ed_rex: (Default)
2009-04-21 05:47 pm

(What should be) The last word on Susan Boyle



Susan Boyle
By now I'm sure all of you who are even remotely interested have seen the video of Susan Boyle "surprising" the judges and the audience of Britain's "reality" television show, Britain's Got Talent.

Boyle is, shall we say, not conventionally attractive, small-town, unemployed and — horrors! — at 47, of an age when our culture expects women to gracefully disappear from view.

Of course, the video has been spreading through the blogosphere and beyond like wildfire, because it turned out that Boyle can, in fact, really sing.

Now, to tell you the truth, I have been pretty good at avoiding "reality" teevee shows; a brief sampling early on convinced me they were exactly what I had expected them to be, freak shows more often than not, and I've never had much interest in such sort of degrading entertainment, thank you very much.

Anyway, the Boyle video was emailed to me, and a couple of you posted about it, and so I too have seen it (and yes, she can sing). I was appalled by the sexist, classist, ageist and — yes — lookist presumptions of both the audience and the judges and, with just everybody else, cheered Boyle's success at turning a theatre full of freak-show gawkers into fans.

But of all the commentary on this phenomenon, ranging from innocent pleasure in an ugly duckling's success to critical analyses of why it was such a "surprise" to so many to find out that an unattractive, middle-aged woman can actually sing well, the Globe and Mail's excellent television critic John Doyle hammered what should be the final nail into the coffin of this particular "reality" television stunt, nailing both why such programs are so popular and why we should be suspicious about the allegedly surprised judges.

The Boyle phenomenon has been a great, heartwarming experience for tens of millions of people. They feel vindicated every time they see the video. They empathize and connect with Boyle; they do a mental tut-tut when the judges roll their eyes and the audience sniggers at the middle-aged, plain woman. They are conning themselves that in the same situation they wouldn't react exactly as the judges and the audience did before Boyle began singing in that stunning voice.

See, the Boyle phenomenon is well and good, but the problem with it is that it reveals our collective hypocrisy about reality TV, beauty and talent.

If American Idol and its many imitations actually featured a lot of people who looked like Boyle, then hardly anybody would watch.

What we want is young, pretty people to gaze at. We think we root for the underdog, but we don't really. We are a superficial, catty and vapid culture. We aren't interested in authenticity. We mainly watch TV shows featuring people we'd like to date, touch and have sex with.

Doyle goes on to say,

The attention given to Boyle is the exception that proves the rule — we are relentlessly superficial. This isn't the fault of television. It's a collective weakness, and we get the popular culture we deserve.

In the Boyle case, though, the true irony is that it's possible we have been expertly manipulated. There is something far too slick and staged about the clip of Boyle on Britain's Got Talent. Simon Cowell is one the great Svengalis of popular music. The idea that Cowell was completely taken aback by Boyle's voice is simply too far-fetched.

Far-fetched indeed. The full article is available here and I heartily commend it to your attention.

(Cross-posted from Edifice Rex Online.)

ed_rex: (Default)
2009-01-24 01:06 am

Oh my

By damn, there it is at last, making a cranky debut as a Globe book reviewer. (Yes, it's a bit of a thrill.)

Buy Saturday's paper, or click here to read it without recourse to paper.
ed_rex: (Default)
2007-09-12 11:23 pm

Shock! Horror! I Was Wrong! (And So Are a Lot of You!)

I don't normally read the Globe and Mail's editorials for any reason but to keep an eye on what the enemy is thinking. Granted, I sometimes do agree with them, but until yesterday I don't think one of those editorials has ever changed my thinking about a major political issue.

Yesterday saw the unthinkable happen: the Globe convinced me I was %100 wrong about something!

As many of you are aware (and about which a number of you have posted comments), Elections Canada recently ruled that Muslim women who wear face-covering burkas or hijabs need not lift their veils when identifying themselves at the polling booth, provided they have two pieces of government-issued ID or are accompanied by a citizen who can swear to their identity.

All four of our major political parties have objected to this ruling, as have at least two major Muslim organizations. And - like some of you - I had thought of perhaps showing up at the polls during the next election wearing some kind of face-covering to protest what I took to be some kind of "political correctness" run amok.

But the Globe got it right and I (and probably you) got it wrong (italics in the excerpts below are mine).

Prime Minister Stephen Harper and other federal leaders are pandering to Quebecers' fears about Islam...they have declared that veiled Muslim women should not be able to vote without showing their face. The leaders have seized on a potent symbol of a religious minority trying to impose its way on the country. But the symbol is a false one, and the leaders know it. Not saying so is cowardly and irresponsible...

Protecting the integrity of the voting system is essential, but the rules designed by Parliament for that purpose do not require photo identification. A voter who shows her face without also showing a photo identification card has verified nothing. Voters don't have to show a photo identification card for the simple reason that many - those without drivers' licenses, for instance - do not have such a card. That is why the Elections Act offers alternatives. Those without government-issued photo ID may show two pieces of identification approved by the Chief Electoral Officer, as long as one shows their address. Or they may have another voter vouch for them (no more than one person per "voucher"), if each swears an oath.

If the system for verifying a voter's identity with written identification or sworn statements is considered good enough for other Canadians, it should be good enough for those who cover their faces for religious reasons. That is why Chief Electoral Officer Marc Mayrand says he will permit veiled women to vote as long as their identity can be confirmed. He was not making a special accommodation. He was applying the law as it stands.

So, mea culpa for my knee-jerk reaction to the original story and kudos to The Globe for cutting through divisive and pandering to the bigots among us and the bigotry within us.
ed_rex: (Default)
2007-03-02 09:19 am

Egotasm - A Belated Report

Time flows ever on. I wrote the following last night, already 24 hours after I had inteneded to. And I figure I had better post it now, or it will lose all temporal significance.

Wednesday stated well, with Laura making a cameo dream-appearance just before I woke. She looked terrible and my dream-persona took some sadistic pleasure in telling her so. As best as I can remember, that was her first appearance in a dream of mine (that I recall) since I kicked her out last July. I don't put much stock in dream-analyses - certainly, not in terms of analyzing my own, which are usually pretty straight-forward; whatever symbolism they contain are usually as obvious as a clown-nose at a funeral - but I am tempted to think this one might be a sign I have ascended to a new emotional plateau when it comes to the ex, that my anger is now draining away like melt-water off a glaciated mountain peak.

In any event, better still was the The Globe and Mail's letter's page.

I had sent them a letter on Tuesday, one largely based on my recent rant about the CBC's coverage of Laval's soccergate. For those of you without a subscription, allow me to indulgence myself by reprinting the full text of my letter below.
Both your reporters, Tu Thanh Ha and Heather Scoffield (Red card
renews Quebec hijab debate) and columnist Sheema Khan (Hijabs: Don't
kick up a fuss) missed the real story in the Mansour affair - that is,
that not only did Ms Mansour's team-mates support her in her desire to
wear the hijab while participating in a soccer tournament by giving up
up their own chance to play, but so did four of the other teams in
that tournament.

That petty officials will sometimes glom onto Muslim head-gear as a
symbol of "too much" multiculturalism is news on the order of dog
bites man.

That over 40 11-year old girls would decide to sacrifice their own
participation in what for them must have been an important event for
what looks to be a matter of principle is news more along the lines of
man biting dog.

This reader, at least, would like to know more about the kids who
decide to support an openent's right to express her religion and so
gave up a tournament they had no doubt worked very hard to attend.

Perhaps not a multi-million dollar contract from Penguin Books for my first novel, but kind of gratifying nevertheless - who doesn't enjoy seeing his or her name in print? And coming on the heels of last weekend's 3,000-word review of Richard Dawkins' latest book, it had me feeling a little inspired, writing-wise.

And finally, one of you made the decision to take your journal private, having decided your future might be compromised by what you had previously thought okay to air in full view of the great unwashed.

I amused myself (and, I think, you as well) by penning the following pastiche.
Twas brillig, and the slithy bots
Did gyre and gimble across the web:
All mimsy were the gigabytes,
And the pages still online.

"Beware the the Wayback Machine my girl!
The bots that bite, the caches that catch!
Beware the sav'ed posts, and shun
The frumious Server Farm!"

She took her vorpal code in hand:
Longtime the manxome code she sought -
So rested she by the Memory Stick,
And typed a while in thought.

And, as with uffish words she typed,
The Wayback Machine, with hard-drives spinning,
Came whiffling through the fibre-optic wire,
And saved-to-disk as it came!

Bit, byte! Bit, byte! And through and through
The vorpal code went snicker-snack!
She left it dead, and with it's drive
She galumphed to home alive.

"And has though slain the Internet?
Come to my arms, my beamish girl!
O packet day! Callooh! Callay!"
Young Geoffrey chortled in his joy.

Twas brillig, and the slithy bots
Did gyre and gimble across the web:
All mimsy were the gigabytes,
And the pages still online.

Granted, it's a poor imitation of the original, but it made me smile to write it.

All right. Time to make my way through the slush to the office. Maybe next time I'll discuss my adventures in the online dating world, and how it seems the pornographication of our culture contines apace. Last week three different teenage girls sent me nude photos of themselves; it sure ain't the 1970s, folks.