(This is a series of posts reflecting on the place of "the show" in contemporary society and culture.)
We can ask whether or not a tree falls in a forest when there is nobody there to hear it. But there is now a more relevant question: Does anything happen, in a meaningful way, if it is not filmed or photographed? Digitalized "film" is slowly being accorded more reality than that which is filmed: Something not filmed is becoming irrelevant and quaint. More and more, we live in the show, as spectators and participants.
To create something worthy of being filmed, either through intent or happenstance, is to create a portion of the real. To do less is to simply exist, but not to be "real." The real is established after the event, in the recording.
Think of video replays watched by the officials in professional sports. The establishment of reality takes place after the event.
A delay between an event and a decision on how to judge it (which is different than according it reality) has been around for centuries, especially in courtrooms. There, the source of truth was physical evidence and, especially, oral narrative—eyewitness accounts, lawyer's presentation of a version of events, and so on. What goes on today in courtrooms is complicated and involves much more than film. But in much of the rest of technologized life, reality is established by digitized film.
Today, many are calling on police officers to wear cameras as part of their uniforms. I am not going to debate the value of this possible requirement. I will point out that an assumption underlies this call: that the camera does not lie, that it situates reality.
But cameras can lie in so many ways.
Camera angles can create deception. Camera angles can be inconclusive. Cameras can fuzz, go blank, misfire. Digitized "film" can be altered using software. Film can be edited. Film is, of necessity, always decontextualized relative to the event it records: it does not show what happened right before and right after the film. The big lie is that cameras record some events that would not happen if not for the camera. In this case, the film is simply about the film, although it often appears to be about something else.
It is not hard to imagine some people hamming it up for a police officer's camera.
We live amid the assumption that film is the portal to the real. A recording is more real than event, representation more real than the present. We are more ourselves in the recording and representation than in the habits and events of our everyday lives.
Some may argue that film is merely additive to everyday life, that it has not taken a primacy. They could point out that we have everyday life and, now, we also have almost ubiquitous filming. There is no reason why such filming should displace what was once accorded reality. It is simply a different one.
What this perspective fails to take into account is that the oral narratives of everyday life that once established "the real" have given way to a technology that is accorded more truth value. Today, the ideal for determining what really happened is to find a film that will "reveal" it. Film is the privileged way to the real.
There is much that is negative with this new world, but it isn't all bad. As I've pointed out in an earlier post, some types of political change are easier in the time of the show.
Monday, December 29, 2014
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
The Show Part 7: Our Lives Were Anticipated, By Us
by Jefferson Hansen
(This is a series of posts reflecting on the place of "the show" in contemporary society and culture.)
We can ask whether or not a tree falls in a forest when there is nobody there to hear it. But there is now a more relevant question: Does anything happen, in a meaningful way, if it is not filmed or photographed? Digitalized "film" is slowly being accorded more reality than that which is filmed: Something not filmed is becoming irrelevant and quaint. More and more, we live in the show, as spectators and participants.
Advertising seems to be the governing metaphor for social media. On Facebook, for instance, people construct a self. Generally, this "self" seems optimistic, confident, and successful. Occasional posts admit difficulties, but, for the most part, posts seem promotional. In this way, we advertise our constructed "self."
A person who posts consistently about difficulties, depression, and so forth may seem quaint and funny. Or simply annoying. What is clear is that they are not playing the game. Their constructed self puts them out of bounds.
Advertising yourself has now become a type of fun.
This gets most acute on dating sites. People sell themselves as a potential good partner.
We not only advertise a representation of "self" that supposedly exists outside the advertisement, we also create a self for the sake of advertisement: participation in social media alters and forms our behavior in the rest of our life. The most obvious example is posing for a picture that will be posted on Facebook. The posing would not take place without the existence of cameras and social media.
More subtly, seeing films and pictures of friends on Facebook may inspire us to try something similar or to one-up them in a competition. For instance, seeing a friend doing a type of ski jump may inspire us to try it ourselves.
Film, Facebook, self-construction, advertising affects our behavior.
What's more, to what extent is our behavior formed by a desire to look attractive, fun, charming on a social media platform? How often do we engage in something, beyond posing, solely for the sake of the camera? Might we throw a party in order to film it, thereby advertising ourselves as with-it people?
For fun, we create and live in advertisements similar to the ones on network television we once decried as annoying.
There has always been performance. But for the most part, this performance was ornamental, a distraction from the duties and needs of making a living and fulfilling basic obligations. Now, the performance defines us, is, in a sense, our duty and obligation. The presentation of a "self" is what makes the economy hum, by creating demand.
Social media allows us to create "grassroots" demand, which professional advertisers can then stoke.
Our lives were anticipated, by us.
(This is a series of posts reflecting on the place of "the show" in contemporary society and culture.)
We can ask whether or not a tree falls in a forest when there is nobody there to hear it. But there is now a more relevant question: Does anything happen, in a meaningful way, if it is not filmed or photographed? Digitalized "film" is slowly being accorded more reality than that which is filmed: Something not filmed is becoming irrelevant and quaint. More and more, we live in the show, as spectators and participants.
Advertising seems to be the governing metaphor for social media. On Facebook, for instance, people construct a self. Generally, this "self" seems optimistic, confident, and successful. Occasional posts admit difficulties, but, for the most part, posts seem promotional. In this way, we advertise our constructed "self."
A person who posts consistently about difficulties, depression, and so forth may seem quaint and funny. Or simply annoying. What is clear is that they are not playing the game. Their constructed self puts them out of bounds.
Advertising yourself has now become a type of fun.
This gets most acute on dating sites. People sell themselves as a potential good partner.
We not only advertise a representation of "self" that supposedly exists outside the advertisement, we also create a self for the sake of advertisement: participation in social media alters and forms our behavior in the rest of our life. The most obvious example is posing for a picture that will be posted on Facebook. The posing would not take place without the existence of cameras and social media.
More subtly, seeing films and pictures of friends on Facebook may inspire us to try something similar or to one-up them in a competition. For instance, seeing a friend doing a type of ski jump may inspire us to try it ourselves.
Film, Facebook, self-construction, advertising affects our behavior.
What's more, to what extent is our behavior formed by a desire to look attractive, fun, charming on a social media platform? How often do we engage in something, beyond posing, solely for the sake of the camera? Might we throw a party in order to film it, thereby advertising ourselves as with-it people?
For fun, we create and live in advertisements similar to the ones on network television we once decried as annoying.
There has always been performance. But for the most part, this performance was ornamental, a distraction from the duties and needs of making a living and fulfilling basic obligations. Now, the performance defines us, is, in a sense, our duty and obligation. The presentation of a "self" is what makes the economy hum, by creating demand.
Social media allows us to create "grassroots" demand, which professional advertisers can then stoke.
Our lives were anticipated, by us.
Saturday, December 20, 2014
The Show Part 6: Social Class
by Jefferson Hansen
(This is a series of posts reflecting on the place of "the show" in contemporary society and culture.)
We can ask whether or not a tree falls in a forest when there is nobody there to hear it. But there is now a more relevant question: Does anything happen, in a meaningful way, if it is not filmed or photographed? Digitalized "film" is slowly being accorded more reality than that which is filmed: Something not filmed is becoming irrelevant and quaint. More and more, we live in the show, as spectators and participants.
The working class, as a whole, seems to me less hooked into the show than people in the middle or upper classes. I am describing a mere tendency, not an absolute.
Working class people tend to be involved in institutions that, while certainly affected by the show, have historical roots that mitigate against its influence. Family structures, church, unions—all sustain values of community that blunt the impact of the show.
Among the more moneyed classes, the show is stronger. Indeed, it may be at the center. Family, church, work are derived from the show. While it's true that our affections, for the most part, are more taken up by the historical institutions, these institutions are, especially for people with some money, formed more and more by the show.
The difference is that the moneyed classes stand, to a degree, outside the show as its direct and indirect producers. The direct ways are obvious: anyone involved in media, politics, mass sports, and mass entertainment. As far as indirect ways, there are plenty.
Take a physicist, for instance. He or she researches according to the needs and rules of the discipline. Put another way, a physicist, obviously, works in the arena of how physics is practiced. However, this practice is more and more formed by the needs of the show. Research must have practical benefit to be funded. Where does this practicality come from? From economic relevancy. Funded research is, more and more, that which has a direct impact on some aspect of the economy—perhaps just the self-interest of a corporation footing part of the bill. The contemporary economy is, more and more, created by the show.
Physics research is used, for example, to build bigger and stronger computers. Which are in turn sold to companies, governments, and eventually people. While the physicist certainly stands at the edge of the show (in his role as a physicist, not a full human being, I hasten to add), he or she helps to produce it and is rewarded on the basis of this production. While he or she may be focused, in intention, on pure research, the wider context does not allow for purity. Eventually, this research must be used by or translated into the language of the show in order to be deemed relevant.
The show is a primary engine of the economy; natural science and engineering are the primary engines of the show. This does not mean that science and engineering come before the show. That is a chicken and egg sort of question.
An engine is not created if its effect is not desired by someone.
Which brings us back to social class. The more monied people in our culture create portions of the show in indirect and direct ways.
Educators train students to, ideally, become such creators.
The show is bigger than everyone.
The show is for everyone; it is the glue of the society. To not engage is to not be hooked in, to not be connected, to be on the outside looking in.
(This is a series of posts reflecting on the place of "the show" in contemporary society and culture.)
We can ask whether or not a tree falls in a forest when there is nobody there to hear it. But there is now a more relevant question: Does anything happen, in a meaningful way, if it is not filmed or photographed? Digitalized "film" is slowly being accorded more reality than that which is filmed: Something not filmed is becoming irrelevant and quaint. More and more, we live in the show, as spectators and participants.
The working class, as a whole, seems to me less hooked into the show than people in the middle or upper classes. I am describing a mere tendency, not an absolute.
Working class people tend to be involved in institutions that, while certainly affected by the show, have historical roots that mitigate against its influence. Family structures, church, unions—all sustain values of community that blunt the impact of the show.
Among the more moneyed classes, the show is stronger. Indeed, it may be at the center. Family, church, work are derived from the show. While it's true that our affections, for the most part, are more taken up by the historical institutions, these institutions are, especially for people with some money, formed more and more by the show.
The difference is that the moneyed classes stand, to a degree, outside the show as its direct and indirect producers. The direct ways are obvious: anyone involved in media, politics, mass sports, and mass entertainment. As far as indirect ways, there are plenty.
Take a physicist, for instance. He or she researches according to the needs and rules of the discipline. Put another way, a physicist, obviously, works in the arena of how physics is practiced. However, this practice is more and more formed by the needs of the show. Research must have practical benefit to be funded. Where does this practicality come from? From economic relevancy. Funded research is, more and more, that which has a direct impact on some aspect of the economy—perhaps just the self-interest of a corporation footing part of the bill. The contemporary economy is, more and more, created by the show.
Physics research is used, for example, to build bigger and stronger computers. Which are in turn sold to companies, governments, and eventually people. While the physicist certainly stands at the edge of the show (in his role as a physicist, not a full human being, I hasten to add), he or she helps to produce it and is rewarded on the basis of this production. While he or she may be focused, in intention, on pure research, the wider context does not allow for purity. Eventually, this research must be used by or translated into the language of the show in order to be deemed relevant.
The show is a primary engine of the economy; natural science and engineering are the primary engines of the show. This does not mean that science and engineering come before the show. That is a chicken and egg sort of question.
An engine is not created if its effect is not desired by someone.
Which brings us back to social class. The more monied people in our culture create portions of the show in indirect and direct ways.
Educators train students to, ideally, become such creators.
The show is bigger than everyone.
The show is for everyone; it is the glue of the society. To not engage is to not be hooked in, to not be connected, to be on the outside looking in.
Monday, December 15, 2014
The Show Part 5: Celebrities vs. The Greek Gods
by Jefferson Hansen
(This is a series of posts reflecting on the place of "the show" in contemporary society and culture.)
We can ask whether or not a tree falls in a forest when there is nobody there to hear it. But there is now a more relevant question: Does anything happen, in a meaningful way, if it is not filmed or photographed? Digitalized "film" is slowly being accorded more reality than that which is filmed: Something not filmed is becoming irrelevant and quaint. More and more, we live in the show, as spectators and participants.
In a previous post I defined a celebrity as a dialectic between masking and unmasking. A celebrity, his or her public relations people, and prying journalists work together to create a tension between the public presentation of the celebrity and his or her "real" self. Since this reality can never be firmly asserted, the celebrity is constantly unmasked and remasked. Sometimes, this occurs because of his or her intent and sometimes because of outside forces—i.e. news stories about them.
Ours is not the only culture to be fascinated by representations of people or entities like people. The Greeks, after all, had their gods. The difference is that yarns were spun about the gods. With celebrity, the story attempts to identify the person. There is a teasing sense that a "real" person lurks out there who can be known. This isn't true, but it is what creates titillation and desire.
The gods only existed in narrative and performance. The whole point of celebrities is that they have a life outside performance.
However, that life is itself part of the show.
In the time of the Greeks, the show with its gods was often part of ritual and religion. Think of Demeter and the festival that celebrated her. In this way, the show constituted belief. This parallels what happens today. The difference is that, with the Greeks, the show was connected to beliefs about a cosmic order. Today, celebrities and the show are wholly human constructions. Indeed, the fact that they are oh so human makes them more titillating. The Greeks sometimes used the show to communicate with another realm of being. The whole point of the contemporary show is that it is very much of the realm we live in—indeed, the part of it worthy of being filmed and then broadcast on a massive scale.
Everything a celebrity does is worthy of broadcasted photography or film. (We can all now become temporary celebrities if we can go viral.)
A celebrity is like a god because he or she is worthy of contemplation, obsession, and consideration. A celebrity is not like a god in that we can emulate them without seeming proud. To try to emulate a god would be the height of arrogance.
The role of a celebrity is to expand the show into the notions of the "real." The irony is that the show has already constituted much of the real. For instance, our clothes are not the result of weaving together raw materials available locally or through trade. They are constituted by desire for a look. Advertising and the fashion industry create this desire, not need or happenstance.
In this way, we cloak ourselves in the show, and then look to celebrities to titillate us with something outside it—even as both we and they are part of it.
You can escape the show. But the only ones who would know are those immediately with you. So it would have no power.
(This is a series of posts reflecting on the place of "the show" in contemporary society and culture.)
We can ask whether or not a tree falls in a forest when there is nobody there to hear it. But there is now a more relevant question: Does anything happen, in a meaningful way, if it is not filmed or photographed? Digitalized "film" is slowly being accorded more reality than that which is filmed: Something not filmed is becoming irrelevant and quaint. More and more, we live in the show, as spectators and participants.
In a previous post I defined a celebrity as a dialectic between masking and unmasking. A celebrity, his or her public relations people, and prying journalists work together to create a tension between the public presentation of the celebrity and his or her "real" self. Since this reality can never be firmly asserted, the celebrity is constantly unmasked and remasked. Sometimes, this occurs because of his or her intent and sometimes because of outside forces—i.e. news stories about them.
Ours is not the only culture to be fascinated by representations of people or entities like people. The Greeks, after all, had their gods. The difference is that yarns were spun about the gods. With celebrity, the story attempts to identify the person. There is a teasing sense that a "real" person lurks out there who can be known. This isn't true, but it is what creates titillation and desire.
The gods only existed in narrative and performance. The whole point of celebrities is that they have a life outside performance.
However, that life is itself part of the show.
In the time of the Greeks, the show with its gods was often part of ritual and religion. Think of Demeter and the festival that celebrated her. In this way, the show constituted belief. This parallels what happens today. The difference is that, with the Greeks, the show was connected to beliefs about a cosmic order. Today, celebrities and the show are wholly human constructions. Indeed, the fact that they are oh so human makes them more titillating. The Greeks sometimes used the show to communicate with another realm of being. The whole point of the contemporary show is that it is very much of the realm we live in—indeed, the part of it worthy of being filmed and then broadcast on a massive scale.
Everything a celebrity does is worthy of broadcasted photography or film. (We can all now become temporary celebrities if we can go viral.)
A celebrity is like a god because he or she is worthy of contemplation, obsession, and consideration. A celebrity is not like a god in that we can emulate them without seeming proud. To try to emulate a god would be the height of arrogance.
The role of a celebrity is to expand the show into the notions of the "real." The irony is that the show has already constituted much of the real. For instance, our clothes are not the result of weaving together raw materials available locally or through trade. They are constituted by desire for a look. Advertising and the fashion industry create this desire, not need or happenstance.
In this way, we cloak ourselves in the show, and then look to celebrities to titillate us with something outside it—even as both we and they are part of it.
You can escape the show. But the only ones who would know are those immediately with you. So it would have no power.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
The Show Part 4: The Celebrity Dialectic
by Jefferson Hansen
(This is a series of posts reflecting on the place of "the show" in contemporary society and culture.)
We can ask whether or not a tree falls in a forest when there is nobody there to hear it. But there is now a more relevant question: Does anything happen, in a meaningful way, if it is not filmed or photographed? Digitalized "film" is slowly being accorded more reality than that which is filmed. Something not filmed is becoming irrelevant and quaint. More and more, we live in the show, as spectators and participants.
Celebrities are the "real" selves of performers in the show. Principle arenas of performance include sports, acting, politics, music, and news and talk show hosts.
I use quotations around the word "real" because the thrill of celebrity hinges on the mystery surrounding the construction of this "real." News and talk shows often claim to unmask a celebrity, to show what he or she is really like. "Next, meet Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin up close and personal. Find out what he is really like."
Mystery is created in the tension between this claimed unmasking and the nagging sense that an interview, confession, or presentation is a) controlled by Public Relations staff and b) just another performance. What attracts us to celebrities is the peekaboo, the here-I-am, there-I-go sense. Indeed, "celebrity" is a dance of masking and unmasking—and the extreme unmasking is to show a celebrity is "really" a deviant or criminal. Even here, the dance does not end. We always must question if this unmasking is the final one, if there is "more to the story."
The construction of celebrities makes them seem to have fuller, more complete lives than the rest of us. We desire what they supposedly have. This is why they so often appear in advertisements: they are desire-creating machines.
We sometimes desire to see the bubble popped, to see exposure.
This dialectic between masking (the performance of the "real") and unmasking (information that complicates or mitigates against this performance) is a celebrity. Part of the PR is to let details come out that run counter to or at least complicate the performance of the real. This keeps the celebrity in the news cycle. When the mystery runs dry, when the desire to "know" them ends, they become yesterday's news, an old celebrity. This very "oldness" can be used to try to resuscitate a celebrity through nostalgia. "Ever wonder what became of Celebrity A whose star shown so bright in the 80s? We have him with us tonight so that you can find out for yourself."
Some disclosures do not come from PR. They come from digging journalists.
Journalists, too, become celebrities. We get to see what they are "really" like when they perform as "themselves" on talk shows, for instance.
With the advent of cheap cameras and personal computers, we can all become celebrities. The simple question, "Who is that person in the viral video?" begins the celebrity dialectic. Such people may appear on talk shows. To appear on such a show is, inevitably, to be involved in the celebrity dialectic.
There are elements of the culture where this dialectic is much less pronounced. Again, these appear at the edge of the show. Scholars may be known in their field, but the obsessive need to get at the constructed "real" self, and to complicate it, usually does not exist. People might be curious about a star scholar and even model themselves after him or her, but rarely does it take the form of wanting to know the mysteries of the construction of their "real" self.
Some artists also live outside celebrity. At a jazz show, for instance, musicians often hang out with audience members between sets. They are usually given space and not treated with the sort of emotional outbursts often exhibited around true celebrities. As with scholars, people may be curious about what they are like. But it rarely takes the form of the peekaboo, back and forth dialectic of the celebrity.
We want to be celebrities. We envy them for having what we want. We want to at least see them squirm a little, and sometimes even hurt.
Up next: a comparison between the function of celebrities in contemporary culture and the Greek gods.
(This is a series of posts reflecting on the place of "the show" in contemporary society and culture.)
We can ask whether or not a tree falls in a forest when there is nobody there to hear it. But there is now a more relevant question: Does anything happen, in a meaningful way, if it is not filmed or photographed? Digitalized "film" is slowly being accorded more reality than that which is filmed. Something not filmed is becoming irrelevant and quaint. More and more, we live in the show, as spectators and participants.
Celebrities are the "real" selves of performers in the show. Principle arenas of performance include sports, acting, politics, music, and news and talk show hosts.
I use quotations around the word "real" because the thrill of celebrity hinges on the mystery surrounding the construction of this "real." News and talk shows often claim to unmask a celebrity, to show what he or she is really like. "Next, meet Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin up close and personal. Find out what he is really like."
Mystery is created in the tension between this claimed unmasking and the nagging sense that an interview, confession, or presentation is a) controlled by Public Relations staff and b) just another performance. What attracts us to celebrities is the peekaboo, the here-I-am, there-I-go sense. Indeed, "celebrity" is a dance of masking and unmasking—and the extreme unmasking is to show a celebrity is "really" a deviant or criminal. Even here, the dance does not end. We always must question if this unmasking is the final one, if there is "more to the story."
The construction of celebrities makes them seem to have fuller, more complete lives than the rest of us. We desire what they supposedly have. This is why they so often appear in advertisements: they are desire-creating machines.
We sometimes desire to see the bubble popped, to see exposure.
This dialectic between masking (the performance of the "real") and unmasking (information that complicates or mitigates against this performance) is a celebrity. Part of the PR is to let details come out that run counter to or at least complicate the performance of the real. This keeps the celebrity in the news cycle. When the mystery runs dry, when the desire to "know" them ends, they become yesterday's news, an old celebrity. This very "oldness" can be used to try to resuscitate a celebrity through nostalgia. "Ever wonder what became of Celebrity A whose star shown so bright in the 80s? We have him with us tonight so that you can find out for yourself."
Some disclosures do not come from PR. They come from digging journalists.
Journalists, too, become celebrities. We get to see what they are "really" like when they perform as "themselves" on talk shows, for instance.
With the advent of cheap cameras and personal computers, we can all become celebrities. The simple question, "Who is that person in the viral video?" begins the celebrity dialectic. Such people may appear on talk shows. To appear on such a show is, inevitably, to be involved in the celebrity dialectic.
There are elements of the culture where this dialectic is much less pronounced. Again, these appear at the edge of the show. Scholars may be known in their field, but the obsessive need to get at the constructed "real" self, and to complicate it, usually does not exist. People might be curious about a star scholar and even model themselves after him or her, but rarely does it take the form of wanting to know the mysteries of the construction of their "real" self.
Some artists also live outside celebrity. At a jazz show, for instance, musicians often hang out with audience members between sets. They are usually given space and not treated with the sort of emotional outbursts often exhibited around true celebrities. As with scholars, people may be curious about what they are like. But it rarely takes the form of the peekaboo, back and forth dialectic of the celebrity.
We want to be celebrities. We envy them for having what we want. We want to at least see them squirm a little, and sometimes even hurt.
Up next: a comparison between the function of celebrities in contemporary culture and the Greek gods.