This Friday marks the broadcast television finale of "All My Children", the long-running ABC soap opera about Erica Kane and the other denizens of the fictitious Pine Valley, Pennsylvania.
Soap operas are often denigrated as one of the lowest forms of entertainment. The characters are often vapid or self-absorbed. None of them ever seem to work, except the doctors and lawyers. And the format often plays fast and loose with the concept of time - people rarely age, except for children, who can be born in one season then returns as a teenager just 5 years later if the idea suits a new storyline.
But for all their faults, soap operas have been an enduring element of the American fabric since the days of old-time radio. Back in the 30's and 40's, the soap opera became commonplace afternoon diversions for housewives as well as financial boons for stations and advertisers alike. And many of them eventually made a successful switch to TV when the little box stormed the country and changed everything. "Guiding Light" started on radio back in the 40's and only recently went off the TV airwaves.
With the departure of "All My Children" - soon to be followed by "One Life to Live" - there will be only 4 regular daytime soap operas left to carry the torch. And a valid argument for this seeming eventuality can be made regarding the seismic shift of both the American family and the American workplace. Two working parents is no longer a rarity, but the norm. Women are not expected to stay home as they were in the 50's and 60's. Even teenagers find the often ridiculous plots and stories of the average daytime soap opera to be passe.
But there's more to it than that. I think you can draw a straight line from the demise of the American soap opera back to one event - a colossal touchstone that changed television forever in so many ways. Brace yourselves for his name - O.J. Simpson!
Regardless of where you fall on the "did-he-or-didn't-he" aspect of the brutal killings of his wife and her lover, the plight of O.J. Simpson and his subsequent trial was undeniably a game changer. Singlehandedly, they spawned both the 24-hour news cycle and the obligatory news "crawl" that runs across virtually every news channel these days.
Now, both of these elements have their benefits, whether it's the comfort that can be provided by the 24-hour news cycle in times of distress, such as a hurricane or 9/11. And any sports fan counts his blessings that the "crawl" exists, thus preventing endless hours of lost sleep worrying over the final score of "the big game".
But there is no turning off what happened to the American viewer after O.J. Scripted television took a hit and reality TV began to take over. We became obsessed as a society with watching real people doing - whatever. We, as a whole, like to see them on display. We like to see them make fools of themselves. We like to watch cameras follow celebrities around in their private moments with hopes that they'll say or do something stupid. We like to vote for people on singing and dancing shows - more than we do for, oh, a presidential election. We love so much to build them up and equally as much to tear them down. There is a voyeuristic element to it all that I'm sure speaks to all kinds of psychological drawbacks.
And there's the soap opera, the bastard child kicked to the curb. Sure, after starting out as these chaste mini-plays about fidelity and morality and the struggles of real people, soap operas became their own worst enemy: hackneyed fables filled with deathbed confessions and unrealistic back-from-the-dead shockers and cliffhangers. But somewhere along the way, soap operas also got ahead of the curve on many social issues of the day, scripting poignant story arcs about AIDS and homosexuality and interracial relationships that prime TV viewed as taboo and wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. In many ways, the American soap opera was a reflection of who we were.
The entertainment world is filled with genres that are so very us, both good and bad. We respond to the underdog nature of "Rocky" and "Rudy" because America itself is the story of the underdog. We thrill to "The Dark Knight" and "Rambo" and pull for characters like Jack Bauer and anyone Charles Bronson every played because we like knowing there's someone out their who can deliver justice, even if that justice can sometimes blur the edges of what is right and wrong.
And I know all reality TV isn't bad. There is something fascinating about the gamesmanship and strategy of "Amazing Race", something endearing about the altruistic nature of "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition". And there's probably something to be said about the idea that we're now the ones dictating what we want to watch and the notion we would rather watch people more like ourselves and not characters that aren't real and simply exist on the written page.
But there's something equally bizarre and self-absorbed and even sad about much of the reality TV we now respond to. We may be watching "ourselves" more now, but I think there's ultimately more of us to be found in the Kanes and the Martins and other great soap opera families than can be found in Snooki and her ilk.
The American soap opera is dying and so is a part of us. That's a dose of reality that cannot be denied. Thanks alot, O.J.! Now we have something else to blame you for.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Empty Sky
On any given night, when there's not much on television, L will start flipping channels and eventually land on something that I don't want to watch. And it's not necessarily something I don't like, just something I don't want to see again, at least right at that moment.
"The West Wing". Makes me think too much. {And gets my blood boiling consider our current political environment.}
"Love Actually". Wrecks me emotionally, it's just so friggin' romantic.
Heck, I didn't watch "E.T." again for like 20 years because the ending gets me every time. Saying goodbye is tough.
Don't get me wrong. I don't mind thinking. And the power of emotion - be it joy or pain - is part of what I love about movies and TV, and probably why I love to write. But when I go to the movies or watch a show for the first time, I am making a conscious decision of surrendering my heart and my brain to the creative talent, knowing full well - and secretly hoping, I would think - that the words and pictures will move me in some way.
When flipping channels and stumbling across something like this, I am not always ready for that surrender. It's a jarring interaction that shocks me out of whatever happy place I'm in and it's not pleasant for me. It's like picking at an open wound.
I guess L and I differ on what we love about the concept of "found television". I can watch "Star Wars" and "Jurassic Park" and "Die Hard" and "The Dark Knight" over and over again. They trigger a different part of my psyche. {In fact, L has a list of movies that I constantly rewatch that she never wants to see again!}
L, on the other hand, will plow through marathons of "The West Wing" and ritualistically watches "Love Actually" every Christmas. I love them too. But that open wound...
Tomorrow is the 10th anniversary of 9/11. It's impossible to get away from. TV and newspaper coverage has been non-stop with week-long pieces in the local paper and documentaries galore dotting the broadcast landscape. And I get it. It's a milestone anniversary. Depending on who you are, it could be cathartic or therapeutic or even a tribute to the lost and the heroes and even the country we were (for awhile anyway) in the aftermath. There is much we can learn about the world and ourselves in looking back. And there is value in keeping all that fresh in our collective databanks as we try to move forward.
But I don't want to see it again. It's too much. I haven't forgotten. The images are still seared into my memory. And I think about it every year on 9/11, not just during milestone years. And every time we go to New York and see that empty sky where the towers used to be, I think of it again. For those directly impacted, I'm sure they think about it EVERY DAY, not just on the anniversary. It must be inescapable for them, especially this year.
Regarding 9/11, there are a myriad of stories of heartbreaking sadness, and heroism with no bounds, and triumph over tragedy. And they are all stories worth telling and hearing. Just not all at once. Not for me. So when I'm on the couch tomorrow flipping channels and I come across another 9/11-themed show, I will keep flipping until I find something mindless to watch. Like football.
"The West Wing". Makes me think too much. {And gets my blood boiling consider our current political environment.}
"Love Actually". Wrecks me emotionally, it's just so friggin' romantic.
Heck, I didn't watch "E.T." again for like 20 years because the ending gets me every time. Saying goodbye is tough.
Don't get me wrong. I don't mind thinking. And the power of emotion - be it joy or pain - is part of what I love about movies and TV, and probably why I love to write. But when I go to the movies or watch a show for the first time, I am making a conscious decision of surrendering my heart and my brain to the creative talent, knowing full well - and secretly hoping, I would think - that the words and pictures will move me in some way.
When flipping channels and stumbling across something like this, I am not always ready for that surrender. It's a jarring interaction that shocks me out of whatever happy place I'm in and it's not pleasant for me. It's like picking at an open wound.
I guess L and I differ on what we love about the concept of "found television". I can watch "Star Wars" and "Jurassic Park" and "Die Hard" and "The Dark Knight" over and over again. They trigger a different part of my psyche. {In fact, L has a list of movies that I constantly rewatch that she never wants to see again!}
L, on the other hand, will plow through marathons of "The West Wing" and ritualistically watches "Love Actually" every Christmas. I love them too. But that open wound...
Tomorrow is the 10th anniversary of 9/11. It's impossible to get away from. TV and newspaper coverage has been non-stop with week-long pieces in the local paper and documentaries galore dotting the broadcast landscape. And I get it. It's a milestone anniversary. Depending on who you are, it could be cathartic or therapeutic or even a tribute to the lost and the heroes and even the country we were (for awhile anyway) in the aftermath. There is much we can learn about the world and ourselves in looking back. And there is value in keeping all that fresh in our collective databanks as we try to move forward.
But I don't want to see it again. It's too much. I haven't forgotten. The images are still seared into my memory. And I think about it every year on 9/11, not just during milestone years. And every time we go to New York and see that empty sky where the towers used to be, I think of it again. For those directly impacted, I'm sure they think about it EVERY DAY, not just on the anniversary. It must be inescapable for them, especially this year.
Regarding 9/11, there are a myriad of stories of heartbreaking sadness, and heroism with no bounds, and triumph over tragedy. And they are all stories worth telling and hearing. Just not all at once. Not for me. So when I'm on the couch tomorrow flipping channels and I come across another 9/11-themed show, I will keep flipping until I find something mindless to watch. Like football.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Linus Was Right!
"Summers Fly, Winters Walk." - Linus to Charlie Brown.
When I was 10, my family gave me these collections of Peanuts' comic strips from the 50s, 60s, and early 70s as birthday and Christmas gifts. I still have them somewhere upstairs. Anyway, I remember in one strip, the forever downtrodden Charlie Brown is bemoaning the end of the summer, the beginning of the school year, and the concept of time itself. Enter Linus with his usual flair for wisdom: "Summers fly, winters walk."
From a kid's perspective, that is both heartbreaking and true. You spend 9 months of the year slogging through school, potentially bad weather, early bedtimes, less daylight. You feel every part of those long 9 months. And then summer comes. Sweet freedom! The sun stays out past 8pm. You stay up late; you sleep late. You do everything and nothing! Then you blink and summer is over. And it's back to the grind. To the salt mines, as my dad used to say. That last night of summer had such a feeling of childhood dread and finality about it. You almost wanted to pull the covers up over your head and pray that when your eyes opened the next morning, it was summer again. Sigh.
Here's the thing - and this is part of the genius of Charles M. Schulz. He put these words into the mouths of second graders. But every Peanuts strip somehow still has relevance as an adult. It is amazing how we think and process life's lessons. Schulz tapped into these thought patterns and hit on a formula that would make us laugh, but still make us think.
Tomorrow is Labor Day, the traditional end of summer. The next day most kids will go back to school, if they haven't already. And we feel their pain. But it is no less painful for adults. Adults who mostly don't get summers off like they did as youngsters. We too treasure the added sunlight. There is the promise of vacation. Visits to our favorite places with friends and family - a trip to the beach, the occasional baseball game, a picnic, a barbecue, etc. Heck, we'll even stay up late (and regret it the next day). It's enough to make you feel like a kid again.
And then Labor Day comes. Soon the days will grow shorter and, for many of us, our thoughts will turn to heating bills and snow shovels and all sorts of things we never worried about as children and don't want to think about now. The long haul to next summer begins - and it will seem endless.
He may have been completely off base about that whole Great Pumpkin thing, but about this matter Linus was spot on. Summers Fly, Winters Walk. Here's hoping your summer, however brief, was full of great memories. And that your winters are full of great memories as well. Lord knows, you'll have plenty of time to make them.
When I was 10, my family gave me these collections of Peanuts' comic strips from the 50s, 60s, and early 70s as birthday and Christmas gifts. I still have them somewhere upstairs. Anyway, I remember in one strip, the forever downtrodden Charlie Brown is bemoaning the end of the summer, the beginning of the school year, and the concept of time itself. Enter Linus with his usual flair for wisdom: "Summers fly, winters walk."
From a kid's perspective, that is both heartbreaking and true. You spend 9 months of the year slogging through school, potentially bad weather, early bedtimes, less daylight. You feel every part of those long 9 months. And then summer comes. Sweet freedom! The sun stays out past 8pm. You stay up late; you sleep late. You do everything and nothing! Then you blink and summer is over. And it's back to the grind. To the salt mines, as my dad used to say. That last night of summer had such a feeling of childhood dread and finality about it. You almost wanted to pull the covers up over your head and pray that when your eyes opened the next morning, it was summer again. Sigh.
Here's the thing - and this is part of the genius of Charles M. Schulz. He put these words into the mouths of second graders. But every Peanuts strip somehow still has relevance as an adult. It is amazing how we think and process life's lessons. Schulz tapped into these thought patterns and hit on a formula that would make us laugh, but still make us think.
Tomorrow is Labor Day, the traditional end of summer. The next day most kids will go back to school, if they haven't already. And we feel their pain. But it is no less painful for adults. Adults who mostly don't get summers off like they did as youngsters. We too treasure the added sunlight. There is the promise of vacation. Visits to our favorite places with friends and family - a trip to the beach, the occasional baseball game, a picnic, a barbecue, etc. Heck, we'll even stay up late (and regret it the next day). It's enough to make you feel like a kid again.
And then Labor Day comes. Soon the days will grow shorter and, for many of us, our thoughts will turn to heating bills and snow shovels and all sorts of things we never worried about as children and don't want to think about now. The long haul to next summer begins - and it will seem endless.
He may have been completely off base about that whole Great Pumpkin thing, but about this matter Linus was spot on. Summers Fly, Winters Walk. Here's hoping your summer, however brief, was full of great memories. And that your winters are full of great memories as well. Lord knows, you'll have plenty of time to make them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)