#but the letter- the letter is SO DEBASED by this script and the asides and sassy quips

[highwaydiamonds]

Nearly everyone involved with Netflix's Persuasion should be slapped in the face with a glove. They have insulted us with drivel on screen, and I, for one, demand satisfaction.

[girl-debord]

Cultural Exegesis: Cops on Television

The following is an essay I wrote for a cultural interpretation class last semester.

Surfing the channels on television or scrolling through the selection of shows on Netflix or Hulu, it is just about impossible to miss the waves of police procedurals that saturate American media. As of the week of March 4, 2019, two television programs out of the Nielsen Top 10 list for Prime Broadcast Network TV were dramas focusing on crime and police. Even in shows that aren’t built around the police procedural genre, police feature disproportionately as on-screen characters.

Television dramas following cops are, by this point, a well-established fixture of American media. These shows have been around since the late 40s and have their roots in films about western sheriffs and private detectives. Decades of this kind of entertainment have laid the groundwork for a new set of archetypes of cop characters and made possible the rise of police-centric TV of other genres, including comedies like Brooklyn Nine-Nine and Castle.

In a 2016 interview with The Frame, researcher Kathleen Donovan, co-author of a study entitled “The Role of Entertainment Media in Perceptions of Police Use of Force,” told journalists that her findings showed that people spend more time consuming entertainment media than news, and that that affects their perceptions of the police. “By far the largest impact was on perceptions of how effective the police are,” she said. “In the content analysis, the way police are shown in these shows is that they're incredibly effective. People who watch these shows tend to think that police are a lot better at their job in terms of clearing crimes than they are in reality.” As the name of her study implies, Donovan has also found that television alters public perception of police violence. “It's almost always portrayed in a justified light,” she said. If a cop steps out of line, it is in order to punish someone the show has already proved to the audience is evil or to extract necessary information from a criminal.

While many people feel that they can distinguish between real and fictional cops, Donovan pointed out something that is troubling—“The problem is, [viewers] don't have other places that they're getting this information from,” she said. “They're not getting a lot of interaction with the police officers on a day to day level.” Even a discerning media consumer is likely to spend much more time around the cops of television than the cops of the real world. It is simply impossible to be really unaffected by this.

Of course, the idea that our media consumption habits affect our views should come as no surprise, even when the particular effect a piece of media has is disturbing. But the reason Donovan’s findings are significant is because these television programs do not spring up out of nothing. Certainly there would not be so many cop shows on TV if there was no demand for them, but that demand has its roots in something more sinister.

Matthew Alford reported for The Conversation in 2017 that since the establishment of its Entertainment Liaison Office in 1948, the Pentagon has been involved in the production of more than 1,100 television shows. And at a local level, individual police departments have worked with television producers to create positive PR consistently over the last several decades. In a letter to an ad agency in 1968, Bob Cinader, who was working on the upcoming show Adam-12, wrote, “Like all major police departments throughout the country, the LAPD's two biggest problems are recruitment and community relations. They feel that a series about the uniformed police officer would be of even greater help to them in particular and the cause of law and order in general.” In the wake of the Watts riots of 1965 and a growing sense of anti-authoritarian sentiment, turning to TV was a strategic move for the LAPD. In the time of the Rodney King riots and growing unrest, shows like Law & Order filled a similar role. Even in recent years, NYPD scandals and a resurgence of real critique of the police coincide with Brooklyn Nine-Nine and Blue Bloods.

The relationship goes beyond purely fictional television and into the realm of the late-80s boom of reality television, which turned its eye onto the police with John Langley’s COPS. “COPS’ foremost legacy, aside from its forceful introduction of a new form of televisuality, is as a highly effective PR bullhorn for the ‘human’ side of police-work,” writer Eric Harvey explains in a 2015 essay for Pitchfork. “Reenactments were replaced by what Langley called ‘raw reality,’ which encouraged a voyeuristic position to take in the action. The reality of raw reality, of course, is that COPS traded any pretense toward objectivity for an unprecedented level of backstage access; in the show’s world, perpetrators are anonymous while police officers are well-rounded characters who provide each episode’s narrative arc.”

In the 90s, whether through the sleek stories of Law & Order or the police-raid porn of COPS, television viewers were already absorbing content that would shape their understanding of law enforcement. Even if this content was not directly created by police departments or the Pentagon, in most cases, it had the approval of these authorities, and more importantly, police television going forward would be built upon the very positive image that these shows generated. A contemporary television program might never have its scripts reviewed by a government agency or work with police departments as PR, but in all things pertaining to the cops, the cultural propaganda had already worked its magic. The “good cop” archetype that shows like Adam-12 and Dragnet had worked so hard to make was already a known commodity, an established trope to build on and work with.

But more than the image of the squeaky-clean cop that captured the imaginations of many Americans, the most effective tool in changing the public perception of police has been the methodological understanding of the world that entertainment like this presents to its audiences. As Kathleen Donovan pointed out, the use of force by police is almost unilaterally justified by the narratives of the shows that depict them. “Within a minute and a half of the first episode, the show has summed up its central message: Police violence works,” Aaron Miguel Cantú writes in his 2014 review of Chicago PD. “This is relayed again and again throughout the series: When a cop with a chain-wrapped fist savagely beats a Spanish-speaking suspect demanding an attorney until he relinquishes a tip; when officers debase the idea of policing without intent to arrest; when cops round up black non-criminals and deliver them to precinct torture chambers. In every episode, these methods achieve the desired ends.” The image gritty cop programs like this present of police departments is one of a world that is, perhaps realistically, filled with violence. But in order for the police to be the heroes of this world, the plot must produce ends sufficient to justify the means: the arrest of a violent criminal, the prevention of a dangerous terrorist act, etc.

The underlying implication here is an idea that has come to be woven through much of American media: the world is a dangerous place, and authoritarian measures are a necessary evil to protect the innocent from the criminal. As the philosopher Thomas Hobbes put it, “The condition of man is a condition of war of everyone against everyone.” And certainly Hobbes would approve of this picture painted by cop shows: the rights of criminals (who are at any time determined to be so by law enforcement) are incidental to preserving order and so must be subsumed into the Leviathanic police state for the good of everyone. The television programs can do their best to portray cops as wholesome defenders of the peace. But at some point, there needs to be a little realism—the fact that these people carrying guns on behalf of the state employ violence as a part of their job is too obvious to ignore. So the TV instead presents us with police forces who do engage in violence, who do things which would be unspeakable for any real-life civilian—but they present us with the kind of world that makes this justifiable, a dangerous, threatening world in which everyone is an enemy. Donovan highlights the fact that the majority of television crimes are murders—a gross overrepresentation, but one that helps to uphold this image. This is the kind of world that justifies police violence. The narrative is not just about trusting the police, it’s about being afraid enough of everyone else to believe firmly that everything the police do is necessary.

This is the world of COPS. As Tim Stelloh writes in a 2018 article for The Marshall Project, “Civil rights activists, criminologists, and other observers have described [COPS] as a racist and classist depiction of the country, one in which crime is a relentless threat and officers are often in pitched battle against the poor black and brown perpetrators of that crime.” It’s a fascist’s view of society, coming here not from writers but from the police themselves, whose commentary frames the events of each episode. COPS gives viewers a taste of the reality of American law enforcement, just not the reality it claims. The program allows us to see the role of police as they see themselves, in full, action-packed detail.

The other side of this authoritarian outlook has become a media obsession in recent years, perhaps nearly to the extent of police procedurals. The appeal of shows like NBC’s Dateline in presenting the shock and horror of crime has proven effective even with a more dramatic format. Where Law & Order walked the line between the heroism of the justice system and the horror of crime, programs like Criminal Minds tend to delve deeper into the latter. This kind of media, lending its attention to serial killers and brutal rapists, provides a necessary balance for the traditional cop dramas. Hannibal, American Crime Story, and adjacent programs give us criminals who are as intelligent and charismatic as they are violent—worthy opponents for an increasingly militarized and surveilling police force. Of course, one might argue that these characters are clear fantasies to audiences, like supervillains or space aliens. But if most viewers have little interaction with police, how much experience can they be expected to have with killers? The intellectually or socially capable murderer provides the kind of fear necessary to move people towards embracing the total authority of law enforcement—both on-screen and in real life.

This fear is more congruent with later cop shows whose focus on gritty violence in the name of justice measures up to the violence of depraved criminals that fascinates audiences. But the friendlier image of police from the days of Adam-12 still finds its place in modern television. One niche is in the aforementioned police comedy—shows such as NBC’s Brooklyn Nine-Nine give us police to relate to and enjoy who are earnest in their pursuit of justice and can accomplish their (admittedly tamer) goals with minimal violence and maximal shenanigans. In a time of pubic distrust for the police, B99 excuses its cops from blame by contrasting them to bad cops and making gestures toward the notion that police violence is an issue of concern. But a show that concerns itself mainly with police as a wholesome source of comedy is ill-equipped to deal with the uncomfortable realities of the NYPD’s behavior. How often is Andy Samberg’s good-hearted character called upon to evict homeless people from parks or cooperate with ICE officers to detain migrant families? Citing the NYPD’s record-low public opinion ratings, Will Leitch writes in a review for Bloomberg, “This hasn’t reached the world of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. The only people who hate cops on Brooklyn Nine-Nine are the wretched perps our heroes keep hauling in. The sitcom is standard cop-show fare in that regard, except more so; while a drama can allow our cop heroes the shading to become anti-heroes, the sitcom can’t really go that dark.”

Alongside the police sitcom is another niche for friendly cops to make an appearance which is perhaps more troubling: in children’s media. A slew of op-eds by parents in 2017 in publications like the Guardian and Baptist News called into question some of the implications of television shows like Paw Patrol. The cartoon, featuring dogs in the roles of emergency services, shows its police pup Chase using a “spy drone” for surveillance and coming to the aid of helpless citizens who continually put themselves in danger. Many parents were concerned about the lack of nuance in how the show presented authorities. In a response to these concerns Elissa Strauss wrote for CNN’s website, she cited author Tovah Klein, explaining, “Despite their reputation of innocence, children are bubbling cauldrons of conflicting feelings and impulses. This is especially the case during toddler and preschool years, when they become aware of their capacity to do bad things and struggle with understanding those urges. […] Good and bad are clearly articulated states in those shows, and should one misbehave, the repercussions are clear and predictable.” Strauss seems to believe this is sufficient to let parents breathe a sigh of relief. But if the response to children’s struggle with right and wrong that Paw Patrol gives is to seek the approval of authorities, what is there to be relieved about?

The amiable, endearing police of Paw Patrol and Brooklyn Nine-Nine who are eager to help and the tough, violent cops of Chicago PD and COPS who are a necessary force against the horrors of crime represent a particular understanding of law enforcement that is transmitted to children and adults alike. When the primary experience of most people with police is in entertainment, the images stick, and its effects make themselves known. In public discourse, people can be tricked into defending the actions of real police officers based on their time spent with the stories of fictional cops. Despite claims of a national crime wave and a “war on police,” the Brennan Center reports, as of 2017, declining crime rates and assaults on law enforcement, while Mapping Police Violence reported a general increase in the number of people killed by police from 2013 to 2016. While it may just be the tip of the iceberg of a culture of authoritarianism, cop shows on TV are at least partially responsible.

[awayman]

Quentin’s sonnet for Roman

My thoughts on Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, with spoilers throughout.

Putrid, sexist exploitation. Put ‘em in their place racism. Fetishized children. And worst of all, at its core an open letter declaring crimes of the past can be washed away by heroics in the present.

I walked into Quentin Tarantino’s latest hoping for an aloof and enjoyable adventure. I expected the movie to be politely detached from Tarantino’s choice to take no responsibility for Harvey Weinstein’s crimes, and aggravatingly indifferent to the rape committed by Roman Polanski, one of the subjects of the story.

I was wrong.

I was wrong to pay for my ticket. I was wrong to be in that theater.

The film is not passive or accidental in its vileness. It is active. Aggressive. Disturbingly intentional, and malicious.

It has a message, and it wants you to fucking hear it.

This can be distilled down by five pieces of the film.

1. Cliff is known as the stunt man who murdered his wife. 

While the murder is left ambiguous, Cliff’s wife “deserving” to be killed is not. In a flashback she’s shown to be spitting insults and ingratitude at Cliff, and her implied murder is a dark punchline. After, Cliff is shown to be rightly ostracized in the film community, as it’s an open secret that he’s a wife-killer. But it only causes him discomfort and costs him some jobs, and thanks to Rick he’s even able to keep working. 

This sounds an awful lot like Roman Polanski in the aftermath of his rape of a 13 year old girl.

2. Bruce Lee, the action star of color that get’s put in his place by a white guy. 

Midway through the movie, Bruce Lee arrives full of swagger. Quentin takes a moment to pontificate over who would win in a fight, Bruce Lee or Muhammad Ali. Pitting two heroes of color against each other to decide which one would be better is bad enough, but that’s not what happens on screen. No, moments after Bruce Lee arrives, he’s put in his place by a white nobody. Quentin dresses him down with a middle aged stunt man who doesn’t like Bruce talking shit on set. For Quentin, Bruce—the action star who came to Hollywood to be a leading man, the man who was forced to be the sidekick to a white man on his own martial arts show—is in need of an ego check.

3. Heroes ask for an ID before fucking children decades younger than them

Where the movie shifted from being gross to abhorrent, is when a Manson girl hitches a ride with Cliff. From moment zero, the camera fetishizes her. Before she gets in, we have a two-shot scene. When Cliff speaks, half the frame is taken up by the girl’s ass as she leans into his car. When she speaks, she’s biting her lip and eyeing every inch of the old man before her. After she gets in, Quentin has the underage girl satisfy his foot fetish by pressing her feet on the windshield. And then, she asks Cliff if he wants to have sex, which Cliff declines only because it’s illegal. He doesn’t protest when she spends the rest of the ride laying with her head in his lap. 

This, again, is a scene in a movie that features the character Roman Polanski, who raped a 13 year old girl. Roman’s probation report would later describe that girl as "not only physically mature, but willing."

4. The young actress gets used and abused

On set, Rick meets an eight-year-old girl who is a true pro. Unfortunately, Quentin punches down, making her professionalism cartoonish and a joke by giving her an over-the-top soliloquy on the responsibility of an actor, and having her ask to be called by her character’s name.

When Rick starts crying, the girl walks over to him, kneels next to him and puts her hand on his leg to console him. And when she calls out Rick for using a cutesy name for her, it’s a punchline at her expense. He returns the favor by making a crack that in 15 years (when the girl will be 23) she’ll feel as useless as he does (he being a middle-aged actor who drinks all night instead of taking his job seriously).

Later on set, Rick’s scene with the girl is disturbing. Not only does his character threaten to shoot her in the head, he asks the hero how much he’s willing to pay for her while clutching her across the chest. Then, Rick improvises by throwing the girl down to the floor, a careless and selfish act for his own acting ends, with zero regard for her.

To cap it all off, after the girl is debased by the tv show's script and Rick’s throw, Quentin has her go up to Rick to tell him that’s the best acting she’s ever seen. What a miserable low point for her to deliver a high for Rick.

5. Crimes of the past are washed away by heroics of the present

Sure, Cliff is a creepy wife-muderer that is only getting work because his famous buddy. But in the end, he saves the day. What a lovely story for Quentin to write for Roman Polanski, someone who’s past crimes are often brushed aside for the power of his art. Can you really hate either of them for the one bad thing they did, when they’ve done so much good for the world?

In the end, the movie isn’t some careless, fast-and-loose escape. It’s seems deeply concerned with fetishizing underaged girls, who sometimes make it very hard to say no to their advances. Over and over its clear that Quentin thinks some victims have it coming, and even the worst crimes of the past can be forgiven by the actions of today.

What a nightmare, this is.