Flashback Friday – Kill Your (Commercial) Television

No sale!

This Friday, the flashback is not so much a movie or TV show, but television itself. As I was sitting in my living room trying to find some entertainment on the TV machine, I was surprised to find a show called “Flash Forward,” which wasn’t too awful. That is, the content of the show wasn’t too awful.

Unfortunately, every twelve minutes or so, when I was really into it and on the edge of my couch waiting for that next little tidbit that would tell me why everyone on the planet blacked out for 2 minutes and seventeen seconds, something extremely disturbing and annoying would happen – a commercial, those irritating little reminders that tell us that the time slot we’re currently watching has been rented by Tylenol or Lexus or Welch’s Grape Juice or – biggest insult of all – the network we’re currently watching.

Anyone who knows me knows that I watch very little commercial television. It takes a might exceptional show to keep me coming back after a five-minute commercial break. Some of those exception shows are “Desperate Housewives,” “30 Rock,” “The Office.” They are worth waiting for the end of the string of “Pizza Hut,” and “Garnier Fructise” commercials. But I don’t listen to them. I mute them. They sound much better that way. I would rather not be jarred out of my semi-conscious couch potato state by a commercial that is at least 5 decibels louder than the program I’m watching in order to view the trailer for the latest film about hippy undercover cops chasing the mastermind of a pot-growing syndicate through a nudist colony…on skateboards.

But contemporary television marketing has gotten completely out of hand. Everything is, “Want to see what happens next? Go to our website?” “Want to talk to the start of your favorite show? Go to our website?” “Want to know a great way to remove vomit from bed sheets? Visit our website.” Everything is conceived to drive traffic to each network’s website.

And what do we find when we get there? Other things that networks want to sell us. If you miss an episode of “Desperate Housewives,” don’t worry? You can catch up on the website. But don’t think you’ve escaped the scourge of commercial television just because you’re not, technically, watching television. Oh, no! The website episodes have commercials embedded into the content, so don’t bother trying to fast forward through them. Just do what I do in real time – Say hello my little computer mute button!

What happened to the days when there was, maybe, one commercial during each commercial break?

I remember being in college and watching television in the TV room of my dorm with some American dorm-mates and some British exchange students. The show opening for a popular series came on, then the show went immediately to a commercial. The British students looked at each other and laughed, baffled. The Americans, used to such immediate and intrusive interruptions, asked the Brits what was so funny. We were told that British TV shows never started that way, that there was always entertainment content before the first commercial. I sighed and dreamed of the day American television would work that way.

Of course, today it does work that way, except now we have twice as many commercials within each program to make up for the fact that the programs start immediately after the opening. Is there really that much more crap worth buying? If so, I guess you can call that progress.

But with the advent of TiVo and the DVR, most people end up fast-forwarding through commercials, so advertisers have, necessarily, become more innovative and clever in their efforts to expose viewers to their products. They’ve returned to that age-old TV advertising strategy of sponsoring programs. My local news happens to be sponsored by Chase Bank, so guess which bank robbery will get the top slot on the news should such an awful event occur?

TNT promotes its upcoming programming in the lower eighth of the television screen during its current programming. Sometimes these promotions can be quite jarring. You might be watching a particularly dramatic scene on “Law and Order” when a tiny formula one race car skids across the screen trailing smoke followed by a tiny pit crew, which proceeds to change the car’s tire, all in an effort to promote the network’s NASCAR programming. What’s even more jarring is the notion that “Law and Order” viewers can also be NASCAR fans. Talk about strange bedfellows.

No matter where I tune my old-fashioned television dial, there is always someone trying to sell me something. But it’s more than just selling. It’s an interruption, an intrusion. I can only go to the bathroom so many times in a one-hour period, so I am inevitably forced to watch these sales pitches once in a while. And guess what? They’re still annoying, even with the sound muted.

Sure, the commercial directors/advertisers work hard to make these sales pitches look like entertainment, but they are still sales pitches. I don’t care if there’s a woman floating in an inner-tube to sell me Pine Sol, or an eight month-old baby talking about stocks to sell me on the Etrade service. I still know it’s a commercial.

Like that naïve college student baffled by the British reaction to the American commercial-before-content version of television, I still have a dream. Now I dream of a day when there are no more TV commercials within television programming. I dream of the day when commercials will come in 6 minute blocks before and after the programs I watch like they do on cable because that’s the American way.

Perhaps this isn’t so much a flashback as much as it’s a flash forward.

This Friday, the flashback is not so much a movie or TV, but television itself. As I was sitting in my living room trying to find something to entertainment on the TV machine, I was surprised to find a show called “Flash Forward,” which was too awful. That is, the content of the show wasn’t too awful.

Unfortunately, every twelve minutes or so, when I was really into it and on the edge of my couch waiting for that next little tidbit that would tell me why everyone on the planet blacked out for 2 minutes and seventeen seconds, something extremely disturbing and annoying would happen – a commercial, those irritating little reminders that tell us that the time slot we’re currently watching has been rented by Tylenol or Lexus or Welch’s Grape Juice or – biggest insult of all – the network we’re currently watching.

Anyone who knows me knows that I watch very little commercial television. It takes a might exceptional show to keep me coming back after a five-minute commercial break. Some of those exception shows are “Desperate Housewives,” “30 Rock, “The Office.” They are worth waiting for the end of the string of “Pizza Hut,” and “Garnier Fructise” commercials. But I don’t listen to them. I mute them. They sound much better that way. I would rather not be jarred out of my semi-conscious couch potato state by a commercial that is at least 5 decibels louder than the program I’m watching in order to view the trailer for the latest film about hippy undercover cops chasing the mastermind of a pot-growing syndicate through a nudist colony…on skateboards.

But contemporary television marketing has gotten completely out of hand. Everything is, “Want to see what happens next? Go to our website?” “Want to talk to the start of your favorite show? Go to our website?” “Want to know a great way to remove vomit from bed sheets? Visit our website.” Everything is conceived to drive traffic to each network’s website.

And what do we find when we get there? Other things that networks want to sell us. If you miss an episode of “Desperate Housewives,” don’t worry? You can catch up on the website. But don’t think you’ve escaped the scourge of commercial television just because you’re not, technically, watching television. Oh, no! The web episodes have commercials embedded into the content, so don’t bother trying to fast forward through them. Just do what I do in real time – “Hello my little computer mute button!”

What happened to the days when there was, maybe, one commercial during each commercial break. I remember being in college and watching television in the TV room of my dorm with some British exchange students. The show opening for a popular series came on then the show immediately went to commercial. The British students looked at each other and laughed. The Americans, used to such immediate and intrusive interruptions, asked them what was so funny. We were told that British TV shows never start that way. There’s always entertainment content before the commercial. I sighed and dreamed of the day American television would work that way.

Of course, today it does work that way, except now we have twice as many commercials within each program to make up for the fact that the programs start immediately after the opening. I guess you can call that progress.

But with the advent of TiVo and the DVR, most people end up fast-forwarding through commercials, so advertisers have, necessarily, become more innovative and clever in their efforts to expose viewers to their products. They’ve returned to that age-old TV advertising strategy of sponsoring programs. My local news happens to be sponsored by Chase Bank, so guess which bank robbery will get the top slot on the news should such an awful event happen to occur?

TNT promotes its upcoming programming in the lower eighth of the screen during its current programming. Sometimes these promotions can be quite jarring. You might be watching a particularly dramatic scene from “Law and Order” when a tiny formula one race car skids across the screen trailing smoke followed by a tiny pit crew, which proceeds to change the car’s tire, all in an effort to promote the network’s NASCAR programming. What’s even more jarring is the notion that “Law and Order” viewers could also be NASCAR fans.

No matter where I tune on my non-existent television dial, there is always someone trying to sell me something. But it’s more than just selling. It’s an interruption, an intrusion, a way to keep me from doing something I want to do. I can only go to the bathroom so many times in a one-hour period, so I am inevitably forced to watch these sales pitches once in a while.

Sure, the commercial directors/advertisers work hard to make these sales pitches look like entertainment, but there are still sales pitches. I don’t care if there’s a guy in his kitchen dancing in his underwear to sell me a pizza, or an eight month-old baby talking about stocks to sell me on the Etrade service. I still know it’s a commercial.

Like that naïve college student baffled by the British reaction to the American commercial before content version of television, I still have a dream. Now I dream of a day when there are no more TV commercials within television programming. I dream of the day when commercials will come in 6 minute blocks before and after the programs I watch like they do on cable because that’s the American way.

Perhaps this isn’t so much a flashback as much as it’s a flash forward.

Flashback Friday – Getting “Carrie”-D Away

Who's the pretty prom queen now?

Of late, there have been a number of airings of the 1976 movie, “Carrie.”  I was either too young to see the movie when it originally came out or don’t remember very much of it other than that iconic prom scene. Although I systematically shun all entertainment centered on the high school experience, when “Carrie” appeared in my cable listings, I decided to watch.

And, boy, am I glad I did! This film is awesome and timeless! Its title was even recently used as a verb in the “Reunion” episode of “30 Rock” to refer to the prank a group of high school reunion attendees planned to pull on Tina Fey’s character, Liz Lemon.

Since the “Carrie” source material was a Stephen King novel, I have to assume it was meant to be a horror flick. But it’s really too funny to be taken for anything outside of the “Scream-esque” sub-genre of horror-as-comedy.

First of all, the film starts with what can only be described as a paean to adolescent male sexuality. There are girls in gym shorts jiggling around playing volleyball. Then there is the post-gym class  scene filled with naked and half-naked young girl flicking towels at each other in the steam-filled locker-room. Of course, all of this is filmed in soft focus, as scenes like this always are in an adolescent boy’s fantasies. And, of course, none of the scantily-clad and towel-flicking girls are overweight. It’s as if the entire film has a “No Fat Chicks” banner across its cinematic chest.

There is a gym detention scene that could pass for adolescent soft porn. Again, young girls in impossibly short shorts jumping up and down doing calisthenics. Then there is the extended dolly shot of Betty Buckley from the waist down as she walks through the ranks of her detainees wearing a pair of Daisy Dukes of her own. When, in the history of public education, did gym teachers dress this way other than in the sweaty daydreams of teenage boys?

Was Brian DePalma fourteen when he directed this?

Sissy Spacek’s Carrie is a likable enough character — for a teenager. Has telekinetic powers, which she only uses against people and objects who really deserve it. This is quite remarkable considering the religious-off-her-trolly mother she’s saddled with. It’s a wonder Carrie didn’t turn out the way Sybil did.

Although she is the definition of the shy, unassuming wallflower,  Carrie inspires such contempt in her peers that even while performing a sex act on her boyfriend, one classmate can’t help but look up from the car seat and utter, “I really hate Carrie White.” Considering the context, these words could easily be taken to mean exactly the opposite.

I knew Sissy Spacek starred in “Carrie; this movie put her on the map. What surprised me was the supporting cast, which consisted of actors whom I had no idea appeared in this movie. Aside from the aforementioned Betty Buckley of “Eight is Enough” fame, there is John Travolta pre-Vinnie Barbarino, but with the same sweathog I.Q. and dumb jock swagger. There’s also –“believe it or not” — William Katt before he’d achieved geeky superhero status on “The Greatest American Hero,” one of the best shows to grace the TV machine in the 80s. Katt (and his hair) shine as the hot, sensitive poet roped into standing next to Carrie on that fateful prom stage.

In the world of teenage angst on film, this one ranks right up there with all of the John Hughes movies, “Ferris Beuller’s Day Off” and “Stand By Me,” with a ghoulish touch of “Firestarter” and “Rosemary’s Baby.”

The treatment of Carrie by her classmates is probably the best argument I’ve seen for having telekinetic powers. In addition to Carrie’s uses, I would have also used them for less violent and vengeful acts like, for example, passing myself a third piece of sweet potato pie at Thanksgiving dinner when no one was looking, or knocking the 40-ounce bottle of beer out of drunk relative’s hand.

The apocalyptic, fire-and-brimstone ending was a bit over the top, as was the cross-less faux-crucifixion of the psychotic Mrs. White. But she surely deserved it.

The most frightening moments in the movie have more to do with what is heard rather what is seen. During certain moments, there is a musical sting in the score that  sounds like it’s straight out of the shower scene in “Psycho.” This sting is heard when Carrie detaches her mother from the kitchen doorframe, among other places. This music is so inextricably associated with “Pschyo” that I had to look behind me to make sure there was no knife-weilding cross-dresser anywhere in my the vacinity.

And there is nothing that can prepare you for the final “reveal” of Carrie’s ultimate powers, that is, unless you’ve seen it featured in numerous horror clip shows and award montages. It’s the scene that gave birth to the horror genre’s “dead-but-maybe-not” conceit, which is still used today to allow for the possibility of a sequel.

Yes, I’m referring to the scene featuring the plot on which Carrie’s house used to stand. It’s now covered by a shallow layer of charcoal. Sue Snell (played by Amy Irving) approaches to lay flowers at the site if Carrie’s unfortunate demise — that’s when it happens. The hand reaching up from the undug grave. Sue’s, chilling, unbridled scream.

I wish I could have been in the theaters back in ’76 to see the horrified audience members jump clean out of their seats as one scared sh*tless unit.

Good times.