Safe Surprises

I can't remember when I first noticed that all American entertainment follows strict formulas. Even indie films have a formula, more or less.

Take, for example, any reality show.  It always has a formula.  Let's use "What Not to Wear," with Clinton and Stacy, because the formula is so obvious and so strict that it's easy to demonstrate.

The show is half an hour long.  The first segment introduces the victim, who has usually been nominated by her friends.  Stacy and Clinton pounce upon the victim in the presence of the friends and humiliate her gently but thoroughly.  Next they take her to a place where she is even more deeply humilated by watching secret videos her friends have made of her poor choice in attire.  Stacy and Clinton take her to the studio and put her in a room that is encircled in mirrors.  She wears her favorite clothing and tries to defend it to them.  They disparage these choices and point out all the reasons she should not be wearing them.

Next they have her bring all her clothing in on racks and they mock each piece to her.  They toss most of the wardrobe in a large garbage can, and inevitably, the victim will clutch at some favorite pieces, almost in tears, and try to rescue them.  Stacy and Clinton will fight her on this.  They give her a sum of money (if I remember correctly, it is a thousand dollars) to spend on a new wardrobe according to their specifications, half one day and half the next.  The victim attempts to follow directions but doesn't understand them or rebels against them entirely, often backsliding into old habits.  Stacy and Clinton watch the video of this and mock and roll their eyes.

Stacy and Clinton take over the shopping the second day, returning the rebel pieces and poor choices.  They try to make the victim understand why she should see herself differently than she does.  Finally, the victim is placed in the hands of a stylist and a makeup artist.  The hairstylist is often the most heartbreaking segment because there is nothing quite so personal as hairstyle, and this is the moment the victim is completely rubbed out and the new person put into her place.  Inevitably the stylist cuts off a vast amount of hair and colors it something completely different.

The final segment shows the victim fully transformed into Stacy and Clinton's image.  The new person is almost entirely unrecognizable from the old.  Best of all, she is joyous and grateful for the transformation.  She often apologizes for her rebellion and is ritually forgiven by Stacy and Clinton.

Are any of you just a little sick to your stomachs right now?  The worst of it is, I love this show.  I really love this show and I adore Stacy and Clinton, though I really hate Stacy's "shut UP!" catchphrase.  I love the show, but I'm also horrified by it, and not for the reasons they would like me to be horrified.  This show is more than a little bit evil.  It's practically Orwellian.

But what I really wanted to show you was the structure.  It follows a very specific arc, as does every sitcom, drama, action adventure, cartoon and newscast in this country. In fact, if the art form doesn't follow the formula, the audience is disturbed and confused.

I remember back in the 80s watching Un Coeur en Hiver and being completely confused because the action didn't follow a specific arc and I couldn't fully comprehend the motivations of the characters.  The latter bothered me more than anything, because at the time, I was a theatre major and studying Stanislavski, prophet of Method Acting.  All I remember about it was there was a cellist, played by quite possibly the most beautiful girl in the world at the time, Emanuelle Béart.  People did things, people said things, they got mad at each other, they got back together, they split up.  Things just happened.  To a mind trained on the narrative arc, things happened, but nothing happened.  Nothing made sense.

Now I can look back at myself and see there's something a little bit horseshit about "narrative arc."  Human beings don't have narrative arcs in their lives.  They do things, they flounder, they wander around--most don't even know why they do the things they do, and if you ask them, they'll tell you not what you want to hear, but what they want you to believe about themselves.  It's very much like Un Coeur en Hiver. 

What we often demand from a story is the structure we've had socialized into us from the days of Mr. Rogers (okay, Barney for you youngsters). We want the shoes to be changed, the coat taken off, the sweater put on, the descent into the world of make believe, the lesson learned, the return to the real world, the gentle socialization of the neighborhood, the shoes changed again, the sweater taken off and the coat put back on, the song and the goodbye.  This is our arc, and we will be confused and disrupted by changing it. 

Here's my thought:  maybe we're supposed to be disturbed.  Maybe it's a good idea for us to be disturbed. Maybe it's a good idea for us to be shaken from our narrative trance and forced to see what is, not what we want each other to believe.  Maybe the narrative arc is pure horseshit.  Maybe, in a way, it's a hypnotism, and we're just batteries for a social and political parasite-tyrant.  Do you want the red pill or the blue pill? 

Are you ever disturbed by the narrative arc, or bored?  Do you ever feel like escaping it?  But when you do, what do you feel?  Tell me; I'm listening.