Vol. 2 No. 77 December 7, 2007

The Bogus Economist
Strike One



The writers' strike caught me flat-footed. On the one hand, I was a writer and so should immediately stop writing, even if I didn't write for television. If I stopped writing, moreover, I could omit sending checks to creditors and Christmas cards to people I haven't seen since the Depression. On the other hand, if I didn't write, the newspaper would stop supplying me with my bi-weekly supply of gruel and cracker jack, which they told me is the usual currency for columnists.

Gruel won. I posted a column and sat back to enjoy the spectacle of whole bunches of actors standing there with their mouths open and nothing coming out. That was the beginning of November. Now it's Pearl Harbor Day and I'm still waiting.

The reason actors are still talking is explained by the mystery of re-runs. Somewhere in dark back rooms are thousands of sitcoms, interviews and documentaries that have enjoyed their fifteen minutes (or two hours) of fame and been tenderly tucked away in cans, presumably forever, but are now waiting for another bow. The opening scenes of “My Mother, the Car” are as available as “Mr. Ed,” “The Munsters” and “Cheers.” The fact nothing new is being written is immaterial since the plots of the “new” shows are hard to distinguish from the old ones. Cynics say the same thing about news.

A country without writers, however, means a country without speeches. How can you have stump speeches when all you have are stumps? Sound bites will be toothless. How can there be “gotchas” with nobody to write the getchas? Since very few public figures seem able to put a sentence together without help from someone else, what's left when that someone isn't there? Without the ventriloquists, all you've got left are the dummies.

This, of course, brings us to the unpleasant question of why people with alleged intelligences have to rely on other people to tell them what to say. Bob Newhart had a terrific routine in which Lincoln's speech writer was trying to coach Honest Abe on how to orate the Gettysburg Address - “No, Abe, trust me, do the speech the way Charlie wrote it – it's funny.”

I've often wondered what would happen if somebody put “Yabbadabbadoo, Yatchee Watchee, Umbaba, Umbaba, Yah, Yah, Yah” on the teleprompter. Would the immaculately groomed news men and women who are supposed to be journalists improvise their way through the crisis, or would they look right into the camera, smile their immaculate smiles and solemnly declare ”Yabbadabbadoo, Yatchee Watchee, Umbaba, Umbaba, Yah, Yah, Yah?”

The Bogus Economist, not being a television writer, might find himself tempted to become one, cross the picket line and make a ton of money. This is a distant possibility. First, I don't have the stomach to write some of the stuff I use my remote to avoid. Second, I don't cross picket lines. Third, from what I hear, writers don't make a ton of money. The last contract in 1988, signed by writers who evidently had their heads in a dark place, gave them a pittance on home video sales. They don't want to repeat this mistake with e-commerce. Producers say they can't afford to pay any more since profits are down and everybody knows writers are greedy bums anyway. The net result is that nobody writes, nobody makes money and the forecast for broadcast quality is “probably much lower,” as if this is an easily achievable goal. I can't envision television getting much worse without the screens cracking.

One possible outcome from the writers' strike is a decrease in drama and news and an upsurge in “reality” shows, which require little scripting – or anything else, in my opinion. Fox, with “American Idol,” is in a super position if this happens, so I should offer the other networks – at no charge – my own ideas for reality scenarios:
1.“Potty Talk.” People are trapped in a bathroom and have to figure out ways to pass the time until help arrives. The situation gets worse when the toilet begins to overflow.
2.“Ants.” A picnic in the park becomes alarming as giant ants are released by stagehands. Various strategies have to be employed either to kill the creatures or train them as substitutes for the Radio City Music Hall Rockettes.
3.“American Idle.” A bunch of teenagers compete to determine which one can spend the most time doing absolutely nothing. Cots, hammocks, Tempurpedic mattresses and vibrating chairs would be donated by corporate sponsors.

I really don't see what's so hard about television writing, as can be easily proven by the above suggestions. In romances, all you need are a few “I love you's” and lots of groans and sighs. On a “talking head” show, the only trick is finding the right head. “Action” shows demand lots of fake blood and donated cars to be reduced to scrap metal. It's different in sports, where you have to use intelligence, crackling wit and humor:

“Yes, Chuck, he hit the ball.” “You're right, Bill. Look, he hit it again.” “I can't see the ball, Chuck.” “It went in the hole, Bill.”

“Yabbadabbadoo, Yatchee Watchee, Umbaba, Umbaba, Yah, Yah, Yah.”

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The Bogus Economist © 2007