"That was random.”
If you’ve ever observed a comedy series focus group, you've heard this phase – over and over. If it’s from a guy, the phrase is usually a
compliment. The arbitrary nature of a moment that comes out of left field is
precisely a source of humor for many men. But for a woman, “random” is almost invariably
a rejection. Random humor, to women, is often seen as lazy, lacking purpose,
and not relevant to them.
It’s not that men and women identify different things as
being “random,” it’s that randomness itself has rather different
interpretations. And indeed, men and women often voice disparate
interpretations of the same programming content.
I was reminded of this circumstance last week, when I read
the media reactions to the Oscars. I’m not exactly the target audience for
Animation Domination, and thus I wouldn’t call myself a “fan” of Seth
MacFarlane. But I do tend to like irreverent humor, and I have tremendous
respect for how hard it is to sing, dance, act, host, write, and crack jokes at
a professional level at all, nevermind all in one show. For that reason, I
enjoyed the sensibility and performance of this year’s Oscar host. I found him
to be immensely talented, and highly entertaining. I daresay I was inspired to step up my game, what with my not yet having three shows on network TV, a hit movie, a Grammy-nominated album, and enough time leftover to write and host the Oscars.
And yet, if you missed the actual awards show and read only
the media coverage afterward, you might have thought MacFarlane killed a puppy
with his bare hands during the telecast. Female journalists were particularly
harsh, painting the host as the Devil, calling him a misogynist, a racist, an
Anti-Semite, a guy who condones rape and domestic violence.
In the context of communication, one’s choice of words and
the intent of those words matter immensely. The words we carefully choose to
convey something very specific, we don’t want them distorted. And what we mean by those words, we don’t want that
misinterpreted. A journalist, of all people, should know that. And yet, much of
the media coverage following the Oscars seemed to ignore both the words and
intent of MacFarlane’s jokes, escalating into a fury of outrage that had one
outlet up in arms for actress introductions such as, “The lovely _________”.
(Editorial note: if I spent all day getting ready for a black tie event, I
think I’d be more offended if someone didn’t
think I looked lovely. Also, since when is “lovely” considered merely a
physical trait, and not also a personality trait?)
We don’t all have to like MacFarlane’s sense of humor or penchant
for the music of yesteryear; taste is subjective. It is entirely reasonable to
have been bored by all the musical numbers, if musical numbers aren’t your
thing. It is entirely reasonable to suggest that it’s societally destructive,
nevermind in poor taste, to joke about “seeing the boobs” of an actress during
her portrayal of a rape victim. It is entirely reasonable to think we’re 30
years past the “all black guys look alike” joke. It’s entirely reasonable to
think the entire production team should have just skipped over the nine year-old
when writing jokes, because, you know, she’s nine.
But it is not reasonable to take that frustration, rewrite
the jokes, and use your edited version in a character attack. It is not
reasonable to perpetuate that Salma Hayek was a victim of misogyny, when Javier
Bardem was the butt of the same joke. It is not reasonable to say that MacFarlane
“sexualized” a minor, when he made no reference to sex or physique in the joke,
and went out of his way to anchor the punchline at age 25. As I told one of my
own friends, if your brain interpreted “9+16 = 25 = Clooney is screwing a minor,”
that is your own curiously disheartening filter. But it is not the actual joke.
Writers and publications that I like – nearly all fell victim to this filter.
Even CNN described the theme of the awards ceremony
as, and I quote, “A defensive
anxiety about the ascendant power of women.”
Did they not see the stunning performances by the likes of
Barbra Streisand and Jennifer Hudson? (I’d add Adele to the list, were it not
for the sound issues that prevented me from actually hearing her.) Did they
miss the part where MacFarlane announced that “the next presenter needs no
introduction,” and then smiled as he raced off stage, making room for Meryl
Streep? Are they not aware that this year’s Oscar producers are also the
producers of the show Smash, a
celebratory vehicle for the wonderfully talented Anjelica Huston, Debra
Messing, Megan Hilty, and Katharine McPhee? This is not a team that smacks of
defensiveness or anxiety when it comes to women.
Perhaps worse, a lot of these articles are just as
irresponsible as the behavior they condemn. They take the point of view that
Seth MacFarlane’s jokes, easily misunderstood by feeble and young minds,
promote hatred. But doesn’t misunderstanding MacFarlane, and calling him
racist, sexist, or Anti-Semitic do the very same? The other night, I heard a 23
year-old woman refer to MacFarlane as a “racist misogynist,” based entirely on
his mocking of Latinas and of “women and minorities.” She had no idea that Javier
Bardem was also part of the Salma Hayek/Penelope Cruz joke, or that MacFarlane
also took shots at white men like Tommy Lee Jones, George Clooney, Mel Gibson, and
even Abe Lincoln. She was clearly reacting to what she read, not what she
reasoned. These journalistic misrepresentations – they too shape young minds,
and not for the better.
They also rewrite history. A writer at Salon went as far as
to claim, “A great host is entertaining and generous, exuding charm and
authority. A great comic is funny. Last evening, Seth
MacFarlane host of the 85th annual Oscars, was none of those things.”
That might be the author’s
opinion, but a categorical truth it is not. On many objective measures,
MacFarlane sailed through his hosting duties with an effortless ease of a
seasoned pro. He not only cracked jokes, he sang, he danced, he found the
camera, he hit his cues, he aced his lines. Most new hosts fumble with lines
(see also: most presenters), wrestle with nervous ticks, appear uncomfortable
when they have to go off script, and don’t know what to do with their hands. I
caught MacFarlane exhibiting none of these shortcomings, and I’m not only a
tough critic of these things, I’m a paid critic of these things.
Readers’ comments on nearly
all of the outraged articles also seem to suggest that the audience completely
disagreed with the media’s response. Men and women alike believed the host to
be entertaining, funny, and full of charm. Comments in support of MacFarlane
received hundreds of “likes”; comments attacking him were mostly met with
virtual eye rolling.
Mind you, I understand why so many female journalists were
peeved, I really do. There’s an insidious bias that continues to favor men in Hollywood,
and in many workplaces. Men still dominate senior management and government,
meetings with a “boys’ club” vibe are still rampant, interaction styles that
are more masculine in nature are still favored, and it remains necessary to
have “Women In (Insert Profession Here)” groups; I’m in two of them and am
about to join a third. As a successful woman who has fought through this, yes, I
get it. It’s easy to feel anger when you hear yet another guy make a comment
about women “and their innate inability never let anything go,” even when in
context he might well be making fun of the vapidity of the statement itself. Some
guys won’t take it that way, and they’ll continue to perpetuate the myth that standing
our ground constitutes nagging, dwelling, or some other negative word that is
not perseverance. Which, of course, is exactly what it would be if a guy stood
his ground.
But that doesn’t excuse any of us from acting with professional
responsibility and decorum – we have to rise above the irritation. Watching the
Oscars and presuming that Seth MacFarlane is sexist, racist, or Anti-Semitic,
is much the same as hearing a woman describe a comedy as “random” and then
inferring that she loves it. Maybe it’s true, but more likely, it isn’t. After
all, the members of Peter Griffin’s family who aren’t voiced by MacFarlane
himself are voiced entirely by Jewish actors.
If we’re going to understand what people are talking about,
then we have to take some time to learn how others communicate. To those of us
who pursue careers in media, it’s a professional necessity. We don’t just get to
talk, write, and react. We need to listen, absorb, and consider. We need to
take a deep breath and not just assume the worst, even if we’re conditioned to
doing so. Indeed, in this world of tweets and status updates, we only
jeopardize ourselves when we get lazy and demonstrate a lack of willingness to
think critically before we react and hit “post.”
As for Seth MacFarlane, well, he knew that he’d be
misinterpreted and raked over the coals. He made his entire opening about it.
And in doing so, he made the media play right into his joke. Love him or hate
him, it’s the sign of a rather brilliant communicator. Instead of eviscerating
him, maybe we should be taking notes.
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Communication is in fact a central subject of an upcoming
panel on which I’ll be speaking, at the Advertising Research Foundation’s
Re:Think conference in New York. The panel is part of the ARF’s “Research as a
Business Tool” forum, a multi-phase initiative to understand what makes
research successful (or not) in propelling positive business outcomes. One of
the key drivers was, you guessed it – communication. For more information,
visit the conference website: http://www.thearf.org/rethink-2013.php.
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