What if Jack Bauer played in the XFL?
Today, at eight minutes pass noon, I sent in my self-assessment for TA22 and officially finished the schoolwork that comprised my college career. I have not slept in nearly 24 hours and have not gotten a full night (or day) sleep in about a week so I'll do my long nostalgiac post later. For now I leave you with the conclusion from my thesis on Fear Factor: Masculinity, Power, and Televised Reality. I think you'll agree that it's very me:
Arguments about the role of the public, the media, and patriarchal/national authority pervaded the events of 2001. In January, George W. Bush was inaugurated as the 43rd President of the United States under an unclear mandate. In February, the World Wrestling Federation and NBC joined forces to launch a professional football league targeted toward young males called the XFL. In April, the league folded. In June, as I’ve detailed, NBC premiered the extreme reality show Fear Factor to ratings success and critical disgust. In September, the events of 9/11 were broadcast live to the American audience. In November, Fox premiered the action-drama 24 about a counter-terrorist agent who risks his life to save his wife, daughter, and country.
Throughout these cases, there are a number of similar themes of engagement with hegemonic masculinity, phallic power, and television “liveness” and “reality.” These diverse ideas are all connected by desires and fears necessitated by the construction, breakdown, and re-stabilization of ideological discourses. For instance, these cases all deal with (or were at least narrativized as dealing with) subjects’ encounters with the identity of hegemonic masculinity. Fear Factor’s engagement with these issues has already been thoroughly argued but this discourse is present throughout all of the examples. Certainly the Presidency of the United States is viewed as a position of power and occupational achievement consummate with hegemonic masculinity. In addition, though, the XFL’s creation (and demise) was contingent on (or, again, has at least been portrayed as contingent on) the aspirations of NBC sports chairman Dick Ebersol and World Wrestling Federation (WWF) chairman Vince McMahon to establish themselves as successful and powerful within the television industry. The events (or, again, perhaps just the popular understanding of events) of 9/11 and the storyline of 24 are both about powerful, though subordinate men (Osama bin Laden and Victor Drazen, respectively) using terrorism to proclaim power over, or at least attack the power base of, the arguable international hegemony of the United States. In both cases the President (Bush and soon-to-be President Palmer, respectively) acts as the patriarchal leader who exhibits strength through the (phallic power) challenge.
The same issues of subordinate and dominant masculinities, power as control, and resistance of feminization as a phallic power challenge arise in all these cases. What may be most interesting is that the same rules seem to apply whether discussing “real” events like September 11 (an event so “real” that many describe it as surreal or paradoxically unreal), or the “fictional” events of 24 (which, airing so soon after 9/11, had to edit its premiere episode because of a scene with an exploding airplane that was deemed too “real” for viewers). Obviously, the boundary between real and fake, especially in these cases, is exceedingly unstable. As discussed at length, Fear Factor’s position in the “reality television” genre places it directly on that border of real and unreal. In the instance of George W. Bush’s ascension to power in 2001, even today, his mandate as President remains contested over the matter of whether he “really” won the 2000 election or not.
Perhaps most guilty of traversing unsuccessfully between reality and fiction was the XFL (a transgression that, arguably, was the primary factor in its quick collapse). Though the XFL was a “real” sports league where the actual games were unscripted, a variety of elements within and around the actual broadcast of the game encompassed varying levels of unreality. The XFL’s partial ownership by the WWF, use of WWF wrestlers and announcers, as well as cross-promotion between the two brands established a dubious relationship between the new sports league and the “fake sport” of professional wrestling. Some interviews were clearly scripted (usually ending with puns or punch lines), or “faked,” depending on how one reads it, by XFL writers. Perhaps most infamous for its injection of fantasy in reality, though, the league, facing steeply declining ratings, promised viewers that they would see inside the cheerleaders locker room during halftime of the week’s nationally-televised game. After hyping the stunt throughout the game[1], the cameraman who supposedly would be the one entering the locker room, in a clearly scripted moment, was knocked unconscious by an opening door. Viewers were then shown a dream sequence of his apparent cheerleader fantasies.
The league was not just criticized for being too fake but also for being too real. For example, before the cheerleader stunt, the XFL broadcasted the live locker rooms of the competing teams during halftime. Without the contextualization necessary for viewers to understand what they were seeing or regularly scheduled spectacular moments to hold viewers attention, the halftime segments hemorrhaged viewers. It seems, then, that the relative reality or unreality of the XFL was less important in determining its commercial success than its compliance with codes of televisual reality.
For the most part, televisual reality smoothes over the contradictions and false binaries of reality and fiction through genre differentiation and the logic of the super-narrator. This allows the television industry to further its own marketing discourses of “liveness” and co-presence with our reality and provides viewers with the opportunity to act as both outside spectator of, and active participant in the televisual reality. In the case of the 2000 election, this would mean occupying the position of the interested observer of the controversy as well as active citizen/voter who is directly affected by the outcome. In the context of series like the XFL on NBC, Fear Factor, and 24, as an exterior watcher, viewers can simply enjoy the program while as a member of the (supposed) television family/democracy, they can choose to support or reject the show through their viewing options and even campaign for or against the show. In the case of 9/11, most of the country experienced the attacks both as a television viewer and as connected to the tragedy as a family member, fellow citizen, or merely fellow human being of those dying.
It is clear that, in the case all of the events mentioned, the same issues of televisual reality’s power to control our reality continue to re-surface. I contend that all of these phallic power challenges, whether they be for political, economic, social, or narrative power serve to stabilize dominant discourses (such as those regarding particular gendered notions of power) and affirm the fundamental power of televisual reality to control and (re)present our reality. Television tends to work on behalf of dominant discourses simply because those frameworks will be the most ideologically satisfying for the greatest number of possible viewers. Commercial television’s first imperative, after all, is the delivery of consumers to advertisers.
In the end, television broadcasts all of the phallic power challenges within its programs under television’s own meta-discourse—TV is actually the one with the ultimate phallic power to control our realities and knowledges. That is, television claims the power to understand, contextualize, and present our reality through its reality. Potential breakdowns in television’s ability to contain and represent, like the XFL, are quarantined as flaws within the individual program and quickly removed. Through this logic, then 9/11 would have to have been one of TV’s greatest phallic power challenges and successes. Faced with a difficult challenge, television was able to contain and narrativize the attack and proved its proclaimed worth and ability.
The selection of Fear Factor for examination may have originally appeared to be a frivolous topic given its cultural status but clearly the program points to a plethora of important societal issues. The show surely rests on problematic discourses of gender, power, and television’s access to reality. At the end of the day, however, it does provide at least one important public service (or hazard, depending on your opinion). Fear Factor reassures television viewers that in our post-9/11 world of terror threats, exaggerated claims of imminent danger from foreign powers, and 24-hour cable news alerts on possible dangers, at least within its section of the televisual world, fear really is just a textual device.
[1] The skits leading up to the cheerleader halftime-show stunt, itself, were a major transgression of the boundary between real and fake as the real WWF chairman and co-owner of the XFL, Vince McMahon acted as his “fake” character from the WWF. The line between the “real” person and the “fake” character of Vince McMahon has been notoriously difficult to draw. For instance, during a March 2001 interview about the XFL with Bob Costas, McMahon threatened and attempted to intimidate Costas in a move that was not clearly attributable to either McMahon the character or the person. McMahon, the character, is the immoral, egomaniacal chairman of the WWF—a role that originated because that is precisely who many perceived him to be in “real life.” Further complicating the lines between “real” and “fake,” the idea for the “fake” character of Mr. McMahon developed from a “real” incident in 1997 during a scripted (i.e. “fake”) wrestling match where McMahon “really” deceived a wrestler into losing his (diegetically real) title.
Arguments about the role of the public, the media, and patriarchal/national authority pervaded the events of 2001. In January, George W. Bush was inaugurated as the 43rd President of the United States under an unclear mandate. In February, the World Wrestling Federation and NBC joined forces to launch a professional football league targeted toward young males called the XFL. In April, the league folded. In June, as I’ve detailed, NBC premiered the extreme reality show Fear Factor to ratings success and critical disgust. In September, the events of 9/11 were broadcast live to the American audience. In November, Fox premiered the action-drama 24 about a counter-terrorist agent who risks his life to save his wife, daughter, and country.
Throughout these cases, there are a number of similar themes of engagement with hegemonic masculinity, phallic power, and television “liveness” and “reality.” These diverse ideas are all connected by desires and fears necessitated by the construction, breakdown, and re-stabilization of ideological discourses. For instance, these cases all deal with (or were at least narrativized as dealing with) subjects’ encounters with the identity of hegemonic masculinity. Fear Factor’s engagement with these issues has already been thoroughly argued but this discourse is present throughout all of the examples. Certainly the Presidency of the United States is viewed as a position of power and occupational achievement consummate with hegemonic masculinity. In addition, though, the XFL’s creation (and demise) was contingent on (or, again, has at least been portrayed as contingent on) the aspirations of NBC sports chairman Dick Ebersol and World Wrestling Federation (WWF) chairman Vince McMahon to establish themselves as successful and powerful within the television industry. The events (or, again, perhaps just the popular understanding of events) of 9/11 and the storyline of 24 are both about powerful, though subordinate men (Osama bin Laden and Victor Drazen, respectively) using terrorism to proclaim power over, or at least attack the power base of, the arguable international hegemony of the United States. In both cases the President (Bush and soon-to-be President Palmer, respectively) acts as the patriarchal leader who exhibits strength through the (phallic power) challenge.
The same issues of subordinate and dominant masculinities, power as control, and resistance of feminization as a phallic power challenge arise in all these cases. What may be most interesting is that the same rules seem to apply whether discussing “real” events like September 11 (an event so “real” that many describe it as surreal or paradoxically unreal), or the “fictional” events of 24 (which, airing so soon after 9/11, had to edit its premiere episode because of a scene with an exploding airplane that was deemed too “real” for viewers). Obviously, the boundary between real and fake, especially in these cases, is exceedingly unstable. As discussed at length, Fear Factor’s position in the “reality television” genre places it directly on that border of real and unreal. In the instance of George W. Bush’s ascension to power in 2001, even today, his mandate as President remains contested over the matter of whether he “really” won the 2000 election or not.
Perhaps most guilty of traversing unsuccessfully between reality and fiction was the XFL (a transgression that, arguably, was the primary factor in its quick collapse). Though the XFL was a “real” sports league where the actual games were unscripted, a variety of elements within and around the actual broadcast of the game encompassed varying levels of unreality. The XFL’s partial ownership by the WWF, use of WWF wrestlers and announcers, as well as cross-promotion between the two brands established a dubious relationship between the new sports league and the “fake sport” of professional wrestling. Some interviews were clearly scripted (usually ending with puns or punch lines), or “faked,” depending on how one reads it, by XFL writers. Perhaps most infamous for its injection of fantasy in reality, though, the league, facing steeply declining ratings, promised viewers that they would see inside the cheerleaders locker room during halftime of the week’s nationally-televised game. After hyping the stunt throughout the game[1], the cameraman who supposedly would be the one entering the locker room, in a clearly scripted moment, was knocked unconscious by an opening door. Viewers were then shown a dream sequence of his apparent cheerleader fantasies.
The league was not just criticized for being too fake but also for being too real. For example, before the cheerleader stunt, the XFL broadcasted the live locker rooms of the competing teams during halftime. Without the contextualization necessary for viewers to understand what they were seeing or regularly scheduled spectacular moments to hold viewers attention, the halftime segments hemorrhaged viewers. It seems, then, that the relative reality or unreality of the XFL was less important in determining its commercial success than its compliance with codes of televisual reality.
For the most part, televisual reality smoothes over the contradictions and false binaries of reality and fiction through genre differentiation and the logic of the super-narrator. This allows the television industry to further its own marketing discourses of “liveness” and co-presence with our reality and provides viewers with the opportunity to act as both outside spectator of, and active participant in the televisual reality. In the case of the 2000 election, this would mean occupying the position of the interested observer of the controversy as well as active citizen/voter who is directly affected by the outcome. In the context of series like the XFL on NBC, Fear Factor, and 24, as an exterior watcher, viewers can simply enjoy the program while as a member of the (supposed) television family/democracy, they can choose to support or reject the show through their viewing options and even campaign for or against the show. In the case of 9/11, most of the country experienced the attacks both as a television viewer and as connected to the tragedy as a family member, fellow citizen, or merely fellow human being of those dying.
It is clear that, in the case all of the events mentioned, the same issues of televisual reality’s power to control our reality continue to re-surface. I contend that all of these phallic power challenges, whether they be for political, economic, social, or narrative power serve to stabilize dominant discourses (such as those regarding particular gendered notions of power) and affirm the fundamental power of televisual reality to control and (re)present our reality. Television tends to work on behalf of dominant discourses simply because those frameworks will be the most ideologically satisfying for the greatest number of possible viewers. Commercial television’s first imperative, after all, is the delivery of consumers to advertisers.
In the end, television broadcasts all of the phallic power challenges within its programs under television’s own meta-discourse—TV is actually the one with the ultimate phallic power to control our realities and knowledges. That is, television claims the power to understand, contextualize, and present our reality through its reality. Potential breakdowns in television’s ability to contain and represent, like the XFL, are quarantined as flaws within the individual program and quickly removed. Through this logic, then 9/11 would have to have been one of TV’s greatest phallic power challenges and successes. Faced with a difficult challenge, television was able to contain and narrativize the attack and proved its proclaimed worth and ability.
The selection of Fear Factor for examination may have originally appeared to be a frivolous topic given its cultural status but clearly the program points to a plethora of important societal issues. The show surely rests on problematic discourses of gender, power, and television’s access to reality. At the end of the day, however, it does provide at least one important public service (or hazard, depending on your opinion). Fear Factor reassures television viewers that in our post-9/11 world of terror threats, exaggerated claims of imminent danger from foreign powers, and 24-hour cable news alerts on possible dangers, at least within its section of the televisual world, fear really is just a textual device.
[1] The skits leading up to the cheerleader halftime-show stunt, itself, were a major transgression of the boundary between real and fake as the real WWF chairman and co-owner of the XFL, Vince McMahon acted as his “fake” character from the WWF. The line between the “real” person and the “fake” character of Vince McMahon has been notoriously difficult to draw. For instance, during a March 2001 interview about the XFL with Bob Costas, McMahon threatened and attempted to intimidate Costas in a move that was not clearly attributable to either McMahon the character or the person. McMahon, the character, is the immoral, egomaniacal chairman of the WWF—a role that originated because that is precisely who many perceived him to be in “real life.” Further complicating the lines between “real” and “fake,” the idea for the “fake” character of Mr. McMahon developed from a “real” incident in 1997 during a scripted (i.e. “fake”) wrestling match where McMahon “really” deceived a wrestler into losing his (diegetically real) title.
posted by He Hate Me at 11:48 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home