It's My TV….It's My Peanut Butter

So, Kristy’s the soap fan.  I’ve just never been bitten by the bug.  It’s always been a relief not to have to feel the shame associated with being secretly addicted to this much maligned TV genre.

Then came my trip to Australia.  With only 5 or so channels to choose from, and 4 of them generally playing nothing but sports (and 3 of those being cricket), reruns of their soapy drama McLeod’s Daughters were a totally viable option for viewing.

Or so I tell myself in those moments when I feel that overwhelming shame that I’m eagerly streaming every episode on Netflix.

The series focuses two half-sisters running a ranch after their father’s death.  With all female hands.  And of course the neighboring ranch involves a family with only boys.  It’s kinda like watching a slightly more grown up version of those camp movies where the girls camp has to kick the boys’ camp at color wars or something.  Only with grown ups.  And more cows.  And sheep.  And Utes.  And hot Australian men in jeans.

I’m pretty sure it’s that last one that makes it that results in my overlooking any hokey-ness to snuggle up in the recliner and drool at the TV.

It’s also got at least fairly amusing characters (Claire is my homegirl–jeans are always appropriate attire).  The South Australia setting is gorgeous.  And the occasional scenes in the small towns are a nice reminder of my trip down.

And did I mention the the hot Australian guys in jeans?

Would we drink coffee with Nathan Fillion?

Kristy: Um… you’re kidding right?  Is this even a question?  Of course, I would drink coffee with Nathan Fillion.  We’re talking about a man I’ve loved in three different television series.  Though I know as a geeky fangirl I’m almost required to love Malcolm Reynolds, Mr. Fillion will always be Joey Buchanan to me.  I have actually chosen to believe that Malcolm Reynolds IS Joey Buchanan.  I figure if Viki can have a whole city buried in her backyard, her son could captain a spaceship.  One of the things I love most about Mr. Fillion is that, unlike many actors who were given their start by soaps, he never tries the fact that he started on One Life to Live.  He’s told some amazingly touching stories about some of his costars.  Perhaps we can get more out of him?  On top of being talented and associated with several aspects of my fangirl identity, he also knows how to bring the funny when he’s not scripted.  So after I get done with any embarrassing fangirl squeeing, it’s possible we can also have an entertaining conversation (if I haven’t terrified him by that point).

Cammy: You betcha I’m gonna be there.  For one thing, I don’t think it’s possible that he won’t bring the funny.  I just can’t imagine it.  If it were just that he was funny as Mal, I’d write it off as the script thing, but he was hilarious as Mal, hilarious in Dr. Horrible, and he continues to make us snarf in Castle (I can’t speak to his bringing of the funny in One Life to Live since I don’t do soaps).  For the amount of hilarity he’s bestowed upon us already, we owe him a cup of coffee (or a beer) even if he doesn’t want to make with the jokes right then.  Plus, I have to help make sure Kristy doesn’t over-fan-girl-squee on the guy.  This is one of few people for whom I have real fear she might approach that scary place (really, she’s all about that Joey Buchanan thing).  And, as she so astutely pointed out, if she scares him, he can’t bring the funny, or be dragged into a conversation about why other people don’t capitalize more on the fact that they were in soaps.

And hopes your answer is, “Damned if I know!”

Yes, it’s been a while, but we’re back to

TV Cliches We Love

Okay… so we can double file this one under “guilty pleasures” since this is one particular television cliché that I absolutely don’t want to admit to loving.  Because I really don’t want to love it.  I want to simply roll my eyes at it and talk about why it’s a sign of bad writing.  I want to hate it.

But I can’t.  In spite of every learned standard of good fiction that I have, something innate and instinctual in me loves it.  I blame my upbringing—Momma watched a lot of All My Children.

I am speaking, of course, of the “Who’s the daddy?” storyline—WTD for those who frequent online message boards.  You know, those stories where a female character has sex with two (sometimes more) different men in a short span of time and then winds up pregnant.  Then we have months and months of angst and anguish and probably some lying and scheming until the paternity of said baby is revealed.  Delicious, delicious angst.  Sometimes years go by before the truth comes out.  Sometimes one truth comes out and then another truth comes out.  And I’m watching eagerly the whole time.

Why do I eat it up?  I don’t know.  I can give you a whole list of reasons why said storylines suck.  Beyond being cliché, there’s also an argument that they promote negative images of women.  (You see, this is what happens to women who aren’t sexually pure—they wind up stuck in trite storylines!)  In the era of better birth control, awareness of birth control, and the morning after pill they are increasingly ridiculous.  Furthermore, on most television shows, WTD stories are a tool for abusing fanbases (which, to be fair, tend to eat it up as much as I do).

And yet… they hook me.  Maybe there’s some sort of deep seeded psychological reason rooted in my dislike of babies.  The WTD story goes against the normal portrayal of babies as cute and wonderful, always welcome things (which ignores the fact that they don’t do anything cool, they just make noise, make waste and smell like stale mac and cheese).  Maybe it’s because they’re full of angst, and I love angst.  I don’t know.

All I know is that back in the days of Farscape we were all excited when we got the cliffhanger reveal of Aeryn being pregnant, but I personally was almost as thrilled when she revealed she wasn’t sure who the father was.  Even more so when we found out that due to some Sebacean biological peculiarity, the baby could have been conceived years earlier.  Are you kidding me?  So many possible daddies!  (Maybe; she was never really that forthcoming on that point.)

My soap opera, One Life to Live (I’m not saying it’s good, I’m just saying  you should watch) right now has dueling WTD stories.  And what could be better than two simultaneous WTDs?  The two Mommy’s to be, Jessica and Natalie, are twins!  (Who have different fathers.  It seems WTD is an inherited condition.)  (Incidentally, for Jessica, this is her fourth pregnancy and second WTD—impressive record!)  Even better?   One man, Brody “Tiny Hulk” Lovett might be the father of both babies.  Or neither baby.  Who knows?  That’s the whole point!

This is where part of me wants to look at the head writer and say, “You sick bastard!”   And the other part of me wants to go, “I know!  Isn’t it great?”

So in summary, I would like to say to all the soap writers and soapy writers:  These stories are trite and cliché and you should stop writing them.  But if you don’t?  I will keep watching them and shamefully loving every second of it.

Since this blog is going to spend plenty of time discussing the great TV we love, I think it’s only fair that I acknowledge the bad TV I love. (I’m also going acknowledge right now that “great” and “bad” are extremely subjective terms, and that if I love them both, perhaps misleading. Don’t over think it—just go with it.) More specifically, I’m talking about Daytime Soap Operas.

Really? Yes, really. I LOVE soap operas. I have since I was a wee thing. My mother used to watch All My Children religiously back in the day and I used to watch with her. During summers when I was usually home alone for most of the day I would watch the whole ABC soap block. Which I suppose was ultimately what led to the strange deviation that One Life to Live, not All My Children, became my soap of choice. I’ve left and come back a couple times—tried to get clean. From about 1999-2004 I didn’t watch at all (it helps to leave the country). Then I moved in with someone who watched One Life to Live, and it was all over. I was hooked again. For a while I watched General Hospital too, but I still haven’t forgiven them for killing Georgie. Long story. Messy break up. Sometimes General Hospital still calls me drunk at 2am, but I keep telling it we should both see other people.

I’d call this a guilty pleasure, but the problem is I don’t really feel a lot of guilt about it. No, it’s not necessarily something I advertise all the time. I don’t sit in graduate classes and say, “You know, it’s interesting, because Dundes’s argument here really reminds me of this one time on One Life to Live…” (For the record, I think Alan Dundes could have had fun with soap operas.) But I don’t actively hide it. I don’t lie about it. But I do find that it bothers many of my more intellectual friends. Hell, it bothers a lot of my less than intellectual friends. So for the record, here’s just a few of the things I love about daytime soaps (list of things that drive me nuts about soaps to come at a later date):

1. Escapism. Okay, I’m a full time student in a PhD program. I’ve studied the great works of literature. I’ve taught the great works of literature. My “occupation” tends to be looking for deeper meanings in everything. So sometimes, I like to have the opportunity to turn my brain off and watch trash. It’s a survival technique.

2. Related: Lack of pretension. I’m sure I often come off as pretentious, but I really hate pretension in others. And I like that soaps have kind of embraced their own stereotypes. They don’t try to pass themselves off as more than they are. Let’s be honest, there are soap elements in every primetime show, no matter how critically acclaimed. But they try to pretend they’re all deep and whatnot. Whatever. Get over yourselves.

3. Possibly the only place on television where the men are consistently hotter than the women. It’s kind of the reverse of the sitcom formula of the overweight slovenly guy with the wife who looks like a supermodel. Granted, the women on soaps are still much hotter than I will ever be, but they tend towards being an achievable type of hot. The kind you look at and think: I don’t look like that, but I probably know people who do. The guys on the other hand… Okay, maybe gratuitous shots of David Fumero with his shirt off are exploitative. But given the much more widespread exploitation of women in the media, I’m willing to live with it. And drool while I live with it.

4. Ahead of their time? Okay, it might be successfully argued that soaps have lost this to some degree, but I think it’s worth acknowledging that daytime television dealt with issues like interracial relationships, abortion, and homosexuality at times when primetime wouldn’t touch them. Give props where they are due.

5. I’m a sucker for a long, rambling, complicated story arc. And no one does that better than soaps because no one has the time to do it better than soaps. What they lack in continuity, these story arcs sometimes make up for in sheer complexity. I mean, I’ve explained the Summers family tree to Cammy (X-Men reference for the nongeeks) and I might have broken her brain in the process. But I wouldn’t even attempt to explain the Buchanan or the Lord family trees. Not unless there were copious amounts of alcohol involved.

So there you have it. Confessions of a soap fan. I know everyone’s already writing the eulogy of daytime drama, and I’m not swearing they’re wrong. But I intend to enjoy the ride as long as I can.