Has any industry enjoyed a bigger post–Sept. 11 reprieve than
television? Just four months ago, television as we had known it was presumed to
be in its final lap, gray and limping-staggering-for the home stretch, soon to
be surpassed by delivery via the Internet, by broadband, by service on demand.
So certain we were of the medium’s imminent obsolescence that the very act of
watching TV the old-fashioned way-sitting down on the couch for the early
evening news or, heavens, a Thursday-night sitcom-had taken on an air of
ritualized retro-quaintness, like drawing a bath or listening to a record by
phonograph.
And then suddenly there we were, riveted, like we thought we’d
never be again. News, of course, was the catalyst. Had anyone thought they’d
see another moon walk, another television event that would match that 1963
bulletin from Dallas? Television felt as important as ever; the vaunted “shared
experience” had returned. It also was in better shape than expected: Today’s
networks and correspondents, considered vapid underachievers compared to their
forebears, managed to perform capably under trying circumstances. Stars
arose-Ashleigh Banfield of MSNBC, CNN’s Nick Robertson. Tribal elders were
reborn. Tom Brokaw and Peter Jennings added to their sheen; Dan Rather, who had
angrily rattled through the Simpson-Lewinsky-Condit era like a newsroom version
of Marley’s ghost, seemed resurrected. Mr. Rather even got back to Afghanistan,
a triumphant bookend if he wants one. Of course, why hang them up now, when
work matters again, perhaps as much as ever?
A couple weeks back, Tim Russert had Jack Welch on his CNBC
program, and television’s reinvigoration came up. Mr. Welch, the former C.E.O. of
General Electric, the owner of NBC, had been a noted television hand-wringer:
He was someone who could remember Edward R. Murrow’s ashtray, and yet was
utterly convinced of the medium’s frailty. He had embraced the Internet, and
rumors were persistent that he would have sold NBC to someone for the right
price. And then there he was, three or so months after the attacks on New York
and Washington, rhapsodizing the cathode.
“Television has a real place. It brings-it tells a story in a way
nothing else does,” Mr. Welch said. “Now, obviously, the Internet’s going to
have an enormous impact on regular communications and on other things, but it
will become tied together. But you need the content, you need that to tell that
story. You need to let people feel the emotion of what’s happening when real
stories break. And that’s what television can do better than anything else.”
It wasn’t just him. Suddenly everyone wanted to be in the
television business again. And no element of business was reborn like news. A
few months previously, the debate had been over which network would be the
first to jettison its sagging evening newscast to cable; now network presidents
were blowing cash like sailors on leave, inflating budgets and dispatching
correspondents abroad as if they were carrier pigeons. Entire network missions
were scuttled-remember CNN’s peacetime plan to get jiggy and lighten up its
news coverage? AOL Time Warner chief executive Gerald Levin told CNN president
Walter Isaacson to stay the course and spend what it took; Islamabad,
apparently, was now as central to the corporate core as Harry Potter. The game
had changed midstream; amid an era of empty hype, an earnest new age of
seriousness dawned.
This is not to say that TV news is a changed beast. For the most
part it remains a loud, brutish, indelicate business, with far too much
inferior product. Even now, in the most complicated of news stories, it
continues to place great emphasis on the shrill quick hit-the “get”-and
stylistics (witness the ludicrous chest-thumping at the cable networks about
the “flag” chyrons on their screens) as opposed to thoughtful analysis. On
cable news in particular, there continues to be too much aimless chatter and
speculation; can we bear two more minutes of a paid network consultant on CNN,
MSNBC or Fox News blindly ruminating on the whereabouts of Osama bin Laden, or
the origin of the anthrax envelopes? In the absence of hard reportage, highly
nuanced issues are speedballed into black-and-white-or worse, into us-versus-them
jingoism. It’s not surprising that as the bombing in Afghanistan progressed,
some viewers took refuge in the measured, noncommittal tones of BBC Television.
Still, television-the medium-is unquestionably more vital than it
was just a few short months ago. Entertainment-wise, it made a distinct swing
toward sobriety. Not long ago, television appeared to be sinking fast into the
mire of reality-tainment; it seemed
only a matter of time before we were going to be gazing at the kind of brazen
stunts you see in other countries-people licking frosting off of each other’s
privates, cruelty to animals, etc. But while the nastiest of the U.S. shock
shows, NBC’s Fear Factor , continues
to prosper-look for a fat rating early next month, when NBC schedules it
against Fox’s Super Bowl half-time show-the edge seems to be off the mania for
verisimilitude. Survivor, now in its
third campaign, has begun to skid; Lost got
lost; The Amazing Race proved to be
less than advertised. Another much-anticipated reality series, The Runner -from pretty boys Matt Damon
and Ben Affleck, in which viewers would track mystery fugitives across the
country for cash-was deemed inappropriate post–Sept. 11 and yanked altogether.
Elsewhere, ratings for Smackdown, the
UPN’s skeezy pro-wrestling fest, have ebbed, and game shows have also plunged. ABC appears to have finally
strangled its golden goose with Who Wants
to Be a Millionaire ; after deluging the nation with four episodes a week in
2000, and two a week this fall, the network isn’t promising a returning Regis
in 2002.
Where were the eyeballs going? Well, to the news, of course. But
viewers also began to opt for sturdier, more reliable entertainment fare-old
favorites, really-to comfort them in the final months of the year. Tributes to
Carol Burnett and Lucille Ball became surprise hits; this year’s World Series,
no doubt helped by a dramatic seven-game series between the Yankees and the
Diamondbacks, reversed a downward ratings trend for the event. (One other
surprise hit, a CBS tribute concert to Michael Jackson, was incorrectly put
into this comfort-food category; that was more of a freak show than Fear Factor .)
It’s tough to tell whether this viewer appetite for cozy,
flannel-pajama’d fare is a temporary need or signals a return to simpler, more
straightforward tastes. Making any sort of broad judgment on viewer tastes has
been exceptionally hazardous lately. ABC gambled with Regis-mania, won briefly,
but shortchanged its other program development and now appears marooned; the
UPN similarly bonked its own head with wrestling; the WB nearly drowned itself
in a kiddie pool of teen-friendly fare. More than ever, networks must remain
nimble (though it’s probably wise not to get too nimble: NBC entertainment president Jeff Zucker-he’s the man
who brought you “super-sized” episodes of Friends
to try and blunt the second season of Survivor- treats
his prime time line-up like a Chi-Chi’s taco bar, constantly tweaking, spicing
and cheesing up.)
Indeed, for all the clucking
about Gimmick TV over the past couple of seasons, network entertainment divisions continue to be largely
risk-averse, middle-of-the-road operations. This conservatism is practiced in
the name of preserving numbers, of course: Faced with declining viewership, the
general network strategy has been to formulate shows that appeal to (read:
don’t offend) as many viewers as possible. If you ever want to irritate a
network entertainment executive, start yapping about the success of HBO’s
original programs; you’ll quickly be met with a terse explanation of why such
shows could never work on a broadcast network, since broadcast shows have to
appeal to a much broader spectrum-and plus, they can’t do all the swearing,
violence and nudity. HBO is for a niche crowd, they’ll tell you.
But there are ways to take a
niche crowd and make it work. Consider the cases of Bernie Mac and Emeril
Lagasse. Both of these men had independently established, promising niche
followings: Mr. Lagasse as a celebrity restaurateur and host of his own show on
the Food Network, Mr. Mac as a relentlessly touring stand-up comedian
highlighted in the concert film The
Original Kings of Comedy . Both men had sitcoms built around them-Mr.
Lagasse’s by NBC, Mr. Mac’s by Fox-and if you didn’t know either performer
terribly well, you’d probably guess they’d have an equal chance of survival.
(Actually, you’d probably give Mr. Lagasse the edge, since he was a proven TV
presence, and NBC seemed to be making a big deal about his show.)
But there was a critical difference in strategy. As NBC sought to
conform Mr. Lagasse to the standard sitcom template-surprise, surprise, he
played a guy with his own cooking show, hardy har-Mr. Mac and his producers
assembled a rather innovative single-camera show that played to the comedian’s
in-your-face dynamic (Mr. Mac spends a good deal of the half-hour addressing
the camera directly.) While the diluted-for-prime-time Emeril sank as executives struggled to revamp the show-an effort
hilariously lampooned by Saturday Night
Live’s Robert Smigel on his “TV Funhouse” cartoon-Bernie Mac embraced his
niche appeal and prospered. The Bernie
Mac Show is one of the surprise hits of the 2002 season.
Of course, Bernie Mac’s sitcom
is also about a family-he plays a character based on his real self, a comedian
raising a troubled sister’s three children. Unlike other hit comedies, which
often rollick around from jibe to cynical jibe, The Bernie Mac Show displays an unabashed, warm-hearted side. Mr.
Mac may threaten to beat one of his kids “till the white meat shows,” but most
times there’s also a tenderness to the program that seems brilliantly
appropriate, especially under current circumstances. Who would have thought it
six months ago, when TV seemed brain-dead, on life support, that the boldest
move in television would be to have a heart.
