Fads come and go in television, as in most other enterprises.</p><p>In book publishing, it is the confessional memoir.</p><p>In automotive design, for a time, it was the effort to build cars that resembled jet fighters, with dashboards that suggested cockpit consoles. </p><p> In the print journalism business, it is the attempt to cajole readers into imagining themselves not merely consumers of the news but actual collaborators in the telling of it.</p><p> Where TV is concerned, several genres of programming especially annoy.</p><p> One is the <em>faux</em> courtroom drama, in which the parties appear before a character purporting to be a judge, seeking redress for a grievance, real or imagined, that has resulted from some dubious transaction or failed relationship.</p><p> Daytime TV offers at least three, maybe more, of these seamy little spectacles, whose value &mdash; if any &mdash; is to give viewers the comfort of knowing that there are lives more untidy than their own.</p><p> This is not even to mention the blocs of broadcast time devoted to the huckstering of costume jewelry, male enhancement products and various wicked-looking machines designed for the sculpting of pectorals and abs.</p><p> But most offensive of all, in my view, is what&rsquo;s become of the once orderly and lucid discussions of public policy issues.</p><p> It used to be that individuals of varying political persuasions sat around a table and engaged in the examination of some matter about which they held competing views.</p><p> Yes, sometimes the debate was heated, but the rules of civility prevailed. Each participant was allowed to present his or her case and, when challenged, was afforded a chance for rebuttal.</p><p> Today, what used to be a contest of ideas is more often than not a screaming match.</p><p> Especially annoying is the now-popular split-screen format, in which the host is seen at his studio desk, while the two antagonists, speaking from other locations, appear in separate boxes at the side.</p><p> The subject is put forward, and one of the participants is invited to go first. He or she has hardly more than begun, however, when the opponent interrupts with a pre-rehearsed rebuttal.</p><p> The host attempts to restore order, but now both guests ignore him &mdash; shouting at one another, their arguments lost in the racket, faces contorted, their unintelligible rants coming finally to resemble the wild barking of dogs.</p><p> It is in that moment that I thank merciful Providence for the mute button on the TV remote.</p><p> One evening not long ago, my wife rented for viewing &mdash; actually for viewing again &mdash; &ldquo;Good Night, and Good Luck,&rdquo; the 2005 film that celebrated the successful crusade by Edward R. Murrow and his CBS associates against the savage abuses by U.S. Sen. Joseph McCarthy in his 1950s Communist witch hunt.</p><p> I found it an inspiring reminder of what the medium of television has the capacity to be and, sadly, what it <em>was</em> more than a half-century ago, before so much of the broadcast news morphed into something nearer show business.