What is “pluck”? One meaning is the courage or determination marshaled in the face of some challenge. This definition is at the heart of the construction of the archetypal protagonist of the big screen “chick flick” or small screen made-for-TV movie. Yet, for these characters, pluck connotes more than determination. It describes those certain shared qualities of these characters: they are attractive and perfectly happy to be noticed as such, smart but not in any bookish way, feisty but never threatening to broader social structures, likable to the audience, frequently middle or working class, sometimes wealthy but never part of any “elite” culture, and unfailingly capable in the face of whatever challenges get thrown in their ways. This character’s pluck is frequently tied to knowledge or wisdom the character has as a woman. The power of femininity, be it sex appeal, maternal feelings, or some general empathy associated with woman, is the source of the characters plucky strength. Her pluck is constructed in such broad strokes that it resists those small details that might call the heroine’s determination into question. Her pluck acts against a shield against scrutiny, criticism, and questions that do not directly deal with strength of her resolve.

Perhaps the iconic representative of big screen pluck is Elle Woods of Legally Blonde. Elle travels to Harvard Law School for no other reason than to win back her college boyfriend. After a few false starts, Elle finds herself in the middle of a murder case. She successfully defends her client, a former sorority sister, by drawing on her plucky knowledge of hair care rather than the law. Along the way she vanquishes East Coast snobbery, comes to the aid of her working class beautician, befriends all those who seek to judge her, and discovers the plucky strength that was in herself all along.

The small screen heroine is often closer to domestic concerns. Made-for-TV versions of the plucky heroine generally feature an “everyday” kind of woman, who must overcome some “challenge” or fight for some “cause.” The movie represents her trials and tribulations along the way. But through all of these, she prevails through the power of her pluck. This genre is so clearly established that even true stories about women can be easily reassembled to fit into its contours. They can be told with more of less seriousness. The 2002 ABC Family bio-pic, Mom’s On Strike takes the less serious route in telling the story of a homemaker who walks out on family after they continually take her for granted. The 2003 Lifetime movie, Homeless to Harvard: the Liz Murray Story takes the more serious approach in telling the story of a young woman who uses her determination to move from the streets into the Ivy League. In each, the protagonist takes up a “cause,” in these cases “lack of respect” and “homelessness”, and uses her pluck to achieve her goals.

This archetype certainly informs the packaging of the current Republican vice presidential candidate, Sarah Palin. As pre-scripted by the McCain campaign and repeated by the mainstream media, her life story reads like the script to a great made-for-TV movie. Let’s call it “Hockey Mom Goes to Washington.” Its low on details and particulars, but brimming with generically broad strokes that emphasize her pluck while downplaying questions about anything that might disrupt the narrative progression of her success. In playing with these conventions, Palin is presented on the national scene as a pre-made protagonist of pluck.

It is the inspiring tale of a woman who uses her power of pluck to vanquish “corruption” wherever she sees it. It begins on a bright clear morning in Alaska (well, it would not actually be Alaska, but somewhere in Canada because its cheaper to film there), as the sun rises over the scene of a young mother packing hockey equipment in to the back of sure station wagon. In a montage sequence backed by upbeat perky music, this young mother is seen dropping her kids off at practice, picking them up, going to meetings, and serving a hot meal to her family. Our young mother is more than capable and in true Alaskan spirit even hunts and flies a plane. An active member of the PTA, our heroine sees “corruption” in her small town, and decides to fight it by running for mayor. There is the obligatory montage scene of her homegrown campaign, with scenes of her family handing out flyers, making signs, speaking to the townspeople in the local establishments. Of course, she wins – she has the power of pluck on her side.

But, the movie does not end there. After successfully ridding her small town of this oft mentioned “corruption” and giving its citizens a new multi-million dollar sports complex, our heroine turns her eyes to the corruption in Anchorage. In another montage sequence, we see her campaign for governor. She wins! Then using the power of her pluck she faces all those corrupt men, be they politicians or oil executives, who would underestimate her and vanquishes them. There is a long scene involving the sale of the state jet on E-Bay. Now how plucky is that!

“Corruption” is her obstacle and she can overcome it. Our plucky heroine does it all, she manages her family, even having a child while in office, while managing her duties as mayor or governor. Like all made-for-TV movies, it remains vague on specifics. After all, montage sequences don’t allow for much reflection or exposition. A city treasury left in debt, the aggressive search for federal funds, and any hint of the inappropriate use of the power of the Governors office, simply have no place in this tale. Her pluck makes her likeable, popular, and above reproach.

Then on a sunny late summer Alaska afternoon, a call comes in for our heroine. It’s John McCain, Republican candidate for President of the United States! Facing a charismatic opponent, the first African American candidate running for president as the nominee of a major party, McCain clearly needs a bold stroke. So, he asks our plucky heroine to be his running mate. How could she say no! In a matter of days she goes from the governor of one of the least populated states in the nation to the main stage of the Republican Convention. There she puts her pluck on full display for an entire nation to see. Her rousing speech, scripted to emphasize everything that is plucky about her showcases her personality and resolve against “corruption” and her new goal of “victory” over terrorism.

In fitting her story into the contours of the made-for-TV movie, this script posits Palin as the protagonist from the get go. The “audience” for this unfolding drama is already positioned through the conventions of the genre to see every public appearance as a “challenge” our heroine is sure to overcome. Armed with pluck, she does not need knowledge, insight, or experience, so it is useless to suggest that she is not qualified for whatever lies ahead. As long as her “cause” is clear and her pluck in tact, she will win the day. Given a new goal, “change,” our plucky heroine shows herself up for the challenge. Those who attempt to pierce her pluck shield with prodding questions will be met with disdain by her fans.

Pluckiness is an ideal character trait for a “chick flick” or made-for-TV heroine. The generic character traits are so instantly recognizable that they require little in the way of explanation or back story. It makes for a pleasurable viewing experience, and generally flatters its viewers into thinking that their own inner strength can likewise carry themselves through any trial. But Hollywood formulas make for poor politics.

Image Credits:

1. Alaska Governor Sarah Palin
2. Front Page Image

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I might be anomalous these days, but I generally enjoy network television. Lately, however, I have found myself enjoying cable programming more and more. Not premium programming (I don’t subscribe to the channels), not even F/X in its attempts to be HBO Lite, but rather the original shows offered by basic cable stations such as USA or TNT. I especially look forward to these outlets’ summer programming, when they roll out the new seasons of their network originals. Programs like Monk, Psych, The Closer, and Burn Notice offer what one might call a low stakes television experience – familiarly generic, character centered, and relishing in formulaic consistency. Such programs serve as a welcome antidote to the increasingly frenzied nature of broadcast network programming, in which it often seems that “jumping the shark” has moved from the margins to center of their television practices.

Take this year’s May sweeps period. As broadcast network audiences resisted returning after the writers strike ended, the networks sought ways to woo them back. One mid-May Monday in particular, left a trail of devastation that struck at the very core of the casts and key character relationships of a trio of popular programs; the young, still fresh Bones, the aging – yet still engaging House (both on FOX), and the increasingly ridiculous CSI: Miami (CBS). (Yes, I know, I have no taste in TV – I’ll leave Lost and Six Feet Under to the TV snobs celebrating the apogee of narrative complexity.)

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As indicated in their promotions, Bones and House were already in high stakes territory as each series offered the second episode of their two part finales. First up was Bones, which began by addressing the “shocking” end of the previous episode, the shooting of hero Agent Seeley Booth. After a trick beginning that secured Booth’s continued presence, the finale featured an in-lab explosion, and the revelation that one of the principle characters was in fact aiding and abetting the cannibalistic serial killer who had stalked the stunted season. Next up was House, a show that has spent the season finagling with its cast in order to refresh its own formula. The finale offered some classic “jump the shark” moments: House endures a number of medical procedures that no mortal could withstand to figure out what is wrong with recurring character, Amber, the live in girlfriend of his best friend, Wilson. In the end Amber dies in a manner that hints at irrevocably damaging the relationship between House and Wilson.

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Then there was CSI Miami, where increasingly ridiculous white man hero Horatio Caine ends up lying shot on a tarmac, reproducing the who shot J.R. formula. Network television has become increasingly like this, piling on the plot twists, bodies, and formula shake ups to heighten the dramatic stakes to make sure viewers don’t miss an episode. The whole enterprise, however, ends up being somewhat exhausting. I do not mean simply mean the exhaustion of the genre or formula, but dare I posit, viewer exhaustion.

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That is why I enjoy summer programming on basic cable – here life moves slower. The basic cable programs feature shorter seasons and appear at precisely the time of the year when the networks aren’t so anxiously trying to lure viewers. This allows a lower stakes kind of story telling to unfold. TNT and USA, especially, excel at the production of easy-going formulaic programming tied to their branding strategies.

USA, with its tagline “Characters Welcome,” airs original programming that follows a fairly simple recipe. Take a “quirky” character involved in some aspect of crime fighting, add a helpful sidekick, a dysfunctional family, and some sort of “agency” that the main character is at odds with. Place in a cocktail shaker and you come up with Monk, Psych, Burn Notice, and more recently, In Plain Sight. Crime allows for the episodes to focus on solving the mysteries, which on USA are rarely high stakes, while the relationships feature just enough dramatic tension and consistency to keep viewers coming back. Even the promotional spots for the programs downplay any potential seriousness or drama. These are not broadcast network promotions warning you that you miss the programs at your own risk, but straightforward reminders of the program’s return to air or a brief, often humorous preview of an upcoming episode.

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TNT, the “We know drama,” outlet takes itself a bit more seriously, but only a bit. The emphasis is still on a “quirky” character fighting crime, dysfunctional family and work relationships, but these programs amp up the level of seriousness and feature big name female stars, such as Kyra Sedgewick in The Closer and Holly Hunter in Saving Grace. Yet, the dramatic overtones and conceits such as the angel who regularly visits Hunter’s Grace, can’t hide the fact that at the end of the day, these are fairly straightforward mystery, crime fighting dramas. I hope they stay that way, and never feature the episode “that changes everything.”

There is something oddly comforting about these programs. Freed from the need to garner broadcast network size audience or motivate people to pony up extra money for a premium channel subscription, re-run enough so that the first airing need not gain the attention of all the potential viewers, and aired on the fringes of the broadcast network season, this is programming that does not require high stakes in terms of either dramatic, sexual, violent, political, social, or even comedic content.

They do not invite the kind of sustained critical and fan scrutiny such as series like Lost, The Wire, or the departed Sopranos. There will be no big screen version (or, at least there should not be) such as the recent Sex and the City movie. There are no high stakes. With their shortened seasons and scheduling there are no worries that the networks will decide to “refresh” the formula by “shaking things up.” These programs practically verge on providing the kind of experiences delivered by classic network television – offering comforting character consistency, enough of a continuing dramatic “tension” to keep the viewer turning in each week, but without beating anyone over the head with an overload of “drama” that screams in desperation ‘watch me, watch me’. These are quietly capable shows; interesting without being exhausting, predictable without being boring, engaging without being flashy, snarky without being mean, and ultimately entertaining. And you will find me this summer, chilled cocktail in hand, relaxing with any one of these programs.

Image Credits:

1. The Closer

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As we went through our annual ode to inanity, daylight savings time, I was feeling extra cranky about the loss of a precious hour of my beauty sleep. Yet, lately, I’ve been feeling robbed of about 10 years when it comes to the representations of gays and lesbians on television. I know what some of you are thinking: certainly things are better now! Not only are there queer characters, but a growing number of gay and lesbian celebrities populate the television world. Yet, several recent incidents leave me feeling angry. In negotiating the complicated terrain of queer visibility on television there remains a remarkable tendency to equate queerness with deviancy in a manner that reinforces the most central tenant of heteronormalization. The assertion of deviance is evident in the positioning of queer performances of self, and in straight performances of heterosexual fantasies of queerness as exemplified by the containment of Danny Noriega on American Idol and locker room applause for Ben Affleck’s appearance in late night talk show host Jimmy Kimmel’s “I’m F*ing Ben Affleck” video.

While American Idol has featured any number of gay contestants over the years, they have largely kept their identity under wraps.1 Then came Danny Noriega – young, confident, and unabashedly queer. His performance of queerness involved an unrelenting dose of “in your face” attitude. In his three weeks as contestant, Noriega faced contradictory attempts to both celebrate and discipline his queer performance of self.

For the first week’s ’50s theme, Danny “selected” the Elvis Presley classic, “Jailhouse Rock.” 2 (Someone at AI must have had a sense of humor to send him out with the song in the first place.) In his pre-performance video package, he declares his intention to bring his swagger and attitude to stage, using his best queer body language. Dressed in low rise jeans, shirt and tie, Danny works himself up into a sweat parading around stage. Does he sing the song well? Who knows, that really is beside the point on American Idol. The more important question is how will the judges respond. While Randy and Paula are mostly positive in their comments, acerbic judge Simon Cowell issued his judgement: “verging on grotesque”.

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Of course Simon is known for his cruel remarks to contestants, but certainly the term “grotesque” has a special register, not merely dismissing the performance for its lack of quality, but for associating Noriega himself with the monstrous. Within the context of many seasons of homophobic banter between Simon and metro-sexual host, Ryan Seacrest (whose own sexuality is a frequent source of media speculation), the accusation takes on extra weight. Noriega himself seems somewhat unfazed by the accusation, but Seacrest in the post performance interview, presses him, reiterating the word no less than three times.

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Danny sang the restrained ballad, “Superstar,” for his second performance with more earnestness than swagger, and Simon likewise exercised restraint in his comments. But when the swagger returned for Danny’s performance of gay dance club anthem, “Tainted Love,” during eighties week, so did the negative remarks. Whether it was Simon’s comments, the quality of Danny’s musical performance, or the queerness of his performance of self, this would mark his last week on the program. As a crushed Noriega stood on the stage for that weekly commodified spectacle of pain and shame known as the “elimination,” host Ryan Seacrest applauded him as “one our most courageous performers ever,” an obvious reference to Noriega’s unapologetic queerness. While one might call any American Idol contestant brave for living through the truly horrific group medley numbers, here Noriega’s bravery is highlighted in a way that suggests that his queerness is potentially shameful.

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If Noriega’s performance of self necessitated discipline, Ben Affleck’s performance of playground stereotypes about gay men was met with good humored applause. The video performance of “I’m F*ing Ben Affleck,” was produced as Kimmel’s comedic one up ante to his girlfriend, comedienne Sara Silverman’s video birthday present, “I’m F*ing Matt Damon.” Silverman’s video joke was a reference to Kimmel’s conclusion of each episode of his late night talk show program, a joke that he had to bump Matt Damon. Damon appeared in the video with Silverman.

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Kimmel’s response features Affleck, a long time friend and collaborator of Damon, and an all star cast who perform an musical celebration of Affleck and Kimmel’s “love,” as a satire of the “save the world” songs. The video is performed with just enough of that – we know this wrong, but we don’t really mean it, and after all it is funny – attitude to render it immune to criticism. Like post feminist humor that denigrates women with a wink and a nod, here we have a post gay rights humor that seemingly insulates it from critical inspection.

Yet, it is less the stereotypes that bother me (though they do – but hey, I don’t want to be accused of being uncool), than an interview with Affleck that appeared in Entertainment Weekly soon after its television and Internet debut. While delivered in a tongue and cheek style similar to the video itself, the interview more thoroughly draws a connection between queerness and deviancy. When the interviewer asked Affleck what compensation he received for the “courage you showed,” he responded “They paid me in humiliation.” Having entered the terrain of deviancy, the interview continued, with Affleck alternatively asserting that he “just committed to it,” when asked about the origin of the “bold pairing,” and that he “couldn’t really do it half speed,” when asked about “the tight outfits” and “toe-painting.”

Then interviewer and interviewee conspire for the classic straight male assertion of his normative heterosexuality. Affleck responded to a compliment by the “Kimmel camp” on his “level of commitment,” stating that “And if people thought I really was gay…hey, that could help. People might ascribe good taste to me, and they might think, ‘Maybe Ben Affleck can cook.’ Or, ‘His home might be well cared for. My home is actually well cared for, but that’s entirely attributable to my wife.” Thanks, Mr. Affleck, for telling us that you don’t mind if people think you are gay while at the same time clearly reminding us that you are not. Any celebrity watcher who would even care that Kimmel and Affleck are f*ing would be well aware that Affleck is married to fellow celebrity, Jennifer Garner.

Of course, none of this is to deny the bravery of Danny Noriega, or any gay person who puts themselves so openly in the public sphere. It is rather to question why, after all this “tele-visibility,” braveness matters are all. This is the crux of the matter. Underneath the assertion of Danny’s bravery by American Idol is the lingering sense that Danny is “brave” for parading his “grotesque” deviancy out there for all the world to see. Ben Affleck is “bold” for “going all the way” in his performance of those very stereotypes which are founded on the idea of deviance. All the nods, winks, swaggering, irony, and campy in-joking cannot hide the fact that all this visibility has not challenged the fundamental logic of a heteronormative society: the essential deviance of queerness. While the commercial logics of television continue to render such visibility good business sense, as many have argued, they don’t guarantee good politics. As long as this notion of deviance continues to remain underneath the surface of these images, the logics of heteronormativity will continue, and the promise of visibility will remain as empty of content as these images are full of loathing. And, to borrow a phrase from the world of celebrity culture, that just leaves me feeling f*ed.

Image Credits:

1. Danny Noriega with Rosie O’Donnell

2. Affleck and Kimmel.

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1. This includes this season’s contestant, David Hernandez, who was outed by several Internet sources as a gay stripper. The tortured ways that this revelation has filtered through the discourses about the program would take another column.
2. http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,20180685,00.html

In playing the infamous War of the Worlds broadcast for a class this past fall, and I was struck again (I’ve heard it more times than I can count) by what a wonderfully complex broadcast is was. The imaginative simulation of radio conventions, the mastery of geographic space, the gradual destruction of the apparatus of radio itself – beginning with broadcasts on a simulated national network, to simulated military broadcasts, and finally the return to those earliest days of radio amateurs – the program speaks to the hopes and fears of the age of simultaneous mass communication.1 A few of my students had heard of, if not heard, the broadcast in other media courses, but for the most part the entire event was new to them. This is not surprising. But as I listened I wondered how many media scholars had recently taken the time to listen to the broadcast. Even if they had heard War of the Worlds, I wondered how many might have heard other programs from radio’s past: Gang Busters, The Romance of Helen Trent, Burns and Allen.

While I work on contemporary television, most of my research time is spent exploring the history of radio during the Depression. However, say you are a radio historian to a lot of people, and you are likely to get a sometimes blank stare, or the standard, “that’s cool” response, which generally means “cool” yes, but relative to the dizzying world of media change we live with now, the era of “new” this and “post” that? I’m afraid that for some the answer is no. To my mind, this represents one of the central problems of the field, the consistent ignoring of radio, especially of radio’s past. (Okay, sure, I’m a bit biased here). This is not to say that most media scholars do not possess a general narrative of the radio past, based on a growing and significant body of work of radio history. Instead it is to say, that scholars generally accept a particular narrative of radio history as “settled,” then proceed to make a set of claims about contemporary media based on this narrative. This is unfortunate, because as a historian of radio, it is clear to me that there is still so much we don’t know and that our current narrative of media history leaves us too little prepared to understand the nature of contemporary changes. While there are a number of critiques to be made, here I will discuss the three that most concern me.

One of the central drawbacks of the current state of radio scholarship is the almost exclusive focus on the national networks as the source of radio’s power and cultural influence, an assumption that carries over to our historical and even contemporary understandings of television. While lip service is paid the tensions between local and national broadcasting, overall most historical research is centered on the practices of national networks. We still have little knowledge of the potential variety of local and regional practices, the relationship between these practices and regional and local forms of identity and politics, and alternative programming practices. Our understanding of broadcasting centering on the experience of the national networks prevents us from seeing the ways that media consumers (again the local does not imply non-commercial) have had different experiences with media based on their location, and have actively sought out local media experiences, through popular music, through local television programming, through local radio programming, through the creation of local news and sports celebrity, local styles of dress and address. The profusion of media choices might be understood as a continuation of this dialogue between the local and the national, after all, audiences in this case are often moving ahead of the networks.

The emphasis on national networks in our dominant narratives of radio history has the additional effect of creating an emphasis of overemphasizing stability at the immanent state of broadcasting. Of course, scholars of radio understand that radio’s stability was created out of blend of government and corporate actions. That realization aside, there is a subtle tendency to treat networks as fixed objects rather than as complicated social networks for managing a complex web of relationships between the numerous players necessary to make national broadcasting a reality. When this occurs, on our narratives of radio and television history change almost always appears as a “crisis” that threatens the ontological stability of the network object. It is also a narrative in which key historic moments of change, especially technological change, are featured as radical breaks. Understanding networks, national and otherwise, as a series of constantly negotiated relationships might cause us to re-think the nature of historical change.

My third critique will veer in a somewhat different direction. Media studies, and communication studies in general has witnessed the growth of visual studies. There have been some moves to build a correlate of “sound studies,” but in general there is an overwhelming emphasis of the visual aspects of even audio-visual media. Film scholars appreciate the dynamics of sound in film, but as radio scholars we still have not fully explored the aural aspects of the medium and of the potential continuities between radio and television sound. This very emphasis on the visual margainalizes even the study of contemporary radio. The overwhelming discourse of nostalgia and “wholesomeness” that surrounds the distribution of “Old Time Radio” recordings, itself, makes it sometimes difficult to hear the complexity, variety, and sonic richness of radio.

Ironically, one of the newest electronic media forms allows for unprecedented access to one of the oldest. There are numerous web-sites that stream “Old Time Radio” or offer free downloads. These sites offer a heavy dose of nostalgia, but also offer great opportunities to listen to the past. A few include The Oldtime Radio Network Library, Archive.org, and RadioLovers.

There is some excellent scholarship being produced about radio and television history, and for some readers this might seem as if I’m talking to the converted. My general sense is, however, that “radio studies” remains a small niche in the field and that the radio past seems at best irrelevant and at worst quaint or nostalgic to contemporary media scholars. As the foundational medium of simultaneous mass communication, the first “real time” medium, the first “mobile” medium, a medium that allowed for both broadcasting and point to point, a medium built of a network of social relationships, our understanding of radio history can only contribute to and enhance our understanding of the often bewildering state of contemporary media change.

Image Credits:
1. Orson Welles
2. The Lone Ranger
3. Lucille Ball

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1. Jeffrey Sconce offers one of the best discussions on the significance of the program in Chapter 3 of Haunted Media: Electronic Presence from Telegraphy to Television. Durham: Duke UP, 2000.

There is a significant difference, however; Chuck airs on NBC while Psych airs on basic cable outlet USA. This difference in venue extends into important differences in tone, character development, and attitudes towards authority. A comparison between the ways these two programs construct their main characters speaks in interesting ways to current anxieties about the future of television and Generation Y.

NBC’s Chuck is stumbling toward adulthood.

We might call Chuck a slacker of circumstance. Though clearly intelligent, Chuck works as a member of the “Nerd Herd” at big box retailer “Buy More,” fixing computers and hanging out with his best friend and Buy More salesman, Morgan. We learn that he dropped out of Stanford after being framed for stealing exams and losing his girlfriend to his ultra suave roommate, Bryce Larkin.

Chuck is still in the middle of what New York Times columnist Paul Brooks recently called the “Odyssey years,” that increasingly extended time between adolescence and adulthoodi.(1) Living with his sister, not involved in any serious relationship, unsure about his future career plans, and spending most of his leisure time playing video games and consuming television and film, Chuck is clearly not yet adult. But, the audience knows that Chuck’s failure to grow up is a result of his past heartbreak and not his capabilities or even his desires. He longs for meaning.

Chuck finds purpose through association with the CIA.

Meaning arrives in an email from the aforementioned Bryce, who it turns out is a rogue agent from the CIA. When Chuck opens the message he is exposed to a stream of images encoded with key government security secrets, leaving his brain as the only existing database of information key to national security. The government sends two agents to both guard and “access” Chuck, super sexy CIA agent Sara Walker and super aggressive NSA agent John Casey. Though not always happy with his life situation, Chuck nonetheless maintains his relationship with government and corporate institutions that might offer him meaning, and ultimately redemption. As a man suspended in adolescence, who spends most of his leisure time consuming media, Chuck might be thought of as the ideal media consumer.

Yet, while so many young people are leaving network television behind, the emphasis on institutions as a relevant and necessary guiding force speaks to anxieties about the future of broadcast network television. Through Chuck, both the slacker and the institution are redeemable. Sure, these are trying years, but the kids are all right, the network is all right, and everything is going to settle down.

Sean Spencer is a “slacker of choice.”

If Chuck is the slacker of circumstance, then Sean Spencer might be called a slacker of choice. Lacking a hint of ambition beyond his own pleasure, Sean Spencer, the titular character, is happy embracing a life that involves avoidance of any hint of adult responsibility. Like Chuck, Sean is intelligent, possessing a keen power of observation and photographic memory. While Chuck submits to the power and guiding hand of institutions, Sean refuses any form of “legitimate” work and instead opens a fake psychic detective agency, Psych. Clearly rebelling from his over-bearing cop father, Sean has learned the power of observation that can help him solve crime and a contempt for the institution of policing.

Pretending to be psychic allows Sean to earn money solving crimes, but on his own terms. Added to the mix is Sean’s childhood friend, Burton “Gus” Guster, a pharmaceutical sales representative who is easily persuaded by Sean to spend most of his time as partner in their fake agency. If Chuck offers the hope that his “Odyssey” years might end, Sean does not. Rather, in keeping with cultural anxieties about Generation Y’s narcissism, most recently explored by Newsweek, Sean is perpetually juvenile.(2) Nevertheless, he gets the better of the Santa Barbara Police Department, for whom he and Gus frequently solve mysteries. If Chuck seems like everyone’s puppet, shot through with decency, Sean’s only master his himself and only objective is constant rebellion.

It is tempting to say that basic cable tale of slackerdom is more liberal than Chuck’s. However, it would ignore one of the key sources of pleasure in the program, its non-stop barrage of pop culture references. Many of these references seem related to NBC, such as hiring Corbin Bernsen, best remembered for playing lothario divorce attorney on the ’80s NBC megahit LA Law and references to the ’70s NBC children’s show Land of the Lost. References to television programs, music and movies frequently pepper Sean’s fake psychic episodes and his conversations with Gus.

Sean might rebel against the idea of “work,” but this is because he already has a full time job consuming popular culture. And, and of course, the audience itself is constantly flattered for its own popular culture knowledge. This flattery through nostalgia makes Psych sometimes seem like a virtual shopping mall. The kids might be permanently arrested in their development, buy hey, they sure are fun, and the audience, well they sure are smart!

Of course the ultimate aim of both NBC and USA is to secure profits by delivering audiences to advertisers. Both shows are clearly aimed at the television industry’s increasing search for alternative revenue streams as the traditional advertiser support model breaks down.(3) If sweet, sincere, loveable Chuck on NBC is the “public” face of NBC Universal, Sean, relegated to the no longer hidden corners of basic cable, is perhaps the real heart. NBC tells stories that, in keeping with the historical sedimentation of broadcast television’s ostensible public service mission and current anxieties over its increasing irrelevance, offers us the tale of a character endowed with a secret power, but, who still needs some form of institutional power to guide him.

Redemption for Generation Y and the institution of broadcasting is possible. USA also offers us a character endowed with an enhanced ability to see what others miss. In the world of basic cable, however, our main character is the one with the power to control those around him. The price of such freedom, however, is permanent childhood, a life of extended leisure and devotion to consuming media, but one that ultimately lacks any real meaning. The beneficiary of both forms of slackerdom is NBC Universal.

(1) http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9800E1DD1E2CF93AA35753C1A9619C8B63&n=Top/Opinion/Editorials%20and%20Op-Ed/Op-Ed/Columnists/David%20Brooks October 9, 2007
(2) http://www.newsweek.com/id/52229 Emily Flynn Vencat. “Narcissists in Neverland”
(3) For a great overview of such practices in relationship to NBC Universal, see Kevin Sandler, “Life without Friends: NBC’s Programming Strategies in an Age of Media Clutter, Media Conglomeration, and Tivo.” In Michele Hilmes, ed. NBC: America’s Network. Berkeley: UC Press, 2007.

Image Credits:

1. NBC’s Chuck

2. Chuck and the CIA

3. Sean Spencer

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