Written by Shandy Casteel Tuesday, 25 April 2006 07:50
As Johnson writes, his approach is more “systemic than symbolic,” eschewing the usual tact of “zeitgeist” criticism and academic cultural studies, something that is closer “to physics than to poetry.”
(Riverhead Trade; 272 pgs; $14)
Steven Johnson, the best-selling author of Mind Wide Open, may not be able to justify all those Beavis and Butt-Head episodes watched back in the day, or even the lust for dissecting gender-issues in Who’s the Boss?, but he can at least give you fodder for defending yourself against somebody wants to impugn your incessant discussions of Lost or time spent playing video games. With Everything Bad Is Good for You, Johnson playfully—and occasionally pretentiously—comes to the defense of the “low culture.” But, he’s not rallying the troops around The Simple Life or even taking postmodern looks at shows like Starsky & Hutch; he’s showing how the intricacies of today’s best work in entertainment, from television shows to video games, are increasing our mental abilities with their layered plotting, strategizing, and even social interactions. As Johnson writes, his approach is more “systemic than symbolic,” eschewing the usual tact of “zeitgeist” criticism and academic cultural studies, something that is closer “to physics than to poetry.”
This all begins with what Johnson has termed the “Sleeper Curve,” a phrase copped from a scene in Woody Allen’s Sleeper, where future scientists are baffled by a request for wheat germ, organic honey, and tiger’s milk instead of the more nutritionally sound deep fat, steak, cream pies, and hot fudge. Johnson wants to avoid the backward-looking “yesterday-was-better” culturist complaint and focus how today’s more complex films, television programs, and video games have helped facilitate the mental acrobatics of managing simultaneous ideas, objectives, and relationships. Mass entertainment now has values most academics fail—or refuse—to recognize, and the “Sleeper Curve” represents a way to understand that the multi-thread storytelling of today’s programming should not be so easily dismissed. As he writes, the book is “... the story of how systems analysis, probability, theory, pattern recognition, and—amazingly enough—old fashioned patience became indispensable tools for anyone trying to make sense of modern pop culture.”
Occasionally, the book makes straightforward use of graphs and charts to illustrate it’s point, like how a show like 24 and its highly structured web of character interaction spins circles around lesser shows, such as Dallas, or how a program like Dragnet, with its undemanding and linear story, is no match for the wildly interwoven arcs of an older show like Hill Street Blues, or something newer such as The Sopranos. It’s been a steady process over the years, but now, Johnson suggests, viewers and gamers must know more and understand more than they did in the past to take in the overall concept and ideas of entertainment programming. Today, there exists a cultural prerequisite necessary for entertainment, such as when watching an episode of The Simpsons, which needs the viewer to have a fairly wide grounding in politics, sports, entertainment, religion, and any number of cultural subjects to fully comprehend and decode the humor.
Johnson’s book does not offer far-reaching or practical societal applications about this trend, or draw academic conclusions; he merely writes in a manner meant to persuade the reader that mass entertainment is not as mind numbing as some cultural elitists would have us believe. He lays out his concepts in a clear enough fashion and with such wit, that even those disagreeing with his assertions will find some value in reading his work. He clearly dispels any misconception that these works should be viewed as masterpieces, merely pointing out that much of today’s finest entertainment, whether it’s The Simpsons or The Sims, are “... more complex and nuanced than the shows and games that proceeded them.” Johnson’s is a perky little voice in a field that is usually drenched in bleakness.