even more spectacular and gut-wrenching to keep the momentum going. Perhaps we may see that stake through the heart yet.

This brings to mind that article by Erwin D. Canham from last week’s TV Guide, written in 1960, in which Canham wrote of television as a vehicle capable of building up "new standards of life and citizenship," that it was the medium uniquely equipped to help answer the doubts that Americans increasingly had when they looked at themselves in the mirror. “They are asking whether our national standards and values are as sound and true as they should be, or whether too many of them have become shoddy and specious."

The question in his mind was not whether or not television could do this, but whether or not it would. Canham warned that “television must not become the opium of the people,” held hostage to pure entertainment, that the minds of the viewers "must not be merely softened up under a salve of bland relaxation".

Today Canham would be saddened, though probably not surprised, to find that television has mostly failed in this respect; it was, after all, what he saw as the greatest challenge to the medium. What I think would truly dismay him, however, is that those very tendencies which he felt America had to defend against in order to maintain “the true values of a good society” are precisely what television most glorifies today.

Doubtless a show like The Bachelor would have horrified him, but the everpresent drumbeat of programs that revel in excesses of materialism, sex, and violence rather than modesty and education; that celebrate darkness and nihilism rather than light and hope; that find humor in cruelty and crudity rather than gentleness and cleverness; all this would have confounded him. Yes, he might say, there is such a thing as Original Sin, but who in their right mind would want to celebrate programs like this? Who would want to freely choose to live in a world with this kind of entertainment? Are you trying to destroy yourselves and everything which you’ve built up over the centuries?

Erwin Canham and many like him felt that television had a role to play in helping create "a nation of mature decision makers." Imagine what he would feel if he could see the decisions that America’s broadcasters and viewers have made.  TV  

Classic rerun: Trafficking in human misery

The saga of the Hadleys' cross-country move continues. While we've arrived in our new hometown (same as the old hometown) and I've started my new job, our goods remain in transit and we continue to benefit from the kindness of our friends, letting us bunk in their spare room. By the time you read this - perhaps at the very moment you open it - the boxes may well be in the process of being unloaded, and eventually unpacked. 

Needless to say, with everything in a state of disarray, I haven't had much time to devote to new material. That will change on Friday, thanks to some great material from the classic TV blogosphere, (though I can't make any promises for Saturday), but today you're blessed (or cursed) with a rerun. I thought I'd go back to the first full year of the blog, when many of you probably hadn't yet discovered it. I think it holds up pretty well after 4+ years, but you can be the judge.

Back in the day, there was a show called Strike It Rich. If you’ve never seen it, the basic premise was to see how miserable someone’s life might be and how much that person might be able to get for it.

That’s a simplification perhaps, but not by much. Strike It Rich, which started on radio in 1947 and made the move to TV in 1951, featured contestants (or their proxies) who would come on the show and tell of the heartbreak they were currently experiencing. Their sob stories might run the gamut from a crippled child to chronic illness to broken-down appliances to financial misfortune.

The "contestants" would be asked questions - it was, after all, a quiz show - but the questions were easy, and most people on the show were "winners."  But if they didn't get the question right, there was still the "Heart Line."  "After they told their tale of woe, emcee [Warren] Hull would open up the telephone lines and ask viewers to pitch in what they could."  And the audience would deliver, often thousands of dollars, not to mention clothes, medical equipment, and other kinds of gifts.

Of course, the supply of  desperate people far outweighed the demand of the show's producers for contestants, probably a ratio of about 5,000 to 1.  Many critics accused the show of choosing contestants based on those thought to have the "most interesting tales of woe.  Some people spent what little money they had on transportation to New York, where the show was broadcast, only to be turned away, and have to turn to the Salvation Army for money to get back home.  The show was, in the words of television historians Tim Brooks and Earle Marsh, "one of the most sickening spectacles ever seen on a TV screen, exploiting those same unfortunates for the vicarious thrill of viewers and the selfish gain of advertisers."  TV Guide called it "a despicable travesty on the very nature of charity."  The head of the Travelers' Aid Society remarked, "Putting human misery on display can hardly be called right."  Despite the controversy, however, the show was popular and the ratings were good, and it continued on until dying a natural death in 1958.

I thought about this show the other day, when at lunch some colleagues of mine brought up Honey Boo Boo. Now, I’m probably dating myself by saying that when I hear the name Boo Boo, the first thing I think of is Yogi Bear. But I had some vague knowledge that his had something to do with reality TV, so I sat back to listen to the conversation in hopes of educating myself.

Considering where I fall on the hipness scale, you probably already know about Honey Boo Boo and Toddlers and Tiaras and the whole trailer trash scene. But if you don’t, here’s a thumbnail description of “the Boo Boo clan” from Betsy Woodruff at NRO:

She and her three sisters have four different fathers. Her mother, who weighs more than 300 pounds, says that farting 12 to 15 times a day helps you lose weight. And Alana’s niece, whose birth was celebrated in one episode, has a teenage mother and three thumbs (Alana’s reaction: “I wish I had an extra finger, then I could grab more cheese balls!”).

A lot of people enjoy this program; a lot of people are disgusted by it, and some people look at it as one of the signs of the upcoming apocalypse. But what does this all mean? How should we feel about it? How should I feel about it?

Now it’s a fact that many people of modest means are mocked by the prevailing culture for the lifestyle they enjoy, the idea being not only that they live a “trailer trash” kind of life, but that they’re so stupid they don’t even know that they aren’t supposed to be having fun living like that. Maybe it’s not that they’re mocked: it’s more like they’re pitied. It’s rather like the Pharisee whose prayer of thanksgiving was “I thank thee, God, that I am not like the rest of men.”*

*Luke 18:11.

At the same time, I’m not at all sure that this kind of lifestyle is something that someone should be proud of. Now, having said this, I should hasten to add that I don’t know for a fact that this family is proud of their lifestyle; they may well figure that what’s past is past, and there’s no sense in agonizing over something you can’t change. But there is the truth that reality TV generally exists for three purposes: to condone behavior, to condemn behavior, and to entertain the audience while doing so. I’m not sure whether Honey Boo Boo condones or condemns, but I am uncomfortable that, either way, we’re expected to be entertained by it.

I mean, what are the expectations for me as the viewer?* Am I supposed to think that there’s nothing wrong with the lifestyle of this family? Or is it all some kind of post-modernist ironic humor that depends on the realization that the audience is in on the joke but those poor dumb lummoxes on the show aren’t? Are we laughing with them or at them?

*The well-known “Method Watching” style – what is my motivation?

Generally, I don’t think stupidity in real life is particular funny. So if that’s what the makers of this show expect from me, I don’t buy it. On the other hand, I don’t think I’m up to laughing with these folks either. I don’t need to sit in judgment of them to say that their situation simply isn’t funny.

My sense, though, is that there is something pathetic about them – about the whole Toddlers and Tiaras crew, for that matter. I don’t condemn them, I don’t pity them, I don’t laugh at or with them. I do have compassion for them, that perhaps there’s more to life than what they know. You watch these people and you think to yourself, “they just don’t have a chance.” You get the sense that there is something miserable about the way these people live, and that deep down they know it, but since it brings them fame and fortune, they’re prisoners of it.*

*So I don’t condemn them. I do, however, have nothing but scorn and contempt for TLC, which used to be a reputable network – The Learning Channel – before descending into this crap. Lord knows what audiences are supposed to be learning.

Programs like this – like Strike It Rich, in fact – have been around since the dawn of television, or at least shortly afterward. So this show, and its success, shouldn’t surprise us. “You don’t have to like the show,” Woodruff concludes, adding that she herself doesn’t. “But you don’t have to panic either.”

So it’s not the end of the world after all. But it’s also not entertainment. Trafficking in human misery never is.

Television and the Id

DETAIL, THE ROMANS OF THE DECADENCE, 1847

It's quiz time once again boys and girls.  The quote below is a bit lengthy, but I'd hope you agree it's worth it.  I've removed a couple of words that would help you to identify the writer and the context of the quote because I think that's one of the most interesting things about this excerpt.  As you read it, consider what it says not only about our culture today, but also the world of entertainment, television in particular.  As usual, I'll identify the speaker and the context at the end.

We live today in a world that is as deeply devoted to material things as was [theirs].  For example, [they] were obsessed by health, diet, and exercise.  They spent more time in baths and health clubs than in churches, temples, libraries, and law courts.  They were devoted to consumption.  A man could make a reputation by spending more than his neighbor, even if he had to borrow the money to do it.  And if he never paid back his creditors, he was honored for having made a noble attempt to cut a fine figure in the world.

They were excited by travel, news, and entertainment.  The most important cultural productions [...], from books to extravaganzas in the theaters and circuses that occupied a central place in every [...] city or town, dealt with amusing fictions about faraway peoples and with a fantasy peace and happiness that did not exist in their real lives.  They were fascinated by fame and did  not care how it was acquired.  If you were famous enough, the fact that you might be a rascal or worse was ignored or forgiven.

[They] cared most about success, which they interpreted as being ahead for today, and let tomorrow take care of itself.  They were proud, greedy, and vain.  In short, they were much like ourselves.

A pretty good description of the world today, don't you think?

The only difference is that it was written in 1991, and it was written about a people living in the fourth century - the Romans, near the end of the empire.  The late Roman world, indeed, was quite like ours.

And the author?  If you're a classic television fan, you'll probably recognize the name of Charles Van Doren.  Yes, the same Charles Van Doren of the quiz show scandals in the late 1950s.  Following his disgrace, Van Doren went into a self-imposed public exile, eventually returning to a life of writing (at first under a pseudonym) and becoming an editor at Encyclopaedia Britannica.  He authored a number of philosophical and scholastic books (some with his friend Mortimer Adler), the best known of which is probably the one from which this excerpt came, A History of Knowledge.

The relationship of this to television?  Well, I can't imagine a better description of the celebrity-infused culture of TMZ, the world of "reality" programming that has little relation to reality, knows almost no bounds, and seems to consist primarily of people who've become famous for being famous.  Can you say "Kardashians"?  "Paris Hilton"?  And if Van Doren's description of reality stars and viewers hits the mark, he's no less accurate in describing the world of consumption in which television dwells, not only in how advertising dominates the medium, but in how so much of the programming - not only reality but scripted - glorifies such consumption.

If there's anything optimistic to be taken from this, it's in how it shows that there is truly nothing new under the sun.  Van Doren obviously felt that this series of paragraphs were fairly descriptive of the cultural world of the 1980s and '90s, even as it was written about a society that existed some 1500 years before that, and could doubtlessly be used similarly to describe countless societies and cultures in between.

On the other hand, we have to recall that the Roman Empire crumbled - not at the hands of a military enemy, but from internal decay.  The historian Arnold Toynbee, himself a writer in the pages of TV Guide, posited that "the Roman Empire itself was a rotten system from its inception, and that the entire Imperial era was one of steady decay of institutions founded in Republican times." I'm afraid that if you're looking for reassuring sentiments in that statement, you're going to have to look elsewhere.

The id of Sigmund Freud has been described as the devil on the shoulder of the super-ego, an inflated sense of self-worth, "a mass of instinctive drives and impulses [that] needs immediate satisfaction." It is to the id that television thus appeals, in its ability to satisfy the insatiable desire for fame that consumes so many of its participants, and its ability to transmit that to viewers who consume it voraciously and live it vicariously.  Something, in fact, that Charles Van Doren himself fell victim to at the pivotal moment in his life.

All this is not to lay the blame solely at the feet of television.  As regular readers know, I persist in my defense of TV as a medium which is morally neutral - it's how you use the technology that counts.  My fear is that the technology is not being used very well, nor has it been for some time, but even there one can suggest that it is at least as much of a reflection of out culture as it is the source of our dilemmas.  And while it's true that television does satisfy that voracious appetite for what Van Doren called "amusing fictions about faraway peoples," but the people and the appetite had to exist in the first place - television merely exploited it and expanded it, but it has been a part of the human condition since Original Sin.  Sic semper erat, et sic semper erit: Thus has it always been, thus shall it ever be.

The "Real" in Reality TV

Here's a shocker for you: a column that hasn't been thought out carefully, but comes to you on the fly.  I know; a number of you probably think that all the pieces on the blog come out that way, that I just make things up on the go.  And to a certain point that's true - there are many times when I begin writing without knowing exactly where I'm going.  But this one doesn't really have a narrative line per se; I'm just going to give it to you, and we'll see where we wind up.

So then: as you probably know, I'm no fan of reality television.  I've sniped at it often, and from time to time I've actually devoted significant space to it.  There are many people like me, people who think that reality TV is the most unreal thing on the tube.  "This isn't real," you can hear them say, "this is made up just like everything else."  But then, so is professional wrestling.

And it's pro wrestling that we're about to turn to; as something which has been on TV since, well, virtually the beginning of TV, you can't really divorce the two subjects.  From the days of Gorgeous George to Hulk Hogan to today, wrestlers have been some of the biggest stars on television.  Now, I know what you're thinking here: wrestling isn't real.  Of course not.  Yesterday I would have agreed with you completely, and that would have been the end of the discussion.  (And I would have been out of an idea for the blog.)

What changed my mind about this, and what causes me to think differently about reality TV (in the abstract, if not the concrete, is this terrific article from Grantland.  Entitled "Pro Wrestling for Auteurs," it gives the reader a look at the most significant wrestling documentaries of the last 50 or so years.  The fact that I'm just coming to it now, nearly three years after it was first published, is unimportant except to demonstrate that I'm sometimes behind the times, though always willing to revisit them.  But in discussing the history of wrestling documentaries, the author, David Shoemaker, points to a landmark in the genre, 1961's La Lutte, and it is here that we get the money quote, the part that explains everything that's to come.  The filmmakers, a couple of French-Canadians named Michel Brault and Claude Jutre, are planning to expose the fakery of wrestling, how everything was far from real:

Serendipitously, they met one Roland Barthes at a party, and although he was initially intrigued by the idea of a wrestling documentary, he was appalled by their objective. “Are you crazy?” Barthes said, according to Brault. “It’s as if you want to expose theater. The people’s theater, popular theater. It exists because people go see it, that’s the reason it exists. And that’s the beauty of wrestling. It’s an outlet for the crowd and it demonstrates how hard it is for right to overcome wrong. The good versus the bad. And don’t tamper with that. You mustn’t destroy that!”

As Shoemaker suggests, wrestling is perhaps the ultimate in interactive television, where the involvement of the fan actually can influence the storyline.  "The role of pro wrestling isn’t to be real — it’s to convey narrative reality, the way a documentary shapes a week of reality into two hours of greater reality."  As Roland Barthes puts it, "Wrestling is a stage managed sport (which ought, by the way, to mitigate its ignominy). The public is completely uninterested in knowing whether the contest is rigged or not, and rightly so; it abandons itself to the primary virtue of the spectacle.”  Adds Schoemaker, "The point is to give us what we want - what we need."

Perhaps we should look at the more overt forms of reality television in the same way.  Nobody in their right minds thinks that the Kardashians and Honey Boo-Boo are "real."  Probably not many think that the shows capture the lives of these people as they really are - they're obviously stage-managed for television.  Even the term "unscripted," which sounds more respectable than "reality," is a crock - perhaps the participants don't speak lines from a script, but you might as well say the same thing about a Cassavetes film.  The direction of the story, the plot, is anything but spontaneous.  But does that make them any less plausible than wrestling - than any scripted television, for that matter?  These shows may well give us what we want, what we need.

That doesn't make them good television, of course, nor does it mean they have any redeeming social qualities.  For every Duck Dynasty that presents values a sizable part of the country can sign off on, there's a Bachelor or Bachelorette that makes a mockery out of a long-standing institution.*  As repugnant as these shows are, can we honestly say that they're any worse than American Horror Story?

*Which, to be frank, doesn't need reality television to be made a mockery of nowadays.

Shoemaker has this to say about wrestling documentaries, but in fact couldn't one say the same about the entire reality genre?

What’s at stake in pro wrestling — what the directors of La Lutte got, and what [fellow documentarian Robert] Greene gets — is the very question of narrative art. Wrestling documentaries work so well because they — like wrestling itself — are edited and assembled to create certain emotional reactions. And when we, as fans, react to these films, we’re playing our part in the show. That Fake It and today’s best wrestling documentaries expose the “reality” of wrestlers’ lives doesn’t diminish the power of the craft that Barthes longed to protect. It shows us how much we’re all like those wrestlers we’re watching, and how much wrestling is like everything else we watch.

In the end, this kind of television - "reality," or "unscripted," or whatever you want to call it - should be judged the same way we judge any other television series.  My favorite series, Top Gear, could be considered unscripted, and I think it's great television.  Forget all the labels, don't get caught up in just how "real" the show is - simply ask yourself if it's any good, if it has any redeeming qualities, if it adds anything to the social fabric (which is often a matter of opinion).  Perhaps they don't give us what we need, but what we deserve.