Why are so many people telling their most intimate secrets on national
television? How do talk shows find these compulsive confessors? And
why are we watching them?
To console others or promote themselves, more and more Americans are
baring their souls, not in the sanctuary of the church confessional,
nor even in the anonymity of the radio call-in show, but in the glare
of daytime television. There is no sexual practice so kinky, no
medical condition so humiliating, no crime so repugnant, no tragedy so
searing that people will not use it a their ticket to talk show fame.
At the best, these shows illuminate festering social problems, instill
tolerance for alternative lifestyles, and comfort lonely viewers with
the knowledge that other Americans are even more miserable than they
are. But at their worst -- most often on view during the sweeps
periods of February, May, and October, when ratings determine the
prices charged for commercial air time -- they become little more than
freak shows or village carnivals featuring the modern equivalent of
the fire-swallower or bearded lady.
They play the same exotic riffs on the eternal chords of sex, death,
religion, and cosmetic surgery.
Guests on all four shows are identified by captions that rival any
tabloid headlines: "TRIED TO WILL HERSELF TO DEATH," "SLEPT WITH
TWO GAY MEN TO CONCEIVE BABY," "SUED EX-LOVER FOR CONTRACTING GENITAL
HERPES."
[Boston's channel 5] excised one graphic description during an Oprah
Winfrey program on nymphomaniacs, and they refused to carry a Donahue
program on priests who sexually molest children, perhaps because it
was scheduled to air on St. Patrick's Day.
Yet, by and large, such weirdness has been accepted into the mainstream
of American culture.
To the contrary, many people who tell family secrets on talk shows are
hailed as heroes when they return home. Jason Schneider, a gay
activist in Boston, revealed on The Sally Jessy Raphael Show that he
and a lesbian friend has conceived a daughter by artifical
insemination. Schneider's description was so graphic, he recalls,
that he still feels "queasy" about it.
Not his parents and relatives. They watched the program, and he was
nervous about their reaction. "I was ready for Aunt Barbara to say,
'Don't you think you used strong language, dear?'" Schneider recalls.
"But she said I was great."
Geoffrey Worcester, who "FATHERED A DAUGHTER WITH HIS LESBIAN
ROOMMATE," says that his frequent talk show appearances quieted his
family's criticism about his lifestyle. "When I was on Donahue, my
mother said, 'How can you do this to me? I'll get fired.' Then her
boss called her up and congratulated her. The talk shows made my
family accept me. The last resistance went away when I was on TV."
Producers threw together a program about teenage boys who tied nooses
around their necks during masturbation to increase their sexual
pleasure -- and accidentally hanged themselves. Parents of these
victims of "autoerotic asphyxia" had formed a support groups and
agreed to appear as guests. Although Winfrey said on the air that
"thousands" of boys have died from auto-erotic asphyxia, the show's
executive producer now concedes that the program gave undue publicity
to a relativly rare sexual practice.
[And there's people like me who type extensive excerpts from strange
articles...]
Dale
