vast wasteland (part 1)

Ever since 1961, when newly-elected Chair of the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) Newton Minton described television as a “vast wasteland,” the phrase has been bandied around quite a bit—sometimes justifiably, sometimes carelessly—by the medium’s critics, its advocates, and those whose tele-cultural loyalties fall somewhere in between. I, for one, take issue with the phrase not because I don’t agree that some television programming is bleak and barren, but because the phrase implicitly encompasses all television, television as a medium, rather than just allowing that some television shows are kind of dumb (just as some art/film/music/insert-your-cultural-object-here is kind of dumb or, as Star Trekcreator Gene Roddenbury supposedly once said,“They say that ninety percent of TV is junk. But, ninety percent of everything is junk”). That doesn’t mean I’m ready to let television completely off the hook. There have been enough indictments of television as mindless, soul-destroying and intellect-diminishing that it’s pretty hard to just shrug off.

Here’s what I do agree with: television is vast, ridiculously so; it is an omnipresent, ubiquitous force in American culture. Television is often distracting, seductive, hypnotic—a medium people seem to either love or hate. But whatever we may say about television—and even I, a great lover of the medium, know I’m guilty of moralizing in my constant griping about reality shows—people do watch television. Billions of people. And it would be pretty difficult and pretty arrogant to say that billions of people are stupid, misguided and uninspired in their desire to watch. There is something fascinating about television, perhaps even because of its vastness, and I want to take a bit more time to explore this fascination one element at a time.

Last week, I talked about seriality and narrative, and I want to continue today thinking bit a more about seriality and excess (the “vast” in “vast wasteland”). Most television is serial and/or episodic (or are those the same thing?). While episodes are narrative and a season might have a narrative arc that binds its episodes together, the continuity of the television show is not narrative or linear, but serial and protracted. Its impossible to watch a conventional television show from beginning to end when broadcast as part of a normal, weekly schedule. Instead, you have to always “tune in again next week” for more—satisfaction continually deferred through seriality. Even if you’re watching television-on-DVD or a marathon of repeats, there’s simply no way you could watch an entire series in one sitting (unless it’s a hapless series like Joss Whedon’s much-admired Firefly (2002-2003), of which there were only thirteen episodes). Even watching an entire season in one sitting is pretty untenable, considering a full season of episodes is usually (and this is a purely non-scientific estimate) fourteen to twenty-six hours worth of material. Sure, you might be able to do it, but would you actually be able to enjoy it or remember anything about what you were watching?

That said, the traditional mode of television viewing is one-show-after-another, each show leading into another show that’s often not related to its predecessor in any way, shape, or form except in the sense that they share a network or cable channel lineup. We might want to flip channels, a televisual experience par excellence, but, unfortunately, flipping channels is often disappointing. I might search for something good to watch or a particular show and not be able to find what I’m looking for (even if I have 200+ channels). Or, if I do find the show I want, it may have already begun or be an episode I’ve seen. TiVo and DVR have aimed to cure some of these televisual dissatisfactions, but I sometimes find that I enjoy my experience more when I don’t find what I’m looking for, when I come across something unexpectedly. In television, I often find that boredom can be extremely productive and surprisingly pleasurable.

Of course, all of this is leading up to something, a strange, perhaps foolish wish of mine to become completely overwhelmed by television’s vastness, to experience it in all its excessive, serial glory. My thoughts on seriality (some of which I’ve discussed above) led me to the point of wanting to engage in a kind of conceptual, psychological experiment: 24 hours of television, with rules designed to allow (force?) me to experience as much as possible in that amount of time.

Rules and Methods

The television must remain on for 24 continuous hours, beginning at any start time designated by the subject

Subject is not allowed to sleep during said 24 hours

No activities should accompany watching besides eating, drinking and dictating/taking notes (voice recorder, video recorder and/or pen and paper, only)

Movement is allowed (stretching, exercising, walking around the room, etc.) as long as subject does not leave the room (except during breaks)

Subject may not consult TV Guide to decide which shows to watch; flipping channels should be the only method for selecting programs. If the subject has digital cable, the digital guide should not be used.

A minimum of 15 different channels must be viewed

No more than 1 hour continuous viewing of one channel (unless it’s a made-for-tv movie)

No viewing films unless they are made-for-tv

Subject may return to the same channel only up to 3 times in one evening

Every hour, the subject may take a 5 minute break to either use the bathroom or get snacks/food/drinks; these breaks are the only times the subject may leave the tv room and must occur during commercial breaks.

Maybe this will help me form some opinion about whether or not we ought to believe that television is a vast wasteland. Maybe it’ll be a lot of fun. Maybe I’ll just be bored to death. Only the Shadow knows.

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(NEXT WEEK: "Vast Wasteland, Part 2." In the words of French philosopher Roland Barthes: “Boredom is not far from bliss, it is bliss seen from the shores of pleasure.”)