As Jack Smith famously remarked in his columns "my wife and I settled down for the usual night of sex and violence". So did Scott and I settle down in front of the TV to an evening of sex, violence and suspended disbelief, or cognitive estrangement, as the therapists like to say.
Once again, a few favorites of the nonsense that people believe after watching the shows enough times. After all, they are dramas, so they must be true. Alas, that is not so. Another fairy tale favorite is the long
photo shot of the license plates taken from a bodega’s security video camera
two doors down from the kidnapping site. Out pops the old used VCR that has
been taped over and over since the beginning of time. Off it goes to the
oh-so-technical crime scene crew, using such state of the art equipment that
even nerdy hackers in basements haven’t heard of the tools of the trade. The
tech team, once they are done laughing about the VCR tape (my mom told me about
these kinds of tapes), gets to work copying it to a 21st century
host, then “cleaning it up” and in precisely three minutes, the work is done,
during which time we are subjected to a completely non-sequitor piece of loud
music that will get credit at the end of the show while we watch the tech team
silently do its work. And back the data goes to our keenly analytical
detective, who looks like a toad but has a mind like a steel trap, which is why
gorgeous Amazonian model types all wait breathlessly for his call once he’s off
duty.
‘Zoom in on the plate, and
sharpen that lower right section,’ says the savvy detective. Next thing we
know, we are no longer looking at the grainy black and white video frame of the
back of the van, now we are looking at a perfectly crisp HD shot of the license
plate, which is then cross referenced with the DMV database (available to
anyone with an app) and voila, we have the location of the perp. Here’s where cognitive estrangement
steps in. That can’t happen. There aren’t enough pixels in those grainy long
shots to affect the resolution. While the brightness or contrast can be altered
somewhat, nothing, not even Steve Jobs in heaven, can bring back the
resolution. The victim can’t be found and probably is dead, damn it.
And then there’s Scott’s
personal favorite, reverse GPS.
Someone has been kidnapped but the detective is able to find the young
diabetic mother before it’s too late. ‘I reversed the cell phone GPS and found
her location’. In real life, GPS satellites don’t receive; they just transmit. In real life the young mother would have gone into insulin shock and died, unless the old bodega owner found her and gave her a chocolate bar, but that's another story.
And the legal shows. . . .
During a recent show, a witness, flanked on both sides by his legal
representatives, was having his deposition taken when another attorney stormed
into the room and demanded: ‘Stop the deposition, I now represent this
witness’, at which point the seated attorneys, and the witness, gave each other
the ‘wha?’ look. What? Who is this guy? Does the witness know him? No? And yet
the perplexed witness left the room with his new representing attorney while
the previous attorneys sat scratching their heads. Really? (That was a setback
to their case.) Again, what happened? Did anyone file a Substitution of
Attorney with the court or serve the previous attorneys with a copy. Did the
witness inform anyone? Did anyone inform the witness? Were such fripperies
dispensed with for expedience of time? Did the writers believe that people who
do not work in the legal world wouldn’t know the difference (cognitive
estrangement again) and the show would go on with no one the wiser. But wait, at last count there are over
one million attorneys, not to mention judges, paralegals, legal secretaries,
court clerks, court reporters; all of whom buy the toothpaste the sponsor is peddling,
but now they too are driven to distraction. They, like me, can’t enjoy the show
any longer, and when I can’t enjoy myself, I have to let my husband know the
source of my great unhappiness, regardless of the fact that he’s perfectly
content staring at the young associate’s splendid figure outfitted in a one
size too small business suit. Yes,
I know, I mustn’t distract his concentration on her blouse with facts and logic
because, sadly, he doesn’t care; he just likes the pretty associate. And it’s not
that I dislike her, but it does explain the state of this country.
