Aid

THE ART OF THE SPIN

The Day Of

        “True to Life is headed in a lively, energetic new direction.  We’re expanding our demo with tailor-made shows geared toward giving that ocean that is the global audience the specificity they want, all in one place.  Like the Nintendo Wii.  Did you guys play the Nintendo Wii?”

       There were snickers of laughter at Deirdre’s joke.  That was fine.  It wasn’t meant to be a gut-buster.  Alex gave her that reference to draw a very clear line between a much beloved product and the content that True to Life was about to release.  Furthermore, it sent the message that True to Life was in the business of satisfying audiences on its own terms: just like Nintendo.  That was something this audience could respect; and it was the kind of bullshit that tided over idealists like Deirdre.

Deirdre wanted smart, scripted programming.  Alex was about to present a slate of lowest-common-denominator Reality shows that he would package as cutting edge “docu-series.”  But by allowing Deirdre to make this analogy, it told the audience (and Deirdre herself) that True to Life had more irons in the fire than just Reality.  It was a lie, but it was a comforting lie.

“We’re approaching content in the same way our viewers are: nonlinearly.  Audiences want content they can connect with on their terms, on their time, wherever they are.  Here to present some of that groundbreaking content is True to Life’s Head of Development, Alex McDonald.”

Alex strode on stage, heading to the podium with the purpose of an arrow vaulting toward its target.  When he got there, he shook Deirdre’s hand, mouthed a thank-you and turned to face the crowd.

In the bright stage lights, it was impossible to see anyone except the very front row of advertisers.  Some of them he knew; others he didn’t.  But he smiled and made eye contact with all of them.

“The first show I have for you is probably our most ‘typical’ docu-series,” Alex was off and running.  “But you’ll see quickly that it’s only ‘typical’ in the way that your neighbor is typical; or your boss; or your mom.  Unless you live in a fantasy world, or are in fact delusional, I assume those relations aren’t Kramer or Michael Scott or Marie Barone.  They’re people who tackle serious life challenges every day.  This series does the same thing.  It’s called Jews with Crews.”

A slide of the logo for Jews with Crews appeared on a massive screen behind Alex.  He gestured to it, but he didn’t look back.  He never broke eye contact with the audience.

“It shines the spotlight on a marginalized group in America: Jewish youths who are trying to break into the Hip Hop industry and be recognized as part of that community.  But being hood, doesn’t mean these kids are immune to everyday teenage problems.  Let’s take a look,” Alex finished as the lights darkened.

On screen was a talking-head clip of a young, white female.  She was dressed in a very form-fitting pants suit with a top that accentuated her breasts.  Rhinestones outlined her jacket and hat.

“Hey yo,” the girl began.  “I’m Abigail, a Jewish rapper.  There aint a lot of us.  So it’s ma goal, through ma music, to spread the word that we need to stick togetha, ya know what I’m sayin?”

The clip cut to a scene in a lavishly decorated studio where Abigail was recording a song.  As Abigail put the headphones on to begin another take, another white woman burst through the door.  The second woman was dragging a skinny, tall, white male in tow.  A yamaka adorned in rhinestones was on his head.

“Wassup Abi?!” the second woman shouted.  “You tryin ta steal ma man?”

“Yo, I don’t know what’u talkin bout Lorraine,” Abigail replied.

“Aw yeah?  Look at these texts!” Lorraine shouted as she waved a phone in Abigail’s face.

Abigail took the phone and walked a few steps toward the camera, seemingly trying to get some privacy.

“An what’s dis?” Lorraine asked as she walked closer to the music stand Abigail had been using.  “Is this ma song?  You stealin ma song too?  I’ma KILL YOU!”

Lorraine lunged at Abigail, taking the former rapper to the ground.  The rail thin guy stood there, looking aghast and just the tiniest bit pleased with himself at what was happening.  

      Lorraine rose suddenly into frame, her fist held aloft ready to strike again.  “MAZEL TOV BI(EEEEP),” the clip cut to black after that and the lights in the theater came back up.

There was a light smattering of applause that greeted Alex on stage.  “I promise the series dives into more than just boyfriend stealing.  But as Joel Phillips always told me, lead with your best stuff.”

“I do say that,” a male voice rang out from the front row of the audience.

“And there he is,” Alex said good-naturedly as he gestured to Joel.  “Glad you could make it.  But don’t talk again or I’ll have security show you out.”

The crowd laughed.  Alex laughed.  They were his.

“The next clip I want to show hits our fish-out-of-water comedy quota in a big way,” Alex laughed preemptively; as though he’d just remembered a hilarious scene from the show and he was about to let this select group of people in on the joke.  “Imagine fresh-off-the-boat Chinese brothers who come to this country looking for the American dream.  Only for them, the American dream is running a Mexican food truck.  Let’s take a look.”

The theater lights dimmed and the black transitioned to a new clip.  A voiceover in very broken English greeted the audience.  It intercut between two brothers talking, and was laid over clips of their arrival to the United States.  This was their origin story: how they got to the US, why they loved Mexican food and how they got a food truck.  It was all packaged into a forty-five second opening credits sequence.

The footage then cut to the brothers in their truck.  They were in the heart of San Diego, only fifteen miles north of the Mexican border (which on-screen verbiage pointed out).  Their customers were, according to more verbiage on screen, illegal aliens from Mexico grabbing a quick bite before stealing their way into the country.  

The customers began ordering in their native tongue, while the Asian brothers tried desperately to sound out the orders in phonetic English.  Obviously, hilarity ensued.  It took the form of wrong orders being delivered, mispronunciations of very common Mexican dishes and even an accidental blasphemy against Catholicism with an offering of Virgin Mary shaped churros which the Asian brothers thought would be a hit.  They were not a hit.

The screen cut to black and the house lights came back up.  Everyone was laughing hard.

On stage, Alex was beaming.  “After the presentation we’ll be serving lunch and cocktails in the main hall outside: with Virgin Mary churros for dessert.”  More laughter.

Alex let the laughter die down and then leaned in at the podium.  He was getting intimate with the audience now; as though he wanted to tell them a secret.  On cue, a lot of advertisers leaned forward in their seats.  They couldn’t wait to hear what the “Killer” had to say next.

“The last piece I want to show you is a very special one for me,” Alex began with an air of sincerity that belied how serious this new show was.  “It’s a show about finding love even when society says you don’t deserve it.  Let’s watch.”

The lights came down and the theater audience was introduced to a skinny, lanky, bearded man who looked to be in his early twenties.

“Hi, I’m Aaron Sloan,” the twenty-something said.  “When I was nine, my mom died of breast cancer.  When I turned twenty, my dad was convicted of vehicular homicide for driving drunk.  He was put away for life.  In the beginning when I’d visit him, I could see he wasn’t doing too good.  After a couple years, he was getting a lot worse.  He told me it was hard being isolated all the time.  He felt like his life was a movie that God pressed pause on.  That stuck with me, so I promised to help my dad get back some kind of normal life.  That’s how I came up with…The Love CONtract.”

A series of images barraged the audience: prisons, guards, desolate workout areas and solitary confinement spaces.  The message was very clear; prison was a very isolating place that even the toughest guys couldn’t stand for long.

“We set up an online dating site for guys like my dad: convicts,” Aaron’s voiceover said.  “We were very upfront with everyone that joined.  On every page of the sign-up process there was a disclaimer that this was a dating site for people convicted and currently serving time.  For the prisoners, the site let them record video messages, keep journals of what it was like on the inside, add photos of their friends and family; we did everything we could to show these guys as human beings.”

The footage cut to a talking-head of an attractive brunette who appeared to be in her mid-forties.  Text came up on screen identifying her as Stephanie.

“I joined the site because at my age all the healthy guys are married, and I’m stuck in a pool of men who never grew up,” Stephanie said.  “It feels like I’m a prisoner too, ya know?”

The audience then saw what looked like a first date between Aaron’s dad and Stephanie.  It was at the wall of prison phone booths where visitors got to converse with their loved ones from behind glass.  On the prisoners’ side was Aaron’s dad.  On the other side sat Stephanie.

“It’s weird, I feel kinda trapped in Boise but I don’t think I could ever leave,” Stephanie said into her phone.

“I know how that feels,” Aaron’s father joked.  Both he and Stephanie laughed.

“What’s your favorite TV show?” Stephanie asked in a jump cut.

“We’re not super up to date on TV in here, but we’re catching up on Lost.  That season three finale was amazing!” Aaron’s father said earnestly.

“Well, brace yourself is all I’ll say,” Stephanie replied with a small chuckle.

“Ok, this is a big one…belief in God is very important to me,” Stephanie said in another jump cut.

“Me too!” Aaron’s father agreed enthusiastically.  “It’s all we have in here.  I go to the prison church every Sunday.”

  The footage then cut to another talking-head, only this time no one was talking.  Stephanie was fully in frame and she had a troubled expression on her face: like she was carefully considering something.

“So how was that for you?  You can be honest, my dad won’t see this footage,” a voiceover of Aaron asked her.

“It went…well,” Stephanie said, almost as though she didn’t believe it herself.         “Better than well.  Great, actually.”

“Would you want to see him again?” Aaron’s voiceover asked.

Stephanie took a beat and then looked behind the camera to where a viewer would presume Aaron was standing.  “Absolutely.”

The footage cut to black after that.  House lights came up and so did the applause.

“Hopefully love conquers all,” Alex said at the podium.  “But we’ll have to keep watching to find out.”

More laughter from the crowd.  Another bullseye.  Now it was time for the eleven o’clock number.

“I’ve just shown you three of the top new shows coming to True to Life.  We’ve chosen to identify them as docu-series, but some of the more cynical among you may still think of them as ‘Reality’ shows.  Well, we’re not ashamed of that.  I’m not ashamed of that.  But some are, so let’s address the stigma of Reality programming head-on.  The thrust of all the criticism is that the word ‘Reality’ is a misnomer.  These shows are staged, right?  Heavily produced.  Rigged for drama.  Well, not our shows.  This slate is one hundred percent real.  By that I don’t mean that just the people and their circumstances are real.  I mean that the events you saw on screen, the events you’ll see play out over the season, would have happened regardless of whether or not we were there to document them.  This group of talent was relentless in pursuing their goals.  We’re just glad they let us partner with them.  Together, we all went on a journey.  And I can’t wait to bring you along with us on that journey this fall.  This is documentary television at its most authentic.  Nothing is prompted.  Nothing is staged.  All of it…is true to life.”

Checkmate.  The audience burst into the most rousing applause of the entire afternoon.  For Alex, the hard part was now over.  All he had to do was end the presentation and invite these advertisers to join him for lunch and cocktails outside.  He wouldn’t even have to travel, they’d come to him – and beg him to take their clients on.

“Excuse me,” a male voice rang out repeatedly from the back of the house.  The applause died down slowly as people heard the call for attention.

Alex put his hand over his eyes and squinted to try and make out who was talking, but the lights were too bright.  All he could see was a shadow, standing in the back.

“Well, it looks like someone’s hungry,” McDonald got some chuckles from that.  “You’re in luck sir, I was just about to invite you all…”

“Why are you lying to these people?” the male voice boomed again, cutting Alex off.

“I’m sorry?” Alex asked, thrown at the sudden accusation.

“It’s a simple question,” a female voice rang out this time.  “Why are you lying?”

“Is there security in here?  We seem to have some disruptors,” Alex called out.

“Yeah, is there security in here?” a third voice called out.  This one was male and sounded very familiar.  “The guy on stage is selling bullshit.”

“Ok, can we have lights up please and take care of this?” Alex was frustrated.

The house lights came up, as requested.  Standing back of house center were four young people who Alex assumed were causing the commotion.  He, along with everyone in the audience, recognized them immediately: Abi, the two Asian brothers and Aaron Sloan.

Alex “Killer” McDonald was stunned silent.

“Hi everybody,” Abi said in a voice that was deeper and much less nasally than the one the audience had heard on the clip.  “I know you saw us on tape, but I think it’s better if we introduce ourselves.”

“I think that’s a great idea Abi,” one of the Asian brothers said in perfect English without a hint of an accent.  “I’m Charlie Liu.  This is my brother James.”

“Pleasure to meet you all,” James said.  He too had no trace of an accent.

“We’re actors,” Charlie exclaimed.

“Well, improvisers really,” James clarified.  “We do a lot of comedy shows around the city.”

“Anyway, we were hired by this production company about a year ago for this new show we thought was a prank show,” Charlie continued.

“Not our proudest moment, but beggars can’t be choosers right?” James added.

“It’s true.  It was a TV job, and we didn’t wanna lose it.  So we did everything they asked; the bulk of which was to pretend that we couldn’t speak English,” Charlie said.

“Yep.  Each day we’d be taken out to the Mexican border.  They told us to offer food to anyone that ran across.  We were even asked to weed out the ones who really couldn’t speak English,” James said.  

“Which we thought was really funny, because it was REALLY racist,” Charlie mocked.

“I’m an actor too,” Abi spoke up.  “I wasn’t like these guys though.  I always knew I was doing a Reality show.  But I was told the show was an acting competition; a chance to show off your chops and have the audience vote for their favorite performer.”

“Who let them in here?” Alex had recovered his wits…and he was angry.  “Someone get security in here NOW!”

“Let’em finish Killer,” another female voice projected.  Deirdre stood up then.  She had been sitting next to Abi.

“Deirdre?  What the HELL…” Alex raged.

“Go ahead Aaron,” Deirdre forcefully interrupted.

“Sure, ok,” Aaron began nervously.  “Well, first off, I’m not an actor.  My story is pretty much what Mr. McDonald described.  I wanted to help my dad reconnect to the outside.  So I started the dating site.  It actually took off pretty quickly, but only with the inmates.  We were desperate to get more liberated members.  That’s when Mr. McDonald approached me about the show.  I said yes right away.  I thought anything I could do to get the word out would be a plus.”

Aaron fell silent for a moment.  His eyes lost focus and he just stood there reflecting; as if he was reliving the story in his head.  He looked over to Deirdre, who motioned him to go on.

“Stephanie came into the picture about a month after we started shooting.  She and my dad seemed to hit it off right away.  They liked the same things, they could talk for hours…my dad couldn’t stop talking about her hair.  But after production wrapped, Stephanie disappeared.  I found out later that she was hired to bring drama to the show.  I told my dad.  At first, he seemed ok with it.  Joked about it even.  But after a while, he started acting weird.  I’d try to go see him and the guards would tell me he was sick or he had a project and couldn’t visit with me that day.  After a couple months one guard finally broke it down for me.  My dad just couldn’t see me anymore.  He wanted to, but it was too hard.  I haven’t talked to him in eight months,” Aaron concluded.

No one in the audience said anything.  For a moment, the theater was absolutely silent.

“Deirdre, you’ve just fucked us.  You know that right?  You FUCKED US!” Alex screamed.

“No Killer.  It’s not ‘us’ that’s fucked here,” Deirdre replied, looking unblinkingly at the man behind the podium.

Still the audience was quiet.  Their heads swiveled from Deirdre to Alex every second, waiting to see how this drama would play out.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Deirdre finally broke the silence.  “I’m sorry to have wasted your time today.  True to Life will not be broadcasting what we showed you here.  We’re going to start over.  We’re going to build this network right.  I hope you’ll join me in the next couple years when we’re back with a new slate.  I can’t promise the shows we do will be as sellable as these.  But I can promise I’ll be presenting shows that I’m proud of, and that I hope you’ll be proud of too.”

It didn’t take long for people to take the hint.  The show was over.  Small groups of twos and threes started getting up and heading for the door.  Then, emboldened by the bravery of a few, the rest of the audience started getting up.  Before long, the house was empty except for Deirdre, Abi, Charlie, James and Aaron.  On stage, looking fit to bust, was Alex at his podium.

“Why did you do this?” the Killer asked dumbfounded.  “Why would you sabotage your own network?”

       “Because I believe great work sells itself,” Deirdre said simply.  “You just need the right people to fight for it.  That’s not you.  But I hope it can be me.”