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Digital Slob Curt Brandao |
After Janet, TV will
never be the sameSunday, Feb. 1, 2004. Super Bowl halftime. The day the Earth hit rewind. (Slob note: I know this is a dicey topic for family newspapers, so just to allay fears, I'm writing this column on a five-minute delay.)
The good people at TiVo report that Janet Jackson's "wardrobe malfunction" is the most replayed event in televised sports. Looks like the guy who deflected the foul ball that kept the Cubs out of the World Series is finally off the hook.
But when something like this happens, no one really wins. For instance, I entered a Super Bowl office pool in which we all bet on who'd expose their chest on the field to reveal a nipple shield, but I got stuck with Patriots defensive lineman Richard Seymour -- everybody said I had a good shot, but that was way, way off.
Janet, or "Ms. Jackson," since she's now officially turned the entire planet "nasty," has issued a videotaped apology (shot from the shoulders up -- no need to tempt fate), and seems to have sequestered herself in a fully secure, fully lifted, fully separated location until things blow over.
That might be a while, because the Federal Communications Commission is halting all its three-hour lunches until someone's wrist is soundly slapped.
Chairman Michael Powell called the incident a "classless, crass and deplorable stunt," which I think is a quote he lifted from Howard Dean about the Iraq war.
This could end all live TV. The Grammys, airing tonight, and the Oscars are "enhancing" the delays on their award shows, presumably to give them enough cushion to edit out all levels of undress not first pre-approved by fashion designer Vera Wang.
No word about how long they'll pause reality. One can assume they're doing "stay-dressed rehearsals" up until showtime, clocking how long it takes a stage manager to run up and cover an award presenter in a shawl. Maybe Janet's big brother, Michael, should host -- I'm sure he'd gladly work fully draped in a burka all night long.
But it probably won't stop there. By the time the post-Janet effects are fully felt, Dick Clark might not let us pop the New Year's champagne corks until he gets the "all clear" sometime around 4 p.m. Jan. 3, 2005.
It's tempting to long for a more innocent, remote-controlless era, when if you missed Marilyn Monroe sing "Happy Birthday" to John F. Kennedy the first time, you were spared many shameful, un-Camelot-like dreams. But technology has always brought progress at the expense of sliding us away from social niceties.
Surely, for example, shortly after Alexander Graham Bell's first historic phone call, came another first -- the first bicoastal chat involving a man trying to get a woman to slowly describe the unlacing of her corset.
Likewise, the success of most entertainment technologies, from the nickelodeon to the VHS, has been at least partially linked to how well they transmit representations of other people's naughty bits.
Of course, there's a time and place for everything. The Super Bowl is no place for nudity. Whatever you think of Justin Timberlake, he shouldn't be forced to learn the birds and bees in front of 800 million people worldwide.
Super Sunday should be filled with only family fare, like illustrating class warfare by showing a dog bite some rich guy in the crotch, or uplifting women by showing one singed by flaming horse flatulence.
But, Ms. Jackson did give us one memorable Super Bowl. Who won, anyway?
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Curt Brandao is the Star-Bulletin's production editor. Reach him at: cbrandao@starbulletin.com