READ: Why Must We Have the Screens?

Or, TVs, TVs Everywhere!

Quentin Crisp once sighed, “Why must we have the music?” He was lamenting the challenge of meaningful conversation with companions in restaurants (cabs, bars, etc.) that pipe in loud music.

Thank God he didn’t live long enough to see that TV has become the new music.

He'd ask, "Why must we have the screens?"

We now live in a society that cannot look at a bare flat surface without thinking, "We should put a TV there!”

Nowadays, when you meet friends for dinner, you’re not just competing with audio distractions. Above the bar, above your booth, above your companions’ heads, over you and around you, there are televisions. Plural. Each tuned to a different channel.

Several are playing the latest ball game.

On another, a news anchor shares today’s bad news.

On yet another, a YouTube cooking channel hypnotizes you with images of spinning cakes being iced and decorated.

And your table for four becomes a round-about of glowing rectangles that, try as you might, you simply can’t look away from.

Often, conversation starters like “Guess what happened today?” are replaced by “Oh, quick, turn around! You gotta see this!”

Alas, the invasion didn’t end with restaurants and bars.

Elevators, once sacred chambers of awkward silence (once Muzak thankfully died off, that is), now feature tiny screens above the buttons, flashing the latest headlines as you ascend. You’re not just arriving on the fourth floor; you’ll step out from behind those sliding doors fully informed!

Dentist offices! You can now enjoy watching a run-down shack be transformed into a palace on HGTV as you get your teeth cleaned.

Gas pumps? Refilling your car is now a multimedia experience. Since it’s become too painful to look at quickly rising price at the pump, you allow yourself to watch the latest weather forecast, and an advertisement for the “homemade” cookies sold inside.

Even the men’s room isn’t safe. You can no longer mind your own business while you “do your business.” Now a screen reporting the latest stock fluctuations flickers above.

Now, to be clear, I am not opposed to television – when it knows it’s place! As a kid, I spent a good portion of my life glued to the tube. In my teenaged years, I was in what could only be described as a committed relationship with network television.

And don’t forget, I’m an actor, and owe my greatest success as an actor to a streaming sitcom.

So, it’s ironic that I now feel a bit resentful of TV. It’s become a house guest who follows you around, won’t even let you step outside alone to sneak a quick cigarette, insists on running errands with you, then refuses to leave when you return home.

Silence now isn’t the only enemy. Today, society feels there must always be something to watch as well.

And TV – well, the advertisers who create much of it – know of the studies that show that our eyes are irresistibly drawn to movement and light, no matter how sexy or scintillating our dining companions may be.

And just as you escape all those TVs in the wild by returning home, the plot thickens.

Because our TVs have also changed. No longer just windows to the world. They have become bottomless pits of content.

Cable, premium networks, the legacy broadcasters, streaming platforms, apps within apps. Each one insisting it has just the show for you.

“How could anybody possibly watch all this?” I ask myself, as “Netflix and chill” becomes “Netflix and scroll.”

And scroll. And scroll. It’s an endless buffet. I see many things I’d love to watch “when I have time” or “when I’m in the mood.” I watch-list them then continue scrolling, looking for something better, something better – like a sex addict on Grindr.

As a Gemini, I simply cannot decide with so many options from which to choose.

I don’t know about you. But eventually, looking at all that food kills my appetite. I switch over to YouTube for appetizers instead.

Since the pandemic, I’ve come to dread when my husband asks, “So what do you want to watch tonight?”

I think I’ve also become commitment phobic. I often stumble upon a thumbnail of a movie that looks promising. I’ll click, fingers crossed that it has a run time of under two hours. But then, I see those dreaded words: “Eight Episodes.”

So, the scroll continues.

And the mountain of unconsumed content grows. Series recommended by friends. Films you “must see.” “For Your Consideration” screeners. I often wonder how actors in LA find time to watch so much and still find time to pursue their craft!

It’s not that the films and shows aren’t good. Quite the opposite. There is so much brilliance available to stream at home at any moment that it becomes, paradoxically, a little paralyzing. Choice, once a luxury, has become an albatross.

Meanwhile, all those screens in public continue to play, reminding you of all you haven’t watched.

And there’s truly no escape. Not since smartphones became omnipresent. It waits patiently, on your table, in your hand, glowing like an oracle, ready to interrupt conversation and thought, just in case all those TVs overhead don’t accomplish the feat.

Cat videos. Trashy virtual-video soap operas. AI-generated footage of poodles fighting off grizzly bears. Muscled exhibitionists showing off. A clip from SNL. Colbert’s monologue you couldn’t stay up for.

We no longer need TVs on the walls to distract us from human interaction. We now bring our own!

Sadly, the 24-hour news cycle now lives where silence used to reside.

I miss that silence. Because that’s where conversation – true connection – lives. It’s where someone leans in to say something shocking. It’s where a close friend feels safe enough to share a secret. It’s where a joke lands. Or doesn’t. And when it doesn’t, you recover like an embarrassed grown-up with social skills, instead of glancing upward for the instant distraction of omnipresent glowing rectangles.

Fortunately, we haven’t completely lost the battle – at least not yet!

Every now and then, I stumble upon a place – a rare, almost mythical establishment – where there are no screens. People talk. They interrupt each other. They occasionally squeal loudly with laughter – at each other’s humor, not at a Big Band Theory rerun playing overhead.

And when that happens, it’s glorious.

So maybe my question shouldn’t be “Why must we have the screens?”

Perhaps it’s, “Why are so many people afraid of the quiet, afraid of the lack of distractions, that comes with their absence?”

I’ll be pondering that question in a corner booth, with my chair angled away from the nearest television.

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