pop-culture for the people

(BEWARE MATEY’S, THERE BE SPOILERS AHEAD!)

Six years and 6 months ago I was fortunate enough to have accidentally stumbled over some new TV show simply labeled “Lost” on a file sharing system.  I’m typically in the know regarding new television shows and movies in production however this time I was completely in the dark.  I had downloaded an early version of the show that didn’t yet have all the titles or special effects in place yet.  However it was immediately apparent this was something big, something different.  I went online and found some other people who had seen the same leaked video and the buzz that was beginning.  At this time JJ Abrams, though known for Felicity and Alias,  was not yet a hot property.  So it was quite a surprise to find that ABC had commissioned him to create the most expensive television pilot episode ever made.

The first two seasons of the show, the first episode in particular, was probably one of the most mesmerizing I’ve ever seen.  The intriguing plot, interesting characters and mystery of everything was so hypnotic it was hard not to get wrapped up in the story and people.  However there were some ups and downs in the seasons.  Season three drifted astray for a while, though it did get Brian K. Vaughn (Y The Last Man) as a head writer and he stayed on through season 5.  I’ve been pretty dismissive of this entire last season in general.  Season after season we asked Where are we?  What’s in the hatch?  Who are the Dharma Initiative? Will Des find Penny? and questions went on and on.  As the final season neared to a close it became more apparent that the questions didn’t seem to be leading to any real resolution.  Instead it only introduced more new questions.

“You know when I used to get high, I’d watch nature programs on the Beeb. Polar bears are meant to be quite clever, very clever. They’re like the Einstein’s of the bear community.”

By the time the final episode came a long I was getting very nervous about how it would all end.  Unfortunately the critics were right all along, they had no idea where any of this was going.  We were all so worried that the show so known for cliffhanger season finales would end the series with us hanging.  Instead of giving us a cliffhanger they just kicked us over the cliff.  In the end the creative team of writers basically answered all the hanging questions with a “Meh, doesn’t really matter.  Just enjoy your time together eating coconuts, picking on the fat kid, and fighting unexplained monsters because in the end that’s all that really matters.”  The final 5 minutes of the last episode is just a cast reunion in some random Unitarian church (notably missing are Michael, Waaaaaaalllt and Vincent).

So that’s what we are left with.  No it isn’t as bad as the ending of Battlestar Galactica (which was pretty bad in my opinion), nor did it have the sad and slow fizzling out of The X-Files, The Sopranos (lame, loose cop out ending), Star Trek Enterprise (a holodeck. . . really?), 24 (people that thought Bauer was going to die are suckers.  It was obvious 24’s heading for movies).  How about some shows that had half way decent endings?  Life on Mars was a short lived American version of an English show that had a half decent ending like Jericho a show so loved by fans the network brought the show back to give it a proper, though short ending.  Or Dollhouse, which also had a short but decent ending.

“Look, I don’t know about you, but things have really sucked for me lately, and I could really use a victory. So let’s get one, dude! Let’s get this car started. Let’s look Death in the face and say, ‘Whatever, man!’”

The writing team could have given us a better ending if they had actually cared enough to write a framework for the story to begin with.  Interview after interview with the producers there were promises that there were real reasons for everything that happened.  In the end most of it was just a lie because they realized they could write anything and wave their hand later using a little Jedi mind trickery.  To all the folks that said “they really couldn’t have ended it any other way” I say bollocks.  Though I admit by writing themselves into a corner they were more likely to give us a crap ending.

The X-Files creator Chris Carter wanted to give a proper end to the show at season 5.  The network pressed for more and so began the slow fizzle.  With Lost it seems like ABC knew they had a hit and wanted to keep it a hit for as long as they could dangle the carrot and people were willing to follow without seeing the string.  They succeeded in giving us 5 years of amazing television entertainment that will be remembered for years to come.  And a final season that should otherwise be forgotten like the Matrix sequels, brutha.

If you want to a good list of questions that were never answered, watch this.  And a note on the post credits stinger weirdness.

It’s been a rough a rough couple of weeks to be a celebrity!  Who’s next?  Tony Danza?  Paris Hilton?  Yolanda Vega?!  Nobody is safe!

First we’ve got David Carradine who was apparently into some seriously kinky kungfuckery.  Turns out it was his own Five Fingers of Death that done him in.  Unless of course you believe the nonsense his family claims he was trying to uncover some deadly undercover kung fu assassins (no I’m not making this shit up!).

Then Ed McMahon (who now rests peacefully in a hermetically sealed mayonnaise jar, never before seen by human eyes, sealed by Funk and Wagnall’s on their porch since noon today) cashed in his oversized price check a few days ago.  Hopefully he’s playing second fiddle to God these days:

Farrah Fawcett, who lets face it, was famous more for her ability to create many an awkward teenage-boy violation-of-personal-privacy when bedroom doors were opened without knocking, than her ability to fight crime.  I can think of worse ways to go but jeeze, anal cancer?  That’s seriously right up there.

Michael Jackson moon walked off stage and was Gone Too Soon.

And to wrap it all up BILLY MAYS died today too.  I get a sneaking suspicion that heaven is fairly squeaky clean (no nead for Orange Glo, OxiClean or Zorbeez) so I hope he finds a hobby for eternity.  If anything I would have thought Vince “Sham Wow” would have slapchopped his way into the hereafter first (rather than slapchopping hookers).  I guess we’ll be seeing fewer of these great parody videos:

I really hope that’s it for now.  A little too much celebrity death for my liking.  May they all rest in peace.

I hear this over and over again: Wrestling is sexist Wrestling is racist Wrestling encourages homophobia. There are protesters, parents’ groups, religious groups, and feminists who would tell you the same things. All would agree that pro-wrestling is morally wrong, but I don’t believe this is entirely true. I believe that it is, in fact, a time-tested gauge for the values of its audience. No, that doesn’t mean that I believe the audience is essentially racist, sexist, or anti-gay. I do believe, however, that fan response to wrestling gimmicks speaks volumes about what levels of sexism, racism, and homophobia will be tolerated by the audience.

Wrestling gimmicks have often pushed the boundaries of what is tolerable by the public, and the public response, more than the gimmicks themselves, reveals the values of the audience. Gimmicks, however crude and demeaning in concept, are all intended to elicit a crowd response. They are aimed at a target, sometimes utterly foul, often striking a chord nonetheless.

Still, there’s no amount of sugar-coating that could excuse some of the following stuff I wish to discuss in this quick and very painful look at wrestling as it relates to racism. Whether you believe that the fans fuel these atrocities or that the writers behind pro-wrestling are or were abhorrently ignorant, these things are utterly terrible. At best, they are in poor taste, and at worst, they make me really ashamed for all mankind (and I don’t mean the guy in the leather mask).

Let’s start with an easy one to stomach. In the mid-80s, there was a character called the Million Dollar Man: Ted Dibiosi. As you might have guessed, the fellow was “rich” and so proceeded to buy his way to success in the world of wrestling by tempting other wrestlers to join his stable, including the late, great Andre The Giant. Dibiosi would challenge kids from the audience to do stupid tasks for money, and he’d always end up screwing them over somehow. All the while, dressed in a tuxedo ripped off from Chippendales, Virgil, his black manservant obeyed Ted’s every command.

For years, we watched poor Virgil kiss Ted’s feet and suffer constant verbal abuse while Ted rubbed money in his face. Now, I’m no sociology major, but I can say with a fair amount of certainty that this character did not serve as a quality role model for African Americans. And there were few, if any, in wrestling at the time. Basically, you could choose from Junkyard Dog, who was part Sanford and part actual dog, or The Birdman KooKoo BeWare, a perpetual loser who dressed up like and danced with a parrot. Virgil’s saving grace may have been that he was the only African American wrestler of the times that did not have an apparent mental disorder or an unhealthy animal fixation. Virgil rebelled from his bonds, but failed to catch on with the fans afterward, since his humiliating beginnings forever marked him as a loser.

Poor Virgil.

Those were sad times, truly, but at least Virgil acted somewhat human. Prior to his time, many wrestlers were portrayed as sub-human, which had more than a little to do with their race. Take, for example, renowned wrestling legend, Abdullah The Butcher who hailed from somewhere in the jungles of Africa (according to ring announcers). His “gimmick” was to be as untamed as possible, scaring crowds by biting his opponents and actually drawing blood. People were shocked and amazed, and yet something about it (besides brutality) must have been appealing to audiences.

Years and years later, the same type of gimmick was tried, this time with a more comedic twist. His name was Camala, the Ugandan Giant. He was also from the deepest, darkest jungles of Africa. Led to the ring by his “handler” Kimchee, Camala would crush other wrestlers, but often get confused and neglect to pin his opponent’s shoulders to the mat. This would prompt Kimchee to threaten poor Camala with beatings. I don’t think I even need to mention that Kimchee had a big white mask or that several years later, Camala would rebel against his master. It was yet another master-slave relationship, which seemed to be a prevalent theme in wrestling. Very seldom did a non-white wrestler enter into the public eye without first appearing subservient and/or under-developed.

Some were lucky enough to enter the fold with managers at their side. Managers, if not abusive, were often even worse stereotypes than the wrestlers they escorted to the ring. The most horrid example is the Reverend Slick, a jive-talking preacher man who ran his stable of wrestlers like a cracked-out pimp pushing his hos. Slick wasn’t mean or demeaning, but any question about whether or not his gimmick was racist should be put to rest by his music video for a song entitled “Jive Soul Bro” recorded for the second WWF album. The Doctor of Soul’s lips are seen in extreme closeup as he wolfs down a bucket of fried chicken. I remember as a kid I didn’t quite understand what was wrong with Slick or why he seemed to act so stupid or why the giant guys in his wrestling stable didn’t just break him in half and go solo. Now, looking back, it’s a wonder that between 80’s wrestling and my having gone to an almost entirely white school in the backwoods country of upstate New York, I don’t have the prevailing opinion that all black people are crazy pimps or rabid bushmen.

I can’t even begin to explain some gimmicks. Akeem The African Dream, a fat white guy, was some kind of parody of something or other. I know I’m supposed to be talking about the sociological implications of what I’ve seen, but when I close my eyes and see Akeem, that colorfully-clothed bearded monstrosity, I lose all semblance of coherent thought. I’ve been searching for a metaphor to describe the experience and the best I could come up with is being forced to eat an uncut Spam and Avocado roll. It’s too big and it’s just too damned wrong.

There’s a happy ending to this story, though. A few short years down the road, social progress caught up to wrestling. Years after black athletes began demanding respect, wrestling responded the way they usually do to real life conflict. They exploited it for ratings. A new group of wrestlers calling themselves The Nation of Domination were a hated group of evil black supremacists who vowed to beat the hell out of anyone who stood in their way.

What’s interesting about this group is how it fit in with a new and surprising trend in wrestling’s brief 90’s return to popularity. While wrestling had long relied on an easily definable line between good and evil, these new factions of wrestlers were appealing to select groups. They were booed by some crowds and applauded by others. The Nation was one of the first wrestling groups to divide the fan base and successfully drive intriguing conflict. Out of this new conflict-based, uncertain climate, fans discovered a more exciting product, the perfect backdrop for exciting talents to elicit mass hatred and appeal. And thus, the Rock, now known worldwide to wrestling fans and non-fans, eventually emerged from The Nation to become an international success. Something that would have never happened for poor Virgil, Camala, or the Junkyard Dog. When tolerance increases in America, expect wrestling to catch up at least two to three years later.

Wrestling continues to rely on racial tension to make for interesting gimmicks and storylines, and the sensitivity level waxes and wanes, but overall, things have progressed in a good direction. There may be periodic lapses in taste, and these are either checked by a lukewarm crowd response or reinforced by the fans who ultimately have the say in what is and is not acceptable. Currently, WWE is trying a gimmick in which evil Arab-American wrestlers are yelling at the crowd telling them they refuse to be stereotyped and profiled by ignorant Americans. By the taking this real conflict and choosing to tweak it in a way that portrays the Arabs (the only Arabs on the show) as enraged hate-mongers, wrestling has once again tried to exploit real fears and play upon the strengths of widely held stereotypes to evoke mass hatred for their villains. And it works. It has always worked. And that’s why it will continue to be done.

As long as there’s real hatred to feed the fake conflict, the conflict will often take these absurd shapes complete with appalling exaggerations. That’s what wrestling characters are, essentially: exaggerations -  larger-than-life creations used to pit the core values of the audience against the objects of its hatred and fear.

Until crowds find the gimmicks themselves offensive, you can bet that whatever race is currently getting the short end of the stick in America will be twisted into wrestling’s newest distasteful comedic character, or irresponsibly villified stereotype.