A lot has happened since my last post. Dozens of entire television shows have come and gone, running the gamut from crib deaths and abortions, to Alzheimer's sufferers succumbing to the ravages of old age, to suicides hoping to leave a good-looking corpse (and occasionally succeeding). Some, however, turn into zombies.
I'm talking of course about The Tonight Show. In June of last year, Leno passed the much-anticipated torch to Conan, hibernated for the summer, and emerged as the predictably stodgy, flaccid, and milquetoast The Jay Leno Show in the fall. A several-month ratings slump and a Winter Olympics later, and Leno was once again at the helm of the Tonight Show franchise, with Conan $33 million richer. Conan, despite losing office, still walked away with the popular vote.
As an aside, in the interest of full disclosure I'm happy to admit that in terms of the popular (albeit romantic) argument, I was on Team Coco. Not that I would go out of my way to watch Conan, but if I was home, and wasn't watching anything in particular, and he was on, I would sometimes watch. As opposed to Leno, whom I could not, and cannot, stand. But to say I had any kind of actual emotional investment in the proceedings would be an exaggeration. I certainly don't mean to sound like the most fervent of viewers. But I digress.
In short, NBC let go of Conan because of low ratings. We get it, television networks are not philanthropic organizations. However, the delicious irony here is that half a year after taking back the crown, Leno's ratings have dipped lower than Conan's ever did. In fact, according to a recent Nielsen report, Leno's ratings have dipped lower than any Tonight Show ratings ever. That's not a dip, that's a belly flop. With Conan poised to re-enter the late night fray in just two months from now, it's only going to get worse for Leno, and that belly flop may very well turn out to be a suicide leap.
Good things zombies are already dead.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Thursday, February 19, 2009
In The Year 2000
This week marks the end of Conan O'Brien's 16-year run with Late Night. It's making me feel mildly uncharacteristically sentimental, probably because it was the first time I saw any sort of late-night talk show that I thought was funny. I won't go so far as to say O'Brien spoke to me or my generation, but it was first time I heard regular bong jokes, and saw a Masturbating Bear, or watched a puppet dog brutally mock a line full of Star Wars fanboys... yeah, maybe I will say he spoke to me.
I don't think it's a bold statement to suggest that the 11:35 PM Conan is going to be noticeably different from the 12:37 AM Conan. I already read that the Masturbating Bear has rubbed his last one out, although I'm hoping the Robot On The Toilet sketch is probably flying under the radar of NBC's Standards & Practices. Conan is going full-blown mainstream with this move, and I'm very curious to see what other elements fall victim to the bid to woo a wider, and considerably older, audience. The truth is, I just don't see Conan winning over the Leno audience without significantly changing up his schtick. Sure, he can keep the old timey voice routines, and the patent, goofy awkwardness. But if the Masturbating Bear has already been kicked to the curb, I wonder who's going to be out there keeping him company? The Horny Manatee, mayhap?
I can't think about Conan without instantly comparing him to Leno. One cannot exist without the other; the Yin and Yang of NBC Late Night. And this is where I have a hard time picturing Leno's audience appreciating Conan. I always assumed Leno repeats his punch lines (the equivalent of "get it? get it??") because his audience is older. His jokes may occasionally border on the risque, but they certainly never cross that line. Also, for reasons not understood, a great deal of his material revolves around consumer products. Go watch a Leno monologue compared to, well anyone's. The list of available products, providers and other purchase-ables is an unstemmed flood of commercialism. While Leno makes cheap puns about various products, Conan always seems to point out their inherent absurdity, or even the absurd cultural notions surrounding them. Case in point, eating Taco Bell and sipping on 40's of Old English last night with Martha Stewart, self-proclaimed purveyor of good taste and all things wholesome. Will the Leno audience even get these jokes? Or are they too used to the punch lines being hammered over their heads for an hour? I'm skeptically optimistic at best.
Conan faced a lot of doubt 16 years ago, and overcame it with great success. The difference then however, was that he was free to be himself, what with low expectations and an AM time slot (not to mention competing for ratings with the short-lived Chevy Chase show), whereas now he is playing to a much different audience. It occurs to me though, that his audience is now getting older as well. Maybe the switch to Leno territory is apt, as twenty-somethings raised on Conan are now rapidly approaching the Over The Hill zone. This would make sense, as Leno's Baby Boomers and Greatest Generation viewers don't want to stay up as late anymore to end their evening, and can settle in an hour earlier by watching Leno in his new, earlier time slot. Maybe Conan maturing up his schtick just signifies something else that I don't want to acknowledge in anything more than a peripheral sense: That getting older means leaving certain things behind, be it barefaced awkwardness, bong jokes, or even a Masturbating Bear.
I don't think it's a bold statement to suggest that the 11:35 PM Conan is going to be noticeably different from the 12:37 AM Conan. I already read that the Masturbating Bear has rubbed his last one out, although I'm hoping the Robot On The Toilet sketch is probably flying under the radar of NBC's Standards & Practices. Conan is going full-blown mainstream with this move, and I'm very curious to see what other elements fall victim to the bid to woo a wider, and considerably older, audience. The truth is, I just don't see Conan winning over the Leno audience without significantly changing up his schtick. Sure, he can keep the old timey voice routines, and the patent, goofy awkwardness. But if the Masturbating Bear has already been kicked to the curb, I wonder who's going to be out there keeping him company? The Horny Manatee, mayhap?
I can't think about Conan without instantly comparing him to Leno. One cannot exist without the other; the Yin and Yang of NBC Late Night. And this is where I have a hard time picturing Leno's audience appreciating Conan. I always assumed Leno repeats his punch lines (the equivalent of "get it? get it??") because his audience is older. His jokes may occasionally border on the risque, but they certainly never cross that line. Also, for reasons not understood, a great deal of his material revolves around consumer products. Go watch a Leno monologue compared to, well anyone's. The list of available products, providers and other purchase-ables is an unstemmed flood of commercialism. While Leno makes cheap puns about various products, Conan always seems to point out their inherent absurdity, or even the absurd cultural notions surrounding them. Case in point, eating Taco Bell and sipping on 40's of Old English last night with Martha Stewart, self-proclaimed purveyor of good taste and all things wholesome. Will the Leno audience even get these jokes? Or are they too used to the punch lines being hammered over their heads for an hour? I'm skeptically optimistic at best.
Conan faced a lot of doubt 16 years ago, and overcame it with great success. The difference then however, was that he was free to be himself, what with low expectations and an AM time slot (not to mention competing for ratings with the short-lived Chevy Chase show), whereas now he is playing to a much different audience. It occurs to me though, that his audience is now getting older as well. Maybe the switch to Leno territory is apt, as twenty-somethings raised on Conan are now rapidly approaching the Over The Hill zone. This would make sense, as Leno's Baby Boomers and Greatest Generation viewers don't want to stay up as late anymore to end their evening, and can settle in an hour earlier by watching Leno in his new, earlier time slot. Maybe Conan maturing up his schtick just signifies something else that I don't want to acknowledge in anything more than a peripheral sense: That getting older means leaving certain things behind, be it barefaced awkwardness, bong jokes, or even a Masturbating Bear.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Mirror, Mirror
Miss America: Countdown to the Crown on TLC bothers me. Not because of the blatant unoriginality, this lame attempt to update what is essentially the oldest reality-show on television to the age of Big Brother, not even because it is without a doubt one of the most bland hours available on cable television. No, Countdown to the Crown bothers me because it purports to offer up role models for young girls based on the most vapid, colorless, and ultimately uninteresting women the country apparently has to offer.
On the show, the Miss States compete in cringe-worthy competition, putting on displays of talent that look like high school pep rallies, debating the merits of curling their hair inwards versus out, and generally standing around with tight smiles and blank stares. Virtually indistinguishable from one another, these fembots have all the personality of Japanese love dolls, with even less of the appeal. While I imagine the show was an attempt to make the Miss America Pageant germane again, it instead seems to prove just how irrelevant the distinction really is. If the women are that interchangeable, indistinguishable beyond their tone of skin and shade of hair dye, then what's the ultimate difference who wins anyway? Miss America is a crown for the most anti-outrageous; the winner wins for being not the most different, the most original, but for being the most like the rest only more.
The flip side of this coin is of course Rock of Love Bus on VH1. Packing two tour busses with the most outrageous skanks available (and I do mean available), the show plies them with booze (Tequila is virtually everywhere, even in the bathroom) and sets them all on heat-seeking mode, competing for the affections of a has-been rocker that peaked in the late 80's, and other than a brief appearance on Billboard's Top 200 albums last year (most likely due to his ubiquitous nature on VH1), hasn't had a real hit since a sex tape more popular for the participation of Pamela Anderson almost half a decade ago. The stated goal of the show is to find a suitable lifemate for Bret, someone he can rock the night away with until the stars fall from the sky. But the obvious goal to anyone that's actually watched the show (or seen a commercial, or just heard about it) is to create the biggest, most silicone-filled, insecurity-fueled, needy clusterfuck of an orgy ever seen since the days of Caligula.
Now I'm not saying these ladies are any more suitable as role models for young women than the pageant contestants of America's crown jewels. But I do respect them more, as well as the innate honesty of the show, as nobody on the Love Bus seems to pretend for even a moment that they are anything other than what they are. These walking, talking cautionary tales cloaked in stiletto heels and cheap extensions are to me the real Miss Americas of the post-modern age, and at the very least, stripping them of all else, they sure are more entertaining.
On the show, the Miss States compete in cringe-worthy competition, putting on displays of talent that look like high school pep rallies, debating the merits of curling their hair inwards versus out, and generally standing around with tight smiles and blank stares. Virtually indistinguishable from one another, these fembots have all the personality of Japanese love dolls, with even less of the appeal. While I imagine the show was an attempt to make the Miss America Pageant germane again, it instead seems to prove just how irrelevant the distinction really is. If the women are that interchangeable, indistinguishable beyond their tone of skin and shade of hair dye, then what's the ultimate difference who wins anyway? Miss America is a crown for the most anti-outrageous; the winner wins for being not the most different, the most original, but for being the most like the rest only more.
The flip side of this coin is of course Rock of Love Bus on VH1. Packing two tour busses with the most outrageous skanks available (and I do mean available), the show plies them with booze (Tequila is virtually everywhere, even in the bathroom) and sets them all on heat-seeking mode, competing for the affections of a has-been rocker that peaked in the late 80's, and other than a brief appearance on Billboard's Top 200 albums last year (most likely due to his ubiquitous nature on VH1), hasn't had a real hit since a sex tape more popular for the participation of Pamela Anderson almost half a decade ago. The stated goal of the show is to find a suitable lifemate for Bret, someone he can rock the night away with until the stars fall from the sky. But the obvious goal to anyone that's actually watched the show (or seen a commercial, or just heard about it) is to create the biggest, most silicone-filled, insecurity-fueled, needy clusterfuck of an orgy ever seen since the days of Caligula.
Now I'm not saying these ladies are any more suitable as role models for young women than the pageant contestants of America's crown jewels. But I do respect them more, as well as the innate honesty of the show, as nobody on the Love Bus seems to pretend for even a moment that they are anything other than what they are. These walking, talking cautionary tales cloaked in stiletto heels and cheap extensions are to me the real Miss Americas of the post-modern age, and at the very least, stripping them of all else, they sure are more entertaining.
Friday, January 16, 2009
ER
I started this blog thinking I would denounce most of the empty, offensively ignorant and (more offensively) bland the content of my nearest television always seems to be. However, I was surprised at how much I enjoyed last night's episode of ER, the longest-running of the glut of medical drama television shows, and the second-longest staple of NBC after the original Law & Order. Titled "Dream Runner," the story had a distinct Groundhog Day vibe to it, with Neela repeating the same day over again three times, albeit in a dream, until she (and others) finally got it right. Dealing with a teenage girl fighting a tenacious infection, and a man who physically acts out his dreams, the characters make increasingly better decisions as they become more confident, more outspoken, and in the end, more honest. The episode had a pop Buddhism theme going on, with a hip transport driver even observing that sometimes inaction is, in and of itself, action. This is bolstered later on when the young girl with an infection predicts Neela's fortune (courtesy of one of those folded paper things that usually predict how many children you're going to have, or if you're going to marry a nice rich man). This one seemed more fortune cookie than predictor of marital satisfaction, and predicted/enlightened: "Your actions are the seeds of fate."
As in Groundhog Day, Neela learns the lessons of her mistakes, the lessons of her inaction, as she gets to relive the day over and over again. Luckily for her (and the show's running time), she only needs three go 'rounds for the lessons to be learned. Presented with the same scenarios, Neela makes subtly different choices, speaking up instead of holding back, and confidently trusting her instincts/knowledge/self instead of listening to others or playing it safe. In the end, her bespectacled mentor sums up the entire lesson Neela learned, the moral of the story, and probably wonderful instructions for life in general: you don't always have to know where you are going, as long as you are moving forward. Maybe because I often feel so paralyzed by indecision, or because I'm a sucker for rationalist metaphysics, but the story resonated with me and reminded me that sometimes it's alright to be driving blind.
Now I'm not going to miss ER when it's through, and I haven't watched a full episode since a fun splattercore comedy of an episode directed by Quentin Tarantino many years ago, but this episode will be filed away as an example of good television, plain and simple. I knew almost none of the characters, and yet it stood alone as an hour of good, brief reflection-provoking entertainment, which is one of the better things I could ask for from my television.
As in Groundhog Day, Neela learns the lessons of her mistakes, the lessons of her inaction, as she gets to relive the day over and over again. Luckily for her (and the show's running time), she only needs three go 'rounds for the lessons to be learned. Presented with the same scenarios, Neela makes subtly different choices, speaking up instead of holding back, and confidently trusting her instincts/knowledge/self instead of listening to others or playing it safe. In the end, her bespectacled mentor sums up the entire lesson Neela learned, the moral of the story, and probably wonderful instructions for life in general: you don't always have to know where you are going, as long as you are moving forward. Maybe because I often feel so paralyzed by indecision, or because I'm a sucker for rationalist metaphysics, but the story resonated with me and reminded me that sometimes it's alright to be driving blind.
Now I'm not going to miss ER when it's through, and I haven't watched a full episode since a fun splattercore comedy of an episode directed by Quentin Tarantino many years ago, but this episode will be filed away as an example of good television, plain and simple. I knew almost none of the characters, and yet it stood alone as an hour of good, brief reflection-provoking entertainment, which is one of the better things I could ask for from my television.
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