Three Thoughts on Lena Dunham and Kevin D. Williamson

I

To say Kevin D. Williamson's article about Lena Dunham last week was about exposing her as a child molester--which has been the takeaway--is to miss the myriad subtleties in the piece.

I recommend reading it, if only to show how much craft can be put into something so short. Williamson takes Dunham's month-old memoirs and eviscerates her public persona. It's a worthy task because Dunham is well-versed in the Millennial tricks of making her points without having to stand her ground.

For example, he discusses how she has her character on Girls announce to her parents that she is the "voice of her generation," which she qualifies 1) by having her fictional character say it, 2) by having that character be intoxicated as she says it, and 3) by undercutting it with a joke afterwards. Yet Dunham herself is more than happy to allow others to call her that.

Dunham's artistic cowardice isn't as important as what it says about her real-life statements. She's willing to have everyone believe something she's not brave enough to say unequivocally. Williamson takes great offense to her discussion of a "rape" she experienced while at Oberlin College. Thankfully, he doesn't take the bait that the media in general did when the book was published--he doesn't fall into the argument of whether the murky incident was consensual or not.

Instead, he takes issue to Dunham's abuse of her stature in the context of her refusal to take a definable stand. As for the latter, she doesn't call the experience "rape"--she has others say that for her. As for the abuse of prominence, he points out that it took him two minutes to track down a "Barry" who was a campus Republican at Oberlin during her time there. Since Dunham tells us that this Barry also raped a woman so viciously that blood spattered the walls, she paints a very ugly picture of an identifiable man who has no comparable platform to defend himself and who was only accused indirectly.

As for the allegations of Dunham "molesting" her younger sister, framing her as an abuser doesn't seem to be Williamson's intent:

If there is such a thing as actually abusing a child through excessive generosity and overindulgence, then Lena Dunham’s parents are child abusers. Her father, Carroll Dunham, is a painter noted for his primitive brand of highbrow pornography, his canvases anchored by puffy neon-pink labia; her photographer mother filled the family home with nude pictures of herself, “legs spread defiantly.” Self-styled radicals from old money, they were not the sort of people inclined to enforce even the most lax of boundaries.

What Williamson makes a case for is that Dunham's parents, with their post-tradition liberality, created an excessively sexualized environment for their children and that the sexual interaction between Dunham and her sister comes from that. This point has been obscured as the right has pounced on the fact that Dunham's self-reported behavior could be labelled as abusive and her supporters (and Dunham herself) label it childish experimentation. Williamson's article shows that Dunham is a very disordered person, which should force us to question the value of her work.

I wonder if the controversy will have a lasting effect on Dunham's career. Even her supporters have to reckon with the emotional snapshots she's given them. Her sister is six years younger than her--the power dynamics of an older sister bribing her with candy in exchange for long kisses and employing "anything a sexual predator might do to woo a small suburban girl" certainly force one to look at her as something of a manipulative bully. Williamson points out that in an episode of Girls, Dunham's character tells an employer that she will punish him for his harassment by writing an essay about him and using his real name. Rumors about her on-set behavior problems have circulated from the very beginning, mostly centering on her utter self-absorption at the expense of everyone else.

The mystique of irony and ambiguity is difficult to pull off in the long term; eventually most people figure out what is being obscured. She's beginning to come across as a woman who feels she's always justified in doing whatever she's done, no matter what others' feelings may be. Viewers might come to see that, underneath the labels of "irony" and "satire," Dunham's characters are really accurate depictions of their creator.

II

Ace of Spades asks the right question about the Dunham uproar:  "So Did the Media Miss Lena Dunham's Hair-Raising Stories About Her Sister, Or Did They Bury It?"

Ace supports the theory that the press intentionally suppressed Dunham's childhood revelations, rather than the theories that the press either didn't actually read her book or found the stories unremarkable.

Of course, it's probably a bit of all three but Ace doesn't consider that her book was published by a pillar of the media, Random House. If the media thought that what she had to say was something to be suppressed, how did it get published in the first place?

What I think is that this is a matter of Dunham's mystique working in her favor. The artist's reputation precedes her, so any work that's produced is pre-qualified as Art. The problems of the work can be deemed "challenging" and mistakes are examined as if they are intentional.

Dunham came to Girls with a couple of well-received indie works but, more importantly, an of-the-moment personal package. In the incestuous world of New York media, she fit right in as a wealthy scion of a Mayflower-Jewish marriage, educated at progressive schools, with an artistic family. She spoke the same language as the media elite--how hard do you think it was for her to raise funding, cast actors and recruit a talented crew? Consider, as well, that Girls had a great deal of attention even before it premiered, despite Dunham's negligible profile.

Add to this Dunham's apparent narcissism. One trope one reads in critiques of our culture is that narcissism is, to some extent, an advantage. The self-confidence and assertiveness of a narcissist initially seems to be a positive in a competitive environment. In my own life, I've been amazed at how easily people accept others' self-aggrandizement. It's easy to imagine that Dunham's belief in her own exquisite taste convinced her more-submissive colleagues.

Dunham is also of-the-moment in the public sphere:

A great deal has been made of Lena Dunham’s weight, not least by Lena Dunham. She may be Hollywood fat, or Manhattan–below–125th Street fat, but she is in fact an utterly ordinary specimen of American womanhood, and she would not be thought of as fat in Magnolia, Ark., or Craig, Colo., or even in the less rarefied sections of Brooklyn.

Dunham's physical appearance is, in reality, an advantage. She can be pointed at as an example of a "real woman," while still having enough beauty and youth to carry off a layer or two of makeup in a fashion magazine.

For an example of how her unconventionally-conventional body has benefited her, look at last spring's attack on a low-level entertainment reporter. At a panel, he asked her to explain her frequent nudity on the show. Girls producer Judd Apatow immediately berated the man as if he had told her she wasn't attractive enough to be naked on HBO; the think-pieces published for the next week took the same tactic. However, nothing the reporter said indicated that his question was about how unattractive he thought she was; his question was about her artistic choice--specifically, one scene in which she was playing ping-pong topless for no apparent reason. (However, this was dangerous territory. Asking why she was naked on screen for no good reason might make one think that she is a narcissist who wants all the attention, any way she can get it.)

Dunham also gets a lot of mileage out of the current feminist moment. She is the actor/writer/producer of her own show. She's not a Hollywood beauty. She brags about the wide variety of sexual encounters she's had. She's willing to pontificate about whatever the female/progressive issue of the day is and always comes to a vague pro-SJW opinion about it.

All that is to say that Dunham--through inheritance and inclination--has the right package to warrant the attention of the media. She is an Important Artist.

Being an Important Artist, we are to automatically accept her expressions even if they are off-putting to our tiny minds. She is the one with the fine-tuned sensibility, not us, so we can assume that her "cute" stories about sexual shenanigans with her much younger sister are as morally-insignificant as she says they are.

I think that those critics that read her book weren't sure what to make of those confessions. Chances are, they thought their own reactions were "problematic," that they'd internalized society's sex-negativity. Dunham is anointed and no one wanted to look out of step by appearing to be confused by her statements.

There's something even more sad about the lack of coverage. Was there no single journalist in the media who at least thought he could make a name for himself by denouncing her? Is the media now so monolithic that we can't even rely on their self-interest? Say what you want about the viciousness of reporters--at least their lust for exposing people can keep you honest.

III

Finally, when Dunham is occasionally discussed on a right-leaning website, one can play an overdose-inducing drinking game by reading the comments. Take a shot for every comment in which a reader brags about not knowing who Dunham is or asks why the site is covering someone so worthless.

This tiresome pose is the reason why the right has been completely left behind culturally.

In the ongoing politicization of everything, the loss of the culture was the watershed. The right started acting as if arts and entertainment wasn't good enough to pay attention to and lost generations.

Culture, pop and otherwise, is the communal representation of what we value. By turning our backs on this fundamental part of the human experience, conservatives have lost their ability to contribute to this representation.

I've mentioned this before:  One of the struggles of the Catholic Church in modern times is that it answers questions we can no longer articulate. How can it explain the value of suffering in a world that defines people as monkeys hitting dopamine-release buttons? The reason that these questions and answers are lost is because conservatives have given up all interest in the means of understanding--our artistic culture.

Our culture has told us that Dunham is an Important Artist--at the very least, conservatives should be interested in whether she is or not. To think otherwise is to put one's head in the sand.

The Atlantic Report: TV's Renaissance for Strong Women

Son of Brock Landers at 28 Sherman recently rolled his eyes at this season's exceptionally feminine TV schedule. Kevin O'Keefe gives us a round of cheer-and-fear with "TV's Renaissance for Strong Women Is Happening in a Surprising Place."

"Cheer-and-fear?" That's the static low-grade panic the left has to maintain in the face of triumph. We progress--yay!--but we may still regress at any moment--shiver. I discussed an example here.

The days of female movie stars retreating to cable—HBO, Showtime, FX—to find good work are coming to a close. Now, by the grace of, well, something, actresses can find plenty of exciting leading roles to play on the big four networks. What was once well-worn territory feels fresh again, a place to push boundaries. How did that happen?

It takes several paragraphs before O'Keefe reveals the big secret why women are coming to dominate network television:

But a quick look at numbers offers an obvious explanation: Women viewers dominate broadcast ratings. There are exceptions, of course, and it's hardly a bit of wisdom exclusive to the modern era, but in the past few years it’s become clear that for a majority of American households, women control the remote. They also enthrall advertisers; adults 25-54 remain the most attractive demographic, with special focus on the women that can be hard for advertisers to hit.

Oh, women are the ones watching network TV? That's all?

The Atlantic, I've come to discover, bolsters its intellectual reputation by dotting its clickbait with charts and graphs. Take a look at these, presented in the order given:

Science? You're soaking in it.

O'Keefe rolled up the sleeves of his lab coat to crunch these numbers himself. His choice of the phrase "strong roles" is puzzling--not because it's inaccurate but because he sneers at the term earlier:  "Strong Female Character—the unintentionally humorous title Netflix bestows on any television woman who stands tall at the center of her own show."

Finding that Netflix's description is probably the best one possible, O'Keefe uses it to describe roles "either be the obvious main one or a dominant force even among other leads," as well as " shows with multiple strong characters of the same gender." He does allow that "[t]his is an unscientific analysis," but I think he might have just misspelled "useless."

But numbers don't lie--women are falling behind! From 53% of the strong roles on television in 2011 to a paltry 50% today! By the end of the century, we will surely have returned to Elizabethan times and all female roles will be played by men.

The most insidious, reactionary trend is the growth of strong male roles on cable--a staggering 9% increase! And this, when only a single strong female cable role has been added. It's enough to make one stop making up arbitrary definitions and give up bean-counting in despair.

What O'Keefe finds heartening about the feminine TV landscape is that, at long last, strong female characters are allowed to be flawed. At least, flawed in the exact same way male anti-heroes are; references to emulating Walter White comes up three times.

He quotes associate professor Amanda Lotz, who says, "As a culture, we may still be a little bit squeamish about depicting women in anything less than a positive way."

That's not what Tumblr's been telling me.

The Atlantic Report: Why Showtime Is Reviving Twin Peaks

A light piece from Jason Lynch (presumably no relation):

[Showtime] is reviving Twin Peaks, the hit 1990 ABC show about the search for the murderer of homecoming queen Laura Palmer, as a nine-episode “limited series,” airing in 2016. That will mark the 25th anniversary of its series finale, in which Palmer tells Agent Dale Cooper, as both are seated in the extra-dimensional Red Room: “I’ll see you again in 25 years.”

 This is theoretically exciting. Twin Peaks was definitely a historic show, although what it represented is up for debate.

"In some ways, Twin Peaks was the precursor to all of the high-quality, provocative serialized drama that we all do now,” Gary Levine, Showtime’s executive vice president of original programming, told Quartz.

The show was a precursor of jerk-you-around shows like Lost, I think. I'm speaking as a fan; its 1990 first season got me as excited as any television I'd ever watched. By the second season, the spell was broken and David Lynch proved himself to me as a director who couldn't be trusted.

That is to say that Lynch, for all his ethereal visuals and dream-logic, didn't know or care where the story was going. His style works better in features, which usually follow the course of a protagonist entering a world more bizarre than that in which he started and emerging disturbed and changed.

That style worked well in the first season as the viewer delved into the weirdness of the town (take a look at the first regular season episode--it's standard prime-time soap opera stuff). I understand that ABC demanded that the show become more linear and solve the Laura Palmer mystery during the second season, which took the air out of the ambiguity, but I imagine that the tension would have dissipated anyway.

I'm more interested in the direction Showtime is trying to take with its original programming. President David Nevins says that Twin Peaks' limited run is atypical of the vision: "I still fundamentally believe in shows I can bring back year after year and get people hooked."

I call Showtime "the amoral network," because its flagship shows, Dexter, Californication, and Weeds, were all about rotten people trying to get away with something, people who looked good only because they were surrounded by worse people. (I call Weeds "The Woman Who Didn't Want to Get a Job.")

The Twin Peaks revival seems to be a headline-grabber. It's hard to imagine that a sizable fanbase still exists. Then again, if anyone cares at all, it's going to be among the chattering class that fill up the mainstream web.

"Modern Family" - Is It Modern Enough?

The title of this Indiewire article should tell you everything:  "Is 'Modern Family' Still Making an Impact After Five Seasons?"

Oh, is that what it's supposed to be doing?

To start, the series, as many others have in the past and will likely do so in the future, has lost some of its initial luster. The luster referred to here, of course, was originally derived from the inclusion of minorities as central characters on a network sitcom -- particularly the Colombian (played by Sofia Vergara) and, more notably, the gay couple (played by Jesse Tyler Ferguson and Eric Stonestreet) raising an adopted Asian baby. While the cast consists primarily of non-minorities, the combination of the two made for one of the most unique ensembles in television comedy. Not only that, but the first season's ratings showed that such a refreshing notion of family was in fact welcomed by audiences, with the show's ratings increasing quite well over the following two seasons. (my emphasis)

One can hear the wind whistling through the portion of writer Ziyad Saadi's brain that is devoted to forming his own thoughts. Using his logic, the most popular show on television would be an exhibit of all the flavors of ethnicity and sexual persuasion.

Modern Family is falling behind in the race to "break ground:"

[W]hile the show started out riding a tidal wave of critical and ratings success, the last two seasons have dwindled on both those fronts, which leads to the question of 'why?' To answer that, one would need to dissect the ground which "Modern Family" was bold enough to break
...
[W]ith shows such as "House of Cards," "Game of Thrones" and above all else, "Orange Is the New Black" all prominently featuring minorities and/or strong independent women, the hit ABC sitcom seems quite tame in comparison. "Black" even has a male-to-female transgender as a significant member of the ensemble and has developed the character in ways that are unprecedented.

This is the gold standard of media reporting these days:  "Are there minorities?" "Are there enough minorities?" "Are they portrayed as brilliant, sexy saints?" "Are they brilliant and sexy and saint-like enough?"

I point these out not because they should surprise anyone but because these social justice warriors have ruined cultural criticism. I like reading about the arc of a sitcom. I just don't think that Modern Family's (apparent) problems have anything to do with "breaking ground." In fact, it sounds as though the decline is because of a willingness to kowtow to those activists who have decided that the show isn't doing enough:

The writers seem to be making the attempt to mend these issues this season. In regards to the women on the show, Claire is being groomed to take over her father's business while Gloria's working class roots have been revealed and credited with justifying her reward of a more comfortable life. Even Cam and Mitchell's relationship is headed for a grand wedding in the season finale, with the dissolution of California's Prop 8 being worked into the season five premiere. But the chances of the characters' situational improvements ultimately reviving the show's image seem increasingly bleak.

Is it really that complex? A good sitcom, like a good film or any other television show, is a combination of good acting, good writing and good execution, with a sprinkle of unforeseeable magic mixed in. If it were as simple as violating norms, I Love Lucy would have ended its run with a Mestizo transgender furry as Lucy's best friend and neighbor.

Even Saadi knows that he's bullshitting:

Ultimately, it may very well be the fact that "Modern Family" no longer breaks new ground or causes a stir that proves the biggest testament to its iconic nature. A show that, five years ago, shocked viewers is now barely making them flinch. It's become increasingly apparent that people have accepted its unconventional nature and presently view it merely as "the norm."

I don't remember anyone being "shocked." If anyone noticed at all, they rolled their eyes; "Network television presenting an alternative family? That's the last thing I would have expected of Hollywood."

Incidentally, Modern Family used its "ground-breaking" status as a cover. How many shows portray their female characters as arrogant and irrational and, Heaven forbid, often even wrong?

Law & Order: SVU in Resurgence?

The AV Club announces that L&O: SVU is TV's most improved crime drama:

But more often than not, the SVU of today is a markedly different show than it once was, which would be a given for most scripted dramas to produce over 300 hours of television, but is a profound compliment for a spin-off of a show that prided itself on its slavish devotion to a meticulous formula. SVU’s willingness to evolve is what left it standing among the rubble of the once-impregnable L&O franchise.

Or maybe the longevity is because SVU has always been the most prurient of the L&O franchises.

The original L&O was a long-time TV staple for me and, for a time, I was a devotee of all the spin-offs. Criminal Intent's first few seasons were the best of the franchise. SVU was the show that I got into last and got tired of first.

As usual, I was in the minority and probably for the very reasons that writer Joshua Alston finds exciting in the new era of SVU. He enjoys the serialization of the stories and the increased attention to the lives of its characters.

My slowness in appreciating SVU and the subsequent loss of that appreciation came from the show's insistence that every case had to be someone's Worst Case Ever. I didn't like having to watch the actors grimace and ask each other, "What's going on with you?"-- I wanted to see the case play out.

That was the original's strength. Thankfully, every story wasn't jerry-rigged with a "shocking twist," but you knew that the case would take at least a couple of turns before the verdict came in. By splitting the focus between investigation and prosecution, the writers had more moving parts to play with, which I think was the secret to its extended freshness.

Certainly something had to change in the SVU formula. I've been catching up with the series thanks to constant marathons on USA and the most recent seasons have been just terrible. I like to think that I can see disgust on Christopher Meloni's face in his last seasons; procedural dramas are notoriously boring for actors and Meloni has enough respect in the industry to do a lot more interesting work. When the work went from dull to dull and stupid, it's time to renegotiate one's salary.

But I'm curious about Alston's automatic assumption that "serialization=better." I suppose I can chalk it up to The AV Club's new, young staff--they simply believe that each season of a show should be a an extended film.

They're not in the minority, at least among the chattering classes. I think, like everything else in America, there's a polarization within the mass audience that wasn't nearly so pronounced as it is now. The youngsters writing online these days think that entertainment is life, that the advances to the televisual arts supplied by Mad Men and Breaking Bad are monumental.

Well, I'm a grown man with a job and a family and a million interests. When the television is on, I'm not interested in dropping everything else in my life and sitting with rapt attention, lest I miss a knowing look or a subtle clue. The cult of serialization is not for me.

It's not for the general public, either:  take a look at the top shows of the 2012-2013 season. Of those, I only recognize two, The Walking Dead and The Following, as serialized dramas. The rest non-reality shows are episodic.

I think we'll see a return to episodic television among the chatterers eventually. That's where the money is and money draws talent.

Television has the ability to tell long, multi-hour stories but that's not its strength. The television, in case you haven't noticed, is a piece of furniture, even with a Chromecast attached.

Wrestling for Non-Fans: WWE Network and the Post-Blow-Off Era

Nothing happens in the wrestling world without controversy. Wrestling fans are some of the most obnoxious know-it-alls in the world of geeks but their abrasiveness is tempered by their loyalty. They complain because they care. Mostly, I think they're like heroin junkies chasing their first high; smarks are always looking to recreate the thrill they got when they first saw the storyline that got them hooked.

The WWE Network is the newest controversy, finally shutting up the fans that were disappointed that mediocre-but-well-known wrestler Batista returned and took the main event at Wrestlemania.

The network is, I think, an exciting development, not just in the world of wrestling but for television in general. The WWE is attempting a large-scale internet outlet, offering archived material, new programming and, most importantly, their pay-per-views, for ten dollars a month. The network will offer a 24-a-day broadcast-style channel and an on-demand library.

In typical smark fashion, the complaints run from appallingly stupid to actually pretty smart. Some are concerned with the little alterations that come from problems with music licensing or swear-bleeping. Others are rightfully concerned about the WWE's tendency to change history--famous little mistakes being erased.

A more practical--and unavoidable--problem is that the network is unable to present new episodes of its cable shows until a month after they air. This is due to their deals with the USA and Spike networks and it puts a real crimp in the network's effectiveness in engaging viewers with what's going on right now.

My personal concern--above my general antipathy towards the WWE--is that the archived material isn't as extensive as it could be. Back when the promotion was taking over the world, Vince McMahon showed a lot of prescience. Instead of letting rival promotions collapse into obscurity, he bought them, which meant he owned their video material. The WWE basically owns the history of wrestling.

So far, they've done a good job repackaging that material. The WWE documentary series is generally excellent, if you get over the aforementioned alteration of history (but that's what smarks are for, anyway). But it appears that the documentaries and the original, raw programs (the weekly shows that other promotions ran) aren't on the network in the large numbers that they could be. I'm more interested in watching old stuff.

This article in Vice brings up another question that's been nagging at me:  What does the network mean for the storyline structure?

Back when wrestling was a spectator entertainment rather than a televised entertainment, the idea was that the promotion did small shows all around the circuit, building up storylines. The storyline would set up a big show in a major city, where scores would be settled and heels would get their comeuppance. The smaller shows were promotions for big arena shows.

Early wrestling television followed the same policy. In between matches, the wrestlers would get on the microphone and tell the audience about the next big event.

Vince McMahon had a bigger idea. He took that model and married with a now-forgotten technology--closed-circuit programming. I don't know the mechanics, but major boxing events and one-time specials like Evel Knievel's Snake Canyon jump, were piped into theaters and other places that charged admission to watch the live broadcast. Using that format, McMahon created Wrestlemania.

Wrestlemania is the one wrestling event that nearly everyone has heard of. It's the wrestling Super Bowl; in truth, it's just the biggest big-show of the wrestling business model. The period after the real Super Bowl is Wrestlemania season and, for three months, the promotion builds up the excitement, driving fans into a frenzy wondering what is going to happen there.

The first two Wrestlemanias were offered via closed-circuit and were successful enough that they didn't break the company as they could have (it was a huge gamble for McMahon) but Wrestlemania III was the watershed.

III was the first offered via pay-per-view through cable systems and thus was the first blow-off event (bringing feuds to a climax) available in fans' homes. It was an enormous moneymaker and the WWE found its business model.

Again, this was taking the old format, small shows promoting one big show, and adjusting it to fit a national audience.

The WWE eventually built up its pay-per-view schedule so that there are twelve a year, roughly one a month, and has that format down to a science. The stakes of the pay-per-views from January to April all revolve around Wrestlemania matches--who will face off in the main event?  Who will get to challenge for the various titles? The weekly cable shows all build up to the monthly pay-per-views.

Here's where the WWE Network comes in. The regular pay-per-views cost cable subscribers around $40-50; Wrestlemania is $60 or more. The new network offers those specials included in its $10-a-month subscription.

Some of the smarks are hollering their mantra, "They're leaving money on the table!" They're assuming that all the people that bought the PPVs on cable are going to switch to the network and then the promotion will lose all that money. This is pretty shallow thinking.

For one, do they think that a company with a 2.7 billion market cap is just going to change its strategy on whim, without thinking? The WWE is taking a gamble, sure, but they've probably thought long and hard about it.

I think they're probably trying to atomize their market. Because of the cost of  PPV, most fans don't buy them to watch by themselves. At $10 a month, they can. By lowering the cost, they're opening the market to individual buyers who can watch on their phones, computers or televisions.

They've also taken a lesson from other online media. While some people will always pirate their entertainment, most consumers who pirate do so when there is no other online outlet. iTunes and Netflix showed this to be the case. And WWE PPVs are heavily pirated--the network is a way to harness those viewers.

(In addition, the WWE's business is not reliant on PPV revenues. It has so many other streams that this one can stand some destablilizing.)

But what the Vice article brings up and what has been on my mind is this:  Won't this have an impact on wrestling's fundamental model? The structure for 60+ years has been storylines promoting the big blow-off show.

Theoretically, no. There will still be cable shows promoting the PPVs. But the company's motivation to make every PPV successful is drained--network subscribers are paying whether the storylines are hot or not.

This can be a good or bad thing. For one, taking the pressure off can remove the edge of hysteria that tinges the lesser PPVs. It could also correct one of the biggest faults of the medium's format, rushing storylines. Not being driven to make the end of the month count in a big way every time could allow more complex and dynamic stories to emerge.

If the positives are going to happen, it will probably be after an extended period of limpness. The WWE has had a writing problem for a long time. The staff is too small, for one, and divided between work-for-hire television writers, who don't usually have a wrestling background, and long-time wrestling insiders. The writing is centrally controlled by Vince (though less so these days) and his daughter Stephanie and her husband, wrestler Triple H. (I think they'd be better off following the Law & Order model, by which the different brands are managed by individual executive producers who have the next best thing to final authority.)

I imagine that, if the network takes off, we'll see the urgency of the stories decline for some time before someone with pull on the inside catches on to the possibilities of a post-blow-off era.

FCC--Making Sure the News is News

Another come-and-go story from last week:  FCC in Newsrooms. (Link is for reference to the story, not a special perspective)

The gist of the controversy was that the FCC was going to send investigators into newsrooms in order to make sure that media outlets are serving the public's "critical information needs."

The press, as one would expect, howled at the idea and the program was dropped like it was on fire.

In our polarized climate and with an administration that believes its most important work is in "messaging," I find the idea disgusting. For one, it's not like the MSM aren't craven boot-lickers when it comes to the progressive agenda--what more could they ask for? For another, the leftist take-over of institutions is always so sideways and sneaky--officious, urgent and disingenuous--that I have the same response that one has towards cowardice. At least come out and seize what you want and put your cards on the table.

But the FCC, at least when it comes to broadcasters, is well within its rights. The understanding is that the FCC retains the rights to broadcast frequencies and licenses them as long as the programmers are fulfilling the public's need for information.

But, as was mentioned here, those kinds of regulations were built upon WASP culture. The men running America considered themselves disinterested, able to separate their own views from the rule of law and the Bill-of-Rights principles that guided the nation. To do otherwise would be unseemly.

That's not to say that media manipulation didn't happen. But today's attitude is not that it's dishonorable to manipulate the public's understanding--it's necessary. Take a look at what the FCC considered "critical information:"

The study identified eight "critical needs": information about emergencies and risks; health and welfare; education; transportation; economic opportunities; the environment; civic information; and political information.

It's not difficult to see those topics quickly becoming vehicles for political intimidation. In fact, it's difficult to imagine that they wouldn't. For example, might the FCC standards that journalists must meet on the environment look something like the Obama administration's environmental agenda? Might standards on economic opportunity resemble the president's inequality agenda? The same could hold true for the categories of health and welfare and "civic information" -- and pretty much everything else.

--- 

"The purpose of these interviews is to ascertain the process by which stories are selected," the Social Solutions report said, adding that news organizations would be evaluated for "station priorities (for content, production quality, and populations served), perceived station bias, perceived percent of news dedicated to each of the eight CINs, and perceived responsiveness to underserved populations."

There's always an "on the other hand"--here's mine:  Opposition to these kinds of incursions into an already corrupt and subservient industry only serves to make their later attempts more slippery. The FCC can't dictate when walking in the front door, so they'll try the back. It might be better to work some jujutsu and let them roll right over the news media.

Their bread and butter is manipulating our perception of reality and, given their druthers, they'd concoct a fantasy-land so unfamiliar that it would have the effect of a hundred million televisions being unplugged at once.

Harold Ramis RIP

I've always been a fan of the utility players, the guys who do a lot of the hard work and always stand outside of the spotlight. People like Rupert Holmes, Brian Doyle-Murray and Harold Ramis.

Film buffs often have a hard time understanding that movies have to conjure their own particular magic. Everything can be right on paper, from casting to the script, but doesn't come alive on screen. At the same time, everything can be wrong and the movie is great nonetheless. To have one great or beloved or influential film is a miracle, no matter how talented the auteurs.

Ramis had five:  National Lampoon's Vacation, Caddyshack, Groundhog Day, with Animal House and Ghostbusters (the latter two he co-wrote but did not direct). And some special mentions for screenwriting work on Meatballs and Stripes. This is in addition to the work he did as an integral off-screen part of early SCTV.

What's interesting about his work, though, is that you can't say that he had a particular style. Or rather, his style was so laid-back, like the characters he played, you just remembered the jokes.

Groundhog Day will probably be remembered as the top Ramis work, not just because it pulls off the difficult balance of being very funny and telling a convincing emotional story, but also because it seems like it would have been technically difficult to pull off in the same way Memento or Inception was--it required keeping good notes. His other films probably have the burden of being too successful--so influential that their originality is unrecognizable among all the imitators.

It's maybe not the best thing to think about upon news of his death, but he's a filmmaker who lost his touch rapidly after the heights of Groundhog Day.

There must be some inside-showbiz story why Ramis followed that big hit with Stuart Saves His Family. Al Franken's Stuart Smalley character on SNL was mid-tier at best. Perhaps Ramis was already attached when Groundhog was a success.

His more appropriate follow-up was Multiplicity, which was another go at the technically-difficult, philosophical-thought-experiment niche. I remember it being too excited about its special effects and too reliant on Michael Keaton's crazy man schtick, which had run its course by that time.

Luckily for him, he had another big hit with Analyze This. This was unlucky for DeNiro fans, as it rewarded the star's descent into obvious self-parody. It was also unlucky for me, as I was very happy not having seen Billy Crystal's smirk during the previous years.

Ramis' trajectory through Hollywood is puzzling. Why didn't have a more comfortable position after Groundhog Day? It was a big hit, staying in theaters for months. After his role in some of the most profitable comedies of all time, why was he taking for-hire jobs like Stuart and Bedazzled?

Maybe because, when he did something that interested him, it was The Ice Harvest, which flopped terribly.

But the real shame is that his film career, which began with the launch of the Vacation franchise, ended with the Jack Black-Michael Cera vehicle Year One, which was garbage. Advertised as a romp about two Stone Age tribesman experiencing early civilization, it was instead the two flavors-of-the-month bugging their eyes at Old Testament spoofs. It was completely off; for one, the premise was from Mel Brooks' heyday. For another, Black and Cera work well within their own alt-comedy milieu but you can't just drop them into a studio picture to liven it up.

But let's not end on a down note. When you chart the world of modern comedy, starting back in the improv groups of the late 60s and into the game-changing successes stemming from National Lampoon and SNL, Harold Ramis is right there, every step of the way. His legacy is enormous.

Polyamorist Diana Adams on MTV

Curious as to some in-the-moment behavior from The Atlantic's interviewee, polyamorist and lawyer Diana Adams, I watched her episode of MTV's True Life.

True Life, presented sporadically, is one of MTV's better shows, as least as little as I watch the network. I usually enjoy the program because it's an outpost of a diminishing genre, the cinema verite documentary. A documentary that isn't overloaded with narration and proselytizing is rare anymore.

The episode, like most of the series, revolves around two stories. In the first, a young Southern man is in a "triad," or relationship of three, with two other men. In the course of the show, he attempts to bring in a fourth member.

Diana Adams is a supporting character in the second story as the first lesbian relationship of new poly Kerry. The storyline follows Kerry as she entertains a new man in her life while remaining committed to Adams.

As it's practiced, polyamory seems to be a lot more hierarchical than the philosophy suggests. Adams is obviously the dominant partner over Kerry. Some of this is due to Kerry's youth (she's at least a half-decade younger than Adams at around 21) and being a poly neophyte.

More of it is due to Adams' skill. One short conversation is shown (Kerry reports that "a lot of brilliant feminist talk was cut") which is meant to be an example of the communication process needed. Kerry tells Adams, through giggles, that she's interested in a young man and that she wants to go on a date with him. Adams approves but she wants to meet him before they go out.

That, in itself, is oddly maternal, as it is when she inspects the boy and (half) jokingly says, "You'll have her back at midnight, right?" But she shows something more interesting when it's her turn to bring up an issue.

First she tells her that makes her feel a little jealous. It's striking that she doesn't say, "I'm feeling it but that's something that has to be overcome," or, "That's my problem but you should be aware of it." Instead, her statement sounds almost like a challenge.

It's a similar tactic to the "joke" she plays on the date. She puts something challenging on the table and then steps back to see how the person reacts. I feel this way and I feel this way because you do this. I want you to be aware of that. It's an emotional power-move--sometimes a quirk of personality but sometimes a tactic of dominance.

Adams follows the statement with a directive. Apparently, sometimes Kerry said to her that, if Adams were only a man, then their situation would be perfect. While this is understandably not a great thing to say, Adams then subtly threatens ending the relationship. She says that, since she is Kerry's first lesbian girlfriend, that she accepts that Kerry might not be ready for her. If that's the case, then she's willing to step back and just "be her friend."

It's all couched very nicely but firmly and directly. But I think that it highlights that polyamory seems to encourage a lot of polite teeth-baring. The fetish of communication creates an arena for the verbose to have a feeling-measuring contest.

For those that present their feelings the best--who have the most skill at justifying themselves--, it can be a chance to dominate others. The theory is that everyone shares and thus understands one another's feelings but the reality is that it can be a quiet argument over whose feelings are more legitimate.

Also a little disturbing is the knowledge that, while Kerry, a feminine and soft-spoken young girl, is new to the scene, Adams is not only experienced but entrenched in the poly social world, as well as having a long-term partner. The power difference is large and Adams' school-marm tone enhances this.

Watching polyamory in action reminds me that the reality is much different than the philosophy. In polyamorous thought, we can think of each individual as her own entity, making emotional connections of various intensities at will. The connections one makes need not have any bearing on any other connections--a partner needs to be aware of the others but contact is unimportant.

Over here in the real world, it's not a surprise that some are more dominant than others. But the polys seem to ignore the fact that their situations morph into a dysfunctional-family dynamic.

We see a bit of it with Kerry, but the gay triad shows the power dynamic more clearly. In that arrangement, our focus is Jim, who is frustrated because, even though all three of them live together, he is forced to sleep alone. It's not explicitly stated but Jim is the odd man out in the triad, with one man being the alpha and the other being a sort of pet, or taking a more feminine role.

It strikes me that it must be frustrating to think that one is entering this free, embracing world--a world in which you are liberated to love as many people as you want--and discover that you entering a commune as the least equal member.

Even worse, because you are the least dominant person in the group, your choices are more scrutinized and by more people than if one pursued serial monogamy. Adams insists on meeting Kerry's beau on their first date. Jim wants someone to sleep in the bed with him, so he finds a potential fourth member--over the dominant member's objections--and goes on a date with him secretly.

Bringing in another person seems to be a way for a less-dominant person to gain more power in the arrangement, at the very least by creating a crisis. He likes him better, so I'll bring in someone who likes me better and then our situation will be balanced. A case could be made that Adams attempts to dominate Kerry's date by having the group of them go to the queer club ("The She Dick") together and then join them at a tantric class (which isn't the least bit sexy). If you are interested in pursuing her, you will do it on my turf.

(We get to meet Ed Vessel, the poly-player we discussed yesterday--and, true to the emasculating nature of the philosophy, he spent some time wearing a skirt and enjoying a group hug.)

I don't think that the relationships on this show are anomalous--I think they're the norm. Feminine domination seems to be the name of the game, with their arsenal a stockpile of words and feelings and their defenses a pile of romantic options.

The episode was broadcast in 2009, reportedly after some delay. You can see Adams acting as a spokesman on The View last November. Sadly, she's hit the Wall and no longer comes off as the cool alternative chick she did five years ago. She brings up, again, her partner's relationships with hotter women in order to show how polys handle jealousy.

It seems like jealousy never stops bothering them, no matter how much they wish to "cultivate" compersion. Maybe it's all not as rational as they think...