By Wil Forbis
Several years ago, I wrote
a column entitled "Undressed
for Success" in which I took a long hard look at the lengths
MTV was willing to go to capture the youth market. I focused exclusively
on a show that was then appearing on the cable music channel, a teen
soap opera called "Undressed" in which nubile young thespians
pranced around using any excuse to show off their heaving bosoms and
manly six packs. ("Of course I'm not wearing a bra - it's casual
Friday!") As sin-filled as the show seemed to be, it kind of grew
on me and I ended up having only one complaint - the actors didn't getting
naked enough! The FCC, a longtime enemy of public nakedness and all
things fun wouldn't let MTV follow through with the promise implied
by the show's title (Maybe it should've be called "Kinda Dressed.")
The only way hard working voyeurs like myself could see real teen flesh
on their television screen was by taking the trouble to install a video
camera in the dorm room smoke detectors at the local Catholic Girls
School.
Of course "Undressed"
was about more than sex, it was about characters. There was a delightful
array of comically troubled teens, an "Archie and Gang" for
the nineties, whom I grew to love and respect as my own family. Like,
whatshername, that blonde tart with big breasts who was always walking
around wearing a towel. Or that black chick who had this dark, see-through
lingerie so you couldn't tell what was fabric and what was the beginning
of her sweet, sweet netherworld. Or that funny old guy who always seemed
to muttering and went by the nickname "Dad." (Wait - maybe
that really is my own family.)
During my recent incarceration,
I found plenty of time to start watching MTV again and was shocked to
find that "Undressed" was gone! The show that had defined
a generation had run its course and MTV had locked it up in the same
attic they keep the shriveled mummified head of Martha Quinn. But I still found
plenty of entertainment on the channel and thought that this might be
a good time to share my ruminations on the state of Music Television
with you, my loyal, if not particularly bright audience. As I know your
time is short, I'd like to focus on two shows - "All Things Rock"
hosted by the twin brothers Benji and Joel, and the now infamous, "Punk'd."
In my recent piece on film
director, Penelope Spheeris, I
mentioned "Headbanger's Ball," the all-metal video showcase
MTV aired in the height of the hair metal days. "HB" has been
updated for the zero generation in the form of "All
Things Rock," hosted by the twin brothers Benji and Joel Madden
of the candy punk band "Good Charlotte." I think my reaction
to first seeing the Madden brothers was similar to most folks: "Who
the fuck are these morons!" But y'know... Benji and Joel kind of
grow on you. Their often pained attempts fill up airtime with conversation
that doesn't sound like a teenager high on banana peels possess a certain
charm. MTV spent millions of dollars growing their first attempt at
teenage idiocy, Jesse Camp, in a laboratory before they tossed him into
a dung heap of drug addiction and celebrity irrelevance. With Benji
and Joel, they simply plucked their protagonists from the punk rock
subculture and let them roam free. And truth be told, Benji and Joel
are actually smart chaps who manage to get away with a few feats of
chaperoned subversion while hosting their show. If they're introducing
a band they like, they make no bones about passing on the accolades.
But if the next video up is some dreadful nu-metal group, their comments
dry up and the look in their eyes clearly states. "These guys are
wack, y'all!"
And there's an interesting
conundrum inherent in "All Things Rock." Benji and Joel are
tried and true punk rockers. Punks rockers are mortal enemies of corporate
media giants like Viacom, MTV's master. This creates an unspoken tension
to the show's dynamic. Are the Madden bros media sell outs who traded
their street authenticity for fame and the sales boost guaranteed video
airplay would give their album? (The record, entitled "The Young
and the Hopeless" is a damn catchy piece of punk-pop, with every
song proclaiming the band's status and punk provocateurs who live life
on the outside (while making hella cash from the teenage girls driven
soggy by thoughts of being the turkey in a Benji and Joel sandwich.))
Or are Benji and Joel underground warriors operating in the belly of
the beast, hoping their media access and snide sarcasm can inspire and
new generation of punk rebels. This, is the great unspoken question.
But if you wanted philosophical
quandaries you'd be watching “Matrix Reloaded,“ so let's move on. The
real star of MTV's new lineup has gotta be "Punk'd." Featuring
"That 70's Show" star, Ashton Kutcher, "Punk'd"
is a revival of the classic Candid Camera formula - unsuspecting nimrods
are tricked into an uncomfortable or embarrasing
situation, all the while having their displeasure and humiliation
caught on camera. The twist is that Punk'd's targets are the sorts of
people that every right thinking American hates with a passion: young
Hollywood celebrities. (C'mon, admit it - you can't stand them!) Why
do we hate them? Because the average life of a celebrity involves taking
designer drugs, getting $2000 facials, having sex with other hyper-attractive
people and occasionally "working." (Which simply means standing
around showcasing their latest botex injection or silicon enhancement
while unemotively reciting dialogue from a teleprompter placed just
off-camera since they couldn’t be bothered to memorize their lines.)
But when these clods are on Punk’d, they get to experience what life
is like for the rest of us. They feel the tribulations of an existence
where the world is laughing at your expense and everyone is out to get
you. "Punk'd" is the revenge of the common man against our
depraved breed of undeserving American royalty.
Of course, the kicker is
that Kutcher, who apparently created the show in addition to hosting
it, is the reining example of these celebrity uber-hipsters. He gets
to degrade and humiliate his fellow performers because he has been crowned
their king and they know better than to defy him. Instead, they just
take it on the chin with a smile, hoping that being a good sport will
get them invited to the big party in the Hollywood Hills, or a chance to play second
fiddle to Ashton’s character in “Dude, Where’s Your Car Pt VII.” But
if you or I were to stiff Steven Dorf with an insane restaurant bill
or strip search one of the Backstreet Boys we’d be on the receiving
end of a lawsuit designed to commit the next seven generations of our
family to indentured servitude. Barbra Streisand sues someone when they
the take a photograph of her house, imagine imagine the fit she’d throw
if some everyday rubes tricked her into thinking George Bush had labeled her a terrorist
and was demanding she be deported to Camp X-Ray.
But we can dream can't we?
That's why I'd like to close this column with...
...A Coupla Punk'd Scenarios
I'd like to see (but never will)
1) The target: Martin Sheen,
star of thousands of movies and TV’s "The West Wing."
The Prank: Sheen’s son, Emilio Estivez, who, like everyone else, is
in on the gag, shows up at his father’s house. “Dad,” he says, "I’ve
got bad news. Charlie relapsed and had an overdose. They found his body
this morning in his apartment. He’d been dead for over 50 hours.” Martin
lets out the obligatory, “Noooo, not my son!” and collapses on the sofa.
The doorbell rings and it’s Ashton. “Dude,” he says. “You’ll never believe
what I found!” He pulls in a zombified corpse of Charlie Sheen who says,
“Gotcha Pops! You’ve been punk’d, bitch!” Martin, who suffered a heart
attack on the set of “Apocalypse Now” starts clutching his chest.
2) The Target: Limp Biskit’s
Fred Durst.
The Prank: Fred, Ashton, and an assembly of young Hollywood are partying
at the Playboy Mansion. Durst impressing the gathering of hotties with
his streetwise demeanor. Suddenly gangsta-rapper Ice-Cube, (in on the
gag) shows up with his posse, armed to the teeth. “I’m taking you honkies
out!” he commands. “You’ve been co-opting the language and culture of
Black America long enough!” He the then lines the row of crackers up
and proceeds to go down the line, simulating the act of sodomy with
each if them. Durst, at the end of the line, is getting nervous, especially
when Cube gets to Kutcher and Ashton, pants at his knees, mews out pained
cries. Then Durst starts laughing – it’s the old reverse prank, the
joke isn’t on Durst, it‘s on Kutcher who really is being sodomized by
Cube! Ha! Good one! Now who’s been punk’d!?
Never gonna happen, is it…
