Something about the screaming 'Oh My God' over and over is getting under my skin. You've seen it. Somebody's teeth get whitened & straightened to movie star brilliance. Somebody's automobile has been transformed into something fabulous. Somebody's house has been remade to look like a showroom at Expo. A busload of mechanics or construction workers or cosmetic engineers descend on a humble piece of a humble person's property and within a week or so a miracle occurs, all televised for your entertainment, envy and moral edification.
I like the premise. As a kind of humanitarian extention of the Monster Garage concept, you could do a lot worse. On the other hand, you could do a lot better. A couple months ago, Rodney Allen Rippey (yes that one) told the crowd at Ofari's that he was trying to get his reality show bankrolled. His concept, do a good deed. Change somebody's life by granting them a wish. If I could have any job on this planet, I could think of nothing more rewarding than being an 'angel'. A man on the street philanthropist with a monster bank account. Should we be surprised that Hollywood has fallen way short?
These makeover shows dramatize the great transformative power of American wealth and expertise. And nothing says you are American quite like the holding in abeyance of ordinary fears and pain in anticipation of one's own transformation. We call it the American Dream, but at it's most basic level it is a great physical transformation. Interestingly, I am tutoring F9 in the difference between physical change and chemical change. One could say that a real American undergoes a chemical change, when their material surroundings undergo a physical change.
These fundamental qualities of American malleability is what makes this nation the perfect destination. I have long been a support of both the external and internal empire. Our unique ability t build malltowns and subdivisions is reason enough for us to handle a hundred million more immigrants. Bring them here. There's plenty of room and we have the technology to make people and their environments better, stronger, faster.
But instead of a patriotic and serious Oscar Goldman directing the bionics of extreme makeovers, we have reality show producers who are keyed into the money shots of screaming and weeping people. I sit with my jaw open considering the awful calculus of parsing through the applications these producers must receive. Are the applicants [sym]pathetic enough to begin with? I don't even want to think about the criteria.
Where early on in the season, the lucky contestants were ordinary middle class families (speaking specifically of the Home edition of Extreme Makeover, sponsored by Sears), now they seem to be exclusively families who have suffered some tragedy, suddenly fatherless or unable to live in a home declared unsafe. It is this transition from a fantasy show to a do-gooder's show that has got me upset. The formula suddenly fails.
As it happens, the spousal unit has been catering these past few weeks for the volunteers at Habitat for Humanity. They have been operating in 'North Long Beach' aka Compton. Although I've never volunteered, I've always admired their work and thought it would be an excellent use of my spare time. As far as I'm concerned, building homes for the poor on the regular is about as civilized an occupation as anyone can have. So most charities compare unfavorably to Habitat. What chance does Extreme Makeover have?
I have written off Hollywood's moral center. So I have no expectations. It works for me because when something like Empire of the Sun comes along, I retain the ability to be genuinely touched. Conversely, when they try so unsubtly to tug at my heart I resist strenuously, and I have to say these tearjerking Home Editions are self-congratulatory clunkers.
I say stick to 'Pimp My Ride'.
Going one step further into the murky realm of analyzing the American temperament, I would venture to say that the attitude of these producers might be shared with the producers of Gulf War II. As with Extreme Makeovers, there are limits to how much happiness material comforts bring. And since only Americans undergo chemical change when presented with a miraculous physical change, I'm sure a fair number of neocons were disappointed to find an insufficient number of Iraqi citizens screaming and weeping for joy. Maybe 'Oh My God' doesn't translate well into Arabic and/or Islam. As a neocon squarely in ideological agreement with the PNAC, I've been disappointed, but not bitterly.
Just as I see through the screams of delight, I know that the tragedy overshadows joy when the cameras are gone. My father died, an Extreme candidate might say, and all I got was this lousy remodeled kitchen. Surely Iraqis, orphaned of domestic tranquility must be looking forward to the day when their newly remade nation is truly and finally a comfortable and safe home.
It's a good idea to throw money and talent at problems and we Americans are uniquely gifted in our abilities. But big splashy productions trying for ratings points are not the way to go about nation building. Those of us who have an inkling about the slow way of building liveable homes understand what patience and effort goes into the job. We eventually see through the hoopla of the fast-paced, exclusively sponsored, high stakes cosmetic engineering of Extreme Makeovers. Geopolitical security is not show business, and I for one am not impressed with the lightning speed. Not any longer. I'm all out of 'Oh My God'.
I haven't looked close enough at this occupation to be completely disillusioned, nor am I afraid to. But as I look at this Administration's record with regard to its lack of responsiveness and willingness to admit errors, I can only expect to hear more details from the detractors and fewer from the champions. The premise was right, the future is improved and the world is safer. But this production wears on the nerves of people who can take bad news, and the whiter, brighter teeth of the Bush Administration are an insult to all of us.
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