Media killed the political star.

I mostly spend my time talking about the kind of media that most of us prefer. Fictional, disposable, fun. Nothing too heavy or hard on the stomach, like the the Caesar salad before the meal. But lately, I've been hearing a lot of people talk about the 2008 election and just wishing it would end and end now because of how "messy" and "dirty" it is.

To which I say:

Welcome to 21st century politics.

I once was a high school journalist, and in one of my journalism classes, we watched a documentary on the American press. Oh, there was more to it than that, but that was the meat and potatoes of the documentary: one hundred years of political press coverage.

One of the men on the documentary was in his later 70s. He'd been a young reporter during the FDR administration and was discussing his time as a White House correspondant. He talked with candor about his thoughts on the Clinton affair and the media coverage thereof as well, and during this, dropped a bomb: both FDR and Eleanor had lovers living in the White House during his administration.

Let me repeat: they both had lovers living in the White House.

The difference, he explained, was this: at the time that FDR was in office, there was an unspoked standard that the private life of anyone, even a politician, was meant to be private. It wasn't the business of the American people if FDR had a mistress or ten, living with him or just coming by for a quickie; he was the President, and he deserved some of his life to be outside of the public eye.

Now, I don't know when this standard shifted. Maybe it was after television. Maybe it was later. What I do know is that, somewhere down the line, it became expected that everything politicians did should be an open forum, available for public scrutiny. Your child went on a bender one weekend, you cheated on your wife, you choked on a pretzel and hit your head, whatever the "crime", it wasn't your own, private shame. It belonged to the world.

So many people seem dismayed that things like Sarah Palin's pregnant daughter or Barack Obama's pastor are being flashed all over the media. It's calling into queston the kind of mother Palin is, the kind of Christian Obama is, and with it comes all the dirt, the muck-raking, and the generally bad behavior.

There's a moment in The West Wing when the young, attractive minority candidate and his wife are shocked to find news stories about things like his wife's thong underwear (which is captured in a photograph when she crouches to pick up one of their kids), or when they broke a bed in the course of love-making. He is annoyed at some points, angry at others, and the general reaction of the people around him is, "This is what happens in a campaign."

This is what happens in a campaign. It's been happening since 2000. It will happen until a candidate stands up and refuses to parade his family, pastor, friends, distant relatives, and neighbors in front of cameras as proof of what a great guy he is. It will happen until a candidate doesn't use their child or children as another example of their platform. It will happen until a candidate is brave enough to stand up and say, "My family is not for public consumption. My private life is not for public consumption. I am not going to let them be humiliated."

That candidate will lose, but at least he'll make a point.

I can't get no satisfaction.

The last couple weeks of television have been rough. Let's just admit it together, now: the strike crippled TV as we know it and now we're all struggling to catch up. I think this is especially true with serious character dramas, like House, MD. Sorry, fans, but Grey's Anatomy doesn't actually have character development to be affected, nor does Two and a Half Men or Law & Order, but House and its ilk does. You can feel when you watch that the writers and producers are working with half time and thusly trying to shove all they can into a few short episodes, which means it ends up feeling false. House doesn't know, at least in what we've seen, that 13 is bisexual. Since when have Chase and Cameron still been together? And don't get me started (again) on Amber and Wilson.

With the season finale being a week away and Amber's mysterious illness building to its conclusion, I am pondering not the season but rather the series finale. A friend of my feels that it's "unfair" that Amber should get sick and (possibly) die, because it's already a show about misery and someone (Wilson) deserves a happy ending. I argue that the misery is the best part of the show.

In fact, I would argue that it's so much the best part--and so integral--to the show that there are only three ways the series can actually end without being the least satisfying piece of tripe imaginable. And here they are.

1. House dies.
   The cyclical nature of the season finales have worked this way thus far: House loses someone he loves (Stacy); House gets hurt (shot); House loses someone he loves (the fellows resigning or getting fired); House gets hurt (bus accident). House puts himself in some of the most ridiculous and dangerous positions imaginable and never seems to expect that he'll die or almost die. There's also the argument that with episodes like "97 Seconds" (House electrocutes himself to see if there's anything "there") and "House's Head" (House self-medicates and goes into cardiac arrest), his self-destructive behavior is amping up. I don't think it's too much of a stretch to imagine a finale in which House dies. It could be in the tireless pursuit of knowledge and a cure for a disease, but I think it's more likely to happen that he destroys himself. House is surprisingly adept at putting himself in danger, and wouldn't it be just like him to get in a bad motorcycle accident and be lying in a coma while the team has to scramble to save the half-diagnosed patient of the week? The patient lives, House dies, and the show ends (in a way) as it began. It is, after all, the pilot in which House gives his "dying isn't dignified" speech. It would be a strong coda to the show, too.
   
   
2. Wilson or Cuddy dies.
   The cyclical nature of the season finales being as they are, House could possibly lose someone he cares about. But who does he care about? The two people he most is connected to and cares about are his two close friends: Wilson and Cuddy. The fellows dying would be bad but not necessarily touch him the same way losing either of these two would, and in the same way, I don't think there's going to be an emotional connection to any new character in the next few seasons that will rival the connection he has to these characters. I'd go beyond calling it unlikely to calling it "impossible."
   But if House is going to be affected by a death, anyone's death, it's going to end up being either Cuddy or Wilson. Frankly, I think that Wilson is a more likely candidate. Cuddy and House are close, but not like House and Wilson. If House is going to lose someone who he cares about, Wilson will be this person. It may crush House worse than anyone else he knows--it may be worse for House than his own death--but it's a possibility. Especially since I get the feeling that House is very much the kind of person who "don't know what he's got 'till it's gone."
   
   
3. It's all a dream.
   In "Three Stories," arguably one of the best season one (or perhaps overall) episodes of the series, we discover that House underwent surgery for his infarction after he was put into a drug-induced coma. From the point of view of the show, he comes out of the coma with his injured leg, but as we watch the show, we realize that "time is not a fixed construct." The show slides through time almost fluidly, when three months and three minutes can all take place in the same episode. It's never been perfect reality. Plus, we get to see inside House's psyche several times ("No Reason", "House's Head", even "Three stories" to an extent) in a way that no other show does. It's entirely possible, perhaps even logical, that he could still be in the coma and this reality we see as the viewer is actually the drug-induced reality of House's head. We know what his mind is capable of. Why would this not be a expanded a few beats further into it being all one giant, drug-induced dream? Reality is not a fixed construct in the House universe, either.
   

It's not that I want my show to end. It's not that I like thinking about the series finale. But I think, in a way, the show is edging along a terrifying cliff. Finding a satisfying ending is going to be a challenge, but there's no room for "happily ever after" in a show that is about, in its essence, misery.

It's just the level of misery we find at the end to mitigate the misery we've had from the start. Maybe it won't be warm and fuzzy, but it will be a little less frigid. At this point, that's the best we can hope for.

The Princess and the Peach.

My previous post was about video games, too. Clearly, I am just on a roll in this department.

As I said in the previous post, I've been a gamer since the inception of gaming. My most recent system is the Nintendo DS, Nintendo's answer to the next generation of hand-held consoles. I love my DS. The games are unique and a number of them are quirky, but hey, I like a healthy dose of quirk with my gaming. Especially given that the Super Mario Brothers franchise has been healthily recreated for the system.

One of these new Mario games is a game called Super Princess Peach. The plot is simple: Bowser, the great and evil cretin of the Mario series, has kidnapped Mario, Luigi, and most of the Toadstool people. Because there is no one left to defend the Toadstool Kingdom, Princess Peach and a talking umbrella named Perry set off to save the Toadstools and rescue the Mario Brothers.

At a surface level, I was exceedingly excited for this game. I may love the franchise, I may adore Nintendo, but the facts are these: most Nintendo protagonists are male and those who are not tend to be painfully androgynous. (Samus, anyone?) The classic "princess is captured, man must rescue" plot is followed by a number of the games, and even the Mario franchise's newest version--The New Super Mario Bros.--follows this cookie-cutter outline. It's a formula, but the formula works, and I'm not overly offended by it. I mean, it's a video game, and while I would have loved Tetra in Legend of Zelda: Windwaker to be a little more like Shiek in Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, I can't complain that she's not. It's the nature of the game.

But here is Super Princess Peach, a game that promises to have a female protagonist and give Peach a chance to shine for the first time in Nintendo's history. I want to say that the game was all that I, almost a feminist but not really a feminist, if you catch my meaning, was craving.

It fell short.

For one, Peach's abilities and "powers" aren't the usual head-stomping, fireball-shooting fare. While Mario jumps on creatures, Peach uses her umbrella to smack them, and many of her enemies don't die as much as they are smushed down and wander harmlessly around. (She can jump on the enemies, but the results are not the same.) There are no flowers for fireballs or raccoon tails for thwacking enemies, either. Peach's powers come from emotion. Let me repeat this: emotion. She can cry and drown enemies, get angry and set them on fire, feel calm and restore her strength, and be happy and fly through the air. None of these are actually as effective at hurting her foes as they are at destroying blockades that hinder progress through the stages. But then again, that's all right, given that the enemies are never hard to beat and power restoration gems are, quite literally, everywhere. If you do "die", there's no immediate repercussion other than restarting the level, either; there are no lives, and if you die, you just start over. That's it.

Another of my issues lies in the fact that the entire game is "cute". It's not subtle, either. Even the big baddies are adorable, like the smiling caterpillar in the fire level. Mario games are no paragon of terror, but the ghosts and some of the creatures in the later games were at least a bit menacing. Peach's world is sunny, happy, pastel-colored, and with soft corners. I was shocked in a recent level that spears were being thrown at me because it was the first time that it wasn't something cute and harmless trying to cause my downfall.

The talking umbrella, Perry, is just as ridiculous. Mario never needed a talking piece of rainproofing to help him on his quest. Sometimes, he had his brother, who kicked equal amounts of butt. That was it. Now we have talking umbrellas? Oh, come on. At least give her an animal companion or something else that has a prayer of, well, being menacing to the forces of evil.

I know that Super Princess Peach is and was marketed to girls in the sort of eight to twelve range. I'm all right with that; my cousin, who I think is ten now, got it two Christmases and so did I. But the fact remains that it characterizes girls as emotion-drive "cutiepies" who need help from any and all sources possible, up to and including animated inanimate objects.

I'm not sure I can really tolerate this as a creative movie. Shiek in Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time was a woman taking her own fate into her hands, but she was a.) androgynous for most of the game and b.) not a playable character. Several other popular games have playable female characters or, indeed, female protagonists--Touch Detective and its sequel, Nancy Drew and the Secret of Olde World Park, the Mia Fey level of Phoenix Wright: Trials and Tribulations, a number of the other RPGs available for the system, Trace Memory, and probably others that I've never played--but the fact remains that they all end up tripping over this fatal flaw. I'm a character writer and a character buff and frankly, I love stories and series about and heavily featuring men. But I also want to be able to look at a girl and see more than a cute thing in a pink dress running through puffy worlds of clouds and defeating the big bad lizard with an umbrella.

Don't get me wrong. The game is addictive in a way that only Nintendo can manage. I just wish there was more to it for me to appreciate. Or, barring that, no umbrella.

Welcome to the digital age, television.

The Writer's Guild of America strike this past winter annoyed me. There, I've said it. As a creative mind and a writer, myself, I understand the WGA's position and I am never going to stand up and beat my chest about money-grubbing writers when I know far well that they do not get paid the wages they probably deserve. I will not, however, stroke the corporations behind these shows for standing their ground and throwing the television industry as we know it a monkey-wrench that destroyed the gears for the better part of a season.

My issue is with the internet.

Ah, yes. The internet. That mystical place where media is available at a single keystroke or click of a mouse. I'm not sure why it took until the tail end of 2007 for the internet to become a hot-button issue for television studios, producers, writers, and consumers. I have friends who have been using the internet--perhaps less legitimately than we would like--to view and collect television episodes and full movies since I was in high school. We're talking as early as 2000 here, folks.

But now, and for the first time, the year 2007 was the year of streaming full episodes, web-only content, AppleTV, and the iEverything. iPhones, iPod Touches, and even iPod Classics were able to hold gigabytes of visual media and play it through (rather than hold the gigabytes but only have three or four hours of viewing time). Every major network offered at least one of their major primetime hits as streaming media online with minimal commercial interruption. "Webisodes" (don't look at me; I didn't coin the term) popped up in just as many places. A few networks even piloted web-based shows. Entire television shows, available only online! I'm not making this up. Moreover, iTunes surged into its greatest popularity ever. American Idol (yeah, them again) hooked in with iTunes, and while NBC pulled all its content from the system, most other stations doubled and even tripled the content that was available to the public via the iTunes store. iTunes was actually lauded as saving a few "bubble" 2006-2007 television series--most notably the NBC comedy 30 Rock--because it gave viewers the opportunity to try on one-episode mid-season and decide if they were interested.

Factor in YouTube--which became a breeding ground for television clips that then companies like Viacom had to fight to be removed from the site--and you got a banner year for media, the internet, and our techno-savvy culture.

One of the touchstones of the strike was the fact that writers wanted to be given royalties for online and iTunes content. I suppose I understand this. If you're to be paid every time a rerun is shown, a streaming episode seems to count to me as a rerun. Whether it should be a flat rate or per viewer, I'm not sure. In the same way, an iTunes download should possibly count as a DVD purchase and not a rerun, but there's still the issue that the writers deserve their due. I'm not going to deny that.

But I have to wonder: how was this not anticipated at all in the last ten years? I'm all for crossing bridges when you come to them, but it seems that in 2007-2008, both the studios and the writers glanced down, realized they were on a bridge, and then went, "Oh no! We didn't discuss toll rates!" This volume of internet media is new, yes. The concept of internet media is not, and considering that You (and YouTube, to an extent) was Time magazine's "person of the year" in 2006, I would think television would have braced itself for this change.

I'm all for internet media. Personally, I'm an internet junkie. (Exhibit A: I have a blog.) But hand-in-hand with internet media comes anticipating the next step. In this entire process of the writer's strike, I often just felt that both sides--the networks and the writers--were being very short-sighted. Technology moves faster than a conversation penned by Aaron Sorkin. We need to be ready for it, or more than just our television series could crumble. After all, this is the digital age. Welcome to it.

(And if you don't get the Aaron Sorkin reference, I'm going to be sad.)

American Idle.

Ha! Starting it off with a pun. Go me.

American Idol has been a staple of American reality television for the last six years. I'm not going to go into the history of American Idol, or about how the British show Pop Idol came first, because that would make me sound like a bitter Anglophile who is sick of America ripping off other programs.

Anyway.

This season of American Idol, if Ryan Seacrest is to be believed, is the "best", with some of the "brightest talent" and "most amazing singers" that the franchise has ever seen. As viewers, we have the "amazing" talent of these young people beaten into our heads every time we turn on the television. Simon, Paula, and Randy assure us that it's "anybody's game".

And that's my issue with this season's Idol.

I was never a great AI aficionado. I watched Season 3 because my mother watched it, and Seasons 5 and 6 under great duress from friends who are far more in tune (music pun!) with reality television than I am. Reality television bores me, mostly because I watch television to escape reality, and watching a mockery of "real life" never suited me. But American Idol offers the voyeurism and buy-in of watching some young person supposedly make or break their career, and that hooked me. Some singers were talented and some were not. I liked that. I liked the fact that Sanjaya from Season 6 couldn't carry a tune in a bucket but had great hair. I liked that Chris Daughtry in Season 5 had a lot of personality and his own idea of how his songs should go. I never felt like any of the major personalities that came out of the competition lacked, well, personality. They always had something to them, some meat to sink my teeth into.

This season is just boring. Every singer is a good singer. Every singer is a consistent singer. Performances are universally pretty decent (with the exception of the Andrew Lloyd Webber theme night, where people actually didn't do well for the first time in weeks). Literally anyone could win, and it's come down to technicalities and who the American voting public thinks is cute.

The talent aspect of the oft-lauded "talent competition" has been removed.

As far as I'm concerned, this is the universal issue with reality shows once they hit the third or fourth season. Take Top Chef, my favorite reality competition, as an example. First season, several of the contestants weren't professional chefs. They were caterers, or just stay-at-home moms who really liked to cook. They had personality and drive, which made them interesting to watch even if they couldn't flambe particularly well. I related better to them as competitors because they weren't all executive chefs at such-and-such a restaurant in Big City, USA.

But as the show has become popular, the caliber of contestants who audition increases. As the caliber increases, it's less interesting to watch as a viewer because everyone's so good. This season's Top Chef is mostly about technicalities because all the chefs are talented and all the food is good. They have yet to serve a dish that the viewer, as a lay-person, can look at and reject as not appetizing. During one elimination round, one of the three who were on the chopping block was there because his station was too messy. That was it! Not a technical issue with the dish, but because it just wasn't neat enough.

I don't want to watch chefs organize their area. I want to see the good, the bad, and the ugly. And I don't want to watch the people on American Idol get voted off based solely on the fact that the fifteen-year-old-girl fanbase is simply not present for contestant X, Y, or Z. I want to see the drama and the actual talent.

We're not getting that, and frankly, it's starting to make guilty-pleasure TV boring. I'm not actually complaining--I think that it's time for the swan song of reality television, or at least, the prelude to it--but if you're going to sell it to us, Seacrest, tell it like it is:

"The most vocally similar and personality-less set of contestants in Idol history."

It's American Idol. Trust me, we'll still watch.

And so it begins.

My friend Carrie and I were embroiled in a text-message psuedo-argument of epic proportions today not over anything of importance but over the character of Amber Volakis from the television show House when I came to a shocking realization: I like talking about media. I don't just like taking it in with popcorn and a Diet Dr Pepper, I don't just like letting it wash over me, I like the discussion and the discourse. Media, especially in the 21st century, is a unique beast; it is one-half reality in easily compartmentalized bits, but it is also one-half fantasy, the way the world could, should, or perhaps even someday will be. I often like to theorize that television, books, movies, and even video games offer a vision of a world that is somehow better, where the cops always arrest the badguys, the leaders of the free world make mistakes but are still good people, men and women fight for what they believe in even against all odds, and yes, the hapless character wins over his or her romantic interest.

Of course, by saying this, I run the risk of over-simplifying the entire world of media studies, but it's my blog (and I'll over-simplify if I want to; you would over-simplify too if it belonged to you). But the fact is that, for me, media is a reminder of both the good and evil things in our world, and, moreover, what brilliant minds can do when they sit down and consider it.

So, this is my blog. I will post episode reviews for my favorite programs (including, but never limited to, House, CSI, CSI:NY, Criminal Minds, American Idol, Hell's Kitchen, Top Chef, Dr Who, Torchwood, Psych, Law & Order, Law & Order: Criminal Intent, and probably others I am now forgetting to mention); thoughts on movies, books, magazines, and even the odd song; theories on sexuality, crime and punishment, law enforcement, romance, and relationships in the media; my thoughts on the painfully bad For Better or For Worse (you knew that was coming); and just general ramblings of a media persuasion. If you're well-behaved, I may mention video games, anime, and fanfiction. (Beware, Torchwood fan-writers, I'm coming for you.) All in one easily-accessed public dominion for everyone to see and enjoy.

Tomorrow, you'll recieve my "Tretise on Amber Volakis". I also have pending a series of entries on topics such as Ianto Jones' bisexuality (as presented in The Twilight Streets by Gary Russell; not, of course, that I bought and read a Torchwood novelization and loved it), the Goren/Eames partnership from Law & Order: Criminal Intent, all the reasons that American Idol has done the reality-TV equivalent of jumping the shark, and probably something else. Will it be CSI related, M*A*S*H related, or a look at the domination of male protagonists in Atari games? Only time will tell.

In the meantime, enjoy.