How a Feminist Media Scholar Can Watch ABC's The Bachelor, or, Why I Sometimes Suffer from Fake Feminist Syndrome

As I stood at a checkout this past weekend a special edition of People magazine caught my eye.  It was celebrating the 25^th season of ABC’s Bachelor franchise (The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, The Bachelor Pad).  I’m not sure what surprised me more in that moment:  that the program has had 25 iterations or that I, a feminist scholar, have watched the majority of them. 

I’d like to say that I originally started watching The Bachelor in order to carry out profound feminist critiques.  But, alas, I first watched the show years before I would start such endeavors.  I was never really into reality television but the concept was novel enough (at the time) that when The Bachelor first launched it sucked me in.  Its problematic aspects never escaped me, but yet I tuned in until the final rose was handed out time and time again.  I took a hiatus from the show for a few years but lately, as the show has become more and more ridiculous, I haven’t been able to step away from it. 

For those unfamiliar with the show (good for you), here is the premise:  an eligible bachelor (or in off seasons, bachelorette) chooses from approximately 25 potential mates by going on a series of group dates, one-on-one romantic dates, and elimination dates (two-on-one dates).   As the series has progressed the locales have become more exotic (finding the would-be-lovers traveling across the globe to various tropical settings and hip cities) and the dates more extreme (cave jumping, skyscraper scaling, zip lining, etc.).  The casting has become more and more (obviously) stereotypical with producers (seemingly) looking for a certain “set” of personalities to fill each seasons:  the drama queen, the trouble maker, the psychopath, someone with ulterior motives (a career to launch or a secret fiancé back home), and someone guaranteed to bring about a late season twist and heartbreak (the person who leaves the show to return to an ex or an important job).  The promotions for the show have not masked its intentions:  every season (or episode) promises to offer “more catfights than ever before” or “the most dramatic rose ceremony ever!” 

The show, like much of reality television, really reinforces a great number of problematic gender stereotypes and focuses heavily on women as sex/beauty objects (or possessions to be won).  (For a great discussion on how this genre of programming is influencing girls and women today, see Jennifer Pozner’s Reality Bites Back).  So how can I watch a show that stands for everything I’m against?

I’ve heard of the “fake professor” syndrome (and often thought I suffered from it) but now I’m thinking there should be (if there isn’t already) a “fake feminist” syndrome.  At times I catch myself watching romantic comedies, reading a trashy novel, or watching a show like The Bachelor and I think to myself:  “you call yourself a feminist?”  Because I find it impossible to keep my gender critique hat on at all times.  Sometimes I’m just simply seduced by the pop culture imagery and find myself unintelligibly consuming the narratives that flit across the page or screen.

But perhaps I’m being too hard on myself.  There are various theories for why people watch reality television.  I’ll list them below and try to figure out which of these explains (but doesn’t justify) my viewing practices.

Schadenfreude:  The idea behind this theory is that we rejoice in the misery of others and enjoy being put into situations where we feel superior to others.  The various gross out reality television shows (like Fear Factor) often fall into this category.  Viewers watch and are glad to NOT be the contestants.  This also likely fits why some people watch The Bachelor.  They enjoy smirking at the bad behavior of the silly contestants and their antics that get them their 15 minutes of fame.  A person who watches The Bachelor for these reasons (e.g. to laugh at the catfights) would be comparable to one who watches American Idol primarily for the audition sequence where a bunch of talentless folks exist as the butt of the joke. 

Voyeurism:   This theory would posit that we enjoy seeing what should not be seen – private exchanges that normally occur behind closed doors.  The celebrity/family shows usually fit this bill (e.g. The Osborne Family), as we see how people interact with one another when outside the public eye.  Viewers who watch The Bachelor for this reason would find it intriguing to watch a first date unfold, to witness an awkward (or romantic) first kiss, or a tear-filled break up.  (The worst example of this in the Bachelor history had to be when Jason Mesnick broke up with fiancé Melissa Rycroft on live television during the “After the Final Rose” special episode; Mesnick admitted he still had feelings for runner-up Molly Malaney, who he eventually married in a special Bachelor Wedding episode).

Vicarious Affect:  This theory would suggest that viewers enjoy living through the emotional ups and downs of the characters on reality television shows.  Viewers who tune into American Idol not to laugh at contestants but to actually cheer for them, who pick up the phone and actually cast a vote, would fall under this category.  Can’t be a rock star? Fine, so live vicariously through the successes of your favorite contestant.  In the Bachelor universe this would translate into:  can’t afford to take a helicopter ride over a an active volcano, have dinner at the top of the Eiffel Tower, or spend a day lounging around on your own private island, fine then just tune into the show and live through the romantic exploits of your favorite couple. 

So which theory fits why I watch?  Although I do admit that I chuckle occasionally at the very bad behavior and staged aspect of the show, I don’t think schadenfreude explains my motives for tuning in.  (Although I’d be lying if I said I *never* felt superior to those flitting across my television scene).  Because so much of reality television is not reality (not moments of the real captured, but staged and strategically edited moments packaged in a certain way), the voyeurism theory also doesn’t explain my viewing.  So I am left with vicarious affect.  While this theory might suggest I’m a hopeless romantic who wishes that I had had the opportunity to go on some of these extravagant dream dates (and this might be true), I feel more comfortable with connecting this theory to my love of travel.  I love the panoramic shots of beautiful locations and the sneak peeks into fancy, upscale resorts.  But if this is the case, why not just watch the travel channel?  Why become a virtual tourist through a silly reality program?  There’s simply no way around it.  I want to pick a relationship to root for (just as I want to root against various contestants as well).  I must watch the Bachelor for the same reason that I watch romantic comedies.  Despite their formulaic gimmicks, I must find something appealing in the myth of the happily ever after that these shows promote.  (And myth it is as the show, and tabloids, are quick to let viewers know in the future which couples work and which do not.  Most Bachelor couples, unsurprisingly, do not really make it in the long run).

So as the 25^th season gets into gear this month, will I be able to watch the show more critically than normal or will I be just one of the masses, consuming it without much thought?  I hope the former but I’m betting on the latter.     

Season Finales: A Discussion on Cliffhangers

 

I am sifting through my DVR and have almost caught up on all the season finales that aired within the past few weeks for shows that I follow.   Not unexpectedly, most of these programs ended with a cliffhanger.  So I thought I’d list a few and then compare them to my favorites from seasons’ past.

In no particular order (and with SPOILER ALELRTS):

The Following:  ends with the supposed death of serial killer, Joe Carroll, and viewers get to see the main character, Ryan Hardy, seeming to get his happily ever after.  That is until one of Joe’s followers (an ex-girlfriend), enters his apartment and stabs both him and his recently rescued love interest, Claire.

Nashville:  the show’s soapy qualities are highlighted here as the big storyline of this episode is the hidden paternity of Rayna’s daughter.  After her longtime friend, and former-now-reunited lover, Deacon, discovers that she has been lying to him for years about this child, he shatters his 13 years of sobriety.  The show ends with he and Rayna in a devastating car crash.  (And while this is happening another character, Deacon’s niece, is being proposed to).

Grey’s Anatomy:  well known for ending on catastrophe episodes, this show featured a slew of injuries related to a storm and found the hospital in blackout conditions.  The show’s namesake, Meredith Grey, had to have a C-section without power and almost bled out due to other complications.  While most of tragedy is averted, the show ends with a romantic cliffhanger (Kepner professes her love for Avery) and one intended as a tear-jerker:  Dr. Richard Webber has saved the hospital (restoring the electricity) but has (apparently) lost his life in the process.  (The final shot is of him lying on the basement floor, seeming to have been electrocuted).

Revenge:  as discussed in the previous post, the show ends with the revelation that Conrad Grayson is working with a terrorist group; Victoria Grayson’s long lost son returns on her doorstep; Nolan is wrongly arrested; and Emily Thorne is forced to reveal her true identity (Amanda Clarke) to her childhood friend and soul mate, Jack Porter.

The Good Wife:  the season ends with the main character, Alicia Florrick’s, husband, Peter, being elected Governor.   The final scene is set-up to lead viewers to believe that they are about to see her meet with law partner, and former lover, Will Garner, to renew their affair.  Instead, it is revealed that she will be leaving her law firm (likely to prevent herself from renewing said affair).

Scandal:  there’s really too much going on in this show to sum it up in a few sentences.  So, in this episode a presidency is saved, a love affair is shattered, a civilian turns torturer, an apparent betrayal is revealed as not being so, etc. 

I could go on and on.   As is obvious from the shoddy summaries housed above, the common cliffhanger motifs are near death experiences and romantic revelations (for the good or bad).  The combination of the two (or some things comparable) is also common.

While all of the cliffhangers I watched were good enough – they fulfilled their purpose, I’ll tune in again next fall – they don’t compare to those of the past.

TV really didn’t utilize the cliffhanger season ending until the 1980s and the episode that kicked off this phenomenon was Dallas’s “Who Shot JR?”   (I am just old enough to remember my mother and grandmother talking about this episode, but I mostly know it from my television research). 

I started noticing the technique being used with increasing frequency in the 21^st century.  So, to honor this tradition, some of my favorite season-ending cliffhangers are listed below:

The First Season of 24:  After Jack Bauer seemingly saves the day, the last shot of the program shows him walking in to find that his wife had been shot by the woman who he had just apprehended (minutes too late).

The Third Season of Lost:  The episode closes with the revelation that the show had been deviating from its flashback-focus all season and that all viewers had seen in the past 20 weeks had actually been “flashforwards” (scenes from AFTER people had been rescued from the island).  It closed with the now infamous line (from Jack to Kate):  “We have to go back!”  (Leaving viewers to exclaim:  “Say, what?”)

The First Season of Fringe:  The camera pans out in the last moment of the episode to reveal that the main character, Olivia, is standing in the Twin Towers (in 2008), letting viewers know that an alternate universe exists where the terrorist attacks of 9/11 did not occur. 

The Sixth Season (or any really) of Grey’s Anatomy:  this season ends with a shooter in the hospital that kills multiple people and endangers main characters.  (But to be fair, here are some other ones I could have noted:  Season Eight ends with doctors stranded after a plane crash; Season Five ends with two of principal characters from the original cast on the operating table – Izzy and George; Season Three Cristina has stood up at the altar; Season Two ends with the heartbreaking death of Denny after the interns have broken all rules to get him a heart transplant).

Season One of Prison Break:  As promised, the inmates (most of them) break out of prison and this episode sets them up for season two’s focus of being on the run.  (Also, the love interest of the main character appears to be dead on a drug overdose).

Season Two of Private Practice:  A psychiatrist at the clinic is attacked by one of her own patients who believes that the baby Violet is carrying is her own.  In a gruesome and heartbreaking scene, the patient, Katie, attempts to cut the baby out of Violet’s stomach.  In order to save the baby’s life, Violet (on the verge of being murdered), instructs her on how to make the incision so that the baby will survive.  The scene ends with Katie walking out with the baby and Violet unconscious in a pool of blood.

So, with those cliffhangers lingering in my recent memory, it is understandable why this season’s set was just a bit hum-drum for my tastes.  So now I just have to wait four months to see the other piece of the puzzle:  how these cliffhangers play out in season debuts.  I’ll be sure to relay my opinions on those when the time comes!

 

Echoes from the Past: The Motif of Fear in Post-9/11 TV Dramas of Now (ABC's Revenge) and Then (NBC's Heores)

This past week I watched the season finale of one of my guilty pleasure:  ABC’s Revenge (2011-present).  Besides for being a delightfully soapy primetime melodrama it aligns with my research interest occasionally flirting with the classification of post-9/11 drama.  (For more on this, see my previous post).  While watching this closing episode (which was had moments of tear-jerking and cliff-hanging), I was struck with a moment of déjà vu.

Near the close of the episode (SPOILER ALERT), the patriarch of the principal “bad” family, Conrad Grayson, reveals that he has once again been indoctrinated into the so-called “Initiative” (a group of corporate evil-doers who have previously participated in domestic terror).  While his complacency is no surprise (as the family has been involved with them in the past), his eager willingness to join forces and his ability to seemingly justify their acts is.  This moment of dialogue highlights the fear motif that I see present in much of 9/11 televisual drama and, moreover, is oddly similar to another post-9/11 television drama that I’ve studied, NBC’s Heroes (2006-2010). 

To provide a bit of context, in this scene Conrad’s wife, Victoria, is confronting him after he has just been elected Governor (due to some shady campaign stunts).  In this conversation Conrad admits to having allowed a bomb to explode on a city block and refers back to their role in another domestic terror act, the bombing of a commercial flight years prior:

Victoria:  You knew about that bomb and positioned campaign head quarters so you could be a first responder.  You’ve been with the Initiative all along.

Conrad:  There is no Initiative, dear.  There never was; not really.  There’s simply a consortium of savvy business persons who have perfected the art of profiting off of other people’s fear.  You see when catastrophe strikes, the public spends money – lots of it.  And if one were able to anticipate such disasters, they’d stand to make a fortune.  And, of course, predicting these acts of God is impossible unless, of course, one decides to play god.  On the heels of flight 187 the FAA granted billions in securities contracts… The stocks to those companies quadrupled and those who were in the know collected handsomely.  So, when I was tipped off about the inevitability of recent events, I opted in.  (“The Truth” 2.2)

 It was Conrad’s line about “profiting off of other people’s fears” that really transported me back to my days of watching Heroes.  The main premise of Heroes revolved around a plot where seemingly ordinary individuals realize they have extraordinary (super) powers.  Throughout the first season of this series these main characters begin a physical odyssey that forces their paths to cross with those of the other “heroes” and a spiritual odyssey that forces them to come to terms with the responsibility that comes along with their special talents/abilities.  The event that they are drawn together to prevent is also a heavy handed allusion to 9/11.

 

 

The first mention of this pending disaster within the show comes in the form of Isaac’s painting on the floor of his art studio – a vision of a New York cityscape in flames (“Don’t Look Back” 1.2).  This disaster finally becomes “reality” toward the end of the season when, “in ‘Five years Gone,’ Heroes presents an alternative future vision not only of the characters’ world but also of the series itself.  In terms of the season’s story line, the episode reveals a dystopia that is yet to come” (Porter, Lavery, and Robson 2007, 149).   

 

 

 

The echoes of 9/11 are not all that subtle, as Porter, Lavery, and Robson (2007, 149) note:  “Rather than opaquely addressed, references to terrorism are hammered home.  After the introduction of the Linderman Act, Homeland Security is called upon to clamp down on attackers ‘acting against America’s interests.’”  In this episode, as the president speaks to a sober crowd  in the ruins of the city, beneath a banner reading “America Remembers,” the scene is reminiscent of memorials stationed at Ground Zero years after September 11^th.

 

 

This episode highlights our fascination with the theme of the “do-over”.  Viewers are shown this post-explosion scene in order to hope (along with the main characters) that it can still be prevented.  Television scholars suggest that “a deeper reason” behind our love of this theme

 

might be that since 9/11, we are perhaps collectively foreseeing a terrible future and shuddering at the view.  Now the kaleidoscope turns into a mirror, and in “Five Years Gone” we are suddenly looking at a distorted image of ourselves, at what we could become in the aftermath of 9/11.  Viewers experience a shock of recognition when President Nathan Petrelli (actually Sylar) appears in front of a devastated New York landscape to speak inspirational platitudes designed to unite Americans and prevent another disaster.  The scene is a slightly twisted reflection of ceremonies upon the fifth anniversary of September 11, 2001. (Porter, Lavery, & Robson 2007, 162-163)

The timing of this episode is important. In it the characters are viewing a future five years in the future – one that if they could go back in time just five years, they could change.  If they could go back in time (and some do have this power) and alter events, an explosion would not hit New York and forever change the world.  And when viewers are watching this episode full of longing to re-write the past, it is not unimportantly five years after the attacks of September 11^th, 2001.

   
However, it is not necessarily the images of this fictionalized ground zero that is so chilling, but rather the rationalization given within the narrative for allowing it to come to be.  (And here comes the connection to Revenge).  It is a justification grounded in fear.  In “.07%,” Daniel Linderman, one of the key “villains,” offers this justification to up-and-coming politician, Nathan Petrelli, for allowing the explosion to occur: “I said people needed hope but they trust fear.  This tragedy will be a catalyst for good, for change.  Out of the ashes, humans will find a common goal.  A united sense of hope couched in a united sense of fear.  And it is your destiny Nathan to be the leader who uses this event to rally a city, a nation, a world” (1.19).   When Nathan objects to the plan, stating that half of New York will be lost, Linderman states that it will amount to only a .07% decrease in the total world population – an acceptable loss (“.07%” 1.19).  The importance here is again the amplification, the manipulation, of fear.

This idea of capitalizing on fear surfaces one episode later when Claire speaks to Sylar, the principle bad guy of season one, as he disguised as Nathan:  “You made everyone afraid of us” (“Five Years Gone” 1.20).   He responds, “I made everyone aware of us, fear is just a natural response” (“Five Years Gone” 1.20).  Again fear is stressed but this time the focus is the fear that arises out of a societal structure founded upon the binary of us versus them, as they are now living in a world where “normal” humans are terrified of the “heroes” because of their special powers.

Now there are obviously some slight differences between the two programs.  In Revenge, the Initiative wants to create fear in order to profit financially off of it.  In Heroes, the Company (their version of the Initiative, headed by Daniel Linderman), wants to use fear to gain political power.  While Conrad Grayson doesn’t mask his own selfish desires for participating in this manipulation of fear, Daniel Linderman attempts to justify this fear provocation by saying it will also unite the nation.  (This, clearly, cries out for a post-9/11 reading).

It interests me that these programs, and others, are exploring this theme of fear manipulation through fictional narratives.  I would argue (and do often) that we live in a time period where such fear modulation is present all the time   (For a great article on this see Brian Massumi’s “Fear, the SpectrumSaid” on the Department of Homeland Security’s color-coded terror alert system).  Our news networks profit off of this perpetual state of fear that we are in and do little to reduce it.  Certain politicians, if we listen closely to their rhetoric, don’t sound all that different than these ambitious fictional characters.  Heroes may have been a (at times silly) fantasy program about super heroes and Revenge may be basically a primetime soap opera about betrayal, but both are providing some interesting social commentary is you watch carefully enough. 

The Double Standard of Gendered Violence in the Music Industry: Pondering Why Violent Acts Committed by Women are Celebrated in Country Songs

 

Normally if someone mentions violence in the music industry people’s minds jump to rap lyrics that glamorize domestic abuse or pop music videos that problematically objectify women’s bodies.  However, another (surprising) music genre has been embracing violent narratives throughout the past few decades:  country music.  The standing joke is that all country songs can be reduced down to the following plot:  a man loses his wife, his dog, and his truck.  This is, of course, a silly oversimplification but I’d like to offer another one.  There are some country songs that follow this equally reductive formula:  a woman is abused/wronged by husband, she gets revenge, her man suffers/dies.  Whereas the first plot summary highlights the association of country ballads with sorrow (perhaps highlighting its ties to the Blues), the latter points to a recent shift toward country being able to churn out songs that tap into another emotion:  anger. 

While many people criticize rap music for normalizing abuse against women, I have yet to hear of anyone criticizing the various country songs that feature violence directed at men.  Now, admittedly, there are some differences between the scenarios.  The female victims of the rap narratives are often portrayed as innocent, whereas the male victims in country ballads are depicted as deserving the treatment that befalls them – making the latter songs revenge narratives.   Here are a few songs that might illustrate this trend in country music.

Garth Brook’s “The Thunder Rolls” (1990) has an added third verse that implies that a wife kills her husband after she realizes he has cheated on her.  (The previous verses found her waiting for him to come home on a stormy night, thankful for his eventual safe return, and then devastated to realize that his tardy arrival was not due to weather but to being with another woman).

She runs back down the hallway
To the bedroom door
She reaches for the pistol
Kept in the dresser drawer
Tells the lady in the mirror
He won't do this again
Cause tonight will be the last time
She'll wonder where he's been

The Dixie Chicks’s “Good Bye Earl” (2000) tells the story of a pair of best friends (Mary Ann and Wanda) who successfully kill Mary Ann’s abusive husband after a failed restraining order against him has landed her in intensive care:

And it didn't take them long to decide
That Earl had to die
Goodbye, Earl
Those black-eyed peas,
They tasted alright to me, Earl
You feelin' weak?
Why don't you lay down and sleep
Earl, ain't it dark
Wrapped up in that tarp, Earl…

Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats” (2006) is a song about a woman who enacts revenge on a man who has cheated on her by destroying his property (his car):

                        Oh, and he don't know...

                        That I dug my key into the side

                        of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,

                        carved my name into his leather seats,

                        I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights,

                        slashed a hole in all 4 tires...

                        Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.

                        I might've saved a little trouble for the next girl,

                        'cause the nextx time that he cheats...

                        Oh, you know it won't be on me!

                        No... not on me

Six years later, Underwood contributed another song to this set of songs:  "Two Black Cadillacs" (2012).  It was hearing this song recently that inspired this blog post.  This song tells the take of two women who meet for the first time at the funeral of the man whose bed they shared.  As the song unfolds listeners realize that this wife and mistress eventually teamed up to kill this man after they realized that he cheated on them both with another woman: 

Two months ago his wife called the number on his phone
Turns out he been lying to both of them for oh so long
They decided then he'd never get away with doing this to them
Two black cadillacs waiting for the right time…

And the preacher said he was a good man
And his brother said he was a good friend
But the women in the two black veils didn't bother to cry
Bye bye, Bye bye

Yeah they took turns layin' a rose down
Threw a handful of dirt into the deep ground
He's not the only one who had a secret to hide
Bye bye, bye bye, bye bye
Yeah yeah

It was the first and the last time they saw each other face to face
They shared a crimson smile and just walked away
And left the secret at the grave

As a feminist I'm not quite sure what to make of these songs. What does it reveal when women sing these songs joyfully?  I actually admit to having been one of these women.  I sang along with the Garth Brooks song as a teenager, jumped up and down and belted out the chorus of "Good Bye Earl" at a Dixie Chicks concert with a crowd full of other young twenty-somethings, and lived vicariously through the protagonist in "Before He Cheats" while disgusted with the men in my life during my late twenties.  Now I assume that others, like me, don't actually condone real acts of violencew - even those committed against abusive husbands or cheating boyfriendsd.  But are we even thinking that critically at all as we listen to these songs?  Are we thinking as we sing:  sure this is a fun revenge fantasy but it's still encouraging a culture of violence?  Not likely.  So, are these songs really completely harmless?  Are they really any less problematic then the rap songs?  It took "Two Black Cadillacs" to make me ponder this.  Perhaps it was the ridiculousness of that narrative and the question it left me with:  why was it okay for him to be in a relationship with both the wife and  the mistress but once he adds in a number three they go ballistic?  Mostly the song made me just  realize how I had never questioned this music trend before.  As a media scholar I had been critical of the way  women were violated in music songs and videos, but I had never consciously thought about how violent acts on men were portrayed in the music industry.  There's no way around it:  there's a double standard here.  Maybe next time I'm singing karaoke-style to a song on the radio I'll stop to analyze the lyrics a bit more... but, then again, maybe not.