This will officially be my last post regarding reality TV. Why? Because even the criticism of the genre has grown mold and gone bad.
Case in point, the New Yorker publishes this story. Gee, thanks, Nancy Franklin for your totally original opinion on the evils of faux-reality TV. No one has ever chastised MTV for making their "realities" so unreal. Never.
Let's face it, as the era of the reality show forges on, the ability to look cool for criticizing has officially escaped us. At this point, our bitching and whining just makes us sound like the unpopular girl who spreads rumors about the cheerleaders.
After fifteen seasons of Survivor, two Laguna Beach spin-offs, Bravo's promotion of spoiled housewives, a new-found verve for prime-time game shows and an entire series following Snoop Dogg around, we have to admit the genre shown its fangs and firmly implanted them into the flesh of the American public.
Even the most defiant have fallen victim to the nocturnal yearnings ... er ... the shows. I'd venture to say that numerous intelligent individuals enjoy a relaxing night watching mindless light shows (The Hills), entertaining freak shows (American Idol), or contrived competitions that just try a little too hard (Survivor, Big Brother). Hell, I've admitted in the past to being a fan of America's Next Top Model and other "unscripted" series.
In the grand scheme of things, it ain't so bad. Maybe its time to live and let live, in a manner of speaking. I won't give up my insistence that reality TV is simply celebutizing the untalented or, in some cases, handing success to those who never earned it (as is the case with Project Runway and Top Chef). But it's become quit evident that kicking and screaming does nothing to quell the hullabaloo around other people's filmed existence.
Besides, the best way to quiet an attention-needy child is to ignor them (a method I've employed in real-life situations). Perhaps we should give that a whirl.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Music Is My Boyfriend
Since watching TV ads is the meat of my everyday job, I know as good as anyone that those damn jingles are oh so catchy. But more and more, brands exploit talented new artists to sell their shit. Then those bands/singers get their songs played on the radio and “hit it big”. Can you imagine if back in the day the McDonald’s menu song got played on the radio? Gross!
Whether you think the commercial whores are sell outs or not, there’s something to be said about their determination. Yes, for them it’s about more than the music but why shouldn’t they make a little money off their talent. Isn’t that what we all strive to do? Make money doing what we truly love? Or maybe that's just the capitalist ideal and I'm confused.
I defend these guys because I honestly admit that I was not a fan of Feist or Rogue Wave until I heard their songs on TV. (And I don’t mean the iPod ad featuring Feist; they were in some ad way before that and I atleast knew about them before they joined the Mac family; And I kind of think Justin Long isn’t bad company for the likes of them; they all appeal to that hipster persuasion). Both of these bands provide some amazing tunes and I feel completely justified listening to them even if I did discover them while watching “America’s Next Top Model”.
My defense also brews from possible admiration for their accomplishment. I’m proud of these guys for acheiving what I have yet to manage: success. If someone had me sign a contract that said I had to write 5 McDonald’s ads and then promised me a contract to write a script about anything a wanted, I’d sign that shit. It might not be the ideal road but if it works, it works. Call me a capitalist pig but all my other attempts have failed and I’m empty handed looking only to do the things that I love. I only need someone to give me a chance.
Of course, the commercial writing example is completely hypothetical since writers don’t write commercials; copywriters at giant ad agencies write commercials. That’s not an entity capable of offering Hollywood deals. So, in reality, if someone tried to sell me the five-commercial deal, I’d be a bit weary to pull out my pen.
A far more likely scenario might involve big Hollywood studios asking a talented writer to sign a contract to write some throw-away romantic comedy in return for producing the script that they already wrote (something else on my to-do list) and spent countless years completing (and only after the romantic comedy is produced).
However this type of selling out is difficult to acheive, as well. As noted before, said writer must spend years slaving over a script which he/she must then spend atleast another year making it flawless. Once finished, he/she puts it in the hands of a studio: not an easy task, mind you: the writer must know someone or be so persistent that he/she manages to alienate all his/her friends and family and abandon any hope of a romantic relationship. Even when the script is in the hands of a studio bigwig, there’s no guarantee that they’ll read it or like it; the chances of sell out dwindle but there is still the chance.
I feel as a group, writers don’t dream of selling out. We don’t imagine that throw-away movie we’ll write. We don’t consider who might be cast (even if, chances are, Matthew McConaughey will be the lead male). We simply dream of making that movie bouncing around in our head. But, hey, some of us also are open to that slim possibility of making a little money while doing what we truly love. Call us capitalist pigs.
And as the above scenario continues to ellude me almost as much as the ideal situation of writing an incredible piece of work which wows everyone and immediately gets produced and even wins an Oscar against all odds, I learn to resign myself to just admiring those who got the opportunity to sell out and then “hit it big”. You go, Rogue Wave (which, by the way, has composed a song called “Lake Michigan” seemingly about global warming; but it’s catchy enough to sell Microsoft’s Zune on TV in a very happy commercial where some girl dances with giant pink bunnies)!
Whether you think the commercial whores are sell outs or not, there’s something to be said about their determination. Yes, for them it’s about more than the music but why shouldn’t they make a little money off their talent. Isn’t that what we all strive to do? Make money doing what we truly love? Or maybe that's just the capitalist ideal and I'm confused.
I defend these guys because I honestly admit that I was not a fan of Feist or Rogue Wave until I heard their songs on TV. (And I don’t mean the iPod ad featuring Feist; they were in some ad way before that and I atleast knew about them before they joined the Mac family; And I kind of think Justin Long isn’t bad company for the likes of them; they all appeal to that hipster persuasion). Both of these bands provide some amazing tunes and I feel completely justified listening to them even if I did discover them while watching “America’s Next Top Model”.
My defense also brews from possible admiration for their accomplishment. I’m proud of these guys for acheiving what I have yet to manage: success. If someone had me sign a contract that said I had to write 5 McDonald’s ads and then promised me a contract to write a script about anything a wanted, I’d sign that shit. It might not be the ideal road but if it works, it works. Call me a capitalist pig but all my other attempts have failed and I’m empty handed looking only to do the things that I love. I only need someone to give me a chance.
Of course, the commercial writing example is completely hypothetical since writers don’t write commercials; copywriters at giant ad agencies write commercials. That’s not an entity capable of offering Hollywood deals. So, in reality, if someone tried to sell me the five-commercial deal, I’d be a bit weary to pull out my pen.
A far more likely scenario might involve big Hollywood studios asking a talented writer to sign a contract to write some throw-away romantic comedy in return for producing the script that they already wrote (something else on my to-do list) and spent countless years completing (and only after the romantic comedy is produced).
However this type of selling out is difficult to acheive, as well. As noted before, said writer must spend years slaving over a script which he/she must then spend atleast another year making it flawless. Once finished, he/she puts it in the hands of a studio: not an easy task, mind you: the writer must know someone or be so persistent that he/she manages to alienate all his/her friends and family and abandon any hope of a romantic relationship. Even when the script is in the hands of a studio bigwig, there’s no guarantee that they’ll read it or like it; the chances of sell out dwindle but there is still the chance.
I feel as a group, writers don’t dream of selling out. We don’t imagine that throw-away movie we’ll write. We don’t consider who might be cast (even if, chances are, Matthew McConaughey will be the lead male). We simply dream of making that movie bouncing around in our head. But, hey, some of us also are open to that slim possibility of making a little money while doing what we truly love. Call us capitalist pigs.
And as the above scenario continues to ellude me almost as much as the ideal situation of writing an incredible piece of work which wows everyone and immediately gets produced and even wins an Oscar against all odds, I learn to resign myself to just admiring those who got the opportunity to sell out and then “hit it big”. You go, Rogue Wave (which, by the way, has composed a song called “Lake Michigan” seemingly about global warming; but it’s catchy enough to sell Microsoft’s Zune on TV in a very happy commercial where some girl dances with giant pink bunnies)!
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