Month: May 2021

As television has evolved as a medium, its production, consumption, and dissemination into broader culture has fundamentally changed. I explore this shift in my final essay through direct formal comparison to contemporary cinema, but that inquiry remains largely focused on aesthetics and differences in consumption. However, after reading Denise Mann’s article: “It’s not TV, it’s Brand Management,” I’ve expanded my analysis to include production and industry culture. 

It’s difficult to say whether changing aesthetic preferences shaped industry structure, or if new business models (namely branding / corporate TV) enabled, or perhaps even necessitated this aesthetic shift. Either way, the end result is a new industry model, a new standard of aesthetics, and a new means of cross-platform “transmedia” engagement. The way TV is produced, the way it looks, and the way it’s consumed has changed drastically in just the past decade.

Starting with aesthetics, there has been a push for more “filmic” television in the past twenty / thirty years. This can perhaps be attributed to shows like Twin Peaks, which was among the first programs to bring cinematic conventions into the realm of television. David Lynch is primarily known for his cinematic work, so it makes sense that his skill set would spill over into television production, but this overlap was largely unprecedented. Later, shows like The Sopranos and The X-Files capitalized on this new aesthetic convergence to much success, and established a demand for this more filmic style of television. Put simply, if there’s money to be made, the added production cost is well worth it. 

However, these shows are still fundamentally different from programs like Lost or Game of Thrones. Even though Lost was largely inspired by The X-Files, their ultimate purpose and end goals don’t overlap. The X-Files was an organic creation – a vision created and fostered by Chris Carter – brought to fruition for its value in and of itself. Lost, on the other hand, is a bit of a corporate “test tube baby,” highly engineered and carefully orchestrated to enable multiple revenue streams and reap a return on investment. That’s not to say that it’s “bad” or somehow less valid than something like The X-Files. In fact, the socioeconomic capital provided by this corporate oversight should make for masterful television, and for the most part it succeeds. 

High budget “branded” television like Lost ushered in a new era of aesthetic and industry standards. With more money on the table, networks could afford to hire the best writers, actors, cinematographers, etc. This should make for a better end product, and ultimately a better viewing experience. However, there are also downsides to this business model. Ultimately, these downsides come down – like any industry – to money.

With the widespread adoption of this business model of fabricated branded television, the industry faces potential problems with sustainability. This can be attributed to two main problems. First, with so much capital invested in a handful of flagship shows, networks have to fill the rest of their air time with cheaper to produce reality and game shows. While this isn’t inherently a bad thing, it provides a barrier to entry for potentially good, but mid-budget shows. To get funded you have to pitch either a cheap reality show, or a massive transmedia franchise TV blockbuster. Secondly, in order to protect their investments in these TV blockbusters, networks cherry pick seasoned professionals with a proven track record. Again this isn’t inherently bad, but it limits opportunities for new talent and younger professionals who might otherwise be of great service to the industry. 

Between these two gripes, there is a clear problem. In a modern network environment dominated by either blockbuster or reality television, there’s a distinct lack of mid-budget young-talent-produced, auteurial work. Lost capitalized on the success of The X-Files, but in its very creation, jeopardized the next generation of organically created shows like those it drew inspiration from. It effectively boxed out these more auteurial works, enabling a business model that prioritizes high-investment with guaranteed return over a multitude of mid-priced but potentially successful shows. 

That’s not to say that this business model doesn’t work – it’s rapid adoption across the industry should be indicative of just how successful it is. However, it is fundamentally flawed, and lacks long term sustainability. Television is ultimately a business, and this era of corporate branded television makes that reality clearer now than perhaps ever before. I just wonder how many promising young writers and potentially groundbreaking shows have been passed up for the sake of comfortable, guaranteed return on investment. 

My final paper focuses on Westworld’s season one finale and how the show presents narrative complexity throughout the season. For the sake of brevity and a focused blog post, I want to explore how the timeframe contributes to the show’s narrative complexity and work out some ideas that I have currently. Merriam-Webster defines analepsis as “a literary technique that involves interruption of the chronological sequence of events by interjection of events or scenes of earlier occurrence.” Rather than a conventionally linear sequence of time in which the narrative takes place, these “interruptions” with other events create multiple paths for the audience to track. Westworld embodies a similar structure in that it jumps around from protagonist to protagonist in each episode as they unravel aspects of the various mysteries inherent to the theme park. The analepsis functions in Westworld through two timelines, which the season finale reveals to the audience mid-way through the episode. The show preserves this secret because they only present as much information as the main characters are aware of in their respective storylines.

For example, the Man in Black (Ed Harris) is a mysterious, old, antagonistic figure who knew more information than the audience did, including the truth about the timeline and details about the multiple lives of the hosts(androids) such as Dolores’ past lives(Evan Rachel Wood). The plot twist involving the analepsis was that Dolores’ storyline was a memory because the Man in Black reveals that her love interest and do-gooder companion throughout the season, William (Jimmi Simpson), was the Man in Black when he was a younger man. The audience realizes from this new information that the show never explicitly defined a timeline and assumed that each event in the story was part of a linear storyline. According to Narrative Complexity in Contemporary American Television, analepsis functions by altering the show’s chronology creates instances of disorientation for the viewer through “a lack of explicit storytelling cues and signposts.” Even in the season finale, Westworld finds a way to add a new element to the story that recontextualizes how the audience watches and understands the show.

Suddenly, the timeline for each of the storylines comes into question, in that the audience is uncertain when each perspective occurred within the overall season chronology. Even the nature of flashbacks, another device under the umbrella of analepsis, becomes unreliable. Dolores unknowingly fabricated her storyline with memories of William from 30 years in the past, when in reality, she was using those memories of locations they visited to retrace her steps in the present day. It is an alarming revelation that the audience cannot trust their lens into the story, which creates uncertainty in how the rest of the episode will unfold. Analepsis as a narrative device through this specific instance creates a unique viewing experience that makes Westworld stand out as a narratively complex series.

Sources (informally cited, sorry)

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/analepsis

file:///Users/kirafarmer/Downloads/Mittell.Narrative%20Complexity%20in%20Contemporary%20American%20Television%20(3).pdf

If you are here on this blog, I assume that you came here because the title interest you–cause it did for me. To begin with, Gossip Girl: Transmedia Technologies by Lousia Stein (this week’s reading) brought up a lot of interesting points. This reading addressed the issues of digital technology in media and how Gossip Girl uses it in a way for the social elite in NY but also for creativity within the show. One thing that I noticed is that they talked about the dangers of digital power while also talking about the visions of digital transformation in the future. In connection with the main points of this reading, I was able to connect it to real-life situations and also a TV show called 9-1-1. The dichotomy in responses about this issue on TV is very interesting.

The debate of whether social media is toxic or not first occurred to me when I noticed a common theme throughout all of the episodes. Just to give you some context, 9-1-1 is a procedural show that showcases the lives of LA’s finest firefighters/first responders and how they deal with everyday calls along with bringing us in on their personal lives. Every episode starts off with a scene before an accident happens and it proceeds with a call being answered by a dispatcher. While the firefighters are arriving on the scene, there are people who are recording the accident– LITERALLY… IN EVERY EPISODE. For example, there was one episode where a bouncing house was floating in the air after it was loosened from the nail on the ground and a group of people from the party started recording. As people were recording, there was a small group of people who were assigning people tasks in order to help, but everybody was more interested in getting their footage.

I find these scenes interesting because it seems as if the writers wanted the viewers to understand how dangerous social media could be at times. After a few episodes of silence on the matter, the writers finally addressed it in Season 2 Episode 1 where a group of YouTubers thought it was a great idea to stick their friend’s head into a microwave fill with cement. After the friends realized what they did, we would think that they would have learned their lesson. But as the firefighter got the guy’s head out, they started recording again for their Youtube video. The Captain acted out of annoyance and threw the guy’s phone in the water. After the scene, the firefighters talk amongst themselves about the effect that digital technology has on society.

The dichotomy in responses about this issue on TV is very interesting. As the 2000s baby myself, I see how it is affecting us. However, I think there are ways that it helps us too. There have been times where recorded footage actually exposes the craziness that goes on behind closed doors. For example, the recent George Floyd case. We had video footage of what the police officer did to him. Without that, nobody would have known the true events that went on that day. Another episode in 9-1-1 featured social media being helpful instead of harmful. It was when the power in the call center went out and people were forced to use hashtags on social media in order to reach out for help. Overall, Social media should be used as a source of entertainment and of course community building. But it should not go to the point where we are neglecting each other for a virtual world experience.

A couple weeks ago I was having a discussion in my Multicultural Education class about the first times we ever thought about our gender identity. Strikingly, about 1/3 of the class made some mention towards children’s television programming influencing their behavior from an early age. Whether we like it or not, children’s television programming sets many of the standards for how our society is formed, introducing norms to children at an early age when they are still trying to figure out how the world works and how they should act. Because of this, it is crucial for these programs to be progressive in how they display our societies norms (specifically gender norms). Unfortunately, this is not the case. Even today, children’s shows are showing the same problematic scenarios that were around in our childhoods.

In the widely popular show Paw Patrol, a show about a group of rescue dogs, only 1 out of the 6 main characters is female. The show does have a female mayor but she is constantly portrayed as dumb and inept. An article published on refinery29 says that one of the most problematic stereotypes depicted in the show is that “men are expected to have a certain amount of aggressiveness,” allowing kids to accept more anger in boys. Seeing violence and aggression as a normal male trait likely leads to the socialization of this trait in kids, as they come to see it as acceptable.

In the show Mickey Mouse and the Roadster Racers, many of these same problematic scenarios occur. Throughout the show Minnie and Daisy, the two main female characters, find themselves all too often in the caregiver roles. They are often given the roles of petsitters, cleaners, cake bakers, etc. This helps reinforce the problematic gender stereotypes that we are actively trying to move away from as a society. Without the ability to think critically on these programs, kids will perceive these depictions as a truth about society: women are meant to be in the caregiver role. This is extremely problematic!

Even the commercials on these children’s networks play a role in depicting problematic gender norms. Kids are being told through subliminal messaging what they should like, how they should dress, how they should act, etc. It’s not just the message that girls should play with dolls and boys should play with Hotwheels, these commercials are influencing kid’s entire behavior and identity. In order to make the change that we want as a society, we must start with a ground-up approach in children’s programming. If not, we will see the same problematic media influencing our kids in the future.

Television provides its viewers with a form of escapism from the real, sometimes by way of introducing them to a new real. That’s right, I’m talking about reality TV. As part of our research for our final project, my group agreed to watch an episode or two of The Circle on Netflix. I, however, watched the first season within a week. I’ve always been a reality TV naysayer, but something about The Circle had me hooked and I’m trying to figure out just what exactly this thing is. 

On The Circle, contestants cannot see or hear each other, but communicate via a faux social media platform, ranking each other each night. Ultimately, one player gets blocked, aka sent home, until there are only a handful left. Maybe it is because of the pandemic, or maybe it is just because this is just what communication looks like these days, but I found this to be a surprisingly relatable show…to some extent.

After watching a few episodes one night, I (finally) turned off my laptop and picked up my phone to respond to my friends’ texts. While I was typing, I noticed that I was doing so with the mindset of being on The Circle. At first I was concerned and slightly horrified by this, but now I’m not so sure if my caution was a bad thing. Gray makes the point that we are living in a textual world (3). Our phones give us direct access to these texts, a level of accessibility that enables us to go through our days without actually considering the hidden messages media sends to us via Instagram, Twitter, and the news, let alone our interaction with these texts via our own actions. 

When I was replying to my friend, I was very aware of the text that I was sending and how the message/intended tone was going to impact the receiver’s perception of me. The Circle 100% stimulated this response from me which supports Gray’s first form of intertextuality: influence. Influence, he argues, is a one-way interaction where texts affect us to the point that our future actions will be influenced by the original text (4). For me, watching The Circle altered my perception of social media and how I use it in my personal life, but I cannot use that lens to analyze The Circle itself. Despite The Circle’s access to my home and life via Netflix, it will always remain a distant, intangible thing.

Johnathan Gray wrote in “Intertextuality and The Study of Texts” that “Intertextuality theory provocatively asks us to what degree a text as entity can exist outside of itself as a physical object and live through other texts. The 2006 movie musical, High School Musical, is arguably Disney Channel’s most popular movie and with such a large fanbase means the movie has existed and been referenced in several Disney Channel shows like The Suite Life of Zack and Cody. Then in 2019, the degree that this entity could exist was pushed and taken to a whole new level when a show was made on Disney+ based on the movie called High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (HSMTMTS).

No, it’s not a cheesy reboot. It’s a series with a lot of intertextuality. The school where High School Musical was filmed is actually a real school in Salt Lake City, so the series is a mockumentary about the real East High’s drama department putting on High School Musical for their seasonal production. The casts cover songs from the film and the last episode of season one is the opening night of the show. The series may seem like a copy of the movie, but the show has its own storyline, characters, love triangles, and songs. The film is referenced and intertwined with the theater kid’s lives, but overall, HSMTMTS is its own entity outside of High School Musical. To separate itself from the film, each episode has two songs: 1) a cover from High School Musical and 2) an original song. For example, in the sixth episode of season one “What Team?,” the drama teacher is on leave when the school board makes accusations about her teaching credentials. Carlos, the student choreographer, has to take over rehearsal for the day. The students argue over the High School Musical scene where Gabriella sings “When There Was Me and You” and how to bring the film scene to the stage. Ricky covers the song to show another character how he thinks the performance should be done on stage. Later in the episode, everyone finds out about the drama teacher potentially losing her job, and they show up to the hearing and sing an original song called “Truth, Justice, and Songs In Our Key.”

This episode is a great example of why HSMTMTS is an example of intertextuality and not a reboot. The show has its own storyline, but incorporates the text of High School Musical into its plot. As Gray would say, the film “lives through” the series. The second season shows the drama club producing Beauty and The Beast (which makes the title of the show confusing), so now instead of a season with intertextuality of High School Musical, its Beauty and The Beast songs that will be covered and references that will be made.

Before I downloaded TikTok, I felt like there were so many references I was missing out on. Everything from popular songs, to dances, to clothing styles, and lifestyle aesthetics seemed to spawn from this app that I honestly had no interest in downloading. However, I eventually gave in and downloaded the app for the sake of my friends who wanted to send me funny videos. Due to the scarily accurate algorithm, I became addicted to the app quite quickly. After spending a significant amount of time on the app, I realized how internal the content is, and how much of the content heavily relies on past trends and previous viral videos. Many of the TikToks that I see are based on another sound or trend, and sometimes even basic knowledge of the original post is needed to fully understand the video. Much of the content produced does not exist in a vacuum, and it is very internal to the app itself. For example, TikTok dances are created by a creator, sometimes with a large following and sometimes not, and then other creators see the original video and do the same dance to the same song. Although some viewers might not know where the original dance comes from, the content does rely on earlier work that is specific to TikTok. Below is an example of a TikTok dance being performed by a popular creator, Charli D’Amelio. Although a knowledge of the original video with the creator of the dance is not needed to understand the video, Charli does tag this original creator, and both the song and the dance are taken from this video.

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMe71ttbD/

Gray’s theory of intertextuality was used to describe television, but it can also be applied to TikTok. Gray makes reference to the existence of ghost texts, which “come from the reader, and other texts they have encountered” (Gray 27). Knowledge of previous texts is crucial to understanding some of the content on TikTok. From my time on the app, I have noticed that TikTok tends to go through songs, dances, and trends quite quickly, and then circles back to them in the spirit of nostalgia. However, this only works if the people viewing the nostalgia video have at least a general knowledge of the video(s) being referenced. An example of this is a TikTok posted a day ago, which is essentially just a block of text and the song “Roxanne” playing in the background.

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMeWTDU62/

The text says that this song reminds them of TikTok in 2019, as well as how the world was at that time this song was popular on Tik Tok, which includes things such as rainy fall days, TikTok still being lowkey and no Covid. To me, someone who was not on TikTok at the time, this song does not correlate to these things. However, this creator is relying on the many people who were and who heard this song constantly in the fall of 2019 to associate this song with those things and be nostalgic about it. Clearly, this worked, as the comments are full of people saying they miss it, and the video has over 500,000 likes. This text is entirely contingent upon the presence of ghost texts, as they need the viewers to at least have a partial memory of TikToks they saw with this sound in the fall of 2019 to understand the video.

Not all of TikTok is so heavily reliant on ghost texts, but TikTok has a whole is very internal with its trends, and many TikToks do rely on each other to keep the content flowing.

We’ve discussed this week about the concept of intertextuality and paratext. And as is painfully obvious with Hollywood these days, no fictional work is completely original; all fictional narratives of the past and present are in dialogue with each other, and any individual piece is defined by more than itself. How we perceive any given piece can changed – and therefore the piece itself can by further defined – by its advertising, its era, and even other movies/shows. What if I was to tell you that Die Hard was one of my favorite comedies ever made? No, I’m not talking about the Bob’s Burgers‘ Die Hard, I mean the actual, 1988, Bruce Willis movie Die Hard. Let me explain.

Now some of you may immediately think that I am going to bring up how Bruce Willis was known for being a sitcom actor at the time, and how people thought he was a strange choice to be cast in such a grounded, ultraviolent action thriller. All of that is completely valid and I’m sure has effect the viewing of this arguably genre defining classic for people of my parents’ generation, but in this case, I as well as surely many of you have known Bruce Willis all my life as an action star. That alone had no effect on my viewing experience. However, here’s a little tidbit that just might shock you: did you know Die Hard is actually based on a novel? It’s a relatively obscure novel called Nothing Lasts Forever. If you haven’t read the novel, don’t worry, I haven’t either. All you need to know about this book is that it is a sequel to the novel The Detective. All you need to know about that book is that it was adapted into a 1968 film of the same name. All you need to know about that film is that it starred Frank Sinatra – yes, that Frank Sinatra. Why is this important? Well if your parents thought Bruce Willis was an odd choice for Die Hard, take a gander at this: before going into production the studio was contractually obligated to ask Sinatra if he wanted to star in it.

Now the next time you watch Die Hard, all you’ll be able to think about is how silly it would have been if Frank Sinatra was in Bruce Willis’ place.

POOF! Die Hard is now a comedy.

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