home
***
CD-ROM
|
disk
|
FTP
|
other
***
search
/
TIME: Almanac 1990s
/
Time_Almanac_1990s_SoftKey_1994.iso
/
time
/
021494
/
02149929.000
< prev
next >
Wrap
Text File
|
1994-05-26
|
4KB
|
88 lines
<text id=94TT0187>
<title>
Feb. 14, 1994: Live From Death Row
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1994
Feb. 14, 1994 Are Men Really That Bad?
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
TELEVISION, Page 66
Live From Death Row
</hdr>
<body>
<p>A movie critique of media violence draws fire for promoting
it
</p>
<p>By Richard Zoglin
</p>
<p> How misguided has the campaign against TV violence become?
Imagine you are NBC, and you've mustered the gumption to do
a TV movie that explores the issue of media violence. The plot
concerns a pay-per-view TV network of the future that, in its
desperation for viewers, decides to televise the execution of
a convicted killer. The drama is a fierce indictment of TV's
tabloid excesses and features as cynical a portrait of unscrupulous
television executives as any movie since Network.
</p>
<p> And here's what you get for your trouble. The movie is attacked
as "snuff TV" by the national trade paper Advertising Age; NBC
is lambasted for contributing to the problem of TV violence;
the show is even denounced sight unseen by a U.S. Senator (Democrat
Kent Conrad of North Dakota). It's enough to drive a programmer
back to Saved by the Bell: The College Years.
</p>
<p> Witness to the Execution (airing Sunday, Feb. 13) is not flawless,
but it is a shrewd and timely examination of TV sensationalism,
which is not the same thing as being sensational. Jessica Traynor
(Sean Young), the top program executive for Tycom Entertainment,
a pay-per-view operation "somewhere in a 500-channel television
universe," is searching for a blockbuster programming event.
"We're in trouble, Jess," says her boss (Len Cariou). "Movies
don't work; screen's still too small. Sports is dying. The sex
boom is over. Where the hell are we going?"
</p>
<p> Where they're going, on Jessica's suggestion, is death--live.
She pays a visit to the state prison's death row and persuades
Dennis Casterline (Tim Daly), a convicted murderer and rapist,
to permit live TV to witness his execution; in return, his four-year-old
daughter will receive a share of revenues from the event. The
network sets up the electric chair in an arena dubbed the Megadome,
launches a huge publicity campaign and goes about converting
this most grisly of affairs into prime-time entertainment. "The
doctor wants to know how close you want to be," someone asks
Jessica as the camera shots are set up for the extravaganza.
"Dennis' ears might start to smoke." She thinks only a moment:
"Tell him to keep it wide."
</p>
<p> In the age of Lorena Bobbitt and Geraldo Rivera, this is farfetched
by only a smidgen. (Who can be certain, in fact, that Geraldo
hasn't already done it?) The film takes place in the year 1999,
when the crime problem has ratchetted up a few notches. Driving
home from work, Jessica sees random fights on the streets, and
when she enters a bar, a computerized sensor announces, "Weapons
clear." Despite a few lapses in logic--even for a man whose
appeals are exhausted, how can an execution be scheduled this
precisely?--the film, directed by Tommy Lee Wallace (Stephen
King's "It") from a script by Thomas Baum (The Manhattan Project),
unfolds with caustic plausibility, from the outbreak of T-shirt
merchandisers to the anti-capital-punishment protesters who
picket the event.
</p>
<p> Unfortunately, the film takes a wrong turn halfway through.
The man slated to die for the cameras insists that he's innocent,
and Jessica starts doing a little detective work. The movie
at this point shifts from cautionary satire to routine whodunit,
and the basic moral issue is made simplistic. The question becomes
not the ethics of televising an execution but the ethics of
televising the execution of someone who may not be guilty. Even
the kids in Saved by the Bell know the answer to that one.--R.Z.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>