BEIJING ― I haven't been watching enough television lately.
I set a goal of watching one hour a day, and that's proving tough. My
patience for cheaply produced but incredibly convoluted soap operas
set during the last years of the Qing Dynasty is limited. I typically
tune out after the third kung-fu fireball fight of the episode.
Television in some ways in a better language tool than actual
conversation, because while I can always steer the conversation to
topics that I'm familiar with (food, school), television is a passive
medium. If a documentary ventures into a discussion of China's
external trade relations, then I'll need to strain and try to
understand.
I'd consider dropping out of school, locking myself in my dorm room
and watching six hours a day as a way to master Mandarin. The
government �C which strictly regulates television �C requires
announcers, performers and those people who do natural documentary
voice-overs to speak in clear, standard Mandarin. Taiwanese and Hong
Kong slang is not allowed. Frequently subtitles are added, making it
easier to figure out if the two lovers on screen are talking about "to
comfort" kao (靠) or the kao that means barbecue (烤).
If only it wasn't so boring. Right now the most popular series is
"Happy Boy," a singing competition modeled on "American Idol" and its
British predecessor "Pop Idol." The singing �C much of it horrible �C is
pushed to the sidelines in favor of staggering amounts of tension.
"Happy Boy" doesn't just announce the worst performer, there's a
lengthy process to follow.
Three judges offer incredibly mild critiques of performances. A fourth
judge, a member of a tiny, matriarchal minority in Yunnan Province,
appears to be on the show only to flirt with the performers. She's a
minor celebrity in China after publishing a tell-all book chronicling
her sexploits with more than 80 lovers. Now she tries to bag a
contestant or two on their way back to a small town in Anhui Province.
After the scolding and canoodling, the judges decide to let some
candidates "Pass" to the next round while others must "Stay" and face
the possibility of elimination. Viewers then vote for their favorite
contestant (1 yuan a vote), and the lowest person goes home.
"Happy Boy" drags the results out the way a Chechnyan freedom fighter
would reveal the location of an arms depository. Each person's vote
totals appear one digit at a time, which means it can take 10 minutes
to reveal the result. When selected, the loser immediately begins
bawling as a "close friend" in the competition is seen talking in a
pre-recorded segment about how much fun they in the competition. The
loser hugs the remaining contestants and slowly leaves the stage.
Usually that's followed by a montage of highlight's from the show.
Sometimes two or three contestants are eliminated in a single episode
of "Happy Boy," which now airs three times a week.
This is television so emotional that I'm exhausted after a few
minutes. It's so turbulent that I read Russian novels to unwind the
program. Unless I'm lucky enough to catch the performances �C a recent
highlight was a Chinglish version of Madonna's "Music" �C I turn off
the set long before more daily quota. I could go on, but let's just us
say the rest of Chinese television isn't much better at keeping
melodrama in check.
So I'm sticking to learning Chinese in school and out on the streets
for now. Television, wonderful learning tool that it may be, is just
too stressful.
