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Our Golden Globes Hangover

Today’s post features a roundtable of various scholars from the Twitter media studies universe, all of whom (myself included) are invested in the Globes for rather different reasons. Read on — and make sure to weigh on the question posed at post’s end.

Hollywood’s only shining moment of the night

Annie:

I’m going to go ahead and say it: this year’s Globes was a game changer. And while it isn’t in any way predictive of who will actually win the Oscar (or the Emmy), this year’s show was markedly different than those of past years. Different, and, in my humble celebrity opinion, worse. It was more transparently commercial — and the artists involved registered their cognizance of that commerciality (and the general practice of studio bribing) accordingly. (See Nikki Finke’s incisive take down here). To my mind, even though it aired from 5-8 on the West Coast, it had all the trappings of NBC primetime: unfunny, trite, and throwaway. The electricity and spontaneity the Globes historically connote: gone. Here’s a brief break-down of what went wrong.

1.) Gervais stunk. I’m sure we’ll elaborate on this further, but let’s just agree that his particular brand of humor did not lend itself well to the Globes format.

2.) At the risk of sounding elitist — and again, this is a point that we’ll have to discuss at length — several wrong things won for all the wrong reasons. The wins for Glee, Robert Downey Jr., Sandra Bullock, Up in the Air, or Avatar made this much abundantly clear. Now, I’m not saying that I don’t like Glee or RDJ, or that I didn’t appreciate most of Up in the Air, or that I don’t value the achievement and innovation of Avatar. Heck, I even kinda sorta like Sandra Bullock. But they weren’t the best in their categories — that much is near universally agreed upon. They’re popular and likable, but not the best. Which is why I repeatedly Tweeted that this year’s Globes were resembling The People’s Choice awards — not lauds from a group of critics. I’m particularly incensed by Bigelow and Mulligan’s losses.

3.) 90% of the celebrities were wooden. There was obviously not enough champagne drinking going on. Maybe it was the rain? The general spark and spontaneity generally associated with the Globes was gone, and I blame James Cameron’s massive ego for sucking all the oxygen out of the air. When Robert De Niro has the best and juiciest speech (okay, okay, rivaled by that of RDJ) you know something’s off. There was no Pitt Porn, there were few bitch faces (save that of Jessica Lange, who gave two excellent ones — one for Drew (who didn’t even thank her) and another for Cameron’s trite call to “pat ourselves on the back.”) There was one moment when it looked like George Clooney’s Italian Queen was perhaps giving him a happy ending under the table, but they cut away too quickly.

4.) No really. Nothing exciting happened. I thought we were headed for greatness when the now-skeletal Felicity Huffman went off the rails in the early moments of the ceremony, but hers was the last gaff of the evening. I also loved Julia Roberts vintage asshole behavior during the red carpet — with Tom Hanks by her side, she made fun of NBC and yelled “who’s Natalie?!?” when Billy Bush decided to cut his losses and leave them be. But shots of her flirting with Paul McCartney simply couldn’t salvage a dry night.

5.) And I blame the director. Of the broadcast, that is. There was a paucity of choice reaction shots. There were all sorts of opportunities to catch the stars reacting poorly — when Gervais was digging on writers, say — but there was a lot of rushed panning and random celebrities. Why couldn’t we have more shots of William Hurt’s beard? Like all the time? Enough of Julia’s smile and Meryl looking quietly bemused. Let’s get some extended Clooney nookie action, or at least Cameron passive aggressively looking out the corner of his eye at how hot his exwife still is.

It’s like a party where you drank a lot and know you’ll be hungover the next day, but didn’t actually get the feel the joyful and giddy pleasures of being intoxicated. And that’s just the worst. Almost as bad, that is, as Sandra Bullock winning Best Actress for a movie about white people saving black people.

Myles McNutt (Graduate Student, TV Critic/Blogger)

I don’t want to sound as if I’m speaking out in support of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, but I think it’s important to clarify that this is not, in fact, a group of critics. They are (primarily) members of the press and little more, closer to tabloid reporters than to a Roger Ebert (not to suggest that Ebert himself is perfect, but he is unquestionably a critic and not a reporter). Perhaps it’s because I’ve spent so much time in the past ranting about how the HFPA fetishizes the new, continues to elevate HBO over the rest of television, and somehow has never realized how inane their supporting acting categories are, but I’ve come to the point where I’m almost rooting for the Globes to go off in bizarre directions.

The problem is that, while most of us have written off the show, the industry has not: the Globes have an influence on the Oscar race (Bullock, for example, is now guaranteed an Oscar nomination), and every star (except for Robert Downey Jr., who revealed the “HFPA are nuts” line of argumentation in his speech) thanks the Hollywood Foreign Press Association as if they are a voting body that deserves to be recognized as a legitimate sign of a film/show/star’s quality. I don’t blame them for this, but I do always worry about providing the show any sense of legitimacy. I might, in a bubble, be fine with Sandra Bullock’s win in terms of the Globes being the only non-fan-voted awards show crazy enough to give her an award for making history as the only woman to topline a film earning more than $200 Million, but I’m not so fine with the idea that her performance could knock out a more deserving competitor (Mulligan is safe, I think) come the Oscars.

What’s convenient about viewing the show from a primarily television perspective, however, is that they have extremely little impact: their love for things which are popular or airing on cable means that few shows are going to be “rescued” by a Golden Globe win, and because there’s such a long gap before the Emmys (and because the Supporting categories are organized so differently) there’s really no correlation. So on that front, I’m sort of glad Glee won a Golden Globe, since its chances of coming close to winning an Emmy are slim; the Globes sit in that liminal space between popular and legitimate, and I think that defines Glee almost perfectly, so it feels “right” (in so much as it feels kind of wrong, but in a way that I’ve come to accept).

I agree with Annie that Gervais was a failure, and would argue it was a combination of both the format not being built for a host (too many categories, too little time to develop rhythms) and Gervais not bothering to try very hard (which I expand upon here). And while there may not have been much exciting happening in the ballroom itself, I thought there was some great banter on Twitter: without the online engagement, I probably would have found the show excruciating. In the end, though, I guess my expectations were such that what we saw felt almost comfortably precisely, and I guess my Golden Globes-related cynicism might finally be close to depletion.

Hopefully next year will provide a refill - I don’t like being the closest thing we might have to an HFPA advocate.

Noel Kirkpatrick (Graduate Student, Blogger)

This had to be the dullest, least surprising Golden Globes in…well…forever (was no one drinking?!). Which is odd, since the thought of Ricky Gervais hosting had all of us very excited. In fact, that Gervais wasn’t very entertaining was probably the biggest surprise of the evening. The Globes don’t have the leisurely pace of the Oscars, and Gervais has always taken over an awards presentation in a leisurely way. There’s no room for him to do his awkward comedy bits (with Steve Carell) when you have to move so briskly. It’s that scruffy, pig-nosed guy coming in from nowhere and tweaking the institution that makes us laugh, not him getting swallowed into it.

I’ve never been a fan of how the Globe organizes its dining tables, and it’s telling. The television folks feel scattered, sometimes way in the back, while the cinema folks are all very up front, easily shot for the cameras (though, the camera work in this telecast was ABYSMAL). It perpetuates this sense of stratification between cinema and television. Indeed, the telecast not only does it with its seating chart, but how it presents awards. The television awards are mostly up first, instead of scattered throughout. Why? To keep the audience, that they assume cares more about movies, watching to see who will win. (Even more telling is the presence of an award for lifetime work in film but not one for television.) This is a well stood upon soapbox, so I won’t belabor the point any longer save to say that people watch these award shows on TV, not on a silver screen and that matters. (Or it should matter more.)

Interestingly, however, I think this ties back into the elitism that Annie mentions. I can’t comment on most of the film winners simply because I haven’t seen most of the nominees, and neither did/could most of the people watching from home (How many people in the home audience saw An Education? My mother hadn’t even heard of The Hurt Locker). Yes, it’s not the People’s Choice Awards, but Bullock, Downey, Jr., and Cameron essentially, as Myles noted in the Twitter conversation, bought their Globes with box office dollars, not with merit. Perhaps in the face of sagging award show ratings, the HFPA decided to do the arty television (notice that we’re not really chiding them for their television votes (except for ignoring Neil Patrick Harris, c’mon people!)) and the mainstream movies to keep people viewing.

I personally always tune in for drunk celebrities.

Lindsay H. Garrison (Ph.D. student, blogger):

So the celebrities weren’t drunk, but the broadcast’s director could have been. So many shaky floor shots and awkward zooms - all for boring reactions and rushed walks to the podium. I’m with Annie: more of William Hurt’s beard, please.

The People’s Choice Awards Golden Globes were less than spectacular last night, with surprising wins that seemed more like picking the quarterback and the head cheerleader for homecoming court than the best acting talent or films. But I’m not sure I’d go as far as calling this a game-changer. While it’s easy to dismiss the HFPA for voting Avatar best picture along with Sandy B. and Meryl as best actresses (in a drama and comedy/musical, respectively), there were at least a few other head nods that didn’t seem like total celebrity suck-up: Best Original Song could have gone to U2 or Paul McCartney, but Ryan Bingham and T Bone Burnett took home the trophy for Crazy Heart. Jeff Bridges won over George Clooney for Best Actor. (Okay, that’s a stretch; Jeff Bridges isn’t a total ingenue, but his speech was great - who else thanks their stand-in?) Seriously, though. Yes, the Globes felt flat and too mainstream this year, but I’m not sure the Globes were ever really a truly magical event that their mediocrity is something I’m going to mourn for too long. I think their role as an Oscar barometer and box office nudger are still intact.

I mean, Avatar was already a clear front-runner for Best Picture; The Hurt Locker, Inglorious Basterds, and Precious have already made their Oscar mark with dominating wins at the Critic’s Choice Awards. I’m not sure this totally means Oscar failure for them or necessarily guarantees a win for Cameron and Avatar. Streep was already a front runner in the actress category, and yes, Bullock’s win does perhaps make her more of a stronger contender to Streep. So, we’ll see. But in the meantime, here are my thoughts on other parts of last night’s broadcast.

Notable TV win: Julianna Margulies for The Good Wife (in its first season on CBS). Margulies finally wins after being nominated six times for her work on E.R. (did you see her get a congratulatory kiss from George Clooney? Oh, Dr. Ross and Nurse Hathaway.) But The Good Wife is a show that intrigues me; there’s something about it that I really like, but something that keeps me from all-out loving it. Just renewed for its second season, its win here will hopefully allow Margulies and team to develop the show further and let it find its stride.

Most Wheels-Off Presentations: Harrison Ford looked like he hated being there and just wanted to go to bed (hopefully video will find its way online soon). Felicity Huffman could hardly get the words out of her mouth, and Taylor Lautner could hardly be heard over everyone still talking in the ballroom. Presenting the award for Best Comedy suited him well, but even on TV, it was obvious no one was paying him any attention.

Best Moments in Acceptance Speeches: My personal favorite goes to Julianna Margulies, who snuck a jab in at NBC (who was airing the awards show) when she thanked Les Moonves “for believing in the 10:00 drama.” Mo’Nique brought a tear to my eye in her heartfelt speech; too bad it was the first one of the night and seemed to be quickly forgotten. Scorcese gave a great speech in his win for the Cecille B. DeMille Award, captivating the room with his love for the art and desire to see it preserved. And James Cameron, G-d bless him, spoke a sentence or two of Na’vi while accepting the award for Avatar. (I know. Seriously).

Kristen (Phd, Late to the game blogger)

I can only blame CP time for why I’m late to this roundtable. But uh..I’m here. So here it goes.

First, I want to say that this whole section is in great part a conversation I had with some of my most trusted and respected bedfellows. So thanks IC.

Second, I disagree about Gervais. I thought he was a great host. Funny, smart, timely, and not afraid to state things the way they are and not the way publicists would like it to be. I’m not quite sure I want to return to the Hugh Jackman-esque/Billy Crystalitis that has been award show performers. I want someone who can make the celebs a little uncomfortable. They don’t just exist in that ballroom. They exist on the Pacific Coast Highway inebriated to the utmost and bedhobbing from star to star. Let’s not pretend like all is wel just cause you’re in some loaned pretty garments. And that is what I loved about Gervais.

I disagree with Annie on the being irate at the Golden Globes thing. In my opinion, to look to the Golden Globes as an indicator of “quality” like looking to the Nickeoloden summer awards to know who’ll be the next “it” person. A futil enterprise, indeed. I’ve said elsewhwere that I believe the Golden Globes are the Walmart of award ceremonies. Complete with Rollback prices. To expect anything LESS than populist award winners is problematic. As had been said about the “HFPA” (in scare quotes because if they’re journalists, then I’m Lady Gaga..and I ain’t), they are more concerned about partying with celebrities than about actually being concerned about awarding good films their due. Also, as I was reminded in an earlier conversation this move to the popular has slowly been emerging. Recall, the changes made to the Oscars to accommodate more populist movies by expanding the nominees from 5 to 10 selections in various POPULAR categories. Perhaps the Globes are following suit(especially since they can construct the winners as they see fit).

Which leads me to this point: I may sound a bit ornery but really, what is the point of televised award shows? Is it really to elect the “best” film? Is it really to appreciate and give praise to the films we won’t forget about by the time Memorial Day rolls around? No, as Laineygossip says, “it’s about style.” And, you know what, we need to be honest about that and admit that that is what it is. I will remember that Reese Witherspoon wore a fantastic gown and had fantastic hair and makeup. I will remember that Clooney and his Italian new young thang were there and she may have been entertaining him in ways untold underneath that tablecloth. I will remember that Julia Roberts needs to go ahead and retire because it’s over. I will not, however, remember The Hangover. I will not, however, remember The Blind Side (well, I might if it makes into my dissertation). Why? Because they will fade with time. And the things I remember are more about extratextual things rather than the films themselves. Think about it: Aren’t the less televised, lesser known critic circles really where we should be looking to determine what the worthy (that is, respectable, important, relevant, quality) cinema is? Televised award shows are placed in a set of boundaries that pertain to ratings and advertising revenue and popular acceptability. Forget Julia Roberts, “Who’s Natalie?!” deal. Insert into the masses’ mouth: “Who’s Kathryn Bigelow?!” I rest my case.

Finally, I really do think there’s something to minority actors and international actors acceptance speeches that functions to set the tone and generate some sort of appropriation device by which all other winners restate what the formers acceptance speech was. I’m thinking particularly about Mo’nique’s winning speech and Drew Barrymore’s “redo” of that. Drew don’t know Mo’nique. Probably won’t know Mo’nique. So for her to “shout out to her” in that way (despite Barrymore already being a nutter) is interesting.

Enough for now.

Kelli Marshall (UToledo, Unmuzzled Thoughts)

I think everything that can be said about this year’s Golden Globes ceremony has been said:

  • Ricky Gervais was less than thrilling. However, as some have pointed out, it’s not necessarily all his fault.
  • NBC (aptly?) was reamed throughout the ceremonies, e.g., “Let’s get going, before they replace me with Jay Leno” (Gervais); “Just want to say thanks to Les Moonves for believing in the 10 o’clock drama” (Julianna Margulies).
  • The speeches of Mo’Nique (earnest), Robert Downey, Jr. (sarcastically amusing), and Meryl Streep (reflective) stood out.
  • William Hurt’s beard was a highlight of the night. Just ask Noel Kirkpatrick.
  • Witnessing The Hangover, The Blind Side, and Sherlock Holmes receive accolades prompted many to rename this year’s broadcast The People’s Choice Awards.
  • Slow-talking Harrison Ford and eye-rolling Jennifer Aniston evidently did not want to be presenting.
  • Kathryn Bigelow and The Hurt Locker were inexplicably shut out.
  • De Niro and Di Caprio’s tribute to their mentor and friend, “Marty” Scorsese, was touching, funny, and well deserved.
  • Upon accepting his award for Avatar, James Cameron spoke Na’vi. WTF?

My colleagues have already skillfully (and humorously) analyzed many of these events, discrepancies, and surprises. To this end, I will keep my analysis to a minimum, politely redirecting you to the above bullet points. I would like to mention, however, a bit about Twitter and its role in my Golden Globe experience this year.

Generally, I don’t watch award shows in their entirety. With TiVo remote in hand, I often fast-forward only to the categories that interest me (e.g., comedy/musical, drama, best film). This year, however, I decided to view the Golden Globes as they aired, tweeting while I watched.

Last night, my Twitterverse consisted of about 5 of 6 “film and media people,” grad students and professors, firing off tweets at each other about every 30 seconds. (Yeah, it’s hard to keep up!) Short statements about fashion (or lack thereof), awards speeches, winners, and losers flooded our Twitter accounts (apologies to my followers who had no real interest in The Globes). In 140 characters or fewer, we dissected the evening in real-time, cheering virtually for Dexter, Mo’Nique, and Glee, and booing virtually for Sandra Bullock, Sherlock Holmes, and Avatar. It’s a strange little community, Twitter. But it sure does make a three-hour event much more entertaining than it’s ever been before. Perhaps you’ll join us at the Oscars?

Annie Again:

Having slept on my earlier comments, I do agree that this year’s Globes was not as much as a ‘game changer’ as I’d like it to be. I want people to be weirded out by this Globes, but listening to the chatter online, in the blogs, and on the air, no one seems to think this was all that special. WHICH KINDA FLOORS ME. Am I experiencing selective amnesia? Between the show itself (boring) and the chose of awardees (populist), it still seems much different — a return to Weinstein/art-house backlash that brought us a win for Gladiator and The Lord of the Rings over at the Oscars. Thus, in conclusion, I’d love to hear others’ thoughts on whether this particular Globes signified as different or as par for the course….and, of course, your own favorite and least favorite moments. Let the roundtable continue.

Team Conan: Nice Guys Finish First. Okay, well, kinda.

So you’ve got a weird looking male comedian. He has flaming red hair, his humor is relentlessly self-deprecating, and he has real talent. He also has a certain demeanor — different from Leno, different from Letterman, different from Carson — that makes you want to buy him a drink, give him relationship advice, and ask him to your sister’s wedding as a platonic date. He’s not a star (clearly, he’s a television personality — like reality stars and daytime television hosts, he’s not an actor). He’s a comedian. Who ‘plays’ himself, whether in skits, appearing on other shows (Liz Lemon’s ex-boyfriend!) or interviewing guests. Conan O’Brien doesn’t play other people, he doesn’t take roles. Rather, he cultivates the image of Conan.

And ever since he took over as the host of The Late Show following the Leno-Letterman war for The Tonight Show, his particular persona has been built on a foundation of likability. I’m not saying the guy is the Ellen Degeneres of Late Night — forgive me, but he’s far funnier, and treads the fine line of respectability and poor taste in a way that pleasures me to no end. And just look at that face!

Like Tom Hanks and Jimmy Stewart and, yes, even Ellen, that face demands to be liked. I look at Leno’s face, and I want to punch him. I look at Letterman’s face, and I kinda suspect he’s up to no good. But I look at Conan’s face — and, crucially, he’s almost always referred to by his first name — and I want to ask him to by my screwball adopted uncle.

Jay's Enormous Chin: Askin' for it.

My point exactly.

So when NBC made the decision earlier this week to move The Jay Leno Show back to 11:35, thus displacing Conan and his hard-earned Tonight Show back to The Late Show‘s slot at 12:30, the air was thick with electric potential. How would my screwball adopted uncle react?

Earlier today, Conan issued a statement that not only reified his established persona, but has quickly and effectively unified his fan base behind him. Take a look at the statement, which I’m copying in full:

People of Earth:

In the last few days, I’ve been getting a lot of sympathy calls, and I
want to start by making it clear that no one should waste a second
feeling sorry for me. For 17 years, I’ve been getting paid to do what I
love most and, in a world with real problems, I’ve been absurdly lucky.
That said, I’ve been suddenly put in a very public predicament and my
bosses are demanding an immediate decision.

Six years ago, I signed a contract with NBC to take over The Tonight
Show in June of 2009. Like a lot of us, I grew up watching Johnny Carson
every night and the chance to one day sit in that chair has meant
everything to me. I worked long and hard to get that opportunity, passed
up far more lucrative offers, and since 2004 I have spent literally
hundreds of hours thinking of ways to extend the franchise long into the
future. It was my mistaken belief that, like my predecessor, I would
have the benefit of some time and, just as important, some degree of
ratings support from the prime-time schedule. Building a lasting
audience at 11:30 is impossible without both.

But sadly, we were never given that chance. After only seven months,
with my Tonight Show in its infancy, NBC has decided to react to their
terrible difficulties in prime-time by making a change in their
long-established late night schedule.

Last Thursday, NBC executives told me they intended to move the Tonight
Show to 12:05 to accommodate the Jay Leno Show at 11:35. For 60 years
the Tonight Show has aired immediately following the late local news. I
sincerely believe that delaying the Tonight Show into the next day to
accommodate another comedy program will seriously damage what I consider
to be the greatest franchise in the history of broadcasting. The Tonight
Show at 12:05 simply isn’t the Tonight Show. Also, if I accept this move
I will be knocking the Late Night show, which I inherited from David
Letterman and passed on to Jimmy Fallon, out of its long-held time slot.
That would hurt the other NBC franchise that I love, and it would be
unfair to Jimmy.

So it has come to this: I cannot express in words how much I enjoy
hosting this program and what an enormous personal disappointment it is
for me to consider losing it. My staff and I have worked unbelievably
hard and we are very proud of our contribution to the legacy of The
Tonight Show. But I cannot participate in what I honestly believe is its
destruction. Some people will make the argument that with DVRs and the
Internet a time slot doesn’t matter. But with the Tonight Show, I
believe nothing could matter more.

There has been speculation about my going to another network but, to set
the record straight, I currently have no other offer and honestly have
no idea what happens next. My hope is that NBC and I can resolve this
quickly so that my staff, crew, and I can do a show we can be proud of,
for a company that values our work.

Have a great day and, for the record, I am truly sorry about my hair;
it’s always been that way.

Yours,
Conan

Note the themes, tone, opening, closing: there’s no name calling, there’s no mention of Zucker, there’s not even an explicit jab at Leno. Instead, there’s a sense of respect, not only for his fans, but the long history of the show that he has long held sacred. When he writes ““My staff and I have worked unbelievably hard and we are very proud of our contribution to the legacy of The Tonight Show. But I cannot participate in what I honestly believe is its destruction,” he implicates NBC, but he does it in a way that emphasizes the fact that he’s simply attempting to protect his show, its history, and the millions who have watched it over the last six decades. He’s not protecting himself — he’s protecting his show! Its legacy! HOW CAN YOU ARGUE WITH THAT, AMERICA?!?

Such respect is juxtaposed with his own signature humor, both in his address and salutation. The statement mixes an extremely serious call to action, a well-earned defense of his previous work, and clear markers of his personality to a tremendous effect: it’s the work of an excellent writer and extremely savvy member of Hollywood, and, even better, it is by all accounts the work of Conan alone. (As always, it doesn’t matter if it actually is or not — what matter is that enough people are reporting that his agents didn’t want him to issue the statement, but he purportedly stayed up into the wee hours of the night crafting what he “knew he had to do.”) The statement is thus constructed as the outpouring of his own passionate, dedicated, and innately quirky self.

This much is authenticated by the statement’s reception, which has been without exception positive. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such uniform support for a star or personality. In articles, comments, and Tweets, he’s called a “class act,” “honest,” “full of integrity,” etc. et. al. Even curmudgeon Nikki Finke really, really admires the move:

I’m proud of O’Brien for standing his ground and protecting his own and The Tonight Show’s future from NBC’s nitwits. There’s a rich legacy of that among his predecessors, from Steve Allen through Jack Paar and during Johnny Carson: they all refused to knuckle under to the network. Only Jay Leno didn’t. Instead, he begged like a dog for The Tonight Show, and then rolled over and played dead even after Zucker canned him. Then Leno stayed with the network and agreed to a 10 PM show doomed fromn the outset. What a doormat. Obviously, NBCU thought Conan would be just as compliant. I’m thrilled that he’s not. Hollywood should be, too, and publicly support him.

Because it’s the kind of principled position you don’t see anymore from showbiz talent who these days are afraid for their future livelihoods in this downsizing entertainment community and just grateful for a job, any job. As much as Big Media’s networks and studios think they call all the shots, and in almost every case they do because they’re so rich and powerful, here’s one of those rare times when they can’t push people around at will.

And in the hours since the release of Conan’s statement, the internet has facilitated the coalescence of fan sentiment. The Twitter hashtag #TeamConan hovers between the fourth and fifth trending topic, and a Facebook Team Conan page has already attracted 10,000 fans. IN UNDER SIX HOURS.

A quck sampling of #TeamConan tweets to exemplify the current sentiment:

Oh Conan. Lead. I will follow your pale, pale torch.

Conan, I have heard what they are planning to do to your show and it isn’t fair! Congrats on declining the offer! Fight man, fight!

Conan O’Brien has more class in his little finger than all of those guys at NBC put together!

I am for #team conan. Even the Pentagon is! I have never watched a full episode but might just tonight to spite NBC’s ongoing stupidity.

So we like Conan. But I want to emphasize a few crucial points — especially since they’re mostly getting glossed over in the media coverage. First, sure, we like Conan. But we like the IDEA of Conan. As the last Tweet makes clear, most of us don’t watch the show. In fact, I have NEVER seen one of the new episodes of The Tonight Show with Conan was host. The fandom and #TeamConan movement is around what Conan represents — not his actual product. As as Dyer and other star scholars have long emphasized, a star or personality can be tremendously popular….and even still, no one goes to see his movies, buy his products, or watch his show. Conan’s problem isn’t NBC, per se; it’s the fact that only older audiences still watch late night television (because only older audiences still watch late night news) and the younger, commercially viable audiences either get their comedy/current events via The Daily Show, which plays at all hours and is always available via Comedycentral.com or through other online comedy sites. I’m particularly fascinated by the fact that much of the Conan Twitter support has been stirred by a tweet by comedian Jim Gaffigan, a hilarious stand-up comedian with a Twitter following of 150,000. Gaffigan isn’t popular because 150,000 people have seen him live; he’s popular because of his YouTube videos, radio clips (I personally was first introduced to him via Seattle’s 103.7 5:20 Funny). In fact, my own affection for Conan, at least in recent years, centers around his tangental role in 30 Rock. The lesson, it seems, is that people aren’t rooting for Conan’s show, per se, as much as they’re rooting for a style of comedy and a persona — and a youthfulness. And even though Conan evoked the storied past of The Tonight Show in his statement, most of the people Tweeting their support wouldn’t even find Johnny Carson, or his particular brand of humor, funny.

Second, Team Conan has no embodied opposition. It’s not like Twilight, when Team Jacob is clearly up against Team Edward. There is no Team Jay. NBC isn’t deciding between Jay and Conan; it’s already announced that Leno will be back at 11:35. Finke and others think that the statement could be used for leverage, but I think Conan’s gone. His agent are fielding dozens of calls. It’s not that he’s not a formidable competitor for Leno — he certainly is — it’s that there’s just not a contest. They’re catering to very different demographics, with very different styles. As more than one commentator has pointed out, this isn’t 1992, when Leno and Letterman were constructed as rivals. Conan’s opposition is NBC, which has already demonstrated that it no longer even understands the rules by which these games, let alone fights, are played.

And third, we need to step back and consider why people would find it important enough to digitially voice their support for a persona. To reinvoke the Twilight analogy, when you announce yourself as Team Jacob, you’re announcing something specific about what you find attractive in a male and in a relationship. You’re also rejecting the hegemony of Team Edward. To be Team Edward is to be different. Does the same hold for Team Conan? Just because he has red hair and a quirky sense of humor, does that mean that my support for him actually says a single thing about me? If anything, supporting Conan, especially considering the outpouring of support, simply reinforces how easy, and ultimately non-controversial, it is to like the guy. He issued a statement that signified as gutsy, brave, and dignified — all traits that, like his plaintiff Irish face, are easy to get behind. Now, if he would’ve said something rude, or made fun of Leno, or said that Leno’s audience would be dead in twenty years, or that NBC was completely screwed, or dared to blasphemy the past, present, or future of late night comedy — that would be risky. And if fans were voicing their support for that — well, that would be something (even more significant) to write about. As is, I like him. I could motivate my fingers to type in the #TeamConan hashtag. But I’ll still fall asleep before he comes on tonight, as I generally do, and there’s very little to be done about that particular situation.


Why we watch Friday Night Lights — And why so many others don’t.

Is this what this show is really about?

Note: Today’s post takes the form of a back-and-forth between me and one of the few people I know with equal parts sports and celebrity knowledge: Peter Holter. As such, he was the perfect choice to write a column on the allure (and persistent failure) of Friday Night Lights, a show that ranks amongst both of our personal favorites. Warning — Spoilers lurk below.

Peter:

I’ve got a few celebrity stories under my belt. I stood next to Yao Ming at a baggage claim, I had dinner with Jessica Simpson, I rode a chairlift with Ralph Fiennes. I don’t get star struck, but I do usually find a way to make a fool of myself. Last summer I got a chance to add to my short list when I met Zach Gilford, who plays high school quarterback Matt Saracen on the NBC drama Friday Night Lights, at a bar in northern California. It turns out that we work for the same company in the summers.

One of the things that really bothers me about Friday Night Lights is the unrealistic nature of the football games, despite all the gritty realism that makes up the rest of the show. I hate that the Panthers will win one game 49-48 with a high-powered offense and sieve-like defense, then squeak out the next one 7-6. I hate that almost every game comes down to some last second miracle play. I really hate it when it’s fourth and a million with zero seconds left and no timeouts remaining and Coach Taylor calls a run up the middle that somehow goes for a 70-yard touchdown. And I really, really hate that the starting quarterback on a Texas 5A State Championship football team is 5’7”, 140 pound weak-armed kid that sometimes can’t remember how to throw a spiral.

Not really a Texas 5A quarterback.

With all that said, I really do like the show, because it isn’t really about football and I can overlook that stuff. So as I got introduced to Gilford I told him, “I watch your show, I like it.” It should be noted here that a) Gilford is even shorter than you think he is, and b) is surrounded by a horde of giggling girls that work for our company that swore beforehand that they were impressed by neither celebrity nor short men. As a non-celebrity, this is a maddening thing to watch - you will find yourself supremely disappointed in women as a whole if you ever get to see it. Gilford looked up at me and said, “Oh, so you’re the one.” Uproarious laughter from all of Gilford’s female hangers-on ensued, and there ended my Zach Gilford encounter.

I imagine that this wasn’t the first time his canned response had been so successful. It’s great for him because he gets to pretend to be humble despite the fact that questioner clearly knows that he’s famous. But it’s also very true: nobody watches his show. In three full seasons, Friday Night Lights’ best Nielsen rating was a 5.3 (about 8.2 million viewers), good enough to be the 52nd ranked show that week. That was season one, and the ratings have gone down and down ever since. And yet, it keeps getting renewed. It keeps getting nominated for Emmys. Taylor Kitsch keeps getting nominated for Teen Choice Awards. [Annie interjection: And it won a Peabody Award, for goodness sakes!] So why can’t NBC make it a popular show?

The show certainly doesn’t fit the mold of today’s successful television. The most popular show of the last five years has been American Idol. Dancing With the Stars routinely cleans up in the ratings. People can’t seem to get enough of their CSI spin-offs and medical dramas, and Friday Night Lights is none of the above. In fact, Friday Night Lights is part of an exclusive club of shows in recent years that can’t seem to find commercial success until they hit the DVD racks. For examples of this, see: It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Arrested Development, and Mad Men to name a few.

When I told Zach Gilford that I watched his show, I was technically lying: I watched all three seasons on DVD. Season 4 is underway and I haven’t seen an episode yet. In fact, I am actively waiting for it to come out on DVD because I can’t stand waiting a week between episodes and because I don’t like commercials. So as far as the commercial success of that show is concerned, I’m part of the problem. And that’s a problem because people like me – the type of person that is going to watch and get involved with and love Friday Night Lights – generally isn’t the type of person that makes time to watch television.

I like Friday Night Lights because it tells a good story. It has terrific characters and the acting is first rate. I started watching it because I thought it was about football, but I’ve continued to watch it because it’s really about family; football and small town America just make a great backdrop. The people who watch television, though, who dictate the ratings and perpetuate what gets made, don’t seem to want to watch family and small town America. They want to watch celebrities dancing and they want to watch outlandish crime investigations involving beautiful people and beautiful detectives. The people that are going to appreciate Friday Night Lights for it’s subtlety and nuance probably don’t watch TV; they have DVD players, Netflix subscriptions and DVRs.

My appreciation for the show came into full bloom in season three, when Landry Clarke finally put a stop to his unrequited love affair with local bombshell Tyra Collette, comparing her to the kid in Shel Silverstein’s classic The Giving Tree. I hate that kid in The Giving Tree; I’ve said for years that that that book should have been re-titled The Taking Kid and I’ve cited it in my own life on more than one occasion, so naturally I enjoyed Landry’s reference immensely. I realized later, though, that this wasn’t the only reason I liked this scene. The easy thing to do – the popular thing – would have been to finally unite the two. Popular shows tend to take that route: they sweep characters like Jason Street under the table when the audience tires of them, they let characters like Buddy Garrity remain reprehensible and one-dimensional, and they make certain that lovable doofuses like Landry Clarke always get the girl in the end. I like Friday Night Lights because it doesn’t do that, but it may also be why most of America doesn’t.

Landry and Tyra

And all this isn’t even mentioning the fact that NBC clearly doesn’t want it to be successful. Who airs a good show on Friday night? I get that it’s called Friday Night Lights. I get that high school football games are played on Friday nights. But that doesn’t mean you have to air the show on Fridays. We’re talking about a show that is catered to the 18-39 demographic – a part of society that has been conditioned for years to believe that on Friday nights, you must be out of your house, dressed up and doing crazy things like buying expensive drinks and trying to hook up. This is the de facto cool, and watching Friday Night Lights as it aired on Friday would be an iron-clad alibi that you are, in fact, not cool. [Annie interjection: Or that you do not, in fact, like high school football, since you're obviously home watching the show instead of shivering on the bleachers of your local high school.]

It’s a bit like a guy that never does anything to show his girlfriend he cares about her, and ultimately loses her because of it. If you don’t watch the show when it airs, you don’t help it’s ratings, you don’t help it bring in advertising dollars, and you may cost yourself several seasons of a great thing. If I ever get to meet Minka Kelly in a bar instead of Gilford, I’ll buy her a drink and tell her we’re all sorry.

This girl gets a drink and an apology.

Annie’s Response:

First off, I have to admit a lack of objectivity when it comes to this show. It documents a town and football fanaticism very close to my own high school experience: I may not have grown up in Texas, but I knew what it was like to be on the sidelines of multiple state championship games, not to mention the unique dynamics of a working class town (and its corresponding devotion to football). Friday Night Lights is also filmed in Austin, which means I’ve had first hand encounters with Matt Saracen (next to me in yoga), Coach Taylor (watching a screening of Jurassic Park with his family at the Paramount), Julie Taylor (walking past me while I was drinking gin at The Driskell), Tyra’s mom (at the RTF Department Party) and the new set of East Dillon High (a mere three blocks from my home). Apart from my emotional attachment, I absolutely agree with Peter that there’s something remarkable about this show. But I, too, have never viewed the show when it airs. So what gives?

Let’s look to NBC, which, with this show, has only further demonstrated their complete inability to properly market a show. For me, the crux of the issue isn’t so much that the majority of quotidian television viewers gravitate towards reality television and Jerry Bruckheimer-produced procedurals. Rather, the root of the problem is Friday Night Lights’ incompatibility both with NBC and network television in general.

As Peter points out above, FNL is a quiet, nuanced show, with meandering, oftentimes unexpected character development. For every “Smash gets a try-out at A&M!” there’s a “Mac sorta-kinda apologies for his intrinsic racism.” The only one-dimensional characters on the show are Joe McCoy, Saracen’s military dad, and Baby Gracie. They even give Leila’s annoying younger siblings unexpected character. Such careful characterization and narrative development is by no means unique to FNL — see The Wire, Deadwood, Mad Men, Arrested Development, Pushing Daisies, The United States of Tara, and Battlestar Galactica, to name just a recent few. Importantly, you’ll note that only two of the aforementioned shows — Arrested Development and Pushing Daisies — were products of the networks. And both of those shows died early deaths: as Jason Mittell noted, Pushing Daisies was simply “too beautiful to live.”

Man, I sure hate Joe McCoy.

But was it? Or was it simply “too beautiful” — or, more precisely, too idiosyncratic, with insufficient cliffhangers — to thrive on network television? As the networks continue to shed audiences to cable, video games, and Netflix, they have been forced to cater to the vast middle. That which is most appealing to the most people, such as B-level celebrities ballroom dancing — thrives. In part because it gets ratings, but also because it’s cheap to produce. And as NBC made clear with it’s decision to move Leno to 10 pm, NBC is interested in profit margins, not quality. What we now call ‘quality’ television has thus been relegated to premium cable and, increasingly, AMC, F/X, and other expanded cable options. The shows may garner smaller ratings on these channels, but they can also cultivate a solid fanbase — one that’s more likely to shell out the big bucks to pay for DVDs and box sets.

But what about Lost, you say? There’s a crazy show with idiosyncratic plot twists! That J.J. Abrams is crazy! And yes, Lost airs — and has continued to find success — on ABC. And while I concede that Lost, somewhat like 24, deviates from the network norm, cultivating narrative complexity, it also employs hyper-seriality. I don’t know if that’s a word, but the sentiment seems to come through: it addicts its viewers, almost enforcing a sustained viewership. Friday Night Lights may keep you holding your breadth as to whether or not Coach Taylor will remain at Dillon High, but it very rarely makes me count down the days until the next episode. It’s just not in the nature of the narrative — which is part of the reason that the actual football games are always contained within a single episode. The writers aren’t employing narrative trickery to sustain your attention. Unless, that is, Coach walking in on Julie and Saracen is narrative trickery, or the scene when Tyra’s mom tells Tyra that she’s always surprised her. (Even the descriptions of those scenes — each of which was wrought with emotion — reads as unengaging.)

The Best Wedding Dress in all of West Texas

In Season 2, we witnessed NBC’s attempt to mainstream the show, turning a show about football and family and working class Texas into one about rape, revenge, and murder. In short, they made it high melodrama. And it failed miserably. (Think too of 30 Rock‘s attempt to play the network game in Season Three, inviting a stream of guest appearances and focusing on Liz’s pregnancy desires. For me, at least, the magic went out of the show at the beginning of that season.) Part of me believes the FNL writers knew this plotline was going to fail — and felt nothing but thankful when the writer’s strike truncated the season. When the show returned for Season 3, it was if the murder/attempted rape had never occurred. Nor had Lyla’s evangelical phase. And it was AWESOME, if not wholly believable. That’s the sort of narrative elision I can get behind.

Which returns me to fate of FNL. Very few people appointment view it on NBC. But NBC seems to care little about the numbers, for the simple reason that they’re no longer footing half of the bill. NBC and DirectTV entered into a unique coproduction deal before the third season that essentially saved FNL: they’d split the production costs, DirectTV would air the shortened season (13 episodes, much like other ‘quality’ seasons on HBO, AMC, etc.) in the Fall on their DirectTV channel, then NBC would air the episodes in the Spring.

Late last year, after much hand ringing, DirectTV reupped the deal for two additional seasons, which means Friday Night Lights will be ours for the next two years. NBC can continue mis-marketing it as a sexy teen show, as they do in the picture below.

This isn't the show that I watch.

No matter. It doesn’t need to perform on traditional network levels, so it can develop as it will, continuing the trend of the absolutely remarkable third season. And judging by the first four episodes of season four, even though Coach Taylor and Landry now have to wear red, the show’s loyalties — to those who appreciate its particular style of storytelling — remain steady.

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