WARNING: This rant reveals key plot points of the recent pilot for the remaike of V. If you haven't seen the new pilot, you may want to skip this post. I doubt that there were very many people who were more excited about the recent reboot of V on ABC this week. I still remember being mesmerized by the original mini-series when it premiered back in the 80s, even though I was pretty young at the time. After rewatching the old mini-series a couple of years ago, I became convinced that a remake with today's effects and better screenwriting could actually improve upon the original premise rather than ruining it. So intense was my  whenever a commercial for the new series came on I would shake with excitement. So imagine my disappointment when the show wasn't all I'd hoped it would be. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't bad. But that was the problem, in my mind, it should have been great and it wasn't that either. In fact, it had some real script problems, starting with New Yorkers applauding after the aliens arrived and showed a video that basically said, "We come in peace. Take us to your leader." I'm sorry, but I just have a hard time believing that anyone would applaud after the Independence Day-like terror they'd just gone through. Mostly I think they'd just stand around looking confused. Some would probably shoot at the ships. Others would take advantage and loot the unwatched stores. Maybe I'm just too cynical. The other problem is Elizabeth Mitchell's character. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited to see Elizabeth Mitchell in the show since she's proved herself in Lost, but I'm baffled why they thought it was necessary to make her an FBI agent. Is it just me or is anyone else getting tired of seeing the FBI show up in Sci-Fi shows? First there was 4400 (which also shared one of its stars with the new V--the priest), Fringe, then there was FlashForward, and now there is V. Since when did the FBI become the experts in extra-terrestrial investigation? But my biggest complaint was the resistance recruiting scene. I know that the writers only had 4 episodes before the show goes on break for the holidays, and I realize that it is an update of an old series so most of the audience already knows that the aliens are actually lizards disguised as humans, and I can see why they wanted to jump-start the notion that not all the V's are bad, evil creatures, but there had to be a better way to do it than have a guy just spill the beans in one long monologue. That's just sloppy writing. As I tell my students again, and again: "Show, don't tell." On top of that, they didn't allow any of the characters to trust the V's by immediately portraying Anna, the new Diana, as a manipulative witch. Again, it goes back to the "show, don't tell" idea. Sure, the audience would know they are evil, but couldn't they at least let the characters buy into them for a little? Whatever happened to exploring humanity's reaction to this kind of extraordinary event? Some have defended the quick reveals as necessary to capture the short attention span of the "iPod Generation." But I think that the success of Fringe and Lost and shows like that prove that the new generation are willing to stick with a show as long as the writing is good. Unfortunately, V just decided to be lazy. That being said, I did find one part of the speech--actually, one idea in the speech--kind of interesting. It was the part where he was explaining that the Visitors ("V's" for short) had sleeper agents living among us, infiltrating all levels of government, society, and religion. He said that their mission had been to destabilize the world through pointless wars, economic crises, etc. So, essentially, he was saying that President Bush, the Pope, and other world leaders are all V's. But they didn't stop there. In an interview with Anna, the V's leader, she said that they wanted to expand the medical help they were giving to the world so that everyone could have free healthcare. Incredulous, the reporter asked: "You want to give everyone universal healthcare?" "That's what you call it, yes." Anna said. So, not only was President Bush a V, Obama is one, too! Who then, should we trust? In the old show, the people to trust were scientists. In the remake, it is far less clear. At first, it seems like it would be either the FBI or God as both are represented in two of the main characters. But with the digs at religion (the Vatican quickly accepts the V's and the statement that religious leaders are actually V's) discounts God. And the fact that Elizabeth Mitchell's partner (a wonderful cameo by Firefly's Alan Tudyk) turns out to be a V discounts the idea of trusting the FBI. So who do they present instead? Perhaps ironically, perhaps not, the show seems to suggest that the people to trust are ... conspiracy theorists. Yep, the people with the tinfoil hats that live "off the grid" in constant fear that the government or religion or something is gonna get 'em. Those are the people that are set out as the ones who really know what's going on. Those are the people to trust. Well, those and traitor V's who have fallen in love with humanity because ... actually, that part wasn't explained. But still. Almost in spite of myself, I am curious exactly where they are going with this mess. One of the most powerful aspects of Science Fiction is arguably its ability to comment on modern society. The original V was a brilliant commentary on the dangers of turning too much power over to the government just because they seem trustworthy. This new one seems to want to do the same thing but can't seem to find a modern group worthy of following. So in the end, we are left with the kooks. I wonder what they will do next week.

I am worried about this country.

I've read several other blogs lately that started with the exact same line but meant it in a completely different way. I guess that just goes to show how we all love this country but in different ways.

And that, quite frankly, is what is worrying me.

I don't have any problem with everyone loving this country in their own way. In fact, just the opposite. What concerns me is the tendency to believe that one version of America is the "true" one.

This came up in the presidential campaign, when Sarah Palin called small town America the "real America," thereby insulting the majority of the population that lives in cities. But I ask, in all seriousness, what makes one version of America more "real" or "true" than another?

Back in the '70s, during the Watergate scandal, Captain America had a crisis of faith. In a story that intentionally paralleled the Watergate scandal, he discovered that a high-ranking government official (assumed to be the president but never stated outright) had conspired with the Secret Empire (an organization bent on world domination, in case you couldn't guess), to put the US completely under his control. When the Cap finally caught up with him and tried to stop him, the government official (code named "Number One"), committed suicide in order to escape prosecution.

Steve Rogers - the Cap - was so distraught over the plot that he lost his faith in the country and gave up being Captain America and eventually became "Nomad: Man Without a Country" (he later returned to being Cap after realizing that the nation needed a unifying symbol).

In one issue, his friends attempt, one-by-one, to convince him to change his mine. They argued that the country needs Captain America (much in the same way that Grant Morrison argued that the world needs Batman in Comic Con last year). At the end, he finally explained his rationale.

He explained that, when he became Captain America during World War II, the country was united against a common foe. Since he was reawakened in the '60s (he had been frozen in a block of ice at the end of WWII and was rediscovered by the Avengers years later), he had always felt like a man out of time. So much had changed. People had grown different and apart. The unity that had existed when he was first created no longer existed. Now everyone was doing their own thing.

In one of the most powerful scenes of the issue he stands with a bewildered look on his face as images of several "Americas" float over him: black, white, construction worker, business man, hippie, men, women, young, old, etc. Today you could probably add Christian, Muslim, Atheist, liberal, conservative, Hispanic, gay, straight, and too many others to name. In the panel, the Cap asks, "When people look at me, which America do they see?"

Here's what concerns me: everyone today thinks that their version of America is the "true" or the "real" one without stopping to consider that other points of view are just as valid. What makes small town America "real" and big city America - where something like 70% of the population lives - less real?

There is a predominant myth in American history, called the Edenic (as in "The Garden of Eden") Myth. It is the tendency to view the frontier - the wild - as real and natural while the city is false and manufactured. In this myth (please remember that in Academia, "myth" means "metaphoric story," not "lie"), nature is closer to God, which gives it the "realnesss." It is seen as a place of peace and tranquility. The Edenic Myth fueled the naturalist movement (Thoreau on Walden's Pond, for example) as well as to the race for the west, where people hoped to find their own Eden, at first on the plains and then even further.

The Edenic Myth has also been credited for the invention of the superhero (see The Myth of the American Superhero by Lawrence and Jewett). When the American "Eden" was threatened by either internal or external forces, it required a hero outside the law to come in and save them before fading into obscurity (incidentally, the American superhero myth is based upon the Messianic tradition from the Bible - Moses and Jesus being the two biggest examples).

Whether we are conscious of it or not, the Edenic Myth comes through in our speech. For example, we refer to farmers and laborers (again, those in rural America), as "the salt of the earth," hearkening back to the biblical passage: "Ye are the salt of the earth; but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it be salted?" (Matt 5:13). In other words, calling someone "the salt of the earth" is really saying that they are true believers/followers of God - they are the "good" people. The implication is that anyone who does not meet that qualification (i.e. those that live in cities) are not worthy or that they are "evil" people. The comparison seems to be "salt of the earth" vs. "scum of the earth" with little in between.

Have you ever heard a lawyer or car salesman called "the salt of the earth?" Why can't they give as much savor as a field hand? And why can't a farm be the "scum of the earth?"

I am not trying to make this just about rural versus urban, though that is one of the biggest and most obvious examples. I have lived in both the city and the small town out in the middle of nowhere and found there to be equal measures of positive and negative in both (I think that both have more positive than negative). But beyond the urban vs. rural debate, there are tons of versions of this country and none of them seem to be able to find any merit to other versions: conservative vs. liberals, for example. Which one is the "true" America? Which one is "real?" What makes the difference? Having studied both sides of the political divide, I can easily see both positive and negative in both liberal and conservative ideologies.

Note that I said "positive and negative," not "good and bad" or "good and evil." Too often we cast things in starkly moral terms. I have heard commentators from both sides of the political divide use the word "evil" to describe the other side. But is the other political side really evil? Really? Evil is a big word. It conjures to mind comic book and movie villains like Lex Luthor and Darth Vader. So we're saying that [insert opposing political party] are just as bad as Lex Luthor and Darth Vader who mercilessly kill millions? Really?

In the now-cancelled (and, for me, sorely missed) TV show, Joan of Arcadia, which was about a girl that routinely talks with God, Joan is instructed by God to ask a particular boy to a dance. The boy is a bully with a lot of hate and anger built up inside him. He is not a nice guy - definitely not "the salt of the earth" - and frequently lashes out at others, both verbally and physically. Joan protests to God that the boy is "evil," which leads to the following conversation:

GOD: Evil is not a word to use lightly. It's only the darkest end of a broad spectrum.

JOAN: You mean like light?

GOD: Exactly like light. Nobody is born in total darkness. Most of you live on the gray end of the spectrum, a lie here and there, jealousy, wrath. But you only get to absolute evil by doing one thing after another 'till, eventually, you're transformed.

JOAN: Like . . . into a monster?

GOD: A monster is a creature with no conscience. They're extremely rare, but they do exist.

JOAN: Have you watched the news? I'm not sure they're so rare.

GOD: Almost everyone has light somewhere. And that light is always worth fighting for."

I think the same is true about the versions of America. They all have merit but you have to look for it. Most of the time, you don't have to look very hard. But that merit - that light - is always worth fighting for. Even if it comes from the opposing side.

I am not saying there isn't bad or evil out there. And I'm not saying that some points of view don't have more merit than others. What worries me is the absolutism. "I'm right, you're wrong. I'm good, you're evil."

We are dividing. We are turning into individual tribes with separate ideals, separate leaders, and separate destinies. We no longer seem to have the ability to look for the good in others. All we see is the bad. And it is that division that worries me. After all, to quote another scripture, "Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation; and every city or house divided against itself shall not stand" (Matt 12:25).

Last week, in church, I gave a lesson on living in harmony with others. I asked if anyone knew what harmony was. There was a long pause before someone finally said, "singing together." And, yes, that is true, at least to a point. Harmony is singing together, but it doesn't mean singing the same thing. In fact, "harmony" means singing many different things at once. Dictionary.com defines it as "the simultaneous combination of tones, esp. when blended into chords pleasing to the ear." When a choir sings in harmony, they are all singing different notes but they blend together in a way that is far more beautiful than any single note could ever be on its own.

The same can apply to life. Just because we are singing different notes doesn't mean that others are singing wrong. And just because they are singing something different it doesn't make us wrong either. If we can come together, with all our distinctness and diversity still intact, it can be very right and very beautiful.

To me, it is in that harmony, that we find the "real" and "true" America.

A few weeks ago, I was listening to the radio on my way to work. They were talking about Michael Phelps being caught smoking marijuana. Both newscasters expressed great disappointment in the Olympian and then one said something that really made me think. She said: "I wish that, just once, someone would stay on that pedestal."

It wasn't the first time I'd heard someone say something like that in the past few weeks. Earlier, I was talking to a co-worker about Phelps and she made a very similar comment. And even before that, people were saying the same thing about a cop here in Utah that, at great personal risk, saved a lot of people in the Trolley Sqare shooting a few years ago but is now being charged with sexual assault (he pled "No Contest" to the charges last week).

It all got me to thinking about my favorite topic - heroes - and why we are so disappointed to find out that they are human. I mean, if you think about it, just because a man can swim faster than just about anything alive doesn't mean he is a moral or virtuous person. And just because a man risks his life to save others, doesn't mean he is a good guy. Yet we persist in thinking of them that way and, as a result, are extremely upset when they fail to live up to our expectations.

And we don't just do this to sports figures and cops. We also do it for religious and political leaders, teachers, friends, and just about anyone else. I can guarantee that a lot of people will be very disappointed with Obama in the same way that many people were disappinted with Bush. Both are human and, as such, aren't capable of living up to all the expectations placed on them. It simply isn't possible and the fall from the pedestal can be pretty far and damaging.

It makes me think of the movie White Christmas (bet that wasn't what you expected, was it?). Specifically, I think of the scene where Bing Crosby is talking to Rosemary Clooney in the kitchen (yes, Katie, I remember the movie) and she says something to the effect that he is her white knight. He tells her to be careful who she puts up on that white horse because he's likely to fall off. Of course, in the next scene he does just that - or at least she thinks he does - when she overhears him making what seems to be a pretty coldhearted deal with a TV star. This being Hollywood - and this being Bing - he didn't actually do anything wrong, she just thought he did.

What is most interesting is that, by the end of the movie, despite the experience, she puts him right back up on the horse. Again, this being Hollywood, everything ends happily. But I wonder what happens after the fade out when he does something else she perceives as wrong - when he turns out to be human. The words "AAAAIIEEEEEEEE! Thump!" come to mind.

I think that the problem is that our hero tales deal with extreme examples. In programming, they would be called "edge cases" because they are at the extreme edge of possibility. They are examples of how to live, goals for life. It is important to remember that negative aspects have been stripped of those characters to better emphasize the desirable qualities (the goal of postmodernism is to peel back those layers and see the reality underneath - Watchmen is all about doing that for superheroes). The problem is that we often try to apply the same standards to our real life heroes. We tend to believe that, if someone does something heroic - even once - they must also be morally pure, when, in fact, they may be the scum of the earth.

Recently, Joss Whedon (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Firefly, Dollhouse) released Dr. Horrible's Sing-along Blog, an Internet TV show (of sorts). It is basically the origin story of Dr. Horrible, an "evil" genius who battles Captain Hammer, his heroic nemesis. Through the course of the show, however, you realize that Dr. Horrible isn't that horrible and Captain Hammer isn't that heroic. In fact, Captain Hammer is a jerk and Dr. Horrible is really a shy, introverted person who is just craving attention. They are really just human beings with varying levels of moral ambiguity. Their heroism and evil are really just products of how the media spins events rather than their actual actions.

While the show is far from realistic and extremely hilarious (if you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it), it's take on heroes and villains is thought-provoking. Isn't that really why life is like? Aren't we all a little bit of a hero and a little bit of a villain? So why does it surprise us to learn that our heroes are the same?

In the conclusion of Heroes & Villains, Mike Alsford makes a very valid point. He says that it is important to remember that, no matter how much we strive for heroism and villainy, it is important to remember that we don't have to be heroic or villainous all the time. And while it is good to shoot for the moral surety of Superman, it is important to remember that we aren't Superman or Wonder Woman.

We are just human.

This is a departure from my regular posts on superheroes. But I had fun with it and I hope you do too.

I have noticed an interesting trend. Whenever someone that we respect asks us what we watch on television or at the movies, our first reaction is embarrassment. Go ahead, think about it. If your college professor asked you what you watch, would you admit to enjoying Survivor? Law and Order? Wife Swap? What about Lost or (my personal favorite) Chuck?

Recently, I took a class on visual communication and this question was asked. There was a nervous pause as all of us hoped that someone else would answer and that we wouldn't be the one to look foolish in front of the group. I also witnessed the same thing occur when I observed an undergraduate class last May (my blog about Enchanted was prompted by that experience). I also find myself hesitating to mention certain shows and movies to friends or acquaintances that I highly respect because I'm afraid that they will think they are beneath me.

On the flip-side, I am often surprised to learn about the things some of those people enjoy. One of my professors absolutely adores Stephen King and anything to do with zombies (I recommended the zombie book I just finished to her, she was very excited to hear about it). And this is a professor of communications! And a very good friend of mine who happens to teach economics at another university (*ahem*), loves My Name Earl. When I found out about that, I was shocked. True, My Name is Earl is a very funny show, but it just wasn't something I'd ever picture him watching. It's about uncultured, uneducated crooks, for crying out loud!

But, then again, why not? And why are we so embarrassed anyway?

I think that we have a tradition in this country of thinking about television and pop culture in general as the lowest common denominator. And we don't like to admit--especially to people that we think of as refined or cultured--that we like the garbage the "one-eyed monster" brings into our homes.

But is it really garbage?

Back in the '70s and '80s, it was true. Studio executives have been quoted talking about the "rush to the bottom." The thought was that people were pretty ignorant and so, in order to appeal to everyone, truly thought-provoking television was pretty much barred. This did not preclude educational programming, just anything that required too much participation on the part of the audience.

In the '80s, Neil Postman, a world-renowned writer and professor, wrote his landmark book, Amusing Ourselves to Death. The book was a scathing commentary on television of the time and railed against the entertainment industry for turning everything--including news--into worthless, mind-numbing entertainment. He said that television is turning everyone into mindless zombies without a thought in their heads.

Some of his arguments are still very valid, and, at the very least, the discussion is still extremely worthwhile. But, the question remains, is modern television still just a race for the bottom? Is it still nothing but mind-numbing garbage?

Steven Johnson, another respected writer, doesn't think so. In his very fascinating book, Everything Bad is Good For You, Johnson makes a very convincing argument that, rather than turn people into mindless zombies, modern television, coupled with video games and, to a lesser degree, movies, is actually making us smarter. In his book, Johnson documents IQs over the past two decades and very effectively demonstrates what he calls "The Sleeper Curve" (after a Woody Allen film where a man wakes up in the future after they have discovered that snack foods and sugar are actually good for you).

Johnson believes that the trend has to do with what he calls "multi-threading." The idea is that, if you watch a television show from the '70s and '80s, Magnum, P.I., for example, you will discover that the shows are almost entirely "single-threaded," which means that each episode focuses on one plot and one plot alone. There is very little (if any) continuing story throughout a season or a show (the obvious exception to this is soap operas). This trend was broken by Hill Street Blues, which was the first primetime show to feature multiple storylines in an episode (if I remember right, they got up to five or so) and an actual continuing story.

Jump ahead to today. Lost, for example, may involve as many as fifteen storylines in any given episode and is nothing but continuing story. It takes much more effort and dedication to watch a show like Lost than Magnum, P.I.. And this effort, in turn, stretches our minds and makes us smarter.

Even reality shows (at least some of them) have this going for them. For Survivor, viewers have to keep track of who's betraying who and so on. Listen to two people talk about the most recent Survivor episode and you will see that they are totally engrossed. They can rattle off events and statistics about the show left and right. Definitely not the lowest common denominator.

In Two Aspirin's and a Comedy, Metta Spencer responded to Johnson's ideas. She agreed that, at the very least, television and video games were enhancing our analytic skills through multi-threading and so forth (analytics are what is truly measured by IQ tests). However, she disregards Johnson's notion that content is not important. To her, content is the most important part of television because it can affect us in both positive and negative ways (see my blog on Zombies, Superheroes, and Our Children for more commentary on Spencer's ideas).

Spencer especially recommends comedic sit-coms, like My Name is Earl, because they can lift our spirits and help us believe once again in humanity (for those who have never seen My Name is Earl, it is about an ignorant small-time crook who learns about karma and tries to go about righting all of the wrongs he has committed with frequently hilarious results).

If all this is true, and there is plenty of research to say that it is, then what are we so embarrassed about? We should be proud of the things that we watch and proclaim it to anyone who is willing to listen!

My name is Jeff. I watch Chuck, The Big Bang Theory, Lost, Smallville, Supernatural, Fringe, and Dancing with the Stars! And I am not ashamed!

Then again, maybe we should just keep it all to ourselves.

What do you think? Are you embarrassed to admit what you watch? Why?