Despite sleaze, trash TV boosts self-esteem
Amy Schill
Dazed and Amused
I watched too much TV this summer. I had noble goals: I wanted to catch up on some reading, write a bunch of columns, study for the GRE, learn Latin — the usual summer stuff. But after eight hours each day reading the literary analyses of 10th graders (I worked for a company that scores standardized tests, the last refuge for the educated unemployable), I had a bad taste in my mouth for the English language, not to mention for the literary acumen of today's high schoolers (kids, George shot Lennie, not the other way around, and Hester Prynne did not get the Scarlet Letter by finding a pearl in Cuba with the Old Man).
So after work, vegging in front of the TV always seemed more appealing than "Ulysses," the light summer novel I had chosen. The problem was, not only was I watching TV, I was watching trashy, IQ-lowering television. Trash TV is all the rage these days, and Jerry Springer, the first avatar of televised sleaze, has paved the way for a host of dating shows and other life-affirming reality programming. I think I like the dating shows the best.
I like them because no matter how much they try to differentiate themselves from each other (dating on a bus, dating on a cruise ship, competitive dating, pop-up dating, extreme dating, dating to fight the war on terror), all these shows are essentially the same: Participants will either strike out miserably or have sex in a hot tub. I think the advertisers have figured out this dichotomy. There are two types of people in these shows: those who will need the adult phone service when the date is over and those who will need the herpes medication. Ah, young love.
Believe it or not, dating shows are probably the most innocuous of America's guilty pleasures. While dating shows satisfy our desire for virtual sex, other shows satisfy our desire not for violence, but that desire to witness the misery of others. That's right, we like to see people fail. We like to know that even though our retirement has been lost in the stock market, our grades are dismal and our country is at war, it's all okay because that guy on Springer just got left by his wife for a KKK midget monkey, and I think they're about to fight.
While our dads could never be as perfect as Cliff Huxtable, at least we can rest assured that they are more stable than Ozzy Osbourne. We love seeing dysfunctional characters on reality programs precisely because they are so foreign to our own reality, causing anyone who can string a coherent sentence together to deem himself an intellectual dynamo in comparison (sorry George).
Though human suffering and ignorance as mass entertainment is a bit disturbing, it is also all too easy to dismiss our qualms about enjoying the spectacle.
People choose to go on these programs after all, giving us the right to ridicule them as we do any celebrity. This argument works to a certain extent, and I too rationalize to myself as I occasionally (and guiltily) watch Springer and religiously watch "American Idol," a show that claims to be searching for an idol but still lets us relish in kicking off the failures each week. I know it's all in fun. People are being well paid for their humiliation, and the only real victim is me, for after a summer of "Rendez-View" and "Idol," I'm going to have to wait for the DVD version of "Ulysses," with special deleted scenes in which Stephen becomes a singing sensation, only to be upstaged by the Fifth Wheel.
However, there is one show that even the most cynical TV observer has trouble watching with ease: "The Anna Nicole Show." Now I know Miss Anna is not the most sympathetic personality around, but when E!'s highest-rated show ever is based on our amusement at watching the misadventures of an overweight, over-medicated blonde and her sexually frustrated poodle, something has gone terribly wrong. I like to think that somewhere between the highs and the hangovers, Ozzy senses the irony of his TV stardom, but this poor woman is too stupid to realize she's being exploited.
And when we gain pleasure in reaffirming our relative intelligence over the ignorant, whether they live in mansions or trailers, are we really any better than that vertically challenged racist monkey? Think about that my friend.
So though my TV choices probably don't put me in a good position to be moralizing, I think my conscience is going to keep me away from the trash TV for a while.
Until, of course CourtTV airs the Martha Stewart trial.
Amy Schill is a senior English major. Her column appears every other Tuesday. She can be reached at schill.2@nd.edu.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
All Viewpoint Stories for Tuesday, September 3, 2002
