#comm1073

Over the course of the semester I feel I have been taught the appropriate skills that are required to investigate television consumption. Recording my own consumption over the past couple of weeks has led to some interesting insights as to how I interact with television.

First of all, a quick overview in what I recorded over the three weeks I monitored my use. I never watched any television in the standard TV set form. This includes both free to air and Foxtel programming. At any point where I did watch a television show it came streamed from Netflix from an account that I share with my girlfriend. Over the past two weeks I have worked 12 days which only leaves time for viewing after dinner at 7:00pm. The first week recording my viewing was the last week of classes and as such I was more or less free to watch TV at my leisure thanks to a maximum of 13 hours of scheduled classes, yet I did not experience any increased viewing.

Whenever I watched a television program over the past 3 weeks, I did so in one of two ways.

Number one:

I was in my bed laptop on my lap doing a bit of work and on the TV opposite me I streamed episodes of How I Met Your Mother. It’s a personal favourite, got which I have completed many times over which means I can play it in the background as I work and only half pay attention but still be able to follow along and enjoy it.

Number two:

I was an engaged viewer streaming Suits for the first time. It was recommended to me by a friend, I had never seen it so I set time aside to watch a few episodes at a time. Laptop was away, I was paying attention as it was all new (plus the legal terms and quick conversations required it).

In both situations I was able to watch the programs as it suited me. It is my assumption that generally people are far more fluid today in their interaction with TV.

What’s the deal with people obsessing over TV shows? These are fictional stories that take hours to watch and hours again to re-watch. Sure, anyone can watch series all the way through, so what distinguishes the viewers from the fans and how does a TV show receive intense viewership at all?

Let us discuss this using Matt Hills’ book Defining Cult TV. According to Hills, there are three things to consider when looking at TV shows in regards to cult followings. There are as follows:

Cult TV shows can be viewed as texts. That is to agree to the assumption that there are a limited number of stories in the world and that the narratives borrow from each other and share elements of each other but also of the real world. They are distinguished by their detail and their ability of making the narrative feel normal.

Cult TV is helped shaped by secondary text. Which basically means they are dependent on reception and how they are criticised.

Cult TV can be defined by analysing the practices of fans. It means that it isn't enough to say how much you like a show, for it to be a cult program there has to be real world behaviours to prove it.

Using the sitcom masterpiece and undisputed best, nothing even comes close, don't even argue show of all time Seinfeld as our example, let’s see how Hills’ definitions play out.

Seinfeld as a text.

This is a show that has a narrative so mundane it is interesting. For all fans of the show, it is common knowledge that many of the bizarre occurrences in the series were all borrowed from the real world happenings of creator Larry David and the team. For example here is just one of the little funny stories you might tell your friends that Seinfeld made 9 seasons of. When TV Kramer rented a bus to perform his Peterman reality tours, it was based on real world Kramer’s own bus tours, in fact Kramer’s whole character is based of Larry David’s neighbour.

Seinfeld through secondary texts.

For reference, here are three critical reviews that came after the first season aired:

The writing - so thankfully different from the hammering rhythm of most sitcoms - comes from Seinfeld and Larry David ("Saturday Night Live"). [31 May 1990, p.C5]

Lacking much in the way of attitude, the show seems obsolete and irrelevant. What it boils down to is that Seinfeld, likable as he may be, is a mayonnaise clown in a world that requires a little horseradish. [31 May 1990, p.3D]

It works. It's different. It's fun, offbeat and charming. [31 May 1990, p.5]

So basically, the beauty of the show is that it is decidedly different to the sitcoms of the time, and indeed today also. These critiques demonstrate that Seinfeld was in a style of its.

Seinfeld and fan practice.

Have you heard of the Oculus Rift? It’s basically those old viewfinder toys for the digital era. It is a virtual reality machine that you can load scenes onto and a keen fan has painstakingly rendered Jerry Seinfeld’s apartment from the TV show in tremendous detail. If you prefer something a little more real worldly, Hulu recreated the entire set in real life when they launched the show this year. You could slide right in Kramer.

Set in Madison Avenue, New York throughout the 1960s, Mad Men is a dramatic program that features a handful of integral characters within the same advertising agency. Don Draper is one such character and the lead of the series. Don is the star of the agency, discovered by one of the ageing founders at a fur store where he once worked. He is the most interesting character of the series by far. At a glance he and is family is a picture of the 1960’s American Dream. He is the chiseled, hardened man of the house and she is the stunning caretake of the children and immaculate family home. Don’s story, however, is far from the dream he’s concocted.

Everything we know about Don is set in a time after he has hit success at the agency. As successful as he his within the office, it soon becomes clear to the audience that that could be the only place where he does have success at all and that it can be very difficult for him to turn it off. For example, the very first scene where we see him, he is at a bar late at night drinking as he pens copy and ideas onto a cocktail napkin. Through a limited series of flashback scenes we learn that Don, who seems to have everything, might not have else at all. He was born to a prostitute in a brothel and was raised harshly through the depression. When his commanding officer was killed in Korea he assumed his identity to be able to be sent back to America. The earliest we ever get to see of the new Don Draper he fabricated is as the fur salesman where he was discovered.

The image of his picture perfect marriage is quickly tarnished as we see him flirt his way through a number of different women. Throughout the series we see him be divorced twice, ‘divorce’ was a treated as a dirty word in the story yet it seemed common place for Don. He ruined his marriages and relationships with his children. They end up wanting nothing to do with him. They’ve seen him choose work over their lives time after time and know he can’t be trusted or relied on. In a final attempt for family he tries to impose himself on his illegitimate niece, the daughter of the man whom he stole his identity. She is young and free spirited, quite the juxtaposition against Don’s clean cut, conservative nature. Yet when he is most desperate he follows her to a kind of hippy camp until she deserts him, leaving him stranded there.

The public sphere is not tangible, it is a place that allows for discussion. Historically, it was a discursive space amongst individuals that was completely separate from the state and allows participants to engage in constructive, rationale debate that lead to political change. In terms of relevance to television, it describes the medium’s democratic influence. Generally, it is the source of public opinion. If a program manages to generate chatter, what might have been known as the ‘water cooler effect’, it has created a public sphere.

Enter ‘The Bachelor’. If you enjoy quality television, I’m afraid you might need to avert your eye. ‘The Bachelor’ is a reality game show of sorts that pits 25 women against each other. We watch them stumble over one another in order to win the grand prize, the heart of the bachelor. Week by week women get eliminated after failing to secure his affection and a rose. We watch them become ever more desperate in the attempts to attract his attention or a date. We love to watch it and we love to hate it. The cheesy lines, the overdramatic women and the extent to which they go. People wait eagerly for the show to come on every Wednesday and Thursday night.

However, for some that isn’t the highlight of the program. For some, the real entertainment from Friday morning, courtesy of Mammamia and Rosie Waterland. Each week after the show has aired, Rosie will review the episode in fine fashion on the website. The write up has nearly become more popular than the show itself. It is an ironically critical analysis that really takes the mickey, and the words out of the audience’s mouth. Despite the tone of the piece though, it really does communicate the issues involves with the program, primarily its sexist nature. It allows for the audience to have an opinion on what is being offered to them. The comments section below the article, as well as the site’s corresponding Facebook page allows members of the audience to further respond to the review and to engage in further conversation about the events of the episode. In doing so, a space for debate is created, enabling a public sphere.

Today I want to talk about satirical news programs that blur the lines of news and entertainment. News satire isn’t quite legitimate news, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t informative either. Typical programs that fall under this category have a main anchor that presents news stories in an ironic manner and tend to deliver humorous quips in order to entertain the audience. They are even formatted similarly to traditional news programs with segments for interviews, political conversation and current events; but can they replace the traditional news altogether?

News satire programs have been growing steadily in popularity since their inception. It has been found that young people are more likely to learn more about news events from late night comedy than they are from traditional news (Feldman & Young, 2008).These shows are targeted at the viewer that is keen to stay informed of currents events but not be bored senseless. This is how it differs from other forms of late night comedy. News satire programs like ‘The Daily Show’ maintain the audience’s interest throughout the program, but when late night comedic talk shows incorporate news issues such as politics, the audience’s attention diminishes over time. News satire specific viewers expect comedy alongside the information. However, watching these shows it is clear that one must have a working knowledge of what is going on in the world in order to understand the jokes. That is why the program itself can’t replace traditional news, it relies on the audience having an understanding of events to be wise to the comments the anchor makes.

Audiences are consuming the programming as a gateway into traditional forms of news. As a result of having watched the satirical programs they wanted to be able to tune in every night while being able to comprehend the comedy. People were becoming more focused on news outlets that gave them the tools to do so. The comedy had made traditional news more desirable. In fact it was actually found that attentiveness to aspects of traditional news were increased in audiences after exposure to satirical content (Feldman & Young, 2008). The information and humour in the satire is all based on assumed knowledge. As a result, a program specialising in news satire can’t replace traditional news, but it certainly compliments it.

Reference:

Last semester, I took a subject called ‘True Lies: Documentary Studies’, looking at documentaries from both clinical and philosophical standpoints. What makes a documentary different from fiction film? Is one authentic and the other not? Is one factual and one false? Well documentaries can be reflexive, documentaries can be emotive and subjective, and documentaries can tell constructed and false stories just like fiction film. So what is the difference? This is a point that continually pervades the discussion surrounding documentary film. Largely, reality TV can be considered with a similar approach.

The separating hallmark of ‘Reality TV’ is just that: reality. There is a perception that reality television is, at least in part, authentic. It uses non-actors, interviews and talking heads, narration, fly-on-the-wall style camera work, surveillance and file footage. It uses many techniques of documentary to create a sense of authenticity, that what we are seeing on screen are real events happening to real people. But like documentary, the filmic techniques are merely constructions of the genre. What really makes ‘Reality TV’ is the audience expectation. As David Bordwell notes, “genres are treated as ‘fuzzy’ categories” and “the processes by which people construct a fuzzy category do not define it but rather provide a loose set of more or less central, more or less strongly linked expectations… that are taken to hold good unless contradicted by other information” (1991, 148). It is the expectation that reality TV is in fact real, that makes it so as well as the creators’ claim that it is so.

Reality TV comes in many forms and subgenres, such that it seems vast and indefinable. A docu-soap like the 7 Up series is reality TV, but so are makeover shows (Pimp My Ride, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy), factual programs (Mythbusters, World’s Deadliest Catch), as are reality competitions that are among the most contrived (The Amazing Race, American Idol), or a celebrity doing pretty much anything (The Simple Life, Keeping Up With The Kardashians).  According to Su Holmes, “ultimately, and importantly, it is perhaps only possible to suggest that what unites the range of programming conceivably described as ‘Reality TV’ is primarily discursive, visual and technological claim to ‘the real’” (2004, 5).

But a claim is all it is, because the idea of much of the content of reality TV being at all ‘real’ is laughable. Some structures are certainly more contrived, such as the competition and the celebrity talent format, but even shows that claim more factual status like Man vs. Wild are not direct reality.

  Truck mechanics, you so awkward

I discovered a wonderfully hilarious makeover show recently called Trick My Truck. It’s Pimp My Ride, but you know, for hicks with trucks. It follows a team called the Chrome Shop Mafia as they answer people’s heartfelt requests to transform people’s drab cargo-carriers into badass big rigs. Unlike most makeover shows, however, the makeover is not the entertaining part. The great source of entertainment here is the ‘performance’ of the show’s non-actor stars, the designers, painters and engineers in the Chrome Shop Mafia. During the opening, you’re introduced to the ‘characters’. There’s the rims guy, he’s has a bit of an attitude, there’s the detailer, he’s very about his art, and there’s the ‘bossman’ (yes, one word), who is friendly but firm when the going gets tough. The thing is, it’s a show about fixing crappy trucks. The fact that the team need ‘characters’ at all is totally superfluous, particularly since they’re real people who have no acting ability. Watch this absolute gem. Listen to that natural dialogue! That flows so well, a communications person definitely did not write that, no, sir. Those eye rolls! The characters create this dynamic that is so contrived I can’t help but laugh uncontrollably. This is an element seen so often in reality TV, non-actors that are fed the lines, creating a pointless story out of very little. Trick My Truck is a comedic gem, a show about socially awkward mechanics who are shouted lines at by directors who demand them to repeat said lines with as little believability and enthusiasm as possible. These poor truckies, they’re like scared monkeys, dancing about for our amusement.

TV got smart

I love modern TV. For the most part, the last 20 years have seen television mature as an art form and storytelling. Modern TV is smarter, more experimental and daring and expects greater engagement from a more savvy audience. And I’m part of a savvy audience! So when TV writers are targeting me, and making shows for the attentive and the informed, it makes all those hours I’ve spent on the couch seem just that little bit less like a waste of time.

TV programming is going through a renaissance very similar to that which cinema went through in the 1970s. Like Scorcese and Spielberg, a new generation of TV creators are leading the field, a generation of people who were raised on TV themselves. These creatives are familiar with TV techniques and tropes and relish in challenging elements of form, structure and genre.

Jason Mittell defines this present era of television as the era of narrative complexity, one in which narrative flow of television is no longer episodic or serial, but a more complex amalgamation of the two. You notice it with most modern TV shows, structure where an episode is loosely self-contained with an event and something of a resolution, but also has elements that carry through a longer story arc.

  Scrubs: a sitcom based solely on in-jokes 

By relaxing the narrative structure, modern television is made infinitely more accessible to all types of viewers. In many cases, casual viewers get a self-contained story that is easy to consume, while references to past episodes and character developments remain as a bonus for long term viewers. As an example, Scrubs runs on a fairly episodic structure. Each episode establishes the norm, then an element of conflict, before JD’s voice over ties the episode’s threads into a neat conclusion. What makes Scrubs a complex narrative is its serial canon and use of recurring jokes from previous episodes and seasons. These references are extremely rewarding to long term viewers of the show, for example, a character known as Snoop Dogg Intern is introduced in season three, and as time passes on the show, the characters refer to him as Snoop Dogg Resident and Snoop Dogg Attending as his position changes. Long-term viewers of the show recognise the transition and can appreciate the show’s acknowledgement of a character’s past and changing future, while casual viewers think nothing of it. Long-term viewers are rewarded for the commitment and engagement with the show by getting a joke that casual viewers miss.

Hey Lana, Lana, LAAANAAA. DAAANGER ZOOONE!

Another show that does this well is Archer. For an animated comedy, shows that normally have very little, no or negative continuity, Archer has a strong seriality with many multi-episode and seasonal arcs. Jokes and events established in earlier episodes are constantly recalled throughout the season. In one episode in the second season, a scar is seen on Archer’s foot, a scar that came to be there because Lana, his co-worker and sometimes love interest, shot him in the foot in season one. Similarly, tattoos that Archer gets stay with him throughout the series, and references to old and even obscure and not easily noticed events are references with subtlety and clever acuity. This is complex narrative in animation at its finest. 

Mittel argues that narratively complex television is meta-reflexive. Audiences are engaged not so much by the content of the program, but the techniques and tropes writers experiment with. Pleasure is derived from use of experimental narrative structure and storytelling, and it’s less a case of “what will happen” and more a case of “how will they pull this off?” At risk of sounding like a broken record, I do have to say Community is the best current example of meta-reflexivity in narratively complex television. Community explores and experiments with the conventions of television and genre constantly. In season two, nearly every episode explores a different genre. The stop-motion animated episode “Abed’s Uncontrollable Christmas”, the Christmas special and animation itself are played with, injecting fantasy elements like diegetic character song into the episode. Not to mention the fact that this one weird episode of a live action show is animated. Other episodes play with the structure of TV and cinematic tropes and openly alert the audience to their intention, as seen in “Cooperative Calligraphy” in which Jeff announces “we’re doing a bottle episode”. In-world, this is a weird thing to say, but Community is a highly self-aware show, constantly leaning on the fourth wall and causing the audience to actively sit up and take notice of the techniques used in our favourite genres.

For the most part, Mittel is totally right about modern narratively complex television. It’s a more rewarding, engaging and intelligent manifestation of TV. He’s also correct in saying that complex doesn’t necessarily equal quality. Most modern television has episodic structure while playing with aspects of continuity, making the world of the show a richer viewing experience. But unless writers are constantly adding to their world and experimenting with the nature of television, even shows that are narratively complex can become stale. For example, United States of Tara began with an interesting premise, a complex storyline, a mystery and believable characters and family dynamics despite the craziness at its core. I don’t know what my life would be like if my mother had multiple personalities, but Tara hazards a pretty reasonable guess. But in the second season, the show that had been popular for its wit and family dynamic had lost that element, becoming fixated on bizarre external storylines. It was axed after its third season, for what could have been a number of reasons. It could be because it lost its sense of joy or because it deviated too much from its original premise and dynamic, a case in which complexity and experimentation may have backfired.

Daenerys Targaryen: proof that fantasy ladies are bad ass

Taste is one of those foggy, indefinable aspects of art and the human condition. I’m not going to bore you with a philosophical dissection of taste, what defines ‘good taste’ or ‘bad taste’, whether such a thing really exists. I will say this. Taste can be strictly defined. There are straight-up fantasy fans out there, who, to quote David Barnett are “loners with creases ironed in the front of their trousers who spend their Saturday nights painting lead figurines of orcs”, because their taste is so restricted, they show interest in little else. Yes. They do exist. But taste can also be totally random. I’m going to list a few TV shows that I love. Try and spot the common thread: Game of Thrones, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, So You Think You Can Dance, Dexter, Entourage, 30 Rock, Arrested Development, Community, Miranda, Misfits, Adventure Time, Flight of The Conchords, South Park, Girls, Archer, Spaced, Modern Family. Yes, I know I have a fierce TV addiction. There are many more shows I could name. But did you get the answer? It’s that there isn’t one. My taste is totally random. I could explain to anyone why I like any of those individual shows, but to say that my taste is defined by my upbringing or my socio-economic status, or, as many of the critics in this week’s readings would suggest, my gender, is just preposterous. On an anecdotal level, I’ve never been one to have my taste driven by genre. There are some genres I prefer to others, for example, I’ll always take comedy over horror, but I can appreciate a work of any genre if it’s high quality, that is, well written and acted. Give me good story, good characters, good dialogue, and I don’t care whether I’m laughing or crying, at war or in a courtroom. This is the problem with Ginia Bellafante’s review of Game of Thrones for the New York Times. She assumes. She assumes that taste is dictated by gender, and genre can be categorised accordingly. Fantasy, sci-fi, horror and action are for boys, drama, period pieces, comedy and romance are for girls. I’m not sure what she thinks of hybrid genres, but as a modern woman, that’s a really dumb thing to assume, and then publish in one of the world’s most read publications. She really was asking for trouble when she assumed that women (I draw this conclusion, perhaps because Sex in the City is a show thought to generally be targeted at women) would have so much trouble keeping up with the huge enemble cast of GoT that the program “ought to come with a warning like, “If you can’t count cards, please return to reruns of ‘Sex and the City.’”. Wow. Just, wow. I feel like this was a publicity stunt, because making such a sweeping statement, with such obvious gender overtones was always going to draw a massive outcry. A myriad of ‘geek girls’ made responses that were rather expected. Game of Thrones has a dedicated fanbase and has been designated ‘quality television’ given flagship status on HBO. Of all the ‘genre’ programs on American television this year, GoT scored the largest swag of Emmy nominations, the only program of the fantasy/horror/sci-fi school to be nominated for the Best Drama category. It’s a pretty infallible creature, critics who react negatively to the program have been berated. It’s a popular show all around, transcending the assumptions around the fantasy genre that it’s for the niche of nerds who spend their Friday nights playing Dungeons & Dragons and neglecting hygiene.

We made Westeros, bitches get in line

The link between genre, gender and taste has generally been considered a strong one, something society has had trouble shaking. Women like romantic comedies, because they just do and men just don’t. Men like sci-fi and women think it’s nerdy. But what the success of Game of Thrones shows is that quality can transcend traditional notions of restricted taste, and that taste is really less predictable and tangible than people had first assumed.