a helping hand

Watching The Ellen DeGeneres Show (2003-present) last week forced me to consider the degree to which philanthropy, the receipt of free stuff, and talent contests have become part of the fabric of the American Dream as presented by television. From the now almost eighty-year-old Miss America Pageant (remember, it’s a scholarship fund not a beauty pageant) to The Apprentice (2004-present), proving we are better than someone else and then being rewarded for our competitive spirit and superiority—with money, cars, celebrity, careers, and maybe even a chance to make a difference in the world (feature optional)—is an American tradition.

This was all brought to mind for me because of two things. The first was the “Highway to Ellen Road Trip,” a prize awarded to four women from Nevada who received a “brand new GMC Acadia” in which they traveled across the country from Ellen’s hometown of New Orleans to The Ellen DeGeneres Show set in Los Angeles, stopping over at various national landmarks along the way. There was much screaming and eye-popping excitement from the bevy of friends when Ellen called to congratulate them in mid-February and, a mere week later, there was equally much screaming and bouncing and happy flailing when they finally arrived weary and not-so-bushy-tailed (but definitely excited, exceedingly excited) on Ellen’s set. Their response reminded me of the “Favorite Things” episodes of Oprah (1986-present), a pre-Christmas show in which every audience member receives hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars worth of merchandise—items that Oprah considers her favorite things of the season and wants to share with her fans. The “Favorite Things” episodes are always a surprise—not scheduled as such—so many audience members who find themselves unexpectedly involved in one of these amazing giveaways burst into tears or leap around in gleeful hysterics when Oprah announces the news at the beginning of the fateful show.

And, yes, it would be very exciting to unwittingly stumble into a situation wherein you receive an incredible quantity of top-of-the-line, sponsor-donated goods—from Ralph Lauren polo shirts to dishwashers. Who doesn’t like free stuff? What strikes me as curious is the hysteria revolving around such events and the popularity these days of evoking that hysteria and/or emotionality over and over again in every possible reality show context. There’s also the obvious appeal of celebrity—Rachael Ray sells knives because she has fans who worship her technique, gumption and extraordinary perkiness; Oprah has so much clout that her endorsement for Democratic presidential candidate carries serious weight; and the “Highway to Ellen Road Trip” ladies were probably just as thrilled about getting to meet Ellen DeGeneres and be on the show as they were about the free spa treatments, other fancy prizes, and all-expenses paid vacation weekend they spent in LA afterwards. A more in-depth consideration on the cult of celebrity may have to appear in another entry, since there’s something specific lurking in the talk show genre that bears further examination. Is it like therapy for the masses—the talking cure for the televisual nation?

But, for now, onwards. Because what I really want to talk about is Oprah’s The Big Give, the series premiere of which just aired on ABC yesterday and which is sure to spark a new genre of reality television (there are probably executives and producers mulling this over as I write, wondering which celebrities they could woo to host and how they would alter the formula just enough to get away with it). The Big Give is predicated on a philanthropic model of competition rather than the usual cutthroat, I-deserve-this-more-than-you-do model. Each week, contestants are challenged with new ways to “give big”—finding unique and exceptional ways to change the lives of individuals and communities with the resources allotted to them. Then the givers are judged on their creativity, their passion and their actual gifts (be they monetary, personal, spiritual or material) and the least-giviest competitor is sent home. The clincher? The contestants think that they’re just competing for the sake of competing—to show the world “how one person can make a difference” (as Oprah put it) and to have the opportunity to feel good about themselves as magnanimous philanthropists. But, of course, there’s prize money at the end of the tunnel; however, in true Oprah form, the contestants don’t know about the one million dollars they could win if they succeed in becoming the biggest giver (though, really, they must suspect it, given that every reality show worth its snuff has some sort of prize money, “secret” or not).

The contestants include people from all walks of life—from a former army captain and, indeed, a Miss America pageant winner, to a relief worker and a singer who considers herself a “survivor.” Dedicated to “changing the lives of complete strangers in the most dramatic ways,” the big givers and The Big Give itself sure pull at the heartstrings, with most of the givees in the first episode—among them a homeless woman with two teenaged kids and a young mother who’d recently lost her husband in a random shooting—bursting into uncontrollable sobs when their gifts were revealed. The best gifts were about presentation rather than just monetary value. Two givers (the singer and the army captain) managed to raise $40,000 in a mere 15 minutes at a local church for the homeless woman and her family and were able to present her not only with the money, but also a new home and a car and job training. Another team (the relief worker and the contractor/dedicated family man) set up an amazing block party to celebrate the memory of the young widow’s husband, an event which was so heartfelt that it all but trumped the $50,000 they raised for her to help cover her mortgage and the eight years of educational scholarships they secured for her two young girls.

So, there’s something to be said for presentation in philanthropic gestures—which is why the “Highway to Ellen” crew probably wouldn’t have enjoyed their prizes as much if they hadn’t been sandwiched with a visit with Ellen herself. But is philanthropy the new entertainment (and is it even entertaining in the long run)? Where does it fit in with the old version of the American Dream (that’s the land of opportunity, pulling yourself up by your bootstraps version)? Is philanthropy (or, at least, the dispersal of free stuff and money) the inevitable outcome of the talk show genre? Money and prizes instead of mass therapy? And, as a nation, which do we need more?

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(NEXT WEEK: “Playing the Mom Card.” Motherhood and television: protective mothers, restless homemakers, and career/Armageddon versus family.)