I Like to Watch

May 18, 2008 | "Back in the sixties, when I was appearing daily on NBC's 'Today' show, I was living on Seventh Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street ... The corner was the gathering place for some of the most attractive 'ladies of the evening.' Each morning at five o'clock I would emerge from my building wearing dark glasses, as I hadn't yet had my makeup done, and I was usually carrying some garment bag. It seemed obvious to the 'ladies' that there was some big 'number' I had just left ... 'Good morning,' I would say. 'Good morning,' they would answer. And then I would get into this long black limousine with its uniformed driver, and we would glide off into the early morning light. And you know what effect this had on the ladies? I gave them hope. Perhaps this book may do that for you." -- Barbara Walters, "Audition"

Don't we all want to be just like Barbara Walters, giving hope to the attractive prostitutes of the world? I know I do. And I can only hope that, by compiling complicated analyses of deeply trivial televised entertainments, I can be like a beacon unto all of the overeducated but ultimately shallow and unfocused young people out there, and encourage them to train their powerful minds not on big, important questions and problems, but on trifles and whimsy. Remember, whippersnappers, if you don't have the energy to be inspiring and famous and powerful and serious -- or the thought of that life makes you want to crawl into bed with a bottle of red wine and a 10-pound brick of chocolate -- that doesn't mean you can't do something kind of fun and lively and ultimately pointless but reasonably well-paid.

Look at Barbara Walters, who knows that appearing on camera with inspiring, famous, powerful people can stoke the illusion that you, too, are inspiring and famous and powerful, even when you're not -- and if you're good enough at it, they'll pay you big money and smear a little Vaseline on the lens for good measure. Yes, I know, she's a pioneering news lady and a great gal, too. I only gloss over the facts because otherwise, I won't be an inspiration to huddled masses of sluggish whores, yearning to breathe free. If you're smart and talented but also indolent and addled and ego-driven to the point of distraction, worry not! You, too, can find gainful employment out there, once you give your so-called weaknesses and flaws a new spin.

Remember, you're not lazy, you're just choosy about how you expend your energy, since you want to be sure to invest yourself in activities that feel deeply resonant and emotionally grounded when viewed through an existentially rigorous framework. You're not shallow, you're simply fascinated by the various ramifications of our current, rather absurd pop-cultural moment. You're not unkempt, you simply prefer not to contribute to the objectification of physical beauty by partaking of regular ablutions that have less to do with hygiene than with some obscenely meticulous standard established by giant global corporate profit-seekers. Sure, those profit-seekers would prefer if you "washed" and wore "pants" to work, but you don't subscribe to their strictly enforced, elaborate manipulations of the unseeing, sheeplike populace.

Apocalyptic whore monger
You know who the real hero to whores around the globe is, though? Michael Crichton. Here's a man who could've taken his great big brain and his M.D. from Harvard and used it to find a cure for cancer. But what did he do? He wrote books about secret islands filled with scary dinosaurs, and then brought us "ER," the undead hospital drama that stumbles through season after season like a zombie, refusing to die.

Michael Crichton applied his perfectly good brain and fine education to scaring the living daylights out of mankind with nightmarish endgame scenarios, and for that, we'll be eternally grateful henceforth. But was that enough? No. Crichton not only creates living-dead hospital soaps and dinosaur-island sequels that force poor Jeff Goldblum to phone it in on an international stage, but he resurrects his own long-dead endgame scenario for the second-rung cable channel movie market. This man is a true survivor!

Thus do we find ourselves staring down the barrel of "The Andromeda Strain" (9 p.m. EDT Monday, May 26, on A&E), the sophisticated, haunting, computer-enhanced, chewily apocalyptic remake of the tale that first graced movie theaters way back in 1971. Oh, but these days, "The Andromeda Strain" can feature scenes where Benjamin Bratt says things like, "Take a look at the Fourier electron density scans," and an enormous transparent screen appears with beautiful graphics on it, and we can all marvel at the big, pretty plasma home-entertainment device of the future. Homeland Security can play a prominent role, the president can have a half-Bush, half-Clinton drawl, Eric McCormack (Will from "Will & Grace") can play a macho, rough-and-tumble reporter, Rick(y) Schroder can reprise his role from "24" with stunningly little conviction, and most important, random people of all stripes can die gruesome, horrifying deaths as we watch in horror. It's just like "24," in fact, except with 10 times more horror and dying, plus double the pseudo-scientific rambling.

All of which might sound pretty great, but it's not. Half of the two-night movie is spent with the scientists in the underground bunker, scientists dressed like "Star Trek" crew members who pace and tell the computer to do things and then have terse but shallow conversations about Lorentzian and Euclidean worm holes, advances in nanotechnology, futuristic bioweaponry, unfamiliar cellular structures and other far-out scientific topics that easily could've been written by a stoned teenager who stayed up all night reading Wikipedia.

The rest of the movie features the go-to moments of every suspense-thriller flick from the late '80s/early '90s. The president is freaking out, the generals are trying to hide a top-secret initiative, the scientists in the bunker are alternately theorizing and falling in love -- there's even an innocent little baby in a bubble to keep everyone honest.

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