How MTV Became Cool Without Carson

originally published, Bulletin, 2009

Most of us can remember the days when middle school girls wearing their butterfly clips and their back pocket-less jeans and boys in their polos and cargo shorts hopped off the bus, enjoyed whatever micro­waved snack and religiously flipped the channel to TRL. Or perhaps, we remember entire high school Saturdays filled with "Next" marathons and being able to name the castmates from each season of "Real World." After years of arguing over MTV's relative coolness to "sell out" ratio and their noticeable lack of music videos, we reach a new point.

Today, there is no more "TRL," and "Real World" goes unnoticed in a sea of reality TV; a geriatric pioneer slowly drifting away, and shows like "Next" and "Room Raiders" are reserved solely for drunken 3 a.m. viewing. The current lineup includes shows like "Rob Dyrdek's Fantasy Factory," "Nitro Circus," Justin Timberlake-produced "The Phone."

These shows feature over-the-top stunts, wild re-creation of material dreams, neck-breaking dance moves, and heart-pumping drama . . . at least they're supposed to. With these new shows, as well as the rotating graphics-based identity of the MTV brand, many ask if MTV is regaining their cool.

At first glance, it seems so. The network's seamless integration of music and TV shows forces a top-40 soundtrack to our lives (much to the chagrin of music junkies) and likely provides ample space to drive iTunes downloads. However, it is the new lineup of shows that says a bit more. These shows provide escape.

In tense economic, political and social times, it sometimes seems like worldly woes burden our every thought. Each show offers a unique moment of withdrawal for the viewer in a different way.

"Fantasy Factory" is perhaps the most obvious of these escapist shows, offering both the subjects and the viewer a momentary promise of eternity spent in fantasy life within a pimped-out warehouse. Like his old show and undeniable crowd-pleaser, "Rob & Big," Dyrdek and Co. promise hilarity and outrageousness in 30-minute blocks. Whether Dyrdek is building a massive zipline across the building, enough skateboard ramping to inspire relative awe, or scheming up a new, outlandish fantasy to fulfill, the viewer is sucked into a world where one can remain a child forever. In "Fantasy Factory," looming economic fallout or global warfare stand down to giant inflatable toys and an indoor go-kart track. Like the title says, Dyrdek offers us a fantastical wormhole in which to escape the worries of the world.

Similarly, "Nitro Circus" contributes to the network as a crypto-"Jackass" without the drug-addled Steve-O or ringleader Johnny Knoxville (well, beside their persistent "cam­eos"). Just think of "Nitro Circus" as a "Jackass" with con­siderably fewer liters of vomit. In the show, Travis Pastrana and other BMX riders scour the world in search of the next stunt and thrill.

Years ago, stunt pros like Evel Kneivel captivated audiences with death defying jumps and cannon exits. The members of "Nitro Circus" offer an updated ver­sion of amusement through possibly bone-shattering feats of man and machine. However, unlike Knievel, it seems that the point of "Nitro Circus" is to capture an off-hand crash, burn, explosion or otherwise unfortunate bodily injury. Catering to a more stunt-sensitive audience today, "Nitro Circus" ap­peals to the same kids as Knievel but with a bit less class.

Justin Timberlake's "The Phone," which debuted Saturday night, puts contestants (who apparently have no knowledge of what awaits them) in a game of high-stakes cash prizes in exchange for daring risks at the beckoning call of an anonymous, heavily accented phone operator. Some say the show is merely an "Amazing Race" or "Survivor" remake with JT's face plastered on it. However, I argue the show is about much more than that. In a world where things seem constantly in flux, the idea of an omnipotent higher power (the phone operator, did someone say "Deal or No Deal") commanding seemingly heroic feats of mind and body for a greater goal appeals . . . and indeed holds some serious symbolism.

To some, these shows mean nothing; they simply rep­resent a dumbing-down of American youth, a gluttonous society based on conspicuous spending, or a culture obsessed with bloody injury. However, they seem to provide at least temporary escape from worldly woes and transport us to dif­ferent time, chronological age, or financial means.

Maybe MTV isn't so meaningless after all.