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On television, 2011 was a year of overexposure and oversharing
From the Arab Spring to Charlie Sheen to GOP debates, the spotlight fueled the frenzy.
By AARON BARNHARTThe Kansas City Star
As recipients of millions of new smartphones and tablets, our pockets and purses in 2011 bulged with media, if not money.
As a result, the mediasphere grew ever denser and noisier this year — a din that only increased as people strove to break through it with deeds that were outrageous, audacious or just plain dumb.
The year began with comedian Ricky Gervais impishly insulting Hollywood elite while hosting the Golden Globes, injecting a bit of danger into what was previously the most celebrity-friendly of award shows.
In another era, Gervais would have made himself persona non grata with his razor-sharp jokes about Tom Cruise’s sexuality or the Globes’ appetite for “bribes,” those all-expenses-paid junkets widely thought to be traded for nominations. But Gervais was asked to host again in 2012.
Events in the Middle East overtook the American news cycle during the so-called Arab Spring, fueled by decades of corruption and a billion digital devices.
Technology may not have been as pivotal in toppling three regimes as many Western journalists claimed. But the avalanche of images tweeted from the scenes of marches and crackdowns allowed Western audiences to bypass the regimes’ walls of censorship and watch in real time as the dictators fell.
This was also the year that oversharing pretty much became the new sharing. And I’m not just referring to the lives of the Kardashian sisters.
Hundreds of millions of smartphones, it turns out, secretly relay personal information about users to the corporations that make the devices. This news was met with horror by privacy advocates and indifference from everyone else. “Privacy, schmivacy,” shrugged a columnist.
And then there was the case of actor Charlie Sheen, whose commitment to sharing every bizarro, manic thought that popped into his head cost him the highest-paying gig in TV.
After a series of hotel-room trashings, trips to rehab and hookups with porn stars, Sheen threw a public tantrum against his producers. He lost his job, even as he boasted of “winning,” making it an instant catchword. In a notably unhinged interview with the “Today” show, Sheen denied he had substance-abuse issues because his “tiger blood” protected him.
By then there were plenty of signs that he was not well, that what was playing out wasn’t comedy but tragedy, an episode not of “Two and a Half Men” but of bipolar disorder accelerated by substance abuse. But because no one with the power to stop him would, Sheen continued to revel in his excess, exploiting social media to ensure he would remain irresistible to the media.
A respite to all this scandal and turmoil blessed the world in late April in the form of a royal wedding. Kate Middleton and Prince William exchanged vows in a carefully choreographed televised event where cameras didn’t go where they weren’t invited, everyone did as they were told and giddy spectators who seemed like they were visitors from 1965 gushed politely to reporters. It was a charming throwback.
In stark contrast to the restrained extravagance of the royal wedding, Oprah Winfrey’s departure from daytime TV in May was a gaudy mess, including a two-hour tribute to herself taped inside a basketball arena before screaming crowds.
Then, for her final broadcast, Oprah did a navel-gaze as more than 16 million people watched. She ended by inviting everyone to join her on her new cable network, but most declined, having had enough Oprah for one lifetime.
The fall’s most entertaining television came not from much-hyped network series like “Pan Am” and “Terra Nova” but from the circus of candidates, debates and scandals that marked the Republican presidential nominating process.
As on any decent reality-competition show, the GOP nominees each had their own hour in the spotlight to impress the voters, who one by one voted them off. Three of these front-runners held book signings while campaigning, and at least one — Herman Cain — seemed destined to follow Sarah Palin’s example and land his own reality-TV deal.
By year’s end, there was still no clear leader, as Mitt Romney, the uptight, vacillating former governor of Massachusetts, and former House speaker Newt Gingrich took turns stumbling at center stage.
Like the late Apple co-founder Steve Jobs, Gingrich has been accused of creating a “reality-distortion field” around him. This is a fancy way of saying he can sell beer to Boulevard. As he clawed his way back from a series of setbacks that derailed his campaign last summer, Gingrich also showed a Ricky Gervais-like ability to say whatever he pleased, with a smile, and be rewarded with retweets and Facebook “shares” that resonated with voters.
For us in Kansas City, the year in media ended with a tragedy, as Don Harman, an affable, even lovable, 41-year-old meteorologist on Fox 4’s top-rated morning show, took his own life.
In another time, Harman’s suicide would not have been covered, but covered up through an understanding among the newsrooms in town. Instead, family members encouraged Harman’s colleagues to talk on-air about his long struggle with depression. This they did, while struggling openly with their own emotions. Whether the intent was to head off gossip or make this a teachable moment, it showed extraordinary judgment.
One imagines a person sitting at home, alone, during this season of cheer, staring at a new Kindle or iPad, clicking on each of the many videos Fox 4 has made about depression since Harman’s death, then picking up a smartphone and making a call.