If you ask my mom, all TV is bad.
In fact, one of the things that she found attractive about my dad was that he didn’t have a TV. (I’ll spare you the rest of the gory details. I’m traumatized by the knowledge, but you don’t have to be.)
While most people don’t share my mom’s opinion, there are some pieces of media that are almost universally recognized as brilliant—Avatar: The Last Airbender. And there are some pieces of media that are almost universally recognized to be, well, as my mom would say, “twaddle.”
I realized recently that, for someone who grew up in an anti-TV household, I’ve seen quite a bit of garbage television. And, perhaps in an effort to make myself feel better, I’ve reflected on the nuggets of truth I’ve gleaned.
Grey’s Anatomy—I’m basic. I love pumpkin spice lattes, and I’ve willingly watched five whole seasons of Grey’s Anatomy, the most recent in a long line of run-of-the-mill procedurals. Grey’s, which chronicles the medical residency, careers, and personal drama of a handful of sex-crazed doctors, is mostly rubbish. Even among soapy medical procedurals it has to rank low. But it offers at least one valuable thing (aside from launching a handful of talented actors like Sandra Oh on to better things). Grey’s repeats an important message: pride makes smart people do stupid things with terrible consequences. Theoretically, the characters in Grey’s are learning. Drama and obstacles are generated through miscommunication, lust, and arrogance. The characters who succeed and win the affection of the audience (and various chiseled jawlines) are the ones who are teachable. Some characters know when someone is better than them and they seize on the opportunity to observe and grow. It’s an important lesson for people in any profession, because you don’t have to be a surgeon for competition and the need to prove yourself to wreck your work and your relationships.
The Bachelor/Bachelorette—For the record, I think reality TV is more than a little problematic, especially reality TV about relationships. It’s like gladiatorial games but with emotions—guts spilled for entertainment. But it’s got that train-wreck allure.
Initially, I watched it with friends as something to make fun of. One of the things the contestants accuse each other of constantly is “being here for the wrong reasons.” But who is there for true love or to care for another person? Who isn’t there for the fame and fantasy of it all? It was never my fantasy. The more I watched the more violently it repulsed me. All the contestants, season after season, look the same, say the same vapid things, go on the same extravagant performances of romance. Grand romantic gestures lost all their meaning when I knew they were designed by producers. But what has really stuck with me is the hollowness of the phrase “I think I’m falling in love with you.” When I was watching The Bachelor, I’d not yet experienced a romantic relationship. I thought it was obvious. Why pursue someone and make an epic fool of yourself on TV if you didn’t love them? Later, I got it. Love is not romance. Saying “I love you” is a solemn and important statement. Really loving someone, being in love with someone, is to infatuation and romance what an oak tree is to an acorn. And I think I now know what it means to say it for the right reasons.
The Office—I’ve written at length about why The Office is a terrible show. It’s creatively lazy, morally empty, and broadly mean-spirited. But there are exactly two redeeming moments in the first five seasons. In one, Jim gives Pam a teapot she has wanted for Christmas. Jim and Pam are not together at the time, though Jim is in love with Pam. Yay for a woman being heard! Hurrah for gifts without expectations. And especially, respect for a portrayal of what it means to know someone, to desire to celebrate them for who they are, not the ideal version of them that lives in your head, not for what they can do for you, not for the parts of them you wish you had, just the person for the person.
The second noteworthy moment is when Pam participates in an exhibition of her art and no one comes except Michael, an unlikeable idiot who is also Pam’s boss. Michael genuinely praises Pam’s art and purchases one of her pieces. Again, we see someone genuinely care for someone else without any ulterior motive. In that moment, Michael honors Pam for who she is. There, that’s the best part. Now you don’t have to watch the show.
I thought of lots of other examples. Star Trek in all its ridiculousness manages to be fairly progressive and optimistic about the future. It flops regularly because it takes risks many contemporary examples of the genre still flinch from. NCIS offers a glimpse at the ethos and mindset of the newly post-9/11 America I lived through but don’t remember. I could go on.
There’s plenty of trash TV. But, interestingly, we seem to be nearly incapable of creating something that is solely trash. Even twaddle contains some truth. It’s like on Grey’s Anatomy, if three couples are fighting or three patients are dying (as is often the case) at least one is guaranteed to make up (and make out) or survive. It’s a rule of garbage television. There’s bound to be some good. As a creator, that’s comforting.
Emily Stroble is a writer of bits and pieces and is distractedly pursuing lots of novel ideas and nonfiction projects as inspiration strikes. As an editorial assistant at Zondervan, she helps put the pieces of children’s books and Bibles together. A lover of the ridiculous, inexplicable, and wondrous as well as stories of all kinds, Emily enjoys getting lost in museums, movies old and new, making art, the mountains of Colorado, and the unsalted oceans near Grand Rapids. Her movie reviews also appear in the Mixed Media section of The Banner and her strange little stories of the fantastic are on the Calvin alumni fiction blog Presticogitation. Her big dream is to dig her hands deep into the soil of making children’s books as an editor…and to finally finish her children’s novel.
