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Real Drag

A Midtown Mexican restaurant will trade tacos and tostadas for glitter and glam one day a month from May through October as it plays host to the queens of Ru Paul’s Drag Race.

Beginning May 12th, the Ru Paul’s Drag Race Series at Café Ole will feature stars from the campy Logo reality show performing on the patio stage once a month. The opening event features Carmen Carrera from season three and Lashauwn Beyond (pictured) from season four.

The restaurant will stop serving dinner at 9 p.m., and DJs Nathan Ashby, Mary Jane, and Lil’ Egg Roll will get the party started. The drag show begins at midnight, and besides performances by Ru Paul’s Drag Race stars, the opening event also features a slew of local drag performers and Amber Star, an Orlando-based queen with Memphis roots.

“She performed at Amnesia back in the mid-’90s. A lot of people are really excited to see her perform, because they haven’t seen her in years,” said the series’ organizer, Shane Jeffers.

With each $10 entry fee, patrons will be entered to win a spot on the Ru Paul’s Drag Race “Drag Stars at Sea” cruise, which sets sail out of Tampa in December. The cruise winner will be selected after the Café Ole series ends in October. Other performers scheduled include Manila Luzon and Sahara Davenport on June 9th, Sharon Needles on July 14th, Latrice Royale on August 11th, Jujubee and Mariah on September 8th, and Nina Flowers and Raven on October 13th.

Ru Paul’s Drag Race Series at Café Ole, Saturday, May 12th, 9 p.m.-3 a.m. For tickets, email shane@flamingofla.com or go to Café Ole.

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Music Music Features

Dig This

Megan Reilly’s latest release, The Well, is well worth the wait.

It’s been six years since the Memphis native came home with a new record in tow. In 2006, the waifish singer with the luminous blue eyes and whispery voice was on a roll. She’d just released Let Your Ghost Go, a strong sophomore album that nipped the heels of her acclaimed debut, Arc of Tessa, and music writers everywhere seemed to agree that she was growing in interesting directions and getting better with each new category-defying song. Then, as it will, life became more complicated. In this case, it also became better. And that was a problem.

“I was used to writing from a mournful place. Having a child and being in love filled me with such unfamiliar happiness that I didn’t know how to write about it,” she told one New Jersey reporter.

Reilly married Minority Report actor Daniel London. Three years ago, she gave birth to their daughter, Sylvia. During her time away from the road and the recording studio, the self-taught musician also learned the arduous process of quilting. And since recording Let Your Ghost Go, she’s pieced together eight quilts. More recently, she and her husband moved their new family from Brooklyn to make a new start in Montclair, New Jersey, a New York bedroom community where the schools are good and there’s space to garden and grow. That’s where she figured out how to work through her impossible happiness problems and learn to write again. In April, Reilly released The Well, with its nine gorgeous, ghostly songs about love, life, death, and evading capture, on Carrot Top Records, a Chicago indie that handles an eclectic roster of artists, including kindred spirits, the Handsome Family.

“For the first year after Sylvia was born I was totally happy just to be a mom,” Reilly says. “And it took awhile to get my footing again.”

Once the footing was regained and she felt she needed to make a record again, one problem remained: She only had a couple of finished songs on the shelf. “I made myself write four songs in three months,” Reilly says. “If I had my way, I would probably write one song a year. But I can’t just sit and stare and wait for the magic to happen. Having a kid was a huge motivation.”

The Well reunites Reilly with most of the musicians who recorded on Tessa and Ghost, including Tony Maimone of Pere Ubu and Steve Goulding, who also plays with the Mekons, and Laura Cantrell. Only lead guitarist Tim Foljan, of Two Dollar Guitar and Cat Power, has departed, but his replacement, James Mastro of the Health & Happiness Show, makes a huge difference in the band’s sound. Reilly’s previous efforts have been more ethereal, floating on an airy bed of piano and lap steel, but Mastro’s wet, reverb-heavy guitar leads, reminiscent of Wicked Game-era Chris Isaak, give a mysterious, even dangerous quality to songs that might otherwise pass for lullabies.

“He played through two amps,” Reilly says, explaining how they got the humid guitar sounds.

Reilly has always credited Southern author Flannery O’Connor as a major influence and, in her Memphis days, used the stage name Lucynell Crater, a persona inspired by a character in the O’Connor short story “The Life You Save May Be Your Own.” Her writing is willfully literate but never literal, and songs on The Well are characteristically cryptic but emotionally direct. In a 2006 interview with the Flyer, Reilly talked about how often she thinks about death. That hasn’t changed and “Lady of Leitrim,” one of The Well‘s most inspired tracks, is about a family tragedy from long ago.

“Probably nobody can tell what the hell I’m singing about,” Reilly says of “Lady,” a plaintive, Celtic-inspired song about her great-aunt, Birdie, an Irish immigrant who died after falling into the East River in the 1950s. Reilly hadn’t known any of the details about the drowning until after her grandmother’s death, ensuring that the holes in the story would never be filled.

“I wanted to give her a voice,” Reilly says. “Maybe her death was a suicide, maybe not. Maybe she was looking at the water and thinking about her home in Ireland. People drown accidentally all the time. Her legacy doesn’t need to be suicide.”

Other outstanding cuts on The Well include “To Seal My Love,” which Reilly modestly describes as her only successful love song, and “The Old Man and the Bird,” a simple, infectious tune about an old man using lemon curd and cages in an attempt to capture a beloved songbird. The latter was penned by the British-born folk rocker John Wesley Harding, who also plays and sings on the track.

Harding and Reilly met in Memphis in the late 1990s, when they played a show together at Barrister’s, a now-defunct downtown rock club. Ten years later, they became neighbors in Brooklyn and fast friends.

“He called and said he had written a song that made him think of me. When we played together in Memphis, I had sung the original cuckoo song. He drove up from Philly, and we recorded it without rehearsing,” Reilly says.

When Reilly plays the Hi-Tone Café on May 11th, she’ll be joined by Mastro on guitar and a homegrown rhythm section consisting of former Lucynell Crater drummer Andy Saunders and Dragoon and Grifters bassist Tripp Lamkins.

Megan Reilly, with the Wuvbirds

Hi-Tone Café

Friday, May 11th

9 p.m. $10

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Music Music Features

Blues Awards Weekend

The 33rd Blues Music Awards take place Thursday, May 10th, at the Cook Convention Center. An annual event of the Memphis-based Blues Foundation, the BMAs will celebrate the year in blues with awards in 26 categories recognizing albums, songs, singers, and players from across the blues spectrum and with live performances from several nominees.

Among the leading nominees this year are Louisiana’s Tab Benoit and Florida’s Tedeschi Trucks Band. Both are up for Album of the Year (for Benoit’s Medicine and Tedeschi Trucks’ Revelator), with Tedeschi Trucks also vying for Band of the Year and the married partners splitting into Contemporary Female Artist (Susan Tedeschi) and Gibson Guitar (Derek Trucks) categories. And Benoit follows his Album of the Year nod with nominations for B.B. King Entertainer of the Year, Contemporary Blues Album, and Contemporary Male Artist.

Local or regional artists up for awards include the Scott Bomar-led Memphis soul band The Bo-Keys, who are nominated in two categories, for Band of the Year and Soul Blues Album of the Year for their Got To Get Back!. Additionally, longtime vocal stalwart Jackie Johnson, who released the solo album Memphis Jewel last year, is up for Soul Blues Female Artist, while Mississippi’s Johnny Rawls is up in multiple categories — Soul Blues Album and Male Artist and Best Song overall for the title track — on the strength of his Memphis Still Got Soul album.

The Blues Music Awards begin at 7 p.m. on Thursday, May 10th. Individual tickets are $125. For more info, see blues.org.

But the BMAs are the centerpiece of a long weekend of blues-related events, including several concerts that are perhaps more user-friendly for non-industry fans. Among these:

Thursday, May 10th:

Noon — Beale Street note unveiling to honor late Chicago blues great Koko Taylor, at the Historic Daisy Theatre.

12:45 p.m. to 3 p.m.Yellow Dog Records Showcase at B.B. King’s. The Memphis-connected label will host a concert featuring Canadian roots guitarist and songwriter Colin Linden, Greenville, Mississippi, blues piano sure-shot Eden Brent (nominated for the Pinetop Perkins Award for best piano player), and eclectic acoustic marvel Mary Flower, who is up for multiple awards this year. Free.

Friday, May 11th:

1 p.m. to 4 p.m.Memorial Tribute to Louisiana Red at Hard Rock Café. Guitarist and harmonica player Iverson “Louisiana Red” Minter had been a blues-scene fixture since the early ’60s and died of a stroke this February at age 79. Among the many artists scheduled to be a part of the tribute are blues-scene heavyweights Bob Margolin and Anderson Funderburgh and Mid-South stalwarts such as Billy Gibson and Lightnin’ Malcolm. $10 minimum donation.

7 p.m.Four Shades of Blue concert at the New Daisy Theatre. Four prominent current blues artists team up for a very promising concert bill: Mississippi-born, Los Angeles-based bandleader Zac Harmon, a former winner of the International Blues Challenge; Louisiana-bred harmonica legend Lazy Lester; Chicago-based guitarist and emerging blues star Eddie Turner; and young, heavy blues-rocker Dennis Jones. $10.

10 p.m.Beale Street Mess Around at the Beale Street Tap Room. With Victor Wainwright, Brandon Santini & His Band, J.T. Lauritsen, and others. $5.

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Music Music Features

Trace Adkins at the Orpheum

Country singer Trace Adkins is a burly 6’6″ Louisianan whose jeans-and-boots look is topped by goatee, ponytail, and ever-present black cowboy hat. If the singing thing hadn’t worked out, you get the sense he would have made a good professional wrestler, and he made a believable badass biker in last year’s film The Lincoln Lawyer. In short, Adkins looks like the kind of good ole boy less macho types would hate to bump into at the bar. And he looks like the last guy who would inflict the shake-joint pop-country anthem “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk” on an unprepared world. Perhaps even less likely, but more fruitful, who would have guessed Adkins would find his truest comfort zone as a big softie? Mega-hit weepies like “You’re Gonna Miss This” and especially the father/daughter “Just Fishin'” are the kind of manipulative, cornball-country creations that make sophisticates dismiss the genre — and the kind of bull’s-eyes that hit you in the heart even as you try to resist them. Adkins brings his “Songs & Stories” tour to the Orpheum Theatre on Saturday, May 12th. Showtime is 8 p.m. Tickets range from $39.50 to $75.

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Book Features Books

Keeping Track

In 1542, Spanish explorer Francisco de Orellana and his men were the first westerners to travel the entire length of the Amazon River — some 4,000 miles. Come September, Colleen Pawling, a second-year MFA student in creative writing at the University of Memphis, is planning to retrace the route of Orellana along the Amazon. She’ll be joined by David Jackson, a British biologist based in Ecuador, and if everything goes as planned and if Pawling can raise the funds through her Kickstarter campaign, she wants to blog about her trip in real time using a satellite phone.

The trip, she’s estimating, should take three to four months. The trip, she’s hoping, will serve as her thesis project: a memoir — a “hybrid” memoir, she calls it — combining her own experiences and the story of Francisco de Orellana.

When asked about the rigors of such an adventure, Pawling wasn’t one to bellyache:

“I’m a bad swimmer. I’m almost 52 years old. I have a bad knee. And I’m 20 pounds overweight. Yada yada yada. But I travel light — just a backpack. You don’t need much: toothbrush, change of clothes. In the Amazon, you sweat. You’re always going to be stinky.”

But it’s not like Pawling and Jackson are setting out to replicate Orellana’s hardships and the dangers (including head hunters and poison arrows) that the Spaniard encountered. They’re not going by brigantine, either. They’ll use public transportation, or they’ll hike (machetes in hand) along the river. They’ll hitchhike if they have to.

“Our idea is to go sort of the same way that Orellana went,” Pawling says. “We’ll see what we can see” — today’s environmental conditions and indigenous populations — “and compare that to what was reported when Orellana was there.”

What’s there to report about Colleen Pawling herself? Plenty.

She’s served in the U.S. Army. She’s worked as a lawyer. She’s taught English as a second language in Korea. But, as she said, every once in a while she does something different. “Something different” happened in 1992, when Pawling took a break from lawyering and went to Ecuador:

“I didn’t know any Spanish. But I flew to Quito, got off the plane, and thought, Let’s see. What can I do to make myself useful? I had my life savings, about $5,000. I figured I’ll have an adventure until my money runs out.”

Pawling had that adventure: She started a program in Ecuador to rehabilitate captive bears and return them to the wild, where Pawling and her volunteers (including David Jackson) tracked the animals’ progress. Tracking Pawling’s progress in the U of M’s MFA program has been faculty member Kristen Iversen, whose work in creative nonfiction has been, for Pawling, an inspiration.

Inspiring too: Pawling’s parents. Her father was a school psychologist in upstate New York; her mother, a nurse. The family didn’t have much money to go on, but Pawling, her parents, and six brothers and sisters went anyway and every which way across North America in, at one point, a converted delivery truck that became a house on wheels. What Pawling learned from those early travels was as much about herself as it was about others.

“I don’t like to go to museums when I travel,” Pawling admits. “I like to see how people live. In Alaska, for example, I remember a village my family visited. I was 7 years old. There was a festival, kids were playing, and I wondered: Who would I be if I had been born here? Would I be one of those kids? Or would I still be me? That’s the question of my life. Who is me and who is the product of the things I’ve done and the places I’ve been?”

And this is where Pawling the writer comes in.

“When I worked in D.C. as a lawyer, I found a couple of good writing groups and became fascinated by the personal essay. I’ve always felt like I had something to say. But how to form it into something that means something to someone other than myself?

“I see things from an angle that baffles people. That’s what I’m trying to communicate: that there’s another way to look at the world. I know my way is a little skewed. But it’s what makes a good essay.” And it’s what should make a memorable book.

For more on Colleen Pawling’s Amazon project, go to rediscoveringtheamazon.org and to her Facebook page. To see how you too can contribute and even participate, type in rediscoveringtheamazon at Kickstarter. But what if Pawling doesn’t reach her Kickstarter goal?

“We’ll go anyway, on a bare budget,” Pawling says. “It’ll just be even more bare-bone,” Pawling adds.

Categories
Food & Wine Food & Drink

A World Apart

When brothers Butch and Edgar Gumban decided to open a grocery store catering to fellow Filipinos living in Memphis, they named it after their mother, Veronica. After tasting the egg rolls Edgar calls his mother’s specialty, it’s easy to see why.

Veronica’s lumpia are longer and thinner than what you might think of as a typical egg roll, and Edgar jovially describes the contents as “pork, carrots, onions … and some other stuff that my mom puts in them.”

That “other stuff” is the magical quality to be discovered in the food — the fragrant and nuanced kick of flavor you’ll find across the menu. It’s a much milder kick than the spicier tendencies of other Asian cuisines. In the Filipino kitchen, subtlety and refined flavors prevail.

Since 1998, when the Gumban brothers opened their grocery in a small garage, VGM (the shortened version of Veronica’s General Merchandise) has come a long way. They moved from a smaller space in the Raleigh-LaGrange Rd. area to Macon Square in 2005, expanding their selection of goods and opening the restaurant, which offers a variety of hot dishes all day from Tuesday to Sunday.

VGM is the quintessential family-run business: Edgar’s wife Emma runs the checkout counter and serves the food that Veronica and other family members cook in the kitchen. Their customers come from as far as Mississippi, Arkansas, and East Tennessee to stock up on some of the only Filipino goods in the Mid-South.

The products that fill the shelves on the grocery side of VGM reflect the rich cultural diversity of the Philippines — the country was occupied by Spain for more than 300 years, and a large percentage of the country’s population is of Spanish origin, along with descendants of Chinese, Japanese, and American immigrants.

These mixed origins have influenced the Filipino language and, of course, the cuisine. Many dishes use Filipino cooking processes but have names taken from the Spanish, like beef caldereta, short ribs stewed with potatoes and carrots in tomato sauce with liver spread, and pork or chicken in adobo, in which the meat is marinated and then cooked in a sauce containing vinegar and garlic. The results are very tender, mild dishes loaded with flavor, a perfect complement to steamed rice or the fragrant noodles the restaurant serves along with its main dishes.

The grocery selection is extensive, running the gamut from snacks like chips and crackers to staples like rice, noodles, canned fruits, and sauces. The goods come from a variety of places, including Japan and China along with the Philippines.

Edgar says their non-Filipino customers are often surprised to find something familiar on the shelves. Coolers full of imported fish line the back wall — Filipino cuisine is heavy with dishes that feature fish, the most alluring VGM offering being inihaw na bangus, or “fish pie,” colorful vegetables baked into a half-skinned fish covered in spices.

VGM also serves Magnolia ice cream, a popular Filipino brand with flavors like ube (purple yam), mango, and mais-queso (corn and cheese). With a texture closer to sherbet and vibrant, inviting colors, the ice cream appears to be on the light and refreshing side, but its flavors are rich and complex. Other sweets include the juice of the calamondin, a citrusy fruit native to the Philippines — a sweet and sour drink reminiscent of lemonade but with that Filipino kick.

Butch and Edgar plan to run a barbecue booth during Memphis in May, which is celebrating Filipino culture this year through a series of lectures and exhibitions. Edgar is particularly looking forward to a Filipino dance and martial-arts performance at the Orpheum this week. While the attention drawn to the Philippines should be good for VGM’s business, Edgar is mostly looking forward to spreading the word to people who love Filipino food but don’t yet know that they can get it in town.

“There are people who don’t know that we’re still here, who visited our first store, and there are people who were in the military [stationed in the Philippines] and never heard of us,” he says.

He’s talking about supplying comfort to those for whom Filipino cuisine is familiar, but that comfort will extend to newcomers as well. If trying a new kind of food is what gets you into VGM, the warm environment the Gumban family has created will keep you coming back.

VGM, 6195 Macon (937-7798)

vgmfoodsandservices.com

Categories
Film Features Film/TV

Dark Shadows Redux

Like so many features from director Tim Burton, Dark Shadows looks better than it plays. A film revival of the cult-fave, gothic horror daytime soap opera that ran on ABC from 1966 to 1971, this is fruitful source material for Burton, who often feels more at home with macabre comedies (Corpse Bride, Sweeney Todd, Ed Wood) than with the more pastel material he sometimes favors (Alice in Wonderland, Big Fish, Charlie & the Chocolate Factory).

Here, regular Burton leading man Johnny Depp — a producer on the film and lifelong Dark Shadows disciple — is Barnabas Collins, a scion of New England aristocracy who is turned into a vampire by scorned servant/lover/secret witch Angelique Bouchard (Eva Green) in 1776 and then locked away in a buried coffin. Nearly two hundred years later, in groovy 1972, Barnabas is accidentally released and awakens to find the Collins clan in decline, a stray handful of ancestors — including faded-flower matriarch Elizabeth Collins Stoddard (Michelle Pfeiffer) and her willful daughter Carolyn (Chloë Grace Moretz) — living unhappily on the final remnants of the family’s fortune. Meanwhile, Angelique remains, ageless, now reigning over the coastal fishing industry that once built the Collins’ family wealth.

I’ve often found Burton more of a conceptualist and art director than a storyteller, and the half-successful Dark Shadows only underscores that take. Dark Shadows is great to look at. The primary location, Collinwood, the family’s mammoth castle-like estate, is an opulent, ghostly monument to old power in decay, presided over by Pfeiffer’s compellingly ravaged beauty. Depp and Green are striking foils: sexy and comic and charismatic. Jackie Earle Haley is perfect as the spooky, drunkard manservant Willie Loomis.

But if the mise-en-scène, casting, and characterizations are strong, they don’t add up to enough. I found myself struggling to maintain interest in Dark Shadows‘ story as the film wore on. Maybe Burton did too, as side plots — like that of mysterious governess Victoria Winters (Bella Heathcoate) — get lost for too long and a climactic conflagration seems like a stand-in for a lack of more satisfying story-driven closure.

The tone here seems to be more intentionally and overtly comic than the campy original series, with most of the humor deriving from fish-out-of-water scenarios that play on the simultaneous sense of 1970s oddness shared by Depp’s colonial-era Barnabas and a modern audience that may or may not have firsthand experience with the era.

This aspect of the film yields laughs and makes for a nice spooky-rock soundtrack (“Season of the Witch,” “Nights in White Satin”), but it could be handled more deftly. The combination of old-money decay and ’70s cultural talismans evokes Wes Anderson’s The Royal Tenenbaums, but Burton’s take on this material is more jokey and less felt, with clunky gags about Love Story and macramé and the cheap celebrity placement of using the old, corny, current Alice Cooper to play himself as ’70s hard-rock/glam-rocker bandleader Alice Cooper, a decision that shakes the film out of its period rather than adding authenticity.

Dark Shadows

Opening Friday, May 11th

Multiple locations

Categories
Film Features Film/TV

Awesome with a capital “A,” unfortunately.

The Avengers is an awesome superhero movie. But that’s all it is.

Written and directed by Joss Whedon (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Firefly), The Avengers gets the benefit of Whedon’s high creative ceiling, and it manages to bump its head against it, too. Whedon has a sure hand in balancing the narrative needs of an ensemble, few are better with zippy one-liners, and the fun is fun. Those are mostly screenwriting talents. Curiously, considering his involvement, the film is lacking thematically — a notion, briefly examined, that humans are made to be ruled, doesn’t connect. And after pondering the plot, I’m not sure everything adds up from a cause-effect perspective, particularly in the second act.

Whedon seems to be kitchen sinking bits from his best invention, too: The Avengers borrows from the Buffy climaxes from seasons four (a thrilling New York set piece occasionally devolves into the Battle of the Initiative HQ, all cheesy stuntman tricks and pyrotechnics), five (a portal to another dimension is opened allowing monsters into our world), six (a protagonist’s anger threatens to destroy the rest of the team), and seven (the earth craters as a vehicle speeds away, just escaping).

Hope you saw Thor. Though The Avengers has been assembling since 2008 with the Iron Man films, The Incredible Hulk, and Captain America, it’s from last year’s Thor entrée that The Avengers gleans its plot machinations.

Loki (Tom Hiddleston), a trickster god from outer space and brother of Thor (Chris Hemsworth), wants to take over Earth so he steals a cosmic cube and brainwashes the archer Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner). In response, government spymaster Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) calls a response team of superheroes, including Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.), Captain America (Chris Evans), Hulk (Mark Ruffalo), and Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson). The good-guy group dynamic, as personalities clash and must be overcome when the chips are down, is eminently enjoyable. Loki calls them “lost creatures,” and it’s easy to see his point. (He also calls Black Widow a “mewling quim.”)

Ruffalo steals the show as Bruce Banner/Hulk. Even in light of his thought-provoking cinematic forebear, Ang Lee’s Hulk (one of the most underrated films of the last decade), Ruffalo’s incarnation is the best.

I don’t know if it’s true that acting is in the eyes, but consider The Avengers as exhibit A that it is. A few of the performers really sell their characters and circumstances ­— Hiddleston and Ruffalo especially — but also Renner and Hemsworth. On the other end of the spectrum, Downey Jr., Johansson, and Jackson go through the motions but aren’t convincing.

The Avengers has above-average action and even sustains it for dozens of minutes in an extended last sequence. It reminds us that superhero movies don’t have to be gloomy, à la the recent Christopher Nolan Batman films, Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man trilogy, or the X-Men series. The Avengers gets to bask unfettered in the splendor of super beings doing super stuff and not getting hurt. But there’s a ceiling on that kind of thing, and a visionary directory Whedon is not. The action is not transcendent — not on par with films like Aliens, Jurassic Park, or Terminator 2. I’m not even sure it’s as good as the trailer for The Dark Knight Rises.

The Avengers

Now playing

Multiple locations

Categories
Opinion The Last Word

The Rant

The original bargain struck between the television industry and its viewing audience was that if we plugged the magical picture box into the wall socket, the programming would be free. In return, a program’s sponsors could take four or so minutes per half-hour to promote their products and services with commercial advertisements. That deal lasted nearly 40 years, until the advent of cable TV. So my question is, if we are now paying to watch television, why are there still commercials? We have become so accustomed to the commercial interruption that it has woven itself into the fabric of television’s daily reality at the exact same time that programming has become increasingly unreal. In fact, under the guise of “reality television,” programming has become one continuous advertisement, seamlessly blending from TV show into paid commercial and back again.

From toddler beauty queens with insane mothers to “celebrities” in rehab, nothing is too extreme for exploitation by reality shows. This works out great for producers, who no longer have to bother with hiring those troublesome actors with their desire to be paid, those left-wing scriptwriters with their “human dramas,” and those show-biz union thugs. FCC Chairman Newton B. Minow famously referred to television as a “vast wasteland” in 1961. How quaint that back during the Kennedy administration someone actually thought television’s objective should be to entertain and inform.

Today, the industry’s raison d’être is as an advertising medium interspersed with the least expensive drivel that the public will tolerate. During an age of flat-screen, plasma, Blu-ray, and other advances, I find it unnecessary to watch Hillbilly Handfishin’ in high definition. At a time when television technology is at an all-time high, programming is at an all-time low. Who needs Norman Lear or Garry Marshall when we have Chef Gordon Ramsay and Ryan Seacrest?

Any off-the-wall behavior or activity that you can imagine, there’s a reality show about it: extreme hoarders, redneck tycoons, bounty hunters, repo men, pregnant teens, or the morbidly obese. In my house, I like to see the news/discussion programs. I tell my wife, Melody, that it’s my job to watch them so I can write this rant. But every time I leave the room, the station has been changed to the Bravo channel when I return. I finally put my foot down and told her that I refused to watch this mindless, soulless dreck about self-absorbed women complaining about their privileged lives.

… So, as we were watching The Real Housewives of Orange County, I was commenting on how much better Tamra looked now that she’s had her breast implants removed. But when I found myself concerned that the feud between Melissa and Teresa on The Real Housewives of New Jersey would rip their families apart, it occurred to me why we watch this stuff. In difficult times, if we can take a voyeuristic peek into the troubles of the wealthy or watch how Teresa’s husband, Joe Giudice, faces 10 years in prison for forgery, it makes us feel better about our wretched lives. Or, as Joe Giudice is fond of philosophising, “It is what it is. What are you gonna do?”

Nothing about this window peeking is new, however. It began in 1973 with the PBS series An American Family, which documented the destruction of the Loud family, holding viewers entranced with weekly admissions of infidelity, drug use, and the coming out of a gay son. It all ended rather badly, however, and though it was ratings gold, no one seemed eager to repeat the experiment. Today’s shows just skip the family trauma entirely and go straight to drug rehab, where burned-out former reality-show participants explain how they were genetically disposed to alcoholism and addiction.

After years of quiz, game, and talk shows that were ordinarily confined to daytime fare, the big bang of reality TV was The Real World, the show that took the “music” out of MTV. The success of The Real World spawned more shows where strangers are locked in a house and filmed over time: Big Brother, Last Comic Standing, Hell’s Kitchen, The Apprentice, and the Frankenstinian Jersey Shore, which shamed a generation of young people. MTV, meanwhile, gave us celebrity home invasions like The Osbournes and Anna Nicole, the results of which were resolved in courts, clinics, and morgues. Another disaster was My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance, where a prospective bride’s family was led to believe she was marrying a disgusting buffoon, up until the phony wedding day when she confessed her hilarious deceit to her traumatized family, who all promptly sought counseling. After the success of Survival and the phrase “voted off the island” entered the lexicon, “reality” replaced writing, and we were left with Who Wants to be a Millionaire? seven days a week.

We’ve now seen all the Storage Wars episodes so that they are as quickly identifiable as Seinfeld reruns. We agree that the people on Pawn Stars in Las Vegas are more likable than the combustible family in Detroit’s Hardcore Pawn, where every negative stereotype about angry black people and heartless Jewish pawnbrokers is played out for the cameras.

But nothing offends like the Kardashian family franchise. Begun as Keeping Up With the Kardashians, the story of a family obsessed by surgery and celebrity, it has morphed into what seems a hundred spin-offs. Kim has her own following thanks to a public obsession with her gluteus maximus, and I do mean maximus, while her sisters document their marriages to athletes and basketball players, which seem to always end in heartache, as most reality unions do — just ask Jon and Kate Plus Eight. Choose your poison: American Idol, The X Factor, The Voice, America’s Got Talent, So You Think You Can Dance, or Dancing With the Stars. Someday this will all come to an end and there will be more drama shows to choose from than Law & Order and CSI.

Until then, if you’re entertained by television, it’s a coincidence. If you’re informed, it’s a miracle. Unless you plan on trying to catch a catfish in a mudhole with your toes.

Randy Haspel writes the Born-Again Hippies blog, where this column first appeared.

Categories
Letters To The Editor Opinion

Letters To The Editor

Schools

The fate of public education establishments serving Memphis, Shelby County, and Tennessee is already apparent in the progressive deterioration of the staffs, facilities, and graduating students — processes that will continue to degrade the systems and their products unless and until respective electorates intervene.

A former Memphis mayor and school administrator first called attention to the underlying problem when he criticized residents who were abandoning the city for the more favorable political and educational environments of DeSoto County. The migration of Shelby County residents to adjacent counties in Mississippi, Arkansas, and Tennessee continues, accompanied by deteriorating support for all of the above-cited public education systems. The latter process is remarkably similar to that which prevailed in the 1960s, when changes in Memphis and Shelby County schools spawned rapid growth in private and parochial systems.

Consider, for example, the city schools’ decision to “automatically promote” students in grades one through three. What percentage of them will be able to cope successfully with the fourth grade?

The Tennessee Board of Regents, admittedly starved for resources by the General Assembly, now measures the “productivity” of the institutions it supervises by the number of students they graduate and the speed with which those students complete their curricula.

The net result has been continuing decline in high school graduates’ ability to do college work and college graduates’ ability to succeed in graduate schools, prompting more and more parents to seek places in private schools for their children or locate elsewhere.

E.W. Brody

Germantown

The Death Penalty

I feel obligated to respond to Randy Haspel’s “Rant” about the death penalty (April 26th issue). Justice Blackmun once wrote that “the death penalty remains fraught with arbitrariness, discrimination, caprice, and mistake,” despite the states’ efforts to comply with Furman, the Supreme Court case from 1972 that held that the death penalty must be imposed fairly or not at all.

Haspel’s rant is itself fraught with caprice and mistake. He writes that we should “merely follow the court’s ruling [in Furman] and narrow the criteria for the ultimate punishment.” This is precisely what the states have been attempting to do for the last 40 years. Recent cases such as Troy Davis and Marcus Reymond Robinson highlight two states’ failures to regulate who they sentence to death.

Regulating state-sanctioned killing is more complex than regulating something like voting. I’m going to be an attorney in 6 months, and I’m willing to bet that there is no law, state or federal, that can be written to cure the inherent defects in our “machinery of death,” as Justice Blackmun described capital punishment. When it comes to human life, we should err on the side of caution. The death penalty experiment has failed, and we must concede it.

Allison Wroten

Oxford, Mississippi

Teachers!

This is Teacher Appreciation Week, but teachers need to be appreciated every day. I am reminded of a bumper sticker, “If you can read this, thank a teacher.” Teachers prepare us for life, teaching skills to get along in society, to be good citizens, to work hard, to create, to innovate, to reach for the stars. They are role models, mentors. Most of us can look back and credit a teacher for our success. I can think of no one more vital to our society than a teacher.

With the unemployment rate in our area hovering around 12 percent, we need to bolster our teachers and our education system more than ever. We need to attract the best and brightest teachers, encourage their creativity and passion, and give them the support and resources to do the job. Unfortunately, the anti-teacher, anti-public education, and, yes, anti-jobs laws passed by the Republican legislature last year will only force good teachers out of the system.

Public schools are the great equalizer. Every child — black, white, Asian, or Hispanic, rich or poor — has an equal opportunity to succeed in a public school. That is threatening to the privileged few who have bought and paid for this legislation. I guess the lapel button I saw last weekend is true: “Those who can, teach. Those who can’t, make laws about teaching.”

Meryl Rice

Whiteville, Tennessee

sharia later

The Memphis Mullahs (Todd, Norris, and Kelsey) and the Tennessee Taliban (Republican-controlled state legislators) have me considering moving to Iran where it’s less repressive.

Gene Katz

Memphis