Sticking Points in Serial Television
I have a serious problem. Like many readers of this blog, I love serial television. I love bingeing; I love finding new serial narratives; I love revisiting old ones. But every so often, I reach a sticking point and, for various reasons, both rational and irrational, I just cannot. get. past. it. This post thus thinks about why sticking points occur…and what can (or should?) do about them.
Recently, I’ve experienced two extremely befuddling sticking points.
The first has incited no small amount of heated “BUT YOU JUST GOTTA KEEP GOING!” responses. Nearly two years ago, I binged on the first season on Breaking Bad and continued through the first few episodes of Season Two. It was late May, done with finals, uncharacteristically rainy (for two days straight!) and I had all the time in the world to finish off the season. While S01 had caused no small amount of anxiety and dread, the first few episodes of S02 — and a particular situation in a Mexican house — produced so much anxiety that I felt as if I was about to have a cardiac incident. No seriously.
I fully realize that Breaking Bad is, arguably, the best show on television. I get it! I really loved the first season! I totally want to keep going! But YOU GUYS, I can’t. The idea of starting again makes me feel authentically nauseous.
The second sticking point deals with Friday Night Lights, which is, without a doubt, in my top five pantheon of shows from the last decade. Especially S03. And S04….AT LEAST UNTIL I GOT MIRED MID-SEASON. And here’s the ridiculous thing: the episode on which I’m stuck is, arguably, one of the best single episodes not only of the series as a whole but in serial drama from the past ten years.
I’m talking about the episode entitled “The Son,” and if you’ve seen it, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I watched this episode and bawled like a small child. For an extended period of time. Even writing about it now I get teary eyed. Hell, even thinking about the fact that Zach Gilroy wasn’t nominated for an Emmy for that episode makes me teary eyed. And now I just can’t press play again, even watching silly silly Pillars of the Earth with the rest of S04 patiently waiting in my queue. Again, I totally realize that this is DEMENTED. Vince and East Dillon and Coach are waiting for me! Tami Taylor and the abortion episode, THEY’RE WAITING! TIM RIGGINS, I MISS YOU SO MUCH!
I’ve had other sticking points (the last episode of Rubicon, everything past S01 in Six Feet Under, past S03E03 of Veronica Mars), but these two seem the most egregious and irrational…..and fascinating.
In the case of Friday Night Lights, the sticking point is obviously psychological. The last time I watched FNL, I felt like a hurricane had decimated my feeling parts. I felt like nothing that Matt Saracen ever did ever again would compare to what he did in this episode, and I felt like I wasn’t ready to see him again, lest I feel that way again. In truth, I’m in an odd state of grief — it’s not like the show betrayed me or died, but I feel as if I’m just not ready to go back and feel that way again. In other words, the show in general and the episode in particular were so good — and illicted such profound and complex emotions in me — that I can’t return to it, or at least not yet. It’s as if my skin is overly sensitive, and any touch (or exposure to the show) might set me off.
For Breaking Bad, the reaction is visceral in a way I’ve never experienced — at least not from narrative/serial television. Sure, someone eating bugs on Fear Factor creates a visceral reaction, as does horror film, and maybe something like The Killing, which produces an uncanny feeling of dread. But the reticence to restart the show has everything to do with not wanting my body to feel the way it felt when I was watching before. My attempt to avoid that feeling, coupled with my affection for the show, is akin to my love for gin and hate for the hangover. I want it and I hate it; I know I’ll like it but I also know I’ll despise it.
In truth, both Friday Night Lights and Breaking Bad are slight variations of what Linda Williams calls “body genres” — genres that make your body do something, usually involuntary. She includes horror (you scream or jump), melodrama (you cry), and porn (you become aroused), but you might also argue for comedy (laughter, even when you don’t want to). Viewers generally have complex relations with these body genres: the body-focused responses they elicit are pleasurably and painful, treading a knife-edge between fear and relief, sadness and catharsis, desire and release. You simultaneously want and don’t want to watch, and in making the decision to engage, you’re also agreeing to a sort of masochism….but one that also proves rewarding.
Which is all to say that I’m currently at the very sticky point, at least when it comes to these two shows, when I’m not ready to submit to the pain necessary in order to continue, despite the fact that I know that the eventual derived pleasure will be tremendous.
So I’m wondering: how do I trick myself into getting past these points? Or is it impossible to convince myself….and I just need to wait until the memory of the displeasure (emotionally, physically) diffuses? What induces your own sticking point, and are they also related to the “body genres”?
New Antenna Post: Mad Men and Celebrity Gossip
Just a heads-up to check out my new post over at Antenna — “Open or Closed? Mad Men, Celebrity Gossip, and the Public/Private Divide.”
Antenna has been covering every episode this season, featuring scholars with expertise in different areas….I highly recommend coming back in future weeks.
A Star is Formed: Lea Michele and the Cast of Glee
Glee is this television season’s most talked about new show. Sure, Modern Family is funny, and Vampire Diaries manages to faithfully reproduce the hype of Twilight and Buffy, but Glee, despite only middling ratings, is the only show to truly break out, both as a subject of discourse and as the first successful network musical since, well, Cop Rock. (For more on this season’s crop of television shows, including ratings forecasts, see Jonathan Gray’s recent posts on The Extratextuals). The identity politics of the show have sparked the most heated discussions – see Amanda Ann Klein’s insightful reading over at Judgmental Observer, Jezebel’s take-down, and Kelli Marshall’s most recent musings.
I’ll say that I find the show incredibly funny. Especially Jane Lynch (did you see that zoot suit this week? Incredible.) I also think critiques of the stereotypes are misguided, as they’re supposed to be stereotypes – that’s part of the satire — and the show has been taking its sweet time in breaking each stereotype down, instead of immediately hitting us over the head with the quirk and spark that individuates each character. I love the song choices, in part because many of them hail from my own junior high/high school years, as well as the rendering of small town, small school cultural hierarchies. (Full disclosure: I was a cheerleader, and although Jane Lynch wasn’t our coach, we, along with the football players, certainly enjoyed social perks. And while I never slushied anyone, and Glee is certainly hyperbolic, this is a vision of high school, chastity club included, with which I am unfortunately too familiar.)
The songs and dances would never cut it in an actual high school, but this is a musical, people – do we forget the way that musicals are allowed to stop and circumvent time, reality, and fate? Some of the performances are motivated by the narrative, but some, such as Quinn’s torch song or Mercedes’s “Bust Your Windows,” shatter the diegesis. And that’s okay, just as the risqué song selections are okay, because, again, this is neither realism nor reality TV. This is a musical, complete with all of the musical’s attendant genre conventions.
Mercedes Breaks the Digesis (and Busts Your Windows)
Which brings me to the topic of star formation. Musicals are perfect star builders: in part because they allow a particular actor to hold the spotlight for a sustained amount of time, but also because they provide a forked path to identification. Put differently, we are encouraged to identity with the star’s performance within the narrative, as she navigates the various obstacles (usually related to love or success) that cross her path, just as we identity with most protagonists. When Rachel declares in voiceover that “You may think that every guy in the school would, totally, want to tap this, but my MySpace schedule keeps me way too busy to date” or when she actively pines for Finn, or when she submits to blackmail (e.g. hands over a pair of her undergarments) from the dorkiest kid in the school in order to protect a certain piece of information from reaching the blogosphere, we are meant to sympathize and/or empathize with her. As a type-A ambitious female, my ambitions may not have been to make it big on Broadway, but her perfectionism and marginalization provide a prime point of identification.
Type-A Rachel Berry
At the same time, Rachel gets some of the most moving, emotive, and transcendent solos of the series. I know we’re talking pop music and show tunes, and maybe I’m just a sucker for ‘80s hits, but when she sings her part in “Don’t Stop Believin’” and, more recently, “Somebody to Love,” it does something to me, something akin to shivers. It’s a phenomenological response, evoked by the combination of musical harmonies and earnestness: it’s the same unnamable something that makes a song, or a voice, our favorite. To adpt Linda Williams’ conception of the ‘body genres’ – e.g. genres that make our body react physically, either through laughter, fright, or arousal – I would posit that the music alternately incites feelings of viscerally felt pathos and, well, glee.
Put differently, the musical numbers and solos, especially those coupled with choreographed dance, arouse something unnamable and unexplainably pleasurable. I don’t know exactly why I feel happiness watching the finely calibrated movements of a group of dancers – whether paired with Gene Kelly in Singin’ in the Rain, Astaire and Rogers in The Gay Divorcee, or Glee’s competition dancing to Amy Winehouses’s “Rehab.” But I do. Similarly, I don’t know why I feel the flipside of that pleasure – a pure and sorrowful sadness/yearning – when I watch Rachel emote, or Judy Garland sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” or Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman sing “My Dying Day” in Moulin Rouge.
The Pleasure of Synchronicity
The musical thus encourages a cerebral and physical engagement with the star: I like and identify with the character; I feel inexplicably, viscerally moved by the musical performances. Thus I don’t feel drawn to a particular Glee character until he/she is featured in a solo: when Puck sang “Sweet Caroline” last week, I was his forever.
Puck Sings Neil Diamond…and wins me over.
Which perhaps explains at least part of the cult of fandom around musical figures, whether Judy Garland, Barbra Streisand, or, to some extent, Michael Jackson, who certainly participated in his share of musical narratives. It might even help to explain the cult of Audrey Hepburn (also evoked in this week’s episode) who, with the help of the magic of dubbing, sang her way through My Fair Lady. (It also explains the way that American Idol narrativizes the lives and development of its contestants – their performances will make us like them, but it’s the narrative, including tidbits of past experience, strife, and success, that permits identification).
Most movie stars require interviews, profiles, and photo shoots to flesh out the ‘ordinary’ compliment to their extraordinary roles. Yet the musical star provides the extraordinary/ordinary paradox each and every time she appears. In other words, Rachel gets to be ‘ordinary’ during the majority of the show – walking down hallways, washing Slushies from her hair – and ‘extraordinary’ the moment she breaks into song. A third ‘real’ layer may further embellish the equation, providing a feedback loop of self-referential material (see Garland and Streisand). But it is not truly necessary. The dual-layered performance is sufficient.
Since its premiere, the Glee publicity team – both for the show itself and for the individual actors – have attempted to court media attention. The move has proved moderately successful – as Lainey points out, the leads got ‘papped’ the other day, they’re on the recent cover of Entertainment Weekly, and Lea Michele was featured in a front end US Weekly fashion spread.
What’s more, nearly all of the actors — and all of the young ones — are active on Twitter. At this point, however, the stars are enough of unknowns that the ‘real’ them is predicated almost entirely on their ability to reproduce the other ‘real’ them – e.g. the ‘real’ characters on Glee, the ones visible when not performing. Thus Chris Colfler, who plays the flamboyent Kurt, is conveniently homosexual in ‘real life,’ and his recent call for Twitter followers to come up with Sue Sylvester jokes launched her name into the Twitter trending topics. Why? Because it reproduced the Kurt image the show – the selfsame image that people want to believe characterizes the quotidian life of Cofler.
This conclusion might seem contradictory, as I’m at once asserting that the stars of musical are, by default, stars – but, at the same time, they cannot escape their picture personalities, which is usually a sign of the non-star. So be it. It’s contradictory, but it’s the musical – and I should probably just evade the contradiction, as musicals are wont to do, by breaking into song:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TTzB8W8shi8&hl=en&fs=1&]
Battling Images: Kanye vs. Taylor vs. Beyoncé vs. Viacom
During Sunday’s MTV Video Music Awards, Lady Gaga appeared in what looks to be a snowman suit, a queen of hearts oufit that entailed covering her entire visage in red lace, and participated in a performance that ended with her splattered with fake blood and earning her the nickname “Bloody Eye”. See here for a nice overview. Yet she has been completely overshadowed by an interaction between Kanye West and pop princess Taylor Swift.
As Alisa Perren pointed out this morning, the incident has likewise sparked a showdown between fans and Viacom, which, as owners of MTV and notoriously protective of copyright, including YouTube clips, is hunting down clips of the incident as soon as they pop up. Try this direct link to the video on the MTV website. You’ll just have to sit through a very short commercial, so don’t be dissuaded.
The facts, more or less:
*Taylor Swift won the VMA Award for Best Female Video for “You Belong With Me,” beating out Lady GaGa, Katy Perry, Kelly Clarkson, Pink, and Beyonce When Taylor Lautner (aka Jacob on Twilight AND her future co-star in ****) announced her name, the close-up on her face expressed rather geniune-looking surprise.
*When Taylor came to the stage, she thanked her fans and MTV, declaring “I sing country music, so thank you so much for giving me a chance to win a VMA.” (This is a key point, I think, and has been super overlooked by those commenting on the incident)
*Kanye West then jumped onto the stage, took the microphone from Swift, and announced “Yo, Taylor, I’m really happy for you, I’ll let you finish, but Beyoncé has one of the best videos of all time. One of the best videos of all time!” (Referring, of course, to Beyonce’s now iconic video for ‘Single Ladies’)
*The cutaway shots to Beyonce show her seemingly aghast, surprised, embarrassed — it’s difficult to tell.
*The audience responded with a standing ovation for Swift, but the director of the VMAs chose to cut to voiceover and track back to wide screen, rather than allowing Swift to respond or recover. According to an account of someone serving as a seat holder, she stood there for about 30 seconds, fighting back tears. The television audience only saw the shift transition away from the incident.
*Swift went on to perform, singing live, a few segments later.
*When Beyonce won for “Video of the Year” at the end of the show, she welcomed Taylor Swift back on stage to finish her acceptance speech. In a moment of apparent solidarity, the two shared the stage — and, at this point, Swift had changed into a red dress that coincidentally matched Beyonce’s. The return has been variously labeled “triumphant” and “self-satisfied.” As you see below, there’s quite an interesting dynamic going on in the way that Beyonce ‘cedes’ the spotlight. Again, the direct link.
*Kanye was confronted by MTV officials and asked to leave; he was also apparently yelled at by Swift’s mother (and manager).
*According to several reports, West was drunk at the time he jumped up onto the stage.
*Kanye has since ‘apologized’ on his blog. First, in a post from last night, he wrote, in all caps:
I’m sooooo sorry to Taylor Swift and her fans and her mom,” he wrote. “I spoke to her mother right after and she said the same thing my mother would’ve said. She is very talented! I like the lyrics about being a cheerleader and she’s in the bleachers! I’m in the wrong for going on stage and taking away from her moment!
“Beyoncé’s video was the best of this decade!!!! I’m sorry to my fans if I let you guys down!!!! I’m sorry to my friends at MTV. I will apologize to Taylor 2mrw. Welcome to the real world!!!! Everybody wanna booooo me but I’m a fan of real pop culture!!! No disrespect but we watchin’ the show at the crib right now cause … well you know!!!! I’m still happy for Taylor!!!! Boooyaaawwww!!!! You are very very talented!!! I gave my awards to Outkast when they deserved it over me … That’s what it is!!!!!!! I’m not crazy y’all, i’m just real. Sorry for that!!! I really feel bad for Taylor and I’m sincerely sorry!!! Much respect!!!!!”
*This morning, he posted: ““I feel like Ben Stiller in Meet the Parents when he messed up everything and Robert DeNiro asked him to leave…That was Taylor’s moment and I had no right in any way to take it from her. I am truly sorry.”
So there we have it: Kanye West steals Taylor’s moment, makes a big scene, causes a big stir, and apologizes. Rather insincerely. But there’s some major image reification going on here: on the part of Kanye, most assuredly, but also as concerns the images of Swift, Beyonce, and MTV and its trademark awards show in general. I’ve asked the one and only Kristen Warner, frequent contributor to the blog, to help me find a way through this discursive and semiotic jungle. (In other words: people are interpreting this event in myriad ways — figuring it in terms of race, taste, contrivance and manipulation….and hopefully we can make some headway as to the various messages the event sent and will continue to send.)
My initial thoughts are as follows:
*MTV loves to exploit the VMAs. Ever since Madonna showed up in full 18th century garb to perform “Like a Virgin” (is that right? KW in: I think Virgin was the wedding dress roll around deal; Vogue might have been the 18th century garb), they’ve been a site primed for transgression. They even have a section in their web coverage of the event marked “Most Talked About Moments.” Think the Madonna/Britney/Christina three-way kiss; think Britney’s infamous and lethargic ‘comeback’ performance.
They’re desperately trying to keep the MTV brand - and these awards — relevant. And, apparently, succeeding. See Bruno/Sasha Baron Cohen’s incident with Eminem at last spring’s MTV Movie Awards for a less successful (and visibly orchestrated) attempt. The fact that Taylor Lautner, her future co-star, presented the award = no coincidence. And while I doubt MTV knew Kanye was going to do what he did, I do think they knew Swift was going to win (duh)…and have since profitted immensely, both discursively and through ad rates on the web site, from the firestorm that has emerged. They’re selling access to the entire show through OnDemand; as you’ve seen, the clips of the show are wed to commercials. Viacom is trying to find a model to profit off of the show in the DVR era. This seems to be working.
*This is what Kanye does. Reify his image. If we define a celebrity scandal as an incident when information about a celeb emerges that clashes or undercuts their existing star image, this is NO SCANDAL. Kanye has had temper tantrums — and I don’t know how else to describe them — before. The following encapsulates the kind of quotes Kanye offers on a regular basis: “I realize that my place and position in history is that I will go down as the voice of this generation, of this decade, I will be the loudest voice…It’s me settling into that position of just really accepting that it’s one thing to say you want to do it and it’s another thing to really end up being like Michael Jordan.” As someone pointed out, if anything, the fact that Kanye got up on stage — even when the ‘Video of the Year’ had yet to have been handed out, which Beyonce was obviously going to receive — points to either his stupidity or his supposed drunkenness. But it’s still not a scandal.
*This also does nothing but affirm Swift’s image as a precocious yet put-together star. I’ve been thinking about doing a post on Swift for awhile — and still might — as to the authenticity commonly affixed to her star. She writes all her own music, plays her own instruments, and puts all her friends and past loves in her songs. She’s not even 20 years old and already the saving grace of the music industry. She’s blonde, she’s adorable, she’s the anti-Miley Cyrus. One commentator calls her “a young Southern girl who is the first non-tramp role model America’s teenage girls have had in a decade.” And now that means Kanye has made her a victim - and she emerged triumphant. If anything, it’s only bolstered her fan base and consolidated pre-existing affection.
*I also want to note, in passing, that there are several theories that this was an elaborate conglomerate backstage deal: Viacom lets Kanye do his thing (the drinking was staged; that’s the reason why there was no security to take him off the stage, etc. etc.) and NBC/Universal gets to profit off his appearance on the premiere of Leno’s ‘new’ show on Monday. See Gawker’s recap for details. I’m quite dubious. As one of the columnists points out, “Yes, MTV likes controversy, but their fake controversies in the past—eg. Bruno falling on Eminem—ham-handedly telegraph “this is a stunt” a mile off. Last night, you saw a moment of genuine awkwardness production-wise after Kanye took the mic when the booth seemed to stumble and be unsure about cutting away—not the hallmark of a pre-planned, pre-choreographed stunt.” Indeed, I think the reason some people are wont to think of this as choreographed is because of MTV’s admitted orchestration of the Bruno/Eminem stunt. If you just watch these two side-by-side, you realize they’re operating on entirely different levels. Second, apparently President Obama called Kanye a ‘jackass’ in off-the-cuff, off-the-record remarks. I’m not even going to go there.
KW: I love disclaimers. So I will list the key one here: I do not think what Kanye did was acceptable. I think as Katy Perry said, his behavior essentially, “stepped on a kitten.” That said, there’s a couple things I want to elucidate on with regards to the phrase “stepped on a kitten.” The visual imagery that phrase suggests is powerful and visceral and somehow makes what Kanye did seem all the more traumatic and painful. He stomped on pure, white, fluffy, feline innocence and because of that we all need to rally around that innocence and encourage her. But what does that make Kanye? A big bully? An ogre? Someone who would tred on innocence? I don’t disagree that his alleged drunkenness certainly made him act out in highly inappropriate ways but is the way that we are discussing his behavior cause him to fall into one of those tropes? You know those tropes, those easily definable types that help us narrativize and make sense of these kinds of events. I can’t help but think that to a small degree we are working with some tropes about violent, oversexualized black masculinity in contrast with white innocence. I mean, for Christ sakes the girl is a country singer! You cannot get more down home white girl than that (also a trope). (AHP Comment: Just look at that picture. She’s wearing a white dress for goodness’ sakes.)
Also it is worth reiterating that Sunday night is not the first time Kanye has gone off book and expounded (most times not too terribly well) on the persons, places or things he believes have been wronged or unjustly inconsidered. Specifically, I’m thinking of the Concert for Hurricane Katrina Relief in September of 2005 when Kanye made his infamous statement (while standing next to poor, innocent Mike Myers) that “George Bush hates black people.” Watch that here:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nvzZJYqIdA]
An interesting point of comparison comes when you examine the similarity in Mike Myers reaction and Taylor’s reaction. Mortification, shock, dismay is quite evident for both “victims” of Kanye’s attack. But of course the latter event is layered with issues of gender and race that make it far more painful for Taylor and for the viewer. For Kanye, however, the distinction between Taylor and George is slim; the point is that in BOTH cases he was telling the truth as he saw it-live television be damned. Now I think that discussing the way Kanye’s latest outburst affected Taylor is important but the trauma will surely be shortlived. The message there will be that Kanye is a buffoon and a prima donna and Taylor is entitled to a long, successful career winning VMA’s and Grammy’s and whatever else she may dream to earn. However, the implications of Kanye’s statement during the Katrina telethon suggest that he is willing to stake his career (and yes, perhaps fulfill his very large ego’s desire to be the center of attention) on being plain about how things are and the fact that maybe, Bush isn’t the biggest fan of black folks-or of New Orleans, or of the greater Gulf Region for that matter. For me, nothing that he will ever do will top that telethon speech-not even commandeering Taylor’s VMA ‘moment”.
Finally, I know that to Annie, intention is hardly a component of celebrity gossip or scandal. It matters less that this might have been a planned kerfuffle than it does how the star images will be deconstructed and reconfigured through the tv news circuit and social networking communities (I hear he cried on Jay Leno!?!). Trust, I think both Annie and I agree that both parties will be fine. Kanye was fine post-Katrina telethon; Taylor will be more than fine after this encounter. However, I do want to consider the possibilities of this being a staged pseudo-event because everything seems so perfectly synchronized and everyone seemed so perfectly positioned throughout the course of the ceremony to be a simple coincidence. Similar to the above mentioned incident with Bruno and Eminem that was eventually proven to be staged, it is highly likely that something of equal twisted pathology could have been staged for these folks as well. Hell, even Beyonce got to play a key role in the restoration of the status quo. Look at this magnificent narrative at work: Kanye steps on the kitten, gets cursed out and banished from the building and we wait for the entire second half for the redemption which comes by way of the black Queen herself, Beyonce. Wearing the same red as Taylor, she ushered the teenager (who I might add was PREPARED to return to the stage complete with utter lack of shock or surprise face that would have been required for such a surprise) back onto the stage to “have her moment.” Everyone wins. Well, kinda. We get to talk about female solidarity (I’m not quite convinced that a pseudo event actually counts as genuine solidarity) but we also have to talk about racist tropes of black masculinity that so subtly creep back into public consciousness by way of simple but accurately poignant phrases like “stepped on a kitten.”
My final thought is: Why isn’t anyone really talking about the differences between Madonna reclaiming Michael Jackson as a pop star that more closely aligned with her own identity and not a BLACK pop star who lived in-between cultures for the great majority of his life? And why isn’t anyone talking about the greatest faux pas of the night: Rapper Lil’ Mama’s involuntary (she says she couldn’t help herself) stage jumping during Jay-Z and Alicia Keys’ performance of “New York State of Mind”? I’ve got some theories…and they all involve the lack of kittens.
Recycled Stars: The Case of Katie Holmes
I’m going to get to Katie Holmes and her appearance on So You Think You Can Dance, but first we need to slog through a bit of backstory. My comps reading has shifted into final gear: I’m attacking the third and final list of books/articles, all of which deal with the intersections between Hollywood, stardom, and shifts in the television industry.
There’s been a solid amount of work on the early move by Hollywood stars onto television — what motivated them, what discouraged them, who was successful and way. I’ve been reading Denise Mann seminal piece and Susan Murray, but I’m most indebted to Christine Becker’s excellent and expansive book, It’s the Pictures That Got Small, which I first encountered when researching Gloria Swanson’s early television career last semester — a massive project I’m sure I’ll post on at some point. Most of the ideas enumerated below are glossed from one of the above three authors.
Unlike old movies, most of which are readily accessible, it’s far harder to access old television — in part because the truly old television (from the late ’40) were often filmed using kinetoscoopes and thus very rarely preserved; in part because there’s not as much of a market for old episodes of a variety show with a now-forgotten star as its host (but the process is cyclical — he don’t remember the star in part because the text isn’t available).
I think the general assumption about stars on early television is that only the most washed way dared go there. There’s a grain of truth in that assumption, as early television was certainly derided and scary, and labeled as such for a number of reasons:
1.) It was a ‘chaotic, low-culture operation’ — it relied on the brass commercialism of SPONSORS….and if you were the star or host of a show, you were required to pitch the products, which was clearly beneath high-class, glamorous stars. What’s more, true “artists” saw the direct influence of sponsors to “corrupt” their craft.
2.) Early television had a very limited reach – it was not truly national until 1952 (due to a ban on station licenses, but that’s another story); in 1951, only 1/4 of America owned a set.
3.) As a result, not much money as incentive.
4.) Basic fear of overexposure: regular appearances could lessen ‘value’ of star appearance – audiences would get tired of them.
5.) Didn’t want one-dimensional images based on character (and not star image)
6.) Super taxing shooting schedule — since almost ALL television was live at this point, you had to be THERE at a certain time, looking a certain way, no exceptions. Huge change from the Hollywood livestyle.
7.) Poor quality of images - especially with kinetoscopes. Makes stars look OLD.
8.) Potential for embarrassment — because television was live, there were no re-takes. You had to hit your mark, your lines, your joke, whatever, each and every time.
Because of these fears, those who made it big in early television were generally radio stars — Amos ‘n’ Andy, for example — or had long histories in vaudeville, which required the same sort of ability to perform on cue (and with a taxing schedule). Comic variety/vaudeville also exploited the traits that television thought defined itself: it provided immediacy (the genre used ‘direct address’ — the host seemed to be speaking directly to you…and you had the best seat in the house); authenticity (because it was live you knew the star had talent — the star was also portrayed as ‘normal’ and ‘just like us,’ ‘down-homey’ and middle class — thus you could trust him when he tried to sell you products at the commercial break) and intimacy (again, you were close to the host, and he was speaking directly to you — and in your private living room, no less!).
But in 1952, a few things changed: first, with the ban on station licenses lifted, television began to spread much more quickly (because you could watch it in more regions) — thus the potential audience for a star became much larger, and advertisers were willing to pay more to fund shows. Second, some shows started to shift to filmed production — meaning they would film it as you would film a movie, including editing and takes, and then broadcast it. This is how non-live television is done today — and it started to catch on in 1952, alleviating some of the concerns of stars. Production also began to move to Los Angeles (it had formerly centered in NYC), which again catered to the Hollywood stars. Finally, the studios — especially Columbia and Universal — started to get into television production themselves, thus encouraging their stars to participate.
Stars — some big name, some smaller — thus began appearing on television in a number of capacities:
1.) As program hosts
Most often, smaller stars — namely ones who had ceased to have a viable Hollywood career — would be hosts, while the bigger stars would serve as guests. The hosts were the real “recycled” stars — people like Adolphe Menjou, Faye Emerson, Dinah Shore, Martha Raye, Groucho Marx, Gloria Swanson, Ronald Reagan, Errol Flynn, the list goes on and on.
2.) As part of an anthology drama
Anthology dramas were the high-class TV of the era — they were written by high-class playwrights, had high production values, or were based on classic novels. Sometimes they included ‘TV-ized’ versions of a recent movie, which would serve to encourage those who hadn’t seen the film to see it in its late runs. Studios could ask/force a star to appear in the TV-ized version — which is how a star as big as, say, Humphrey Bogart first appeared. Because they were “high class” and changed every week, a star could appear once and not fear he was tarnishing his image.
3.) Playing “his/herself”
Stars could appear as guests on a show, take part in a gag, or be part of a quiz/game show (there’s one show where a star had a secret and the audience had to figure it out — when Buster Keaton appeared on the show, his secret was “I’m sitting on a pie.”). The beauty of such appearances is that they would promote the star and his/her recent projects…and also shed light on the “authentic” self of the star. By appearing as oneself, the star was pledging that she was showing the “real” her — when, of course, she was likely acting as what the image of her “real self” was supposed to be. But television, like the one-on-one interview, could thus reinforce the authenticity of that supposed real, true, inner self — behind all the image manipulation. Interestingly, lots of gags with stars involved poking fun at the elaborate construction of their supposed images — Bette Davis appeared on one show and tried to make a cake, look fabulous, do math problems, etc. etc. — effectively making fun of how her publicity had framed her as the perfect domestic AND a glamour queen. Because the studio system had broken down (and with it the star system), stars were not only free to perform such ridicule, but perhaps required to — without the assistance of the studio publicity machines, the corners of the star fabric were beginning to fray. Stars could either make fun of their elaborate and impossible images — or look absurd. (Or you could say it’s beginning of postmodernism and irony….which is part of it as well.)
Appearing on TV could thus prove that you weren’t a construction — that there was a real “you” beneath all that publicity, and you could make fun of it to boot — and that you had genuine talent. For even as television moved from liveness to filmed, it was still seen to “test” a star’s real talent. Several articles from the period attested that someone like Rita Hayworth or Marilyn Monroe would never “translate” well on the television screen, as their images were too elaborate of constructions and would fall apart once under scrutiny, in poor quality transmission, or without the help of make-up artists and multiple takes. You had to have a certain something AND a certain talent to really be on television — perhaps best exemplified by Lucille Ball.
I could go on and on here, but as I’m processing this information, I’ve been thinking about our current recycled stars — and the roles they perform. Obviously, television has changed dramatically in the last 50 years — for one, stars no longer have to do the ‘pitching’ of the product being advertised. There’s also the rise of reality programming, which has obviously turned into a last chance stop for dozens of C and D-list stars.
But I’ve also been thinking of appearances like that of Katie Holmes on last week’s So You Think You Can Dance — in homage to Judy Garland. You can see highlights below:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGCNAao7Dws&hl=en&fs=1&]
The performance has been pretty widely ridiculed, citing her lethargy and lack of sparkle (I think this is especially apparent when you contrast Holmes with other (non-star) apperances on the show — all of whom are truly talented dancers).
So why would Holmes appear? Her next film doesn’t come out until 2010, so she’s not promoting anything — save herself? Her own image? Her ‘star’ is certainly at a low point — she can’t seem to open a movie (Mad Money was abyssmal) and the rumors persist of her servitude to husband Tom Cruise. But how does this appearance contribute to her image? Or counterbalance other rumors? Why did the producers approach HER — and not, say, some other star, better known for singing and dancing ability? For while the performance certainly garnered huge ratings for the show, did it add to or detract from her overall profile?
If we look at it in relation to the information I outlined above, I think she’s trying to rejeuvinate her image - add a different nuance. She was trying to do the same thing by appearing on Broadway — but again, she garnered only luke-warm reviews. Is she trying to be a serious actress? But isn’t the new route for ‘serious’ to appear in a small indie film with a juicy role? What is accomplished in linking herself to Garland?
By appearing “in homage” and in a dance role, she’s also not trying to allow access to her authentic self — we certainly don’t believe that she spends her days dancing in a top hat around Cruise, although that might be weird enough to believe. This isn’t a tell-all with Barbara Walters; she’s not poking fun at her image on Saturday Night Live. I mean, I feel like I see more of what I take as the ‘authentic’ Holmes in the picture of her and Cruise dancing (see below) than of her in costume as Garland. Has papparazzi taken over the ‘authenticity’ market?
So what does this particular type of ‘recyclage’ achieve? What about other types of recyclage — such as appearing on SNL, on talk shows, as guest judges, or as actual participants — does it always rejeuvinate a career? Or can it be harmful as well? What about stars like Alec Baldwin or Keifer Sutherland, who have jumpstarted their careers with strong television roles…but can they ever go back to leading roles on film? (The Other Sister might be our answer here).
Would really love to hear your thoughts here, especially on Holmes, as I’m still somewhat at a loss.
