Chaotic television

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I was watching one of the twelve thousand episodes of “Law & Order” the other day.  It was very restful.  I knew exactly what time it was – twenty-four minutes after the hour – when Lenny Briscoe and his partner (I forget which one) came charging into the conference room to arrest the arrogant lawyer / perp.  It’s always twenty-four minutes after the hour when that happens.  How about the motion to suppress? Around thirty-nine minutes after the hour.   Anguished meeting between the cops and the DA, concerning the tainted evidence?  Maybe forty-four minutes after the hour.

 

 

We human beings do like our routine.

 

 

But sometimes we like a little chaotic activity too.

 

 

“Twin Peaks,” created by David Lynch back in the early 1990s, was sublimely chaotic.  We had no idea what was going on, and it was wonderful.  Was it supernatural?  A crime ring?  Someone’s dream? A Gothic melodrama?  A mixture of all four?  (Unfortunately, by the second season, it was quite apparent that the writers themselves had no idea what was going on.  It became tedious.)

 

 

Around that same time David Lynch also created “On The Air,” about a TV network in 1957 airing a live variety show.  Things go impossibly chaotically wrong, but (perversely) the show is a huge hit.  (“On The Air” lasted three episodes in the USA.  I bought a Japanese video with all seven filmed episodes on it, and I die laughing whenever I watch it.)

 

 

There is also an Irish TV program called “Father Ted.”  It began as a sharply satirical show about three good-for-nothing Catholic priests – a handsome middle-aged layabout con man, a young simpleton, and an elderly terror – who are banished to Craggy Island, off the west coast of Ireland, where they can do little harm.  Over the three years of the series, the show evolved into complete lunacy.  Bishops get kicked in the arse.  Mrs. Doyle’s mole keeps moving from one side of her face to the other.  Brilliantly chaotic!

 

 

And, just a few years ago, a youngster named Thu Tran created a bizarre little show called “Food Party” on IFC.  It was puppets and dark humor and food all tossed together.  You may be able to find it still; she made two seasons of it, and it was one of the funniest / richest things on TV, and it was completely chaotic.

 

 

Chaos is refreshing: it's a jolt of electricity straight to the cerebral cortex.  It shocks you into thinking.  To quote Donald Barthelme: chaos is nourishing.

 

 

 

It's also exhausting.  I can only take a little at a time. 

 

 

 

Which is why formula TV shows like “Law and Order” have their place in the lineup too.

 

 

Now excuse me, Gertrude.  I have to put some soup into my envelope.

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Spoiler alert!

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“I was watching 'Lord of the Rings' last night,” Apollonia told me not long ago. “And don't get me wrong, it's wonderful. But twelve hours! And then I was lying in bed and thinking about it. And all of a sudden I thought: Why couldn't one of the eagles just have taken the ring and dropped it into Mount Doom? Wouldn't it have been simpler?” She grimaced. “And then I realized that I have no imagination. I could never have written that story.”

 

 

“The goal is not the point of the story,” I said. “The journey is the point of the story.”

 

 

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I thought the point of the story was getting rid of the stupid ring.”

 

 

“Well,” I said, “now you know why I always read the last page of a book first. I can't stand suspense. I want to get it over with.”

 

 

She recoiled, as if I'd told her something truly horrible, like “Robert Pattinson and Tilda Swinton are actually the same person,” or “'Twilight' was actually co-written by Glenn Beck and Michelle Bachmann.” “How can you do that?” she squealed. “It goes against nature.”

 

 

“That's me all over,” I beamed. “Against nature.”

 

 

Seriously, I can't stand suspense. I like mystification and puzzles, but I noticed a long time ago that most dramatic situations end up having unsatisfactory conclusions at the end of the day. Remember “Twin Peaks”? I loved it. But then the writers thought that they actually had to explain what was going on, and everything fell apart. Ditto “The X-Files.”

 

 

 

Speaking of “The X-Files”: I was talking to my student assistant Noah the other day about the show. He's never seen it, but he loves fantasy and science fiction and crime drama, and is planning to stream the whole series on Netflix. (These kids these days and their technology!) “There was this terrific sexual tension between Mulder and Sculley on the show,” I said. “And they never really resolved it, until -”

 

 

He covered his ears with his hands. “Lalalala!” he screamed. “Don't tell me! I don't want to know!”

 

 

See? Another one. Just like Apollonia.   

 

 

 

But sometimes I find an innocent victim.

 

 

Years ago, I was attending a Film Society event at Brown, and the girl taking money at the door had the Penguin edition of “Sense and Sensibility” lying on the desk in front of her as she made change for people. (This was back in the 1980s, before every single Jane Austen novel was made into a film.) “Enjoying it?” I said, nodding at the book.

 

 

“I really am,” she said earnestly. “She writes so well. And, you know, I'm only about halfway through, and I really don't know what's going to happen. I assume they're both going to get married, but - ”

 

 

“Elinor marries Edward,” I said smoothly, “and Marianne marries Colonel Brandon.”

 

 

I have never forgotten the incredulity on her face. “Why did you tell me that - ”

 

 

But it was too late; I'd escaped.

 

 

This is one more thing I will have to account for on the Day of Judgment.

 

 

I'm against nature, remember?

 

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