Short Essays
The Small, Silver, Powerful Screen- A New "Golden Age" of Television
11/16/13
Where do you go when the television turns on? Take the child who wakes up early on Saturday mornings to watch his favorite cartoon. Or the mothers and fathers who sit down after their busy days to tune-in and share a bag of popcorn with their children. Consider the man who stays up late to watch his favorite variety show to have a few laughs right before he goes to sleep. Each and every one of us has a reason that’s unique to us. And now and more than ever before, television has become the very medium not only to escape, but to experience. It’s an art form in which writers can not only thrive the most, but succeed the greatest in connecting with its audience over a longer period of time, giving us the chance to escape from our lives, be cinematically entertained, and invested strongly in complex characters that stay with us after the screen goes black.
We’ve seen countless interpretations of war on television, across all genres. But it wasn’t a show that made me so passionate to explore the potential. It was a book. Tim O’Brien, the author of an essay entitled, “How to Tell a True War Story”, has been through more than many of us could handle. Fighting on the grounds of Vietnam, O’Brien has experienced bloodshed, friendship, love, loss, and beauty to name a few. But the author himself argues that the book he’s written is not solely a war novel. It doesn’t treat the experience as a consistent act of blood, gore, and gunfire. Instead, it offers an accessible lens to all who read it. After witnessing a fellow soldier and friend, Curt Lemon, die suddenly, O’Brien said “…if I could ever get the story right, how the sun seemed to gather around him and pick him up and lift him into a tree, if I could somehow recreate the fatal whiteness of that light, the quick glare, the obvious cause and effect, then you would believe the last thing Lemon believed, which for him must’ve been the final truth” (O’Brien 182). But what constitutes the story to be “right”? It isn’t the accuracy of events, it’s the captured emotional essence provided by the author’s language. O’Brien’s intention to “recreate” his friend is an outcome of storytelling that provides credibility so strong with detail that we invest in these anecdotes. It shows us that stories are intended to unify. They bring together the past and the present so that we can believe what’s on the page, just like we believe what’s on the TV screen. In this case, we can experience while O’Brien can relive. People no longer seem so lost or forgotten, thanks to what it is we decide to write. It was in his poetic language that the realness we feel when reading doesn’t just have to be limited to literature. What if we could take O’Brien’s essay, and translate it to a script, one that would be matched with a camera that could recreate these moments. They could become even stronger, and take an audience into an almost complete immersion. Many would say that TV is an endless medium, and thanks to the wide array of channels, we have the power to access endless amounts of stories, and simultaneously, those stories have the opportunity to branch into more than just the one-dimensional pieces they would be in a film. Some will gravitate to more than others, and that’s the advantage of it. All forms of art, including films and books, have the ability to preserve certain feelings and essences, but only in television can they be fleshed-out the most, and thus become the strongest, and remain the most permanent. If Tim O’Brien were to choose between writing television or writing film, he would unquestionably choose television. It would give him the chance to show us all sides of a character or event like he did in “How to Tell a True War Story”. And only then, can the viewer truly feel like they’re living in another world, if only for a thirty minutes or an hour. Because O’Brien’s writing encompasses the notion of “slices of life”, and that’s television.
But these slices of life are far more powerful than meets the eye. In Roland Barthes’ essay, “Leaving the Movie Theater”, the author describes going to the cinema as an experience of “hypnosis” (Barthes 189). He notes that when we begin watching a film, in the darkness of the theater, we drift off into a dreamlike state that, at the same time, provides a “lure” (Barthes 191) to remove us from our own reality. By doing this, our state of mind is essentially split in half. One part of us is in in the reality, sitting in a plush theater chair, while the other half is lost, and taken deep into what’s on the screen. He argues that both setting and story contribute to this phenomenon. However, he also notes that when one watches television, there is no “fascination” because “space is familiar” and “darkness is erased” (Barthes 190). This particular essay was written in 1975, a time when television was a mere twenty-five years old. Today, writers and directors of cinema have moved to making TV shows that resonate with us far more than a common Hollywood blockbuster. They’ve not only been given freedom to develop their characters over seasons, but they now have the chance reach out to far wider array of audiences. Now, the TV show can be watched on every device possible, and we have the opportunity to watch these stories that we may have missed in time, all on-demand. Nevertheless, Barthes claims that we, as audience, enter a “hypnosis of the lifelike” (Barthes 191), which parallels the feeling we’re intended to have when we read O’Brien’s horrifyingly realistic and believable account. The title of O’Brien’s novel is “The Things They Carried”. “How to Tell a True War Story” shows us that soldiers like Tim didn’t just carry guns, wrist-watches, yo-yo’s, keys, knives, grenades, matches, lighters, and cigarettes, rather things far more powerful. He carried guilt. He carried the loss of a friend. He carried the feelings that had to be bottled-up for all those years without having much of a chance to look back. Until he had the opportunity to sit down and write this book. O’Brien showed me the potential of words, fiction or otherwise. But furthermore, he showed me why it is I want to write television. It’s where all artists have the chance to reach into themselves and pull out stories in their truest and most complete form, and then show to anyone who’s willing to watch. Countless shows today across all genres contain abundant cinematic elements and brilliant writing, so that when we turn off the lights in our own homes or go under the sheets of our bed, we become just as hypnotized in worlds that are even more accessible and relevant.
Here’s a story that may hypnotize you.
I was driving one winter night on an empty highway. The heat in the car hadn’t been working for over a month, and the old engine crackled as I accelerated. It was late, but it wasn’t time that mattered as much as the climate. Without any warning, the sputtering in the engine became louder than it already was. I pulled the car over, and felt the vibrations of the highway ridges as I rode over them. The thing had broken down. No time is opportune for a misfortune like this to happen, but now especially wasn’t. Exhaling, I sat motionless in the vehicle, unsure of what my next course of action would be. An event like this was so alien. I just sat there in a panic. It was probably below freezing outside. The glass became clouded up by batches of snow and sleet. My fingertips glowed a crimson color as they stuck to the steering wheel. I fumbled for my cell phone to call the police, but just my luck, it was dead.. I hoped that none of it was real, and I could wake up soon enough in the warmth and comfort of a warm fireplace and a hot cup of cocoa. At least that’s what I tried to convince myself. My choices quickly became limited. So I took the leap. All in one motion, I pushed through the iced door. The frozen flakes felt like thumbtacks piercing right through the pores of my skin. I walked only but a few feet, and collapsed to the ground in fear, as the world around me turned dark.
Ninety-five percent of that story is true. The other five percent shows everyone who reads it the precise feeling I had alone, freezing, and afraid out there on the highway. And I’m almost positive that you’re wondering right now, “Well, what happens next?” And you should. We need stories, because quite frankly, we wouldn’t be anything without them. But most importantly, we need these stories on television to develop a connection and witness these events unravel more slowly and more naturally. If no such story existed of fear and isolation, how could anyone know what it truly feels like? With association to a text like this, we become educated, or even further, write our own ending to it. We can’t help but to do so. I interviewed an actor at the Paley Center in New York named Michael Kenneth Williams. He was adamant about performing on television, and I respected his opinion. He recalled his very first television show that he acted in regularly, called “The Wire”. For him, it was an experience unlike any other, and from the beginning, he knew that it was something special. From the first script he read, it “was like reading a book”. Screenplays now read as poetically as “How to Tell a True War Story”, and have the capability to connect with viewers just as wholly, if not more so. That’s what the writers of television have now created, and thanks to them, we’re now living in a new “Golden Age” that is virtually boundless. Whether it’s passion, love, heartache, anger, or sorrow, stories strengthen the feelings that drive us to do something, because they’re never forgotten. They’re placed on a shelf or in the mind of someone younger, who passes them on from generation to generation. O’Brien showed us all sides of war. Beauty, grief, violence, love, and pain to name a few. This is what we take with us after we’ve finished reading, and it changes who we are. After somebody kicked the baby buffalo, Dave Jensen says that he’s never seen one. “A new wrinkle. I never seen it before” (O’Brien 180). Every story adds a wrinkle in us, and television can let us step into the shoes of those we could never be, and see the world through a lens that doesn’t turn off after two hours. Though TV takes us out of our own lives and allows us to become invested in others, we see, after we’ve finished watching, that the specific connection that drew us to the screen has made a difference in who we are, and that is something that film simply can’t achieve on a similar level.
A story that added a significant wrinkle in myself was a TV show called “Modern Family”. It was created in 2009 by a writer/director named Steve Levitan. “Modern Family” takes the traditional family dynamic and completely flips it to something unfamiliar, yet very attractive to audiences. The apparent stereotypes, the masterful writing, and the relatable circumstances give this show immediate triumph in the eyes of the viewer. There is a character for everyone, and the jokes can be boiled down to what happens in each of our lives every day. When we see it right in front of us, there is a feeling of enjoyment and pure hilarity because we ourselves have experienced the situation before. If “Modern Family” was a film, we get a glimpse into the lives of these people, and have no chance to understand what they’re going through, and find a connection to ourselves. Twenty years ago, television was a laughable medium in which filmmakers and actors considered a no-man’s land that only aired silly cartoons and entertainment that will “melt” your brain. Now, the tables have turned. Movie studios put more money into blockbusters at the sacrifice of story, while television does just the opposite, and attempts to find the unique elements in scripts and projects that might ultimately last for several years. In “How to Tell a True War Story”, Tim O’Brien does just the same, as he paints a picture that none of us could ever imagine seeing with our own eyes. But we can jump into what he’s created through accessibility. Through beauty, love, and friendship. Maybe even hope. We escape into his world while he reveals all sides of war, and unique characters that all have various morals and values. By doing that, we as the reader find something to connect with. It’s entertaining, captivating, and emotionally potent, all at the same time. Television has achieved a similar variety. Why? Opportunity. All filmmakers want that chance to tell a story and develop characters not only more naturally, but more completely as well.
In “How to Tell a True War Story”, Tim O’Brien asks us one incredibly meaningful question: “Does it matter?” The answer depends. But what we reach from this quandary is the potential of a story, and its necessity to humanity. It’s a dialect we all speak, and one that we always will speak. Television is quickly becoming the strongest place to achieve the potential to reach out to its audience. An abundance of channels provides the chance to tell stories from all walks of life, and endless characters that have the potential to make a prolific impact on our own society. For the past six decades, TV shows have mirrored who we are, what we are feeling, and how cultural, political, and social issues can affect us. The comedies, dramas, reality, and variety shows we watch on television reflect us and influence culture just as much as we influenced the show’s creation. It is a cycle that will never cease to exist, because when we are invited into the lives of a certain community every week, we discover ourselves: our failures, our victories, and our true passions. Some just these shows for a simple laugh, cry, or adventure. To escape from everyday reality, or to simply put ourselves in someone else’s shoes, and experience doing something we could never dream of. But more often than not, these stories are not only entertaining, but inspiring to our own character. For writers, it’s now a playground. It’s an open gate with more voices than we’ve ever heard before. Television is a medium that has nowhere to go but up, thanks to all of the writers it inspires by consistently proving that there’s still a story out there that hasn’t been told yet. One that may shake the world as we know it. In today’s age of a new television, there’s no better time to be excited for what’s next.
Works Cited
{C}1. Barthes, Roland. “Leaving the Movie Theater”. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, LLC in Writing the Essay, Art In the World. pp. 189-191.
{C}2. Modern Family. Copyright ABC Studios. Writ. Steve Levitan and Christopher Lloyd. 2009-2013. Television.
{C}3. O’Brien, Tim. “How to Tell a True War Story”, in Paula Geyh, et al., eds., Postmodern American Fiction: A Norton Anthology (New York: W.W. Norton, 1998), 174-183.