"Hitting Too Close To Home"

I don’t know about you, but I find myself having considerably less fun when the victims of onscreen destruction have me thinking,

“That could have been me.”

Call me crazy, but I find the flashing realization that “That could have been me” takes all the “Escapist Entertainment” out of the thing.

As far as I recall, this identifying anxiety rarely previously came up.  Unless it is excessively violent – which, for me, spreads beyond graphic mayhem to encompass simply loud voices – I am, at least in principle, untroubled by the idea of  “Murder as Entertainment.”  Which, just writing that, makes me wonder, “What exactly is wrong with me?” 

“Murder as Entertainment” feels like a longtime cultural phenomenon.  The casual acceptance of dramatized mayhem seems traditionally normal.  Except for the Quakers.  Though, be honest.  How many appealing movies and TV shows have “The Friends” actually produced?

You know I watched a ton of westerns growing up.  I’ve seen thousands of owlhoots bite the dust.  Plus every “homesteader” who refused to sell.  The thing is, they all died in another century. 

Leaving me considering none of those “frontier” possibilities a threat.  “Yesteryear” cannot kill you.

So, you know… the crusading newspaperman gets “done in” by Liberty Valance and his murderous crew for publishing the truth.  It’s sad.  But that’s over a hundred years ago.

I am totally in the clear.

Moving to more contemporary times, meaning my times growing up…

I may be remembering this wrongly, but it seems to me that the crimes committed on the “Detective” shows I watched – from Peter Gunn to Columbo – had nothing to do with regular people.  Meaning, once again,

Not me. 

Kidnapping and blackmail?  Those are rich people’s problems.  No way, I could personally identify.  I mean,

“We’re holding your collection of TV Guide Preview Editions for ransom.”

“I don’t have anything.  I spent it all on TV Guide Preview Editions.”

As with westerns, where no arrow or bullet could “get me” in 1950’s Toronto, the standard narrative issues on crime shows, including turbulent gang wars – I am not a “joiner”, so once again,

Not me.

As a result, I could sit back and enjoy those shows, knowing they depicted other people’s jeopardies, towards which I felt sympathy, but not fear.

Then everything started to change.  I don’t know when; maybe you can tell me.  I just know that, in our commercial entertainment, things were suddenly – and tension-inducingly – different.

Consider current popular storylines.  (Setting aside the real thing, which is even scarier, though not as frequent as the repeated storylines frighteningly suggest.)

Movies and television, mirroring real life:

Who do terrorists attack?

Everyone.

Who does “everyone” include?

Me.

Shooters who mow people down at public attractions.  Who, among others, could easily be attending one of those public attractions?

Me.

Standard Law & Order episode:  A man at a convention switches rooms with a friend, because “There's a broken minibar.”  What happens?  They accidentally kill the wrong guy.  I can imagine myself making that switch.  “I don’t need minibars.”  And then who gets bumped off?

Me!

Even in “Superhero” movies… you know, those “action” scenes are edited so tightly.  You see a mini-glimpse of a guy coming out of a bakery carrying a birthday cake.  There’s an explosive collision of “Titans”, the guy’s parked car flies up in the air and lands on his head.  People waiting at home – No Dad.  No car.  No birthday cake.

I’ve picked up birthday cakes.

Suddenly, I’m “Collateral Damage” to a guardian of the galaxy.

Do you see what I’m talking about?

Unlike the shows of the past, where rich scions fought homicidally over a will, I can barely watch anything anymore.  Because now, wherever I turn,

Someone trying to kill us.

And “us” inevitably includes me.

I know it’s just fiction.  But I’ll tell ya, after a while, the blending confusion between what’s portrayed in the programming and what is actually “out there”,

It’s giving agoraphobia a really good name.