Most docusoaps maintain a consistent “realist” aesthetic: long takes and mobile cameras in order to maintain a realistic temporality and spatiality; direct sound (which often leads to a “flawed” soundtrack that must be subtitled for viewer comprehension); and “talking head” style interviews or confessionals which stand in for the voice over narrator. These techniques appeal to a viewer’s ideas, primarily gathered from exposure to the filmic documentary, about what “authenticity” looks like. Because reality TV viewers have been trained to ignore style in favor of content, it is significant that MTV’s most popular docusoaps, Jersey Shore (2009- ) and The Hills (2006-2010),123 do not aim for stylistic transparency. Instead, each program’s unique aesthetic choices places them in quotation marks, with The Hills representing “Hollywood fantasy” and Jersey Shore connoting “grindhouse sleaze.” This column argues that the aesthetics of each show condition the viewer’s reception, inviting them to see each program’s performance of class and ethnicity as being tied to specific notions of taste and cultural capital.

The aesthetics of The Hills relies on a premeditated combination of cinematography and mise en scène, along with non-diegetic music and editing, to create drama and emotion where none would otherwise exist (Levine).4 The show’s producer, Adam DiVello, instructed his crew that each shot should “look like a postcard” (Kaufman) and the program’s cinematographer, Hisham Abed, has claimed that The Hills’ aesthetic is an attempt to “emulate the look of film on television” (qtd. in Gay 44).5 By mimicking the aesthetics of primetime serialized dramas and mainstream Hollywood releases, The Hills associates its subjects less with the “authentic” world of reality TV and more with the world of fantasy. One way to achieve this look is through the use of a 16:9 aspect ratio. In the cinema widescreen is employed to depict larger than life spectacles. In The Hills it is used to capture the spectacle of Southern California wealth and privilege: private beach houses, palm-tree lined streets, and racks of designer clothing hanging in exclusive Los Angeles boutiques. Further linking the world of The Hills with fantasy is the fact that all footage is color corrected and digitally modified in post-production. Colorist Paul Roman claims that he would digitally “paint” the faces of the girls and then “defocus” the background, so that subjects stood out even more prominently against their settings, making the girls the most important thing in the frame (Kaufman).6 This aesthetic nicely compliments the insular world of The Hills, which documents the lives of young women who believe that their love lives and work squabbles are the most important thing in the frame (i.e., the world).

The Hills is also filmed with telephoto lenses, which allows the show’s cinematographers to maintain a distance from their subjects. According to Abed: “this is a 180 in terms of the visual approach with a lot of reality shows…We use longer lenses and stay away as far as possible, within limits, to give the subjects an emotional distance from the camera and make them more free to speak” (qtd. in Kaufman). Despite Abed’s claims to the contrary, I believe that the distance created by the telephoto lens ensures that The Hills cast is less “free” to speak, or rather, less free to reveal themselves to the camera. Because the cameras maintain their distance, they do not violate their subjects’ personal space or capture these women unawares; every shot is set up ahead of time, giving the girls time to get their hair styled and their lips glossed. This polished, “cinematic” style mirrors the program’s function as a “projective drama,”7 offering its viewers an escapist, consumerist fantasy of a world in which twentysomethings are financially independent and professionally successful, despite their obvious lack of marketable skills. In this insular fantasy world, all signifiers of racial, ethnic, class or geographical difference have been erased, allowing the cast to exist in a consequence-free environment.

By contrast, Jersey Shore’s appeal is based on making visible the ethnicity, class, and geographical location of its subjects, all of whom suffer real world consequences (such as jailtime) for their actions. If the cast of The Hills invites emulation, the Jersey Shore cast invites derision: they get drunk, fall over, vomit, urinate on the street, and unintentionally expose their genitals to the camera (something we would never see from the cast of The Hills, despite the fact that they also drink heavily). Jersey Shore’s aesthetics therefore put the viewer “in her place,” reminding her that the show (and its subjects) are “trash.” Such images are too profane for the glamorous, “invisible” aesthetics of the mainstream Hollywood feature. Instead, the show’s aesthetics mimics those of the grindhouse exploitation film and recall a viewing experience that is illicit, low brow, and abject.

For example, a typical episode opens with establishing shots of the Jersey shore, as well as the castmates’ house, filmed with hand held cameras that go in and out of focus. These shots are frequently interrupted with jump cuts, as if pieces of the footage have been lost or damaged after years of hard use. The show’s visual and aural devices also create the impression that we are watching a film through an old, rickety projector: we see scratches and imperfections on the surface of the image and at times, the entire frame will appear to jump, accompanied by a clicking sound. The retro feel is bolstered by the decidedly working class décor of the Jersey Shore house with its 70s style wood paneling and shag carpets.

Further adding to the feeling of watching a grindhouse film is the show’s use of leaders, a length of film inserted at the beginning or end of a film, usually containing technical information for the projectionist. In Jersey Shore “faux leaders” are used to provide information to the audience about the episode to follow. For example, the Season 2 episode, “The Letter,” opens with blurry establishing shots of Miami, followed by a leader with the words, “The Plan.” This leader prepares the viewer for an episode revolving around the roommates’ decision to write Sammi an anonymous note detailing her boyfriend’s indiscretions. Jersey Shore is not so complex that it requires sub-headings to guide viewers through its intricate plots. Instead, the use of these faux leaders is another way to implicitly connect the experience of watching Jersey Shore with a previous generation’s experience of watching grindhouse films in the theater. The series’ deliberately retro look recalls the aesthetics employed by Quentin Tarantino’s homage to the ’70s exploitation films of his youth, Death Proof (2007). As with Death Proof, Jersey Shore’s visually degraded images are not the result of the material conditions of moviegoing. Rather, this aesthetic is created digitally; it is an affect for a viewing audience far too young to have ever watched an exploitation film in a grindhouse theater. Instead, as with The Hills, Jersey Shore’s aesthetics serves to frame the viewing experience; its scratchy, faux-authenticity ghettoizes its cast as well as its viewers, reminding them that their desires to watch the cast of the Jersey Shore perform their “guido-ness” are prurient and low brow.

Both The Hills and Jersey Shore are self conscious texts signaling that the reality TV images we are watching are not completely “real.” Nevertheless, the coded viewing positions created by each program frame the viewer’s reception of each text. These aesthetic choices create a meta-commentary on each show’s cast: upper class, white Americans are treated like stars and given the classic Hollywood treatment, while working class, ethnic Americans are associated with the shady underbelly of American moviegoing practices.

Image Credits:

1. Widescreen allows us to indulge in the mise en scène of The Hills
2. The Hills cast member Kristin Cavallari is always the most important element in the frame
3. Jersey Shore mimics the look of celluloid getting stuck in a projector
4. Faux leaders in Jersey Shore
5. Jersey Shore cast members like Deana are often “caught” vomiting, belching or urinating on camera.

Please feel free to comment.

1. Jersey Shore, which is MTV’s highest rated show of all time, recently pulled in more viewers in the 12-to-34-year-old demographic than American Idol, the former ratings juggernaut (James). In 2008, The Hills was MTV’s and basic cable’s highest rated program (Gorman).
2. Gorman, Bill. “The Hills Tops Cable TV Time-Shifting with 35.5% Increase.” TV by the Numbers 28 May 2008. Web. 30 May 2008.
3. James, Meg. “Riding the Jersey wave, MTV wraps quarter with poufy high ratings.” LA Times Blogs. 29 Mar 2011. Web. 2 Apr 2011.
4. Levine, Elana. “The New Soaps? Laguna Beach, The Hills, and the Gendered Politics of Reality ‘Drama’.” FlowTV 4.10 (2006). Web. 23 May 2008.
5. Gay, Jason. “Are They for Real?: Why MTV’s ‘The Hills’ is the Show you Love to Hate—or Hate to Love.” Rolling Stone 15 May 2008: 40-42, 44, 46, 48. Print.
6. Kaufman, Debra. “Heading for The Hills.” Film & Video 2 Aug 2008. Web. 2 Apr 2011.
7. Kleinhans, Chuck. “Webisodic Mock Vlogs: HoShows as Commercial Entertainment New Media.” Jump Cut 50 (2008). Web. 15 Jul. 2008

Although art cinema and body genres, like horror and melodrama, offer very different film going experiences, Black Swan, which has been described as both “high-art trash” and as a low brow art film, effectively straddles these two modes of filmmaking. The film employs the conventions of art cinema in order to engage the mind, and the conventions of horror, melodrama, and pornography to engage the body. By doing so, the viewer’s experience of the film mirrors the journey taken by Nina (Natalie Portman), the ballet dancer who must embody the restrained, technically proficient white swan and the sensuous, out of control black swan. Darren Aronofsky depicts Nina’s slow and often terrifying metamorphosis into a sensual being as a continuous stream of sensorial assaults and the viewer, Nina’s extradiegetic doppelganger, is assaulted as well. Thus the film’s many moments of “excess” can be read through the lens of the art film—as marks of Aronofky’s authorial vision—and through the lens of the various body genres it samples—as images that implicate the viewer’s body in involuntary mimicry of the on-screen sensations.

According to David Bordwell,1 art films define themselves against the classical Hollywood paradigm of linear cause and effect narratives, strong, logical character motivations, and conclusive endings. Because art cinema privileges the director as author, “deviations” from mainstream filmmaking practices—such as an unusual camera angle or a visible cut—invite the viewer to seek either a realistic explanation (the camera angle represents the character’s perspective) or authorial motivation (the camera angle is the director’s signature). In other words, “Whatever is excessive in one category must belong to another” (654). According to this rubric, Black Swan is an “art film.” Its director, Darren Aronofsky, can certainly be considered a modern day auteur. He serves as writer, director, and producer for most of his films, ensuring that his unifying vision permeates his body of work; films like Pi (1998), Requiem for a Dream (2000) and The Wrestler (2008), all revisit the same interlinked themes of obsession, addiction, and the limits of the human body. However, what most associates Black Swan with the tradition of art cinema is the way that it appeals to the viewer’s mind. Its moments of excess—when Nina discovers that she is sprouting black swan feathers or believes that she hears voices when she is alone—invite serious viewer engagement and interpretation. The viewer must constantly question which images are real and which images are the products of Nina’s growing psychosis.

Although these scenes of excess engage the mind, they also directly address the viewer’s body. Linda Williams2 has labeled certain film genres—particularly horror, pornography, and melodrama—as “body genres” because they violate the classical realist paradigm of “efficient, action-centered, goal-oriented linear narratives” and offer gratuitous scenes of uncontrollable sensation, such as terror, arousal, and despair (603). Spectators are implicated in these spectacles of “ecstatic excess” and invited to experience these sensations in their own bodies. Black Swan contains several moments of ecstatic excess. For example, early in the film Nina is the guest of honor at a black tie fundraiser for her ballet company. When she retires to the bathroom she discovers a tear in her cuticle. She tugs at the skin and discovers, to her horror, that she has torn off a long strip of skin. Here a minor, everyday wound becomes uncontainable, potentially sabotaging the image of perfection that Nina must project at the fundraiser. She frantically washes her hands, but her blood continues to flow, threatening to stain her delicate white dress. Then, as suddenly as it arrived, Nina’s psychosis passes.

This scene of bodily injury is relatively minor compared to the atrocities presented in most horror films. However, its power lies in the fact that it is a commonplace injury gone terribly awry. James Kendrick’s review of Black Swan cites Anne Billson’s concept of “insidious little globs” to explain the efficacy of these scenes. These “small moments of film violence” resonate with viewers because they evoke our body memory of these experiences. Nina’s pain is all the more tangible because it is rooted in pain we have all encountered. Indeed, during the cuticle scene I found I was gripping my own hands together in an unconscious mimicry of Nina’s pain.

Another way to connect with the spectator’s body is to arouse it. In several scenes Nina sees (or imagines that she sees) people engaging in exhibitionistic sexual behavior: strangers on the subway make lewd noises, Thomas gropes her during rehearsal, and Nina watches as Lily and Thomas have sex on a table. We also see Nina’s face in close up as she experiences an extended orgasm. Although this orgasm is the product of Nina’s imagination, her visible, uncontrollable pleasure invites the viewer to experience sexual arousal or to turn away from it in embarrassment.

In addition to terror and arousal, Black Swan also generates tears. The film employs many of the conventions of the melodrama, a mode of filmmaking that invites the viewer to empathize with the plight of its suffering, powerless victims. The film employs wild shifts in tone in order to maximize emotional impact. For example, when Nina phones her mother from a bathroom stall to tell her that she has finally been selected to dance the lead role, the moment is intimate and exhilarating. We can see and hear Nina’s joy as she tells her mother, in the voice of a little girl: “He picked me, Mommy!” However, this moment of pure joy is immediately undercut when Nina emerges from the bathroom stall to see that the word “WHORE” has been scrawled on the mirror in red lipstick. The presence of the word reframes Nina’s achievement as a sleazy exchange with her director Thomas (Vincent Cassell). This scene is indicative of the dramatic reversals that punctuate the melodrama and “bring home the discontinuities in the structures of emotional experience” (Elsaesser3 387).

Black Swan also offers the viewer an intense auditory experience. Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake sounds in numerous auditory channels: in the tinkling of a music box, the low-def timbre of a cell phone ring, and in the clear tones of the violin that often accompanies Nina’s rehearsals. The viewer is thus placed in Nina’s obsessed perspective—like her, we hear Swan Lake everywhere we go. Furthermore, Aronofsky amplifies the sound of rehearsals, so that an art form most of us observe from a distance as light, airy and effortless, becomes earthbound and heavy. We hear Nina breathing in deep, measured gasps as she practices her routine over and over; we hear the sound of her sore, swollen feet pounding the ground over and over again; and we hear her retch and vomit in a dingy bathroom stall. These moments work in concert with a soundscape dedicated to keeping the viewer’s ears on high alert.4

When I watch a movie, I usually experience a split between mind and body. Generally (but not always) the films that force me to work to unpack their meanings are not the same films that make me laugh out loud or cry real tears. However, Black Swan offers, for lack of a better term, a full body experience of the cinema. Like Nina, the viewer is invited to inhabit both sides of the swan queen—white and black, mind and body. At the film’s conclusion, when Nina has embraced the black swan as part of her self, the viewer has taken a similar journey. While some viewers see Black Swan’s duel address and mixing of modes as a sign of Aronofksy’s confusion or failure, I welcomed the opportunity to become fully immersed in the filmgoing experience. I didn’t look at my watch, check my e-mail, or even shift in my seat. With mind and body fully engaged, all I could do was hold on tight and experience the ride.

Image Credits:
1. Movie Poster
2. Image 1. Nina’s wound is both everyday and out of control
3. Image 2: Nina and Lily (Mila Kunis) generate arousal
4. Image 3: At the end of Black Swan, Nina has embraced Odile.

Please feel free to comment.

1. Bordwell, David. “The Art Cinema as a Mode of Film Practice.” Film Theory and Criticism, 7th Ed. Eds. Leo Braudy and Marshall Cohen. New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. 602-616
2. Williams, Linda. “Film Bodies: Gender, Genre, Excess.” Film Theory and Criticism, 7th Ed. Eds. Leo Braudy and Marshall Cohen. New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. 649-657
3. Elsaesser, Thomas. “Tales of Sound and Fury: Observations on the Family Melodrama.” Film Genre Reader III. Ed. Barry Keith Grant. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2003. 366– 395.
4. Bradshaw, Peter. “Black Swan Review”. The Guardian 20 Jan 2011. 4 Feb 2011. http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2011/jan/20/black-swan-review

In the 1980s the archetypal Bad Mother, the so-called “welfare queen,” was deployed by the Reagan administration to signify the failure of the liberal agenda of the 1970s. According to the Reagan narrative, these so-called welfare queens were using their welfare checks to purchase Cadillacs and jewelry, rather than food and clothing for their children. Explicitly, this image of the Bad Mother signified that the welfare system was ineffective and needed to be dismantled. Implicitly, however, this image suggested that poor, African American women were incapable of properly caring for their children, even when the government provided them with the money to do so. MTV’s reality series about the aftermath of unplanned pregnancies, Teen Mom, relies on a similar trope of class-based villainy. Amber, a working class, Caucasian woman who beats her boyfriend and screams at her child, operates as the series’ archetypal Bad Mother. The series’ exploitative reunion special does acknowledge that Amber’s history of domestic abuse and her inability to complete her high school degree has impacted her ability to effectively parent her child. However, within the diegesis of Teen Mom, Amber’s status as Bad Mother is used to generate viewer outrage and drive home the series’ message about the dire consequences of teen sex, particularly for the financially destitute.

After airing a series of successful reality programs focusing on the lives of wealthy, privileged teenagers, such as Laguna Beach and The Hills, MTV took a decidedly different approach with Teen Mom. Tony Di Santo, MTV’s President of Programming and Development, explains that the show was created in order to cater to the desires of its target audience of Millennials: “This generation wants their reality more ‘real’ which led us to hits like Sixteen and Pregnant, Jersey Shore, and Teen Mom.” In addition to its ratings success— the program is consistently number one in its time slot with the coveted 12-34 demographic — Teen Mom has also been a popular culture fixture since this summer’s season 2 debut. Its young cast has been featured on the covers of numerous magazines and concerns over the show’s alleged “glamorization” of teen pregnancy have been debated on blogs, in online magazines and in major news sources. In other words, the show’s images are highly visible, culturally resonant, and therefore, worthy of critical investigation.

The extradiegetic spectacles surrounding Teen Mom do appear to glamorize teen pregnancy. But within its diegesis as well as its paratexts, Teen Mom strives to promote and encourage responsible teenage sexual behavior. Public Service Announcements about teen pregnancy air during commercial breaks and MTV’s Teen Mom companion website hosts links to sites like StayTeen.org, which promotes teen abstinence, and It’sYourSexLife.com, which promotes safe sex. The show itself conveys this message by showing how difficult parenting can be. Though these aims are laudable, it is significant that Teen Mom’s primary warning image is Amber. She is estranged from her family and therefore receives no financial or emotional support from them. She has a physically and emotionally abusive relationship with the father of her child, Gary; the couple frequently engages in loud, violent arguments in front of their daughter. Although the series avoids overt didacticism within the diegesis, the editing and cinematography still invite us to evaluate and judge each mother’s actions. Indeed, Amber’s status as Bad Mother is further bolstered by frequent cutaways that highlight the semantics of poor parenting; close-ups of piles of clothing heaped in corners, cardboard moving boxes that are never unpacked, Leah’s bare crib mattress, and shots of Leah playing alone with potentially dangerous household items or near open windows, are all damning statements on Amber’s inability to parent her child.

We are also asked to judge Amber’s behavior when it is juxtaposed with that of the series’ other, more responsible mothers. These women certainly have their struggles: Maci grapples with a bitter custody battle and Farrah must come to terms with the death of her daughter’s father. However, both young women have their high school degrees, as well as support and financial help from their middle class parents. Catelynn, the fourth woman profiled on the program, serves as a particularly damning counterpoint to Amber. She and her fiancé, Tyler, were reared in broken and abusive homes and consequently decide to give their daughter, Carly, up for adoption to a stable, middle class couple. However, Catelynn’s mother, April, who is a verbally abusive alcoholic, views the couple’s decision as a personal attack (she was a teen mom herself). April routinely calls Catelynn a “bitch” and refuses to comfort her as she mourns Carly’s absence. In these moments April becomes yet another spectacle of the Bad Mother, further reinforcing the show’s message that the only way that the poor and the abused can be Good Mothers is by giving their children away to someone else. This perspective on class and motherhood is supported by the show’s paratexts, such as the following Public Service Announcement, starring “celebrity teen mom” Bristol Palin. This ad, which aired during the commercial breaks of several episodes of Teen Mom, implies that teen motherhood is only untenable for those from the social underclass.

Click here to view the embedded video.

The only time when MTV complicates this black and white message is during the exploitative Teen Mom reunion special, hosted by the ubiquitous Dr. Drew Pinsky. During the reunion show, Amber, like all of the teen moms, must rewatch key scenes from the season and then discuss them with Dr. Drew. Not surprisingly, Amber’s highlight reel is a montage of Bad Motherhood. When Dr. Drew replays the series’ most controversial scene, in which Amber repeatedly punches and kicks Gary, a screen within the screen displays Amber’s real time reaction to the images; she grips her head with both hands, rocks back and forth, and sobs. It is clear that Amber is ashamed of her behavior and sees it as wrong. During this segment we also discover that Amber and Gary were both reared in abusive homes. For the first time, Amber’s image as Bad Mother is contextualized, demonstrating how victims of domestic violence often grow up to perpetuate the violence they experienced or witnessed as children.

After discussing this violent episode with Amber and Gary, Dr. Drew tells the studio audience that “80-90% of kids living in homes with domestic violence are fully aware of what is going on” and offers help numbers for male victims of domestic violence. Here, Amber’s life and its misfortunes are converted into a Public Service Announcement. MTV has a responsibility to make such announcements, but presenting Amber as the case study for what not to be further demonizes and dehumanizes this very troubled woman (particularly since she is present as Dr. Drew describes how awful her behavior is). It is also significant that Amber is the only mother who is asked the question: “How would things be different if you didn’t have a baby?” Later, Dr. Drew asks her to imagine the advice she would give to her daughter at age 16. Amber tearfully urges: “Don’t have sex. Don’t even go near it.”

At the conclusion of Amber’s interview, a smug Dr. Drew pats her arm and says: “Makes you want to change, doesn’t it?” Certainly Amber should want to change: punching her lovers and screaming at her child are damaging behaviors. But like Reagan’s villainous welfare queen, Teen Mom’s image of the Bad Mother obscures the very real socioeconomic issues that have created her: Amber lacks a family support system, is unable to complete her education, and was raised in a home filled with physical and mental abuse. Instead of investigating these important issues—how the cycle of abuse perpetuates more abuse—Teen Mom deploys the image of the Bad Mother as a straw man embodying the dangers of unprotected sex. Teenagers are asked to gaze at Amber’s life in horror and, consequently, remain virgins for as long as possible.

Image Credits:

1. MTV’s Teen Mom
2. OK! magazine cover
3. Amber beats Gary
4. Teen Mom reunion special

Please feel free to comment.

Looking at Direct-to-DVD (D2D)

Direct-to-DVD (D2D) releases are films that are never shown in movie theaters (or have a small, limited run) and thus receive their primary exposure to audiences through the DVD format. Since 2005 the number of D2D films has risen 36 percent and it is estimated that the D2D industry currently makes $1 billion in annual sales.1 Despite their proliferation and profitability in recent years, however, the D2D label carries a stigma and D2D films are rarely reviewed in mainstream publications. Studies of D2D films (and their predecessors, direct-to-video films) are almost wholly absent from academic discourse.2 Yet the study of D2D films offers an important contribution to the fields of both reception and genre studies.

Until recently D2D films have been the provinces of two film genres that are frequently marginalized by mainstream filmgoers: sequels to children’s movies (e.g., Aladdin 2: The Return of Jafar [1994, Toby Shelton]) and hardcore pornography. Indeed, the very concept of the home video or DVD implies a solitary, if not illicit, viewing situation.3 Limited budgets also stigmatize D2D releases. Unlike theatrical releases, which are presumed to have taken time and care in their production, the D2D aesthetic is associated with simple sets, unknown actors and directors and hackneyed plots. Of course, larger budgeted films produced with a theatrical release in mind are occasionally shuttled to the D2D market if the studio feels the finished product is not going to recoup its investment as a theatrical release. The Jessica Simpson vehicle Major Movie Star (2009, Steve Miner), to name one example, was originally conceived as a theatrical release. But due to Simpson’s waning star power and the poor reception of her previous acting efforts (Employee of the Month [2006, Greg Coolidge]), the film was repackaged as the D2D release, Private Valentine: Blonde and Dangerous. Such decisions often prompt derisive press coverage of the film’s star(s) and their careers.

Originally planned as a theatrical release, the Jessica Simpson vehicle, Major Movie Star, was repackaged as…

…the D2D release, Private Valentine: Armed and Dangerous

Despite this stigma, studios are beginning to discover the profitability of the D2D release. First, studios are profiting from extending the life of lucrative franchises. For example, the teenpic comedy American Pie (2009, Paul Weitz) generated two theatrically released sequels, American Pie 2 (2001, J.B. Rogers) and American Wedding (2003, Jesse Dylan), retaining most of the original cast throughout. Universal then revived the American Pie franchise in 2005 with the D2D release, American Pie Presents: Band Camp (2005, Steve Rash), American Pie Presents: Beta House (2007, Andrew Waller) and American Pie Presents: Book of Love (2009, John Putch). Although almost none of the original cast appear in these sequels, the use of the “American Pie” name and recognizable logo on the DVD cover signals to audiences that the films will be similar to the original in content and tone. Studios retain the franchise concept and original film titles, but then save money by hiring cheaper, unknown actors to fill in for their A list counterparts.4

The D2D release American Pie Presents: Beta House capitalizes on the American Pie brand by replicating the logo and poster design of the original film.

Studios are also now experimenting with the concept of “parallel content”; they produce a film for theatrical release while simultaneously releasing a film with related content for the D2D market. For example, ten days after Get Smart (2008, Peter Segal) was released in theaters in the summer of 2008, a spin-off film about two of Get Smart’s supporting characters, entitled Get Smart’s Bruce and Lloyd Out of Control (2008, Gil Junger), was released in the DVD market using the tagline “Loved Get Smart? Get More!” Note that this tagline does not promise a novel viewing experience; fans of Get Smart are instead promised a viewing experience similar to that of Get Smart (only without the film’s primary stars). In other words, D2D films bank on the fans’ willingness, or rather, their desire, to watch the same characters, plots, and settings over and over again. Consequently, D2D and direct-to-TV films are arguably the “supreme American genre product: recognizable instances of alike substitutions, repetitions which ring a few character and plot changes but retain a brand identity.”5

As with the exploitation film and the B film, the D2D release must compensate for the poverty of their images and/or the stigma of being “demoted” to the D2D market through some other redeeming factor or exploitable hook; many D2D films promise sensation, particularly sex, gore, violence, and perversity. Too much of any of these things would turn off a mainstream audience and limit the box office returns on a theatrical release, but the point of the D2D release is precisely its limited audience. For example, Lionsgate describes its D2D horror films as “too graphic, too disturbing and too shocking for general audiences.”6 Likewise, while the original American Pie films titillated its teenage audiences with partial nudity—such as a topless Shannon Elizabeth—the D2D branch of the franchise offers full frontal nudity. D2D films can revel in unlimited sex and violence since they are “not required to meet the same rating standards as theatrical releases.”7

The D2D releases’ other exploitable hook is their ability to cater to a specific demographic that remains underserved by the majority of theatrical releases since they can be made quickly on small budgets (D2D films cost between $75,000 and $2 million to produce).8 The historically neglected African American demographic—which is periodically recognized by Hollywood, but only when the industry finds itself in dire financial need—is consistently one of the largest segments of the total movie going audience. Films made for this neglected audience “were among the first to prove this [D2D] market was more than a dumping ground, and they have subsequently paved the way for other genres traditionally shut out of cinemas.”9 Thus, young African American moviegoers are now being courted by independent production companies like Maverick Entertainment and Simmons Lathan Media Group. And many major studios, such as MGM, are also targeting African American audiences by creating smaller production units devoted to “urban films”—the term D2D producers have adopted to denote films aimed at African American audiences.10 These “urban” releases, which run the gamut from black cast comedies, horror films, erotic thrillers, and gangster films, are often direct rip-offs of successful mainstream releases and/or a series of sequels to previously successful D2D titles.

Thus, like the B film cycles of the classical studio era, D2D urban films are capable of exploiting their target audience by attaching African American characters to a variety of genres and cycles. For example, Hood of tha Living Dead (2005, Eduardo and Jose Quiroz) tells the story of an aspiring scientist, Ricky (Carl Washington), who develops a formula to bring the dead back to life after his younger brother is killed in a drive by shooting. Hood capitalizes on the successful zombie cycle of the 2000s but also ensures its success with its target audience by rooting it in the conventions of the urban gangster film. Leprechaun 5: Leprechaun in the Hood (2000, Rob Spera) also exploits its niche audience’s interest in urban gangster films, as well as gangsta rap, the success of the Leprechaun cycle,11 the blaxploitation cycle of the 1970s, and the tongue-in-cheek camp of the late 1990s teen slasher cycle.

Leprechaun in the Hood puts an “urban” spin on the Leprechaun franchise by having its protagonist rap and smoke “blunts.”

Like their theatrically released counterparts, D2D cycles are tailored to meet the specific desires of their audiences, only on a much smaller scale. By examining the various titles aimed at the African American audience—Bad News Ballers (2005, Brian Shackelford), Gang of Roses (Jean-Claude Le Marre 2003), etc.—we can better understand how production companies envision and construct particular racial, ethnic, and social groups. The Bring it On (2000, Peyton Reed) franchise12 and Christian uplift films (which Maverick Entertainment dubs its “Spirit” line) are two other D2D cycles worth studying in terms of their target audiences (teenage girls and Christian moviegoers, respectively). Furthermore, because D2D films tend to blend several different genres and film cycles as way to squeeze more income out the same plots and characters, I view the study of D2D film cycles as the next logical step in a comprehensive understanding of contemporary film genres.

Gang of Roses is a D2D Western featuring African American women as the gunslingers.

Image Credits:
1. Looking at Direct-to-DVD (D2D)
2. Originally planned as a theatrical release, the Jessica Simpson vehicle, Major Movie Star, was repackaged as…
3. …the D2D release, Private Valentine: Armed and Dangerous
4. The D2D release American Pie Presents: Beta House capitalizes on the American Pie brand by replicating the logo and poster design of the original film.
5. Leprechaun 5: Leprechaun in the Hood puts an “urban” spin on the Leprechaun franchise by having its protagonist rap and smoke “blunts.”
Image source: screen shot from the DVD
6. Gang of Roses is a D2D Western featuring African American women as the gunslingers.

Please feel free to comment.

1. Barnes, Brooks. “Direct-to-DVD Releases Shed Their Loser Label.” The New York Times 28 Jan. 2008. 24 July 2009.
2. With the exception of a few pages in James Naremore’s More than Night and one chapter in Linda Ruth Williams’ The Erotic Thriller in Contemporary Cinema.
3. Williams, Linda Ruth. The Erotic Thriller in Contemporary Cinema. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005: 255.
4. Barnes, “Direct-to-DVD.”
5. Williams, Linda Ruth. The Erotic Thriller in Contemporary Cinema. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2005: 366.
6. qtd. in Barnes, “Direct-to-DVD.”
7. Barnes, “Direct-to-DVD.”
8. Littlejohn, Janice Rhoshalle “Niche Filmmaking.” Entertainment Today 16 Jan 2004. 22 Nov 2005 .
9. Littlejohn, “Niche Filmmaking.”
10. Hettrick, Scott. “MGM Gets VIBE with Urban Product.” Video Business Online 6 April 2005. 22 Nov 2005 .
11. Leprechaun (1993, Mark Jones), Leprechaun 2 (1994, Rodman Flender), Leprechaun 3 (1995, Brian Trenchard-Smith) and Leprechaun 4: In Space (1997, Brian Trenchard-Smith).
12. Bring it On Again (2004, Damon Santostefano), Bring it On: All or Nothing (2006, Steve Rash) and Bring it On: In It to Win It (2007, Steve Rash).

The conventional role of costuming in film and television is to “complement the narrative, characters and stars.”1 On Sex and the City we know that Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) is whimsical because she pairs hot pants with a newsboy cap and Fendi mules and that Samantha (Kim Cattrall) is sexually adventurous because she prefers bold colors and low cut dresses. Costuming is designated as being “spectacular’” if it “interrupt(s) and destabilize(s) character and the unfolding action, offering an alternative and potentially contrapuntal discursive strategy—a vertical interjection into a horizontal and linear narrative.”2 At these moments what characters are wearing becomes more important than what they are saying and doing. In such cases, costuming often takes on an extradiegetic role by encouraging fans to go out and purchase what they’ve seen characters wearing; Carrie Bradshaw’s shoe obsessions convinced many female viewers to procure their own pair of $630 Manolo Blahnik pumps while the clothing worn by Gossip Girl’s young cast can be purchased directly through the CW website.3 Of course, this use of fictional characters as “living display windows” is nothing new; since the earliest days of moving pictures the screen has functioned as a department store window, whetting and motivating the viewer’s consumer desires.4

However, in the scripted reality series The City—which chronicles reality veteran Whitney Port’s move from the beaches of The Hills to New York City’s cutthroat fashion world—costume serves as the organizing sensibility, over and above narrative or character development. As with most scripted reality programs airing on MTV, very little “happens” on The City. Most conflicts between characters are scripted and major plot points are revealed via internet and tabloid reports weeks or months before an episode airs. For example, on September 9, 2009 The Hollywood Gossip revealed that Whitney and her boyfriend, Freddie Fackelmayer, had broken up, even though this relationship was not introduced into The City’s narrative until a month later, in an October 20th episode (“Meet the Fackelmayers”).5 Consequently, most fans are not watching The City to see what happens next—they are watching to see. And what is there to see on The City? Fashion.

Since the majority of The City is filmed in department stores, the offices of fashion magazines, photo shoots, industry parties, and behind the scenes of runway shows, there are ample opportunities to showcase images of clothing, shoes, handbags, and accessories. Furthermore, cast members frequently draw attention to each other’s fashion choices, commenting on specific details like the color of a shirt, the cut of a dress, and make up choices. In “It’s All Who You Know,” for instance, Whitney has lunch with Samantha, a buyer for Bergdorf Goodman, and compliments her application of blue eyeliner by exclaiming, “You’re so daring, I would never put that on!” Later in the episode Kelly Cutrone, Whitney’s boss and mentor, questions one of Whitney’s design sketches, “Assymetrical? I think it’s going out.” Another episode, filmed at Miami’s fashion week, confirms that “futuristic” looks are “in” for Spring 2010 (“Friends and Foe-Workers”). In all three cases drawing attention to costuming alerts The City’s viewing audience (females ages 12-34) about what is in and what is out in contemporary fashion.6 Furthermore, at the close of each episode viewers are instructed to go to MTV.com where they can locate and purchase items worn by cast members or possibly listen to Olivia Palermo’s tips for choosing a versatile fall handbag.

Occasionally The City’s spectacularization of fashion does serve an explicit narrative purpose by moving the plot forward or developing character motivations. For example, one of the series’ major storylines involves socialite Olivia Palermo’s tenure at Elle magazine as Accessories Editor and her clashes with Erin Kaplan, Elle’s Director of Public Relations. Erin believes Olivia is ill equipped to handle her new position, but Creative Director, Joe Zee, firmly believes that Olivia belongs at Elle (no doubt due to the free publicity generated by The City’s ever present cameras). Joe cites “[her] taste, [her] eye, [her] passion for fashion” as key components of Olivia’s value to the magazine. In order to support these claims, Joe frequently draws attention to Olivia’s costuming. When Olivia dons a bright yellow tunic at a staff meeting, Joe remarks, “I love that color!” And in a later episode he notes Olivia’s high heels and the camera responds by cutting to a close up of Olivia’s feet. At these moments a focus on costuming serves a narrative purpose—as visual evidence of Olivia’s good taste.

More often than not, however, fashion in The City exists merely to be looked at and emulated. Rather than using establishing shots to locate characters in a specific geographical locale, episodes frequently open with establishing shots of high end clothing and jewelry stores (Bulgari, Louis Vuitton, Ralph Lauren) or of anonymous but trendy New Yorkers, while loving close ups of expensive clothing items occasionally even serve as transitions between scenes.

Rather than orienting the characters in space, such shots place them in a generalized “fashion world,” as if New York City itself was merely the colorful backdrop for an Elle fashion editorial. It is fitting, then, that the final shot of the season 1 spring finale, “I Lost Myself in Us,” in which Whitney breaks up with her on-again/off-again boyfriend, Jay Lyon, was of a pair of boots. In scripted reality programs like Laguna Beach and The Hills emotional climaxes are often punctuated with a close up on the heroine’s face, a device known as the “egg.” Traditionally employed by soap operas, eggs allow the savvy viewer to read layers of emotion into the seemingly blank look of the actor.7 But as Whitney leaves Jay in the street and dramatically reenters the doors of Diane von Fürstenberg’s store (a visual rendering of Whitney’s decision to choose a career over romance), we see a close up of her purple, high-heeled booties. Here the display of fashion triumphs over narrative: the viewer must read meaning into these shoes, rather than Whitney’s facial expressions. The editors’ decision to make a pair of shoes the final shot of the spring season8 speaks to the very blankness of The City’s cast, who, much like fashion models, exist as unobtrusive frames for the display of clothing and goods.

While the conspicuous display of contemporary fashion and the placement of the stylish female body in exciting locales are fundamental to the appeal of many programs featuring single and/or career-driven women living in urban environments (Sex and the City, Gossip Girl, Ally McBeal, Melrose Place, Lipstick Jungle), The City’s use of spectacular costuming is employed to provide its audience with pleasures that exceed or defy the boundaries of its otherwise flimsy narrative. Indeed, because The City’s narrative has been rendered superfluous through the proliferation of multi-platform content venues (tabloid weeklies, fashion blogs, internet gossip sites) that inform viewers of crucial plot details months or weeks ahead of an episode’s air date, viewers are instead offered a living, breathing fashion editorial.

Image Credits:
1. MTV’s The City
2. Carrie Bradshaw’s quirky style
3. Gossip Girl fans can purchase the looks they see after the show ends: screen capture from CW website: screen capture from the CW’s website
4. The City’s viewers are encouraged to shop for looks identical to those featured on the show: screen capture from MTV’s website
5. Olivia’s costuming denotes her taste: screen capture from the streaming episodes on MTV.com
6. Olivia’s denotative pumps: screen capture from the streaming episodes on MTV.com
7. Shots of stylish New Yorkers serve as transitions between scenes: screen capture from the streaming episodes on MTV.com
8. Shots of stylish New Yorkers serve as transitions between scenes: screen capture from the streaming episodes on MTV.com
9. Whitney’s booties are more fascinating than her face: screen capture from the streaming episodes on MTV.com

Please feel free to comment.

1. Bruzzi, Stella. Undressing Cinema: Clothing and Identity in the Movies. New York: Routledge, 1997. p. 3.
2. Bruzzi, Stella and Pamela Church Gibson. “‘Fashion is the Fifth Character’: Fashion, Costume and Character in Sex and the City.” Reading Sex and the City. Eds. Kim Akass and Janet McCabe. London: I.B. Tauris, 2004. p. 123.
3. Lauren Lipton. “Style & Substance: After ‘Sex,’ Fashion World Looks for a New TV Showcase.” Wall Street Journal 17 Sep 2004. B1.
4. Eckert, Charles. “Carole Lombard in Macy’s Window.” Fabrications: Costume and the Female Body. Eds. Jane Gaines and Charlotte Herzog. New York: Routledge, 1990. p.103.
5. “Whitney Port and Freddie Fackelmayer Break Up.” The Hollywood Gossip. 9 Sept 2009. 27 Dec 2009. .
6. Weprin, Alex. “Can MTV Get Its Groove Back?” Broadcasting and Cable. 23 Feb 2009. 27 Dec 2009. .
7. Levine, Elana. “The New Soaps? Laguna Beach, The Hills, and the Gendered Politics of Reality ‘Drama’.” FlowTV Vol. 4, No. 10 (18 Aug 2006) .
8. The second half of season one did not resume until the fall of 2009.

Baldwin Hills

Early practitioners of documentary film, like John Grierson and Dziga Vertov, felt that the genre should serve a prosocial purpose, acting as an antidote to the oversimplified fantasy world created by the fiction film. The purpose of documentary was to “mobilize viewers to act in the world, with a greater sense of knowledge or even a more fully elaborated conception of social structure and historical process.”1 This ideal documentary, conceived as a lifting of a veil or as a call to action, is a far cry from the current state of reality television. In particular, the success of the “projective drama” (Laguna Beach, The Hills, The City, My Super Sweet Sixteen) indicates that a lot of contemporary reality TV thrives on fantasy and escape (even though these programs are structured as lifestyle models for their young audiences).2 However, BET’s Baldwin Hills, a scripted reality drama about teenagers living in and around what is known as the “black Beverly Hills,” effectively straddles the line between projective drama and rhetorical document, offering audiences an opportunity for escape as well as a chance to engage with the challenges and responsibilities faced by Los Angeles teenagers.

When Baldwin Hills first premiered in 2007, many critics noted its similarities to MTV’s scripted reality dramas, particularly its “cinematic” look and its foregrounding of the spectacle of wealth.3 However, while the casts of Laguna Beach and The Hills are all middle- to upper-class and white, the Baldwin Hills cast is composed of African American teens from a variety of social and economic backgrounds. Furthermore, although all of these programs function as escapist, consumerist fantasies, Baldwin Hills differs in its ability to engage with a broad range of concerns faced by teenagers of all backgrounds, including gang violence, drug and alcohol addiction, teenage pregnancy and parental divorce/estrangement. As one of the few reality programs explicitly targeting African American youth, Baldwin Hills aims to dismantle certain assumptions about black teens and their goals, choices and environment.

Baldwin Hills’ polyvocal approach to the teen experience is further bolstered by the fact that each episode is narrated by multiple voices. In fact, more than one person might narrate a single scene. This strategy implies that every cast member’s experiences and opinions are integral to the program, and ensures that a diversity of perspectives are expressed, rather than the single perspective of one star personality. (Watch an episode of Baldwin Hills here.) By contrast, every episode of The Hills is narrated by and centers on the life of one person, Lauren Conrad (and now Kristin Cavallari), whose narrational voice is omniscient and omnipresent.

One Baldwin Hills cast member who receives a lot of screen time is Staci, a working class teenager residing in a low-income neighborhood adjacent to Baldwin Hills known as “the Jungles.” Staci and her fellow, wealthier cast members would not interact under ordinary circumstances since they attend different high schools, live in different neighborhoods and move in different social circles. Thus, in order to facilitate interactions between these cast members, Baldwin Hills adopts a technique frequently employed by scripted reality shows: the orchestration of seemingly “random” encounters. In projective dramas staged encounters are used to create friction and “drama” between already tense cast mates, but in the context of Baldwin Hills they offer the possibility of facilitating productive dialogues between teenagers whose lives are otherwise highly structured by geographical boundaries. For example, when Staci runs into some Baldwin Hills residents at a coffee shop the girls decide to sit together. Staci then recounts a disturbing story about a gang related shooting that shocks and disturbs her listeners. While the girls freely admit that they cannot relate to Staci’s life, her story leads them to discuss their own fears. Garnette admits, “I’m scared of so many little things. I’m scared all the time, actually.” Such conversations are a standard convention of the scripted reality drama, but in Baldwin Hills these otherwise artificial moments are capable of producing a diverse portrait of the contemporary teenagers’ lived experiences of Los Angeles.

Staged Encounter at a Coffee Shop

Baldwin Hills’ tweaking of the conventions of the projective drama is also highlighted in an episode in which the girls go shopping for party outfits. Willie, Ashley, Garnette, and Makensy shop at the expensive boutique, Ed Hardy. However, this conventional scene of decadence is undercut when the camera documents Staci’s more modest shopping excursion at the discount clothing store, Rainbow. While eager sales associates dote on the Baldwin Hills girls and show them expensive designs, Staci must dig through Rainbow’s vast selection of discount clothing by herself. The use of parallel editing in this scene creates a contradictory viewing experience for the audience: we can take pleasure in the fantasy of conspicuous consumption with the Baldwin Hills girls while Staci’s shopping trip is likely a more accurate reflection of the average teenager’s shopping experiences.

Garnette at Ed Hard

Staci at Rainbow

Another difference between Baldwin Hills and other projective dramas lies in its construction of space. MTV reality series that are named after the areas in which they are filmed (Laguna Beach, The Hills, The City) depict these locations not as geographical spaces where people live and work, but as assemblages of expensive restaurants and clothing stores. Although certain scenes in Baldwin Hills do fetishize spaces of consumption, the program also focuses on the diverse mise en scène of Los Angeles. For example, in one episode former NBA star Reggie Theus gives his daughter, Roqui, a new Lincoln Navigator. This display of conspicuous consumption, familiar from MTV programs like My Super Sweet Sixteen, is intercut with a scene of Staci walking through her economically devastated neighborhood. In this brief scene the mise en scène shifts dramatically from the landscaped greens of suburbia to the barren browns and bleached out yellows of urban blight. Here Baldwin Hills offers viewers pleasures similar to those found in other projective dramas—the gift of a luxury vehicle—only to undercut these same pleasures, reminding viewers that the black teenage experience cannot be encapsulated by a single image.

Roqui Gets a Navigator

Staci and Friends in the Jungles

Finally, like other projective dramas, Baldwin Hills offers its fans a “multi platform engagement” with the show. That is, viewers can read cast members’ blogs, take quizzes, watch behind the scenes footage, and post comments to message boards.4 The content of many of these posts indicate that fans are able to “relate” to the show’s cast members. When, for example, Staci became unexpectedly pregnant in season two and then suffered a miscarriage in season three, several viewers shared their own stories of loss on the message boards. Furthermore, many fans post e-mail addresses, social networking homepages and, in a few cases, home phone numbers. Beyond the hope that these posts might facilitate contact with one of Baldwin Hills’ stars, it is likely that many of the show’s fans are hoping to communicate with other young people on the boards who share their interests or problems. The overall tone of these posts differs dramatically from those found on the message boards for projective dramas like The Hills. For its fans, The Hills’ cast members are celebrities to discuss and possibly emulate, but not real people who might relate to their fans’ problems.

What is difficult to make clear in this short space is that Baldwin Hills does not reduce the African American teenagers’ experience to a working class/good and upper class/bad binary opposition. Though many of the cast members live privileged lives, they are also active in community outreach and education. Nor does the show valorize one teenager’s experiences as being more “real” than another’s. In this series Los Angeles is defined through a collective of voices and experience. As the opening credits state, “This is Baldwin Hills. And this is our reality.” While Baldwin Hills hardly fits Grierson’s or Vertov’s vision of the ideal documentary, it serves as an antidote to the alternately spoiled and hard-partying caricatures of American youth offered in most contemporary reality TV.

Image Credits:

1. Baldwin Hills

Images 2-6 were captured by the author from a DVD of Baldwin Hills: Season 1.

Please feel free to comment.

1. Nichols, Bill. Blurred Boundaries: Questions of Meaning in Contemporary Culture. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994.
2. Kleinhans, Chuck. “Webisodic Mock Vlogs: HoShows as Commercial Entertainment New Media.” Jump Cut 50 (2008). 15 Jul. 2008 
.
3. See, for example, Mike Hale’s “Posh Princes and Princesses of the Hills.” The New York Times.com 7 Aug. 2007. 3 Nov. 2009 .
4. http://betboards.bet.com/forums/