Over at Observations on Film Art, David Bordwell just posted a neat little piece on the origin of the bug in film and TV.
No, not that kind of bug. The kind that takes the form of a network logo, floating in the bottom corner of the screen.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Transatlantic translations
I'm in the middle of watching the Life on Mars premiere -- I've been anticipating this show like crazy, and was prepared to be let down hard. But so far, so good. The excellent cast is holding up like I hoped they would, and the writers aren't completely overdoing the nudge-nudge, wink-wink references to a pre-2008 world. I haven't spotted any major anachronisms yet (although I'm not watching too attentively, as evidenced by the fact that I'm blogging at the same time). Of course, Mad Men has set a nearly impossible bar for period detail. It's tempting to ask that of any show that pegs itself so deliberately to a different era.
Much like The (American) Office, this pilot is almost a line-for-line remake of the British pilot. That's okay. It seems like relatively few people stateside have caught the BBC show, and it's a whale of a pilot. However, before the first commercial break, there's a brief, but huge, diversion from the original.
In both versions, Sam gets hit by a car sometime in the modern era and wakes up in 1973. In his first scene after regaining consciousness, he stumbles around a vacant lot for a little bit, then talks to a cop, and finally sees something that cues him into the fact that he's in some very different place. In the BBC version, it's a "Coming Soon" sign for the Mancunian Way.
In the American version, it's the still-standing Twin Towers.
It's an odd moment, one akin to nothing I've seen on television recently. Emotions about 9/11 aside, though, it strikes me an extremely aggressive Americanization of the show. I don't know too much about British cultural considerations of particular motorways but I doubt that the image of a world without the Mancunian Way has the same kind of punch. The writers could have stayed closer to the original, picking something in New York that didn't exist in 1973, and revealing its absence. Instead, they chose an image that brings up very strong emotions. It immediately paints Sam's new world as pre-9/11, as opposed to just pre-2008. The lack of the A57 is a nod to ancient technology. The existence of the Towers suggests a lot more.
As I type this, Sam is walking down a New York sidewalk, muttering, "I'm going to walk until my brain can't think up any more streets... or arguments... or details. There are only so many details." Let's see how tongue-in-cheek that line ends up being.
P.S. Forgive my absence. Again. Expect the posting frequency to pick up as fall TV gets rolling.
Much like The (American) Office, this pilot is almost a line-for-line remake of the British pilot. That's okay. It seems like relatively few people stateside have caught the BBC show, and it's a whale of a pilot. However, before the first commercial break, there's a brief, but huge, diversion from the original.
In both versions, Sam gets hit by a car sometime in the modern era and wakes up in 1973. In his first scene after regaining consciousness, he stumbles around a vacant lot for a little bit, then talks to a cop, and finally sees something that cues him into the fact that he's in some very different place. In the BBC version, it's a "Coming Soon" sign for the Mancunian Way.
In the American version, it's the still-standing Twin Towers.
It's an odd moment, one akin to nothing I've seen on television recently. Emotions about 9/11 aside, though, it strikes me an extremely aggressive Americanization of the show. I don't know too much about British cultural considerations of particular motorways but I doubt that the image of a world without the Mancunian Way has the same kind of punch. The writers could have stayed closer to the original, picking something in New York that didn't exist in 1973, and revealing its absence. Instead, they chose an image that brings up very strong emotions. It immediately paints Sam's new world as pre-9/11, as opposed to just pre-2008. The lack of the A57 is a nod to ancient technology. The existence of the Towers suggests a lot more.
As I type this, Sam is walking down a New York sidewalk, muttering, "I'm going to walk until my brain can't think up any more streets... or arguments... or details. There are only so many details." Let's see how tongue-in-cheek that line ends up being.
P.S. Forgive my absence. Again. Expect the posting frequency to pick up as fall TV gets rolling.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Blog abandonment
I am in the midst of my thesis at the moment, which is a multimedia project tentatively titled "Beyond Cult Media: A Model for Television-Based Transmedia Storytelling". I'm building four (!) websites designed to extend a mainstream television show (namely, the spectacular Friday Night Lights) in an effort to prove that transmedia storytelling doesn't just work for cult and sci-fi programming. It is, effectively, an intensive response to this.
At first glance, my thesis appears to be an excuse to (a) build splashy, colorful websites (b) muck around with WordPress and (c) watch and rewatch and rewatch an excellent television show. However, the more I write and the more I think about the model I'm building, I'm starting to think there's a "there" there. When I have a draft in reasonably polished form I'll post it here; I'm going to publish it using CommentPress and I beg you for feedback.
Also, the title desperately needs work.
At first glance, my thesis appears to be an excuse to (a) build splashy, colorful websites (b) muck around with WordPress and (c) watch and rewatch and rewatch an excellent television show. However, the more I write and the more I think about the model I'm building, I'm starting to think there's a "there" there. When I have a draft in reasonably polished form I'll post it here; I'm going to publish it using CommentPress and I beg you for feedback.
Also, the title desperately needs work.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Narrative credibility vs. television realism
Though the posted topic asks us to consider our television show in light of David Lavery's 2006 Flow piece on narrative credibility in 24, there isn't much to discuss when it comes to Friday Night Lights. The show follows a classic, linear plotline and takes pains to ground its story in realistic detail. The only real "leap of narrative faith" viewers are asked to take is the fact that the fictional Dillon Panthers play a 13-game season; An actual championship season in Texas high school football is 16 games long.
Instead, I would like to briefly consider where 24 fits into television realism. On the subject of unbelievable moments in the show, such as Jack Bauer's increasing super-human-ness and characters' ability to travel across huge expanses of California in impossibly short amounts of time, Lavery shrugs: "But once the irrational has been introduced and an air of likelihood imparted to it, we must accept it in spite of the absurdity." This comment recalls Fiske's conception of television realism, where fantastic elements can be considered realistic if they logically fit into a show's universe. However, the universe of 24 is Los Angeles, a place with a verifiable geography (and very heavy traffic). Were Jack Bauer presented as some kind of literal superhero with a flying car, it would be easier for us to accept these kinds of scenes as logical parts of the narrative. Instead, they chafe against the physical and realistic world as we know it, and as the series indulges in these incredible storylines more and more often, the disconnect grows increasingly frustrating.
Instead, I would like to briefly consider where 24 fits into television realism. On the subject of unbelievable moments in the show, such as Jack Bauer's increasing super-human-ness and characters' ability to travel across huge expanses of California in impossibly short amounts of time, Lavery shrugs: "But once the irrational has been introduced and an air of likelihood imparted to it, we must accept it in spite of the absurdity." This comment recalls Fiske's conception of television realism, where fantastic elements can be considered realistic if they logically fit into a show's universe. However, the universe of 24 is Los Angeles, a place with a verifiable geography (and very heavy traffic). Were Jack Bauer presented as some kind of literal superhero with a flying car, it would be easier for us to accept these kinds of scenes as logical parts of the narrative. Instead, they chafe against the physical and realistic world as we know it, and as the series indulges in these incredible storylines more and more often, the disconnect grows increasingly frustrating.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Devlish details and copyright law
As far as content goes, copyright law can most strongly be felt in the details -- television shows tend to shy away from mentioning or showing copyrighted and/or trademarked brands. This can be a distracting presence when generic brands are too prominently featured. At the very least, it detracts from a program's level of realism. (In Season 2 DVD commentary, the producer of Arrested Development laments that a joke surrounding "Glisten" toothpaste would have been funnier had they been allowed to use the brand name Gleam.) This standard also applies to the use of copyrighted music or video, as including it in a television broadcast amounts to distribution.
This poses a particular hurdle for sports-focused television shows, which often need to show realistic game footage. Luckily, Friday Night Lights focuses on high school football. While game play is often seen on screen, usually in the form of opponent game film studied by coaches, FNL doesn't have to clear rights to obtain professional or semi-pro game footage; instead, they use footage of actual Texas high school football games and practices (including those of the Periman Panthers, the Odessa team that inspired the story of Friday Night Lights).
This poses a particular hurdle for sports-focused television shows, which often need to show realistic game footage. Luckily, Friday Night Lights focuses on high school football. While game play is often seen on screen, usually in the form of opponent game film studied by coaches, FNL doesn't have to clear rights to obtain professional or semi-pro game footage; instead, they use footage of actual Texas high school football games and practices (including those of the Periman Panthers, the Odessa team that inspired the story of Friday Night Lights).
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
"Defending your mama's honor"
Two of the final scenes of Friday Night Lights episode 215 ("May The Best Man Win") offer a rare moment of humor. The first features a tense dinner with Coach Taylor, his wife, and his wife's ex-boyfriend; it ends with the two men drunkenly coming to blows. The second can be viewed here:
In "The Simpsons, Hyper-Irony, and the Meaning of Life," Carl Matheson explores the frequent quotations of pop-culture written into The Simpsons. Briefly summarizing current intellectual trends, Matheson concludes that America is suffering "a pervasive crisis of authority" and that practitioners are making an effort to examine the history of their particular field in an attempt to stabilize and progress. To the list of concepts in which Matheson sees crisises -- art, science, philosophy, religion and morality -- I would add masculinity, which is an increasingly problematic concept in contemporary America. Following this logic, the fight scene between the ex-boyfriend and the husband recalls historical notions of masculinity. Two men retort to the age-old score-settler of a physical duel to reassert their dominance. Taylor even invokes the language of a bygone era, explaining to his daughter that "I was defending your mama's honor."
The Simpsons is a comedy, of course, while Friday Night Lights is a drama; the latter show has a similarly undefined moral agenda but largely faces moral issues with grim seriousness. However, this particular moment of quotationalism is played for laughs. Left writhing in bed and begging for asprin, Taylor is ridiculed by his wife and daughter as they leave him to nurse his own wounds. In a show where characters spend much of their time struggling with moral questions, this rare moment of humor expresses the same ambivalence in a much more subtle way.
In "The Simpsons, Hyper-Irony, and the Meaning of Life," Carl Matheson explores the frequent quotations of pop-culture written into The Simpsons. Briefly summarizing current intellectual trends, Matheson concludes that America is suffering "a pervasive crisis of authority" and that practitioners are making an effort to examine the history of their particular field in an attempt to stabilize and progress. To the list of concepts in which Matheson sees crisises -- art, science, philosophy, religion and morality -- I would add masculinity, which is an increasingly problematic concept in contemporary America. Following this logic, the fight scene between the ex-boyfriend and the husband recalls historical notions of masculinity. Two men retort to the age-old score-settler of a physical duel to reassert their dominance. Taylor even invokes the language of a bygone era, explaining to his daughter that "I was defending your mama's honor."
The Simpsons is a comedy, of course, while Friday Night Lights is a drama; the latter show has a similarly undefined moral agenda but largely faces moral issues with grim seriousness. However, this particular moment of quotationalism is played for laughs. Left writhing in bed and begging for asprin, Taylor is ridiculed by his wife and daughter as they leave him to nurse his own wounds. In a show where characters spend much of their time struggling with moral questions, this rare moment of humor expresses the same ambivalence in a much more subtle way.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
The economics of Dillon
Though not a sitcom, Friday Night Lights provides a valuable counterpoint to Tim Gibson's piece in Flow. This particular show's questions of race (of which there are many) shy away from being coded economically. However, working-class struggles are a centerpiece of the series. In a recent episode, two (white) characters struggled with financial problems. Riggins, who lives with an older brother with no parental supervision, deals with the consequences of having stolen money to make up a late mortgage payment. Perhaps more interestingly, Street, a former high school football star faced with mounting car repair costs, decides to take a job as a used-car salesman. In one of the episode's last scenes, it is driven home that the job is a far cry from his dreams of excelling in college and professional football. The working-class experience is not merely on display here; the audience is asked to identify and empathize with it.
In discussing the global market for American sitcoms, Gibson identifies the norm: "Thus, in the international TV marketplace, a white, middle-class experience becomes universalized as something that will appeal to 'everyone.'"
The quote leaves out an important adjective: "urban." Though nearly all of the shows Gibson references take place in urban locales, Friday Night Lights is set in a relatively rural town in Texas, where a "middle-class" yearly salary is a fraction of that in Manhattan or Los Angeles. Unlike the way it might be represented in a sitcom, the decidedly non-urban community of Dillon is played not for laughs, but to represent some kind of genuine American-ness. (Judging from the show's declining ratings, however, it's difficult to judge whether urban viewing audiences are comfortable with this depiction, or if they're instinctively distancing themselves from a world of Applebee's and overalls.)
In discussing the global market for American sitcoms, Gibson identifies the norm: "Thus, in the international TV marketplace, a white, middle-class experience becomes universalized as something that will appeal to 'everyone.'"
The quote leaves out an important adjective: "urban." Though nearly all of the shows Gibson references take place in urban locales, Friday Night Lights is set in a relatively rural town in Texas, where a "middle-class" yearly salary is a fraction of that in Manhattan or Los Angeles. Unlike the way it might be represented in a sitcom, the decidedly non-urban community of Dillon is played not for laughs, but to represent some kind of genuine American-ness. (Judging from the show's declining ratings, however, it's difficult to judge whether urban viewing audiences are comfortable with this depiction, or if they're instinctively distancing themselves from a world of Applebee's and overalls.)
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