The pilot episode of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip begins
with the revelation that it is a show about a show. One of the actors/comedians of the fictional
show, also called Studio 60, gives
the studio audience an inside view of the set, while the real behind-the-scenes
takes place in an office backstage between Jerry, who is in charge of Broadcast
Standards and Practices for the National Broadcasting Station, and Studio 60 showrunner, Wes Mendell. Just minutes before a live airing of Studio 60, Jerry informs Wes that he
must cut one of the planned sketches from that night’s episode. The censoring of sketch 4A, the contents of
which are a mystery at this point, sends Wes into a very public tirade. He interrupts the opening sketch by walking
in front of the camera and telling two actors dressed like President Bush and
Vice-President Cheney to leave and then invites the television audience to turn
the channel, or better yet, “turn off the TV.”
The cameras, however, continue to roll as Wes reveals the source of his
frustration: the declining quality of television programming as a result of
commercial interests.
“This show
used to be cutting edge political and social satire, but it’s gotten
lobotomized by a candy-ass broadcast network hell-bent on doing nothing that
might challenge their audience.” He
continues: “There’s a struggle between art and commerce. There’s always been a struggle between art
and commerce, and now, I’m telling you, art is getting its ass kicked.” His last condemnation of NBS involves an
unflattering comparison: “Pornographers.
It’s not even good pornography.
They’re just this side of snuff films, and friends, that’s what’s next
because that’s all that’s left. And the
two things that make them scared gutless of the FCC and every psycho-religious
cult that gets positively horny at the very mention of a boycott, this prissy,
feckless, off-the-charts, greed-filled whorehouse of a network, this thoroughly
unpatriotic, mother”…at which point the cameras cut to the non-diegetic opening
credits of Studio 60.
Wes’s
diatribe reveals the tension between the producers of media, at least in a
creative sense, and the distributors. Studio 60 is one example of NBS’s “free
lunch,” which according to Smythe, “must always be subordinated to those of the
formal advertisements, because the purpose of mass media is to produce
audiences to sell to the advertisers” (38).
Programming takes a backseat to advertising, as evidenced by the reaction
among NBS execs dealing with the crisis; their primary concern is which sponsor
they have undoubtedly offended. Perhaps
the only NBS employee unfazed by the incident is Jordan McDeere, who has just
been named president of the National Broadcasting Station. Ever opportunistic and blessed with the right
connections, she has a contingency plan that will save Studio 60; in fact, she closes a deal that same night to bring back
two former Studio 60 employees to run
the show—one a writer, the other a director, both of whom became famous after
being fired four years earlier.
Though they
go about it using different methods, both Wes and Jordan both seem interested
in upending current imbalances of power.
After all, they both want to run the controversial 4A sketch. Wes’s “contribution to the general project of
overthrowing domination” (Garnham 67) is the more obvious of the two,
considering the direct subversiveness of his impromptu television
appearance. He knows what he is doing
will bring about his certain dismissal, but in his opinion he is saying what
has to be said. On the other hand, Jordan
seems an unusual agent of change as president of NBS; her only apparent
superior, Jack Rudolph, tells her so much, implying that the status quo and
subsequent retention of sponsors, advertisers, and audience are more important than
her constructed story of Matt Albie and Danny Tripp’s return. She insists the audience will buy her story
of bringing back Matt and Danny, two men who “hate [Jack’s] guts,” because NBS
is “committed to quality.” Jack has little
reason to doubt Jordan, given her previous accomplishments. She has made impressive turnarounds everywhere she has been: Atlantic Records, NBC, ABC, etc.
Once Matt and Danny are on board, she gives them permission to do
something Wes Mendell could only have dreamed of a week earlier: run sketch 4A,
which was actually written by Matt years earlier, titled “Crazy
Christians.”
When Jordan
tells Studio 60’s new showrunners to
“open with it next week,” Matt turns to Danny and asks, “What if she’s for real?” Her sincerity should be called into question,
her motives for promoting “Crazy Christians” arguably disingenuous in
comparison to Wes’s, whose progressive call to action exposes the reactionary
opportunism of Jordan. While not
successful in getting “Crazy Christians” on the air, Wes does successfully make
the link between media and political economy, the former subordinate to the
latter. Jordan’s position in a “specific
class fraction within the mode of production” (68) gives her power that Wes
does not have, such as the ability to show a sketch considered un-airable just
a week before, but it also clouds her judgment with regard to media-economy
relations. Like many cultural theorists
bent on liberating the masses, Jordan aims to validate the culture, in this
case the airing of a biting social satire, rather than attack its economic base. However, unlike said theorists, her
intentions are not liberating but monetary.
Studio 60’s pilot ends with the hope
that this long-running program, albeit fictional, will regain its relevance
from earlier years. Unfortunately, the
fate of the actual Studio 60—its
cancellation after one season—dampers much of the positivity one might feel
about Jordan McDeere, Matt Albie, and Danny Tripp taking over the fictional show. The real Studio
60 offers viewers a glimpse of Hollywood’s power structure, including its
backroom deals, and while condemnatory of it, the show is still subject to the
same powers decried by Wes Mendell. Studio 60 pushes boundaries in its
critique of media’s subservience to money, “but nothing is done about processes
of economic development” (70). Viewed on
DVD or a streaming service without commercials, it is easy to imagine the
ironic effect of the real commercial break after Wes’s tirade, which must have
shown a preview for a program in which “people are having contests to see how
much they can be like Donald Trump,” or one in which “people eat worms for
money.” It must have shown an
advertisement “courting 12-year-old boys, and not even the smart
12-year-olds.” That Studio 60 lasted just one season is proof that “no empowerment will
mean much unless it is accompanied by a massive shift in control of economic
resources” (70).
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