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Bret Easton Ellis : "Why the Teletubbies are evil !"

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Sujet de la discussion Bret Easton Ellis : "Why the Teletubbies are evil !"


THE BIG ISSUE
Why the Teletubbies are evil. The shocking truth by Bret Easton Ellis.

There is a children's TV program that takes place under gray English skies where a sun with the face of a baby so adorable he must be computer-generated rises as a tinny march plays on the soundtrack.
And then the Teletubbies appear--four blobs, performers in costumes, each a different color of pale frosting with defining antennae flopping on top of their heads--cavorting and frolicking in an astroturfed wasteland, a barren miniature golf course. They take karate stances for no apparent reason. They carry purses. They have names like Dipsy and Tinky-Winky. They have smooth, ageless, simian faces. They speak in sentence fragments and clipped phrases, sounding vaguely like giddy Japanese waitresses who work at the sushi bar in Hell. Sometimes they interact with a narrator who asks urgent questions along the lines of, "What's in the bag, Tinky-Winky?"

Like toddlers, the Teletubbies are amazed by balls, pieces of felt and plastic food. Holding balls, pieces of felt and plastic food. Holding hand while dancing around a plant is an especially popular pastime. Toys are put in bags and then pulled out of bags with great fanfare and encouragement. Minutes go by as the Teletubbies fall over while the sun looks down on them and squeals with delight. Sober, straining to pay attention you have no idea what's going on. Imagining the performers in those suits making "tubby custard," tasting "tubby toast" and trying on hats can move you to make yourself a very large drink.

Teletubbies share this space with giant, motley rabbits that are real and lumber toward plastic flower beds (one insider tells me the rabbits are as large as "small lambs" and are "bred especially" for this show). Farting noises commence, periscopes pop out of astroturf, a pinwheel dispenses sparkly rays causing the Teletubbies to huddle and spaz out, and that's when the gray squares on their bellies start glowing.

These Oompa Loompas on acid are actually living televisions--all proudly baring a screen embedded in their stomachs, which flash to life, showing short films of real children acting disconcertingly like Teletubbies--attempting gymnastics, zipping up bags, closing and opening drawers, deciding what to wear, singing mindlessly, hiding from each other (actually what any number of my friends in Manhattan do on a daily basis). This documentary footage reminds you of the thin line between the speech patterns of children and total drunks.

Though it lacks the forced, noxious gaiety of Barny, Teletubbies seems like a wicked satirist's idea of a horrible children's program watched in a future concocted by Huxley or Orwell or Gibson. They are reminiscent of the mutants in David Cronenberg's The Brood, and you can only stare and think: well they must have been designed to upset us. It's a dare. Marilyn Manson's calculated shock tactics seem phony compared to these psychedelic teddy bears (a warning: do not play The Dope Show over Teletubbies with the volume off). I would actually rather have my kids watch Taxi Cab Confessions or Deliverance.

The soothing tones, the eerie quiet, the New Agey vibe, the immaculate surfaces, everything so anal and controlled and antiseptic, a world where even the spontaneous seems rehearsed, the sheer humorlessness of it all--is what makes Teletubbies so creepy and emlematic of the new mothers and fathers of my generation.

Part of my resentment stems from the fact that I'm at an age where the majority of these friends are having children and settling down and this intrudes upon my bachelor lifestyle: dinner reservations are now made at seven, wilder invitations are bypassed, casual indignation about drugs and movie violence (these from former addicts, dealers, nymphos). But part of it stems from the hypocrisy of adults--the creators of Teletubbies and the scared, thoughtful parents plopping their kids in front of the tube--who over-identify with children and want the world baby-proofed. Adults who want the world to conform to their own notion of safety.

There was a mad, anarchic quality to Sesame Street--wit and sass were in abundance--in the late 60's and early 70's. The puppets were boisterous and often confused and fed up with the adults (authority figures) surrounding them. There were skits, rock songs, a general air of messiness that is conspicuously absent from Teletubbies and which makes it such odious time when cultural artifacts are stripped down to such an essential dumbness that people can locate a purity and familiarity they find soothing. Comfort abounds. Get Zen! Zone out! Sshhh.

One gets the feeling that if the Cookie Monster or Oscar the Grouch entered Teletubby land, their uncontrollable natures would compel the Teletubbies to club the living shit out of them and have the giant pinwheel make their muppet corpses disappear.

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Afficher le sujet de la discussion
31
C'est vrai que parfois c'est un peu violent mais c'est du au fait que les mecs ont voulu faire un james bond façon space opera en manga :8)
donc bon obligatoirement les filles, la violence, la boisson...

Allez VIVE COBRA



**Number-6**
32
>Inu
A propos de Sardou, qui est un peu le Cobra des retraités, c'était juste pour appuyer sur les contractions internes qui illustrent bien l'époque. Michel "je suis pour" Sardou est pétri de ça aussi, pourquoi pas, et il est en ce sens moderne. Ca ne constitue pas en soit une "valeur". J'ai plutôt aimé "American Psycho" mais ce qui m'intéressait le plus se trouvait dans la compulsion descriptive des choses (véritables héros et véritables meurtriers du roman), l'inventaire total de la "psychopathologie de la vie quotidienne" des 80's. Et le roman tient pourtant. C'est un peu comme Houellebecq avec ses petites histoires pas bien passionnantes, tout cela tient malgré tout ; Houellebecq est finalement et avant tout et paradoxalement un styliste.
33
Oui, comme le moment où Bateman parle de genesis sur 3 pages (d'ailleurs, il n'apprécie Genesis qu'à partir d'Abacab, là où justement ils deviennent très mauvais, c'est tout Bateman ça) ou celui où il décrit son appartement et sa chaîne stéréo.
34
Genesis, serial killers du roman et des années quatre-vingt ?
35
Mama, reste quand même un super titre, je trouve...mais c'est le seul de cette époque
36
Stavro > ok en fait je suis a 100 % d'accord avec ta description ! :clin:

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37
Moi aussi, et je propose qu'à l'avenir, nous boycottions tous Michel Sardou
http://khoral.blogspot.com