As culture fragments, tragedies get us talking
Column: Check Your Head appeared in Fort McMurray Today Sept. 7, 2006
By DAN MACEACHERN
Today staff
There are things in this world that are surprising. The death of Australian Steve Irwin, popularly known as "The Crocodile Hunter," is not one of them. Tragic, surely. But when you make your living poking and prodding at potentially lethal creatures in their natural habitats, instant death is a routine possibility. The cause of death, instead of "stingray bite" might be more accurately listed as "law of averages."
A co-worker of mine said the Australians she's met have said they and their fellow citizens couldn't stand Irwin, because, apparently, thanks to him, people think all Aussies are like him. Their enmity mystifies me for a few reasons: a) Irwin always seemed to be engaging, exuberant and passionate about his life's work. I can think of worse people to stand for an entire country: George W. Bush, for example; b) the steady stream of mourners and well-wishers for Irwin, as well as the offer of a state funeral from the Australian government would seem to belie the idea that nobody liked him; and c) people who would think all Australians are like Steve Irwin are obviously stupid, and we should not waste much energy fretting about what they think. Shouldn't proud Australians reserve their rancor for the person whose thought process, apparently, goes something like this: "Steve Irwin is Australian. Ergo, all Australians are like Steve Irwin"? I don't see myself losing any sleep over people who think all Canadians are like, say, Don Cherry, or Bob and Doug McKenzie, even though I'm sure those people are out there. But why?
Perhaps there's something about the television screen that affixes a sheen of importance to the individuals appearing on it. Subconsciously, we assume that for someone to be appearing on television, he or she must be the best at what they do. Once upon a time, that might have been true, but as the number of channels available rockets through the triple digits, more and more "talent" is needed to satisfy the home viewer. And as reality television continues to dominate network television and water-cooler chatter, less and less talent is needed to make it on air. If once you had to be a talented actor or newsman or athlete to become famous, now you can go on Fear Factor and eat a bug.
But still we look to television for authenticity, for validation. Nine years ago, when I landed a job at a newspaper in Lloydminster -- my dream since I was 15 years old (the newspaper part, anyway) -- I excitedly told my aunt. She was similarly thrilled, not just at my job, but at the possibilities: "Maybe one day you'll be on television!" she said.
The other effect of television fragmentation is a weakening of society's common culture. With more and more channels to choose from, today's top programs aren't watched by as many people as the top programs of the '50s. And sometimes there are even hierarchies of viewers of those shows. Take The Sopranos, for example. To see an episode's premiere, you need to have HBO (or in Canada, Movie Central, and even then, until a season or two ago, the Movie Central episode ran a few days later than the HBO one). But you have to pay to get those channels. If you can't or don't want to pay for television, you have to wait months before it'll appear on Canadian basic cable. Another alternative is to wait for the season to be released on DVD, technology that's made it easier to buy and store entire television libraries. Try imagining how much space eight seasons of The Simpsons on videocassette would take up on your shelf.
So if people at work once discussed Lucy's latest harebrained scheme in the episode broadcast the night before, today we have to be careful not to talk about which gangster was whacked by Tony Soprano, mindful of co-workers who will be watching the show some weeks or months down the road and who don't want plot twists spoiled for them.
So what's left for our common culture? The ultimate reality television: news (and, to some, sports). And nothing resonates and gets people talking like tragedies -- catastrophic ones like 9-11 and hurricanes, and individual ones like Princess Diana's death. Less and less notable people become famous for less and less notable accomplishments, but these "accomplishments" -- Paris Hilton's sex tape, backstabbing on Survivor, Mel Gibson's drunken flameout, an obsessed creep's confession to the murder of Jon-Benet Ramsey -- become our social language. I can't count the number of times in the past few days I've been asked, "You hear about the Crocodile Hunter?" But I know exactly how many times in the past few years I've been asked, "You watch the Crocodile Hunter last night?" Zero.
Entertainment Tonight last night promised to stick with the story of Steve Irwin's death as it develops. But he's dead; unless he rises from the grave, I'm not sure how much news he's going to provide now (unless he rises from the dead. I'd be willing to clear some space on the front page for that). What Entertainment Tonight really meant was they'll follow the story until the next thing comes along to catch our collective attention.
Irwin's family declined the offer of a state funeral, opting instead for a private service, out of the public eye. But with word today that Paris Hilton has been arrested for drunk driving, they would have been out of the public eye in short order anyway.
© Copyright 2006, Fort McMurray Today.
By DAN MACEACHERN
Today staff
There are things in this world that are surprising. The death of Australian Steve Irwin, popularly known as "The Crocodile Hunter," is not one of them. Tragic, surely. But when you make your living poking and prodding at potentially lethal creatures in their natural habitats, instant death is a routine possibility. The cause of death, instead of "stingray bite" might be more accurately listed as "law of averages."
A co-worker of mine said the Australians she's met have said they and their fellow citizens couldn't stand Irwin, because, apparently, thanks to him, people think all Aussies are like him. Their enmity mystifies me for a few reasons: a) Irwin always seemed to be engaging, exuberant and passionate about his life's work. I can think of worse people to stand for an entire country: George W. Bush, for example; b) the steady stream of mourners and well-wishers for Irwin, as well as the offer of a state funeral from the Australian government would seem to belie the idea that nobody liked him; and c) people who would think all Australians are like Steve Irwin are obviously stupid, and we should not waste much energy fretting about what they think. Shouldn't proud Australians reserve their rancor for the person whose thought process, apparently, goes something like this: "Steve Irwin is Australian. Ergo, all Australians are like Steve Irwin"? I don't see myself losing any sleep over people who think all Canadians are like, say, Don Cherry, or Bob and Doug McKenzie, even though I'm sure those people are out there. But why?
Perhaps there's something about the television screen that affixes a sheen of importance to the individuals appearing on it. Subconsciously, we assume that for someone to be appearing on television, he or she must be the best at what they do. Once upon a time, that might have been true, but as the number of channels available rockets through the triple digits, more and more "talent" is needed to satisfy the home viewer. And as reality television continues to dominate network television and water-cooler chatter, less and less talent is needed to make it on air. If once you had to be a talented actor or newsman or athlete to become famous, now you can go on Fear Factor and eat a bug.
But still we look to television for authenticity, for validation. Nine years ago, when I landed a job at a newspaper in Lloydminster -- my dream since I was 15 years old (the newspaper part, anyway) -- I excitedly told my aunt. She was similarly thrilled, not just at my job, but at the possibilities: "Maybe one day you'll be on television!" she said.
The other effect of television fragmentation is a weakening of society's common culture. With more and more channels to choose from, today's top programs aren't watched by as many people as the top programs of the '50s. And sometimes there are even hierarchies of viewers of those shows. Take The Sopranos, for example. To see an episode's premiere, you need to have HBO (or in Canada, Movie Central, and even then, until a season or two ago, the Movie Central episode ran a few days later than the HBO one). But you have to pay to get those channels. If you can't or don't want to pay for television, you have to wait months before it'll appear on Canadian basic cable. Another alternative is to wait for the season to be released on DVD, technology that's made it easier to buy and store entire television libraries. Try imagining how much space eight seasons of The Simpsons on videocassette would take up on your shelf.
So if people at work once discussed Lucy's latest harebrained scheme in the episode broadcast the night before, today we have to be careful not to talk about which gangster was whacked by Tony Soprano, mindful of co-workers who will be watching the show some weeks or months down the road and who don't want plot twists spoiled for them.
So what's left for our common culture? The ultimate reality television: news (and, to some, sports). And nothing resonates and gets people talking like tragedies -- catastrophic ones like 9-11 and hurricanes, and individual ones like Princess Diana's death. Less and less notable people become famous for less and less notable accomplishments, but these "accomplishments" -- Paris Hilton's sex tape, backstabbing on Survivor, Mel Gibson's drunken flameout, an obsessed creep's confession to the murder of Jon-Benet Ramsey -- become our social language. I can't count the number of times in the past few days I've been asked, "You hear about the Crocodile Hunter?" But I know exactly how many times in the past few years I've been asked, "You watch the Crocodile Hunter last night?" Zero.
Entertainment Tonight last night promised to stick with the story of Steve Irwin's death as it develops. But he's dead; unless he rises from the grave, I'm not sure how much news he's going to provide now (unless he rises from the dead. I'd be willing to clear some space on the front page for that). What Entertainment Tonight really meant was they'll follow the story until the next thing comes along to catch our collective attention.
Irwin's family declined the offer of a state funeral, opting instead for a private service, out of the public eye. But with word today that Paris Hilton has been arrested for drunk driving, they would have been out of the public eye in short order anyway.
© Copyright 2006, Fort McMurray Today.
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