<spain-b5> La historia del Trovador (era: Lo que hay de bab-5)

[Nausica]

>> Que además pasa cuentas a los que le han jod**** en los episodios. El
>> comentario ese del 'faith manages' no tenía pérdida... ni tampoco la
>> referencia a Claudia Christian en el episodio ese de la quinta.

>Mas luego el comentario en Sleeping de 'Dedicado a todos aquéllos que
<creían que el Proyecto Babylon fracasaría' o algo así, alguna que
>otra revancha contra Katsulas y Jurasik...

Si, este es el comentario que acaba con 'faith manages'. Cuando lo vi la
primera vez aluciné.

>> >Nota aclaratoria: La entrevista se realizó durante una convención
>> >(creo que de B5) en el año 1999.
>>
>> Je, táctica de la URSS. Purga en Siberia y luego les reciclan ;-) Los
>> chinos tb lo hacían.

>Uh?

El típico ciclo de la gente que 'cae en desgracia' pero que luego los
vuelven a llamar porque saben que en el fondo son los que tienen las mejores
historias para contar.

>Url o transcripción, please?

Ahí va el artículo, está en inglés. Habla de tele en general, pero la ci fi
ha sufrido el mismo problema, y Crusade es un ejemplo.

Nau
*****
He earns little money, doesn't spend much, watches less TV than his parents
and is an inconsistent consumer. So why do advertisers love him?
Young men are driving our culture, while the over-40s are becoming the
forgotten generation. SIMON HOUPT explains why

The Globe and Mail, Saturday, March 9, 2002 PageR1

NEW YORK -- In his 40 years of journalism, ABC newsman Ted Koppel has
stared down some very evil men. P. W. Botha. Ferdinand Marcos. Even Kermit
the Frog. But this month, he is looking into the face of the greatest evil
of all, a ghoulish figure who could snatch away everything Koppel stands
for, without so much as a flicker of recognition that he's done anything
wrong. You needn't look far to find the culprit. He may even live in your
home, eat your food, drive your car. Because if Koppel is struck down, if
he is removed from the airwaves along with the 22-year-old journalistic
institution known as Nightline, there is no one to blame but the particular
species known as the 18-to-34-year-old male.

As the world knows, David Letterman has been negotiating to move The Late
Show from its home at CBS to Disney-owned ABC. The move would displace
Nightline (and the show that follows it, Politically Incorrect with Bill
Maher, though no one but Bill Maher's mother seems upset at the prospect of
P.I. disappearing.) This week, journalists and politicians rallied to
Nightline's cause, decrying the development as a blow to the democratic
life of America.

The casual observer could be forgiven for thinking that ABC was wooing
Letterman because he pulls in more viewers than Koppel. Television is
driven by ratings, right? Yes and no. Fact is, Koppel attracts an average
of about 5.5 million viewers each night. Only 4.4 million watch Letterman.
(About six million viewers have the TV tuned to Jay Leno's Tonight Show on
NBC, though most of them are sleeping.) But Letterman's ironic comedy pulls
in far more younger viewers than Koppel's weighty five-part features on the
Republic of Congo, and that's where the money is. Sure, network executives
like CBS's 52 year-old Leslie Moonves know their contemporaries watch
television. They just don't like to admit it. Old folks aren't hip.

"Advertisers want the coveted 18-to-34-year-olds. The business model of the
networks is based on advertising, so they produce content they think is
going to appeal to those viewers," explains Sam Craig, director of the
entertainment, media and technology program at New York University's Stern
School of Business.

In recent years, networks have been furiously refashioning themselves to
attract young viewers. UPN and WB, two U.S. broadcast networks launched in
the last decade, are aimed squarely at the Clearasil set with shows like
Dawson's Creek and Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

CNN's Headline News rolled out a new look last August, deploying a
fresh-faced crew of opinionated young pundits on a colourful in-the-round
stage with 17 cameras, and a screen cluttered with text and graphics
resembling a Web-site. Sure enough, ratings among 18-to-34-year-olds are up
104 per cent.

This week, apparently getting the hint that ABC wants wrinkle-free faces
delivering the news, reporter Cokie Roberts announced she would leave the
Sunday morning show This Week. Perky Claire Shipman and the warmly hunky
George Stephanopoulos are apparently up to replace Roberts and her co-host,
old-timer Sam Donaldson.

All of this is to land the most prized fish in the viewer pond, the young
male. Why do networks care so much about this guy? After all, he's barely
old enough to vote, has a demonstrated inability to form long-term
relationships with either people or products, isn't making much money, and
is the most dangerous person you can possibly put behind the wheel of a
car. And he's the one driving the culture?

There are two simple reasons TV networks want that guy. He doesn't watch as
much TV as anyone else, so he's hard to land. And because of that, he's
more valuable. (This lesson, of course, is the same one learned every day
in high schools across the continent: Play hard to get; she'll like you
more.) That's why, even though they pull about the same raw number of
viewers, 60 Minutes can only command about $250,000 for a 30-second ad
spot, while Frasier gets twice that amount.

That 18-to-34-year-old guy is also the most fanatical moviegoer, vacuuming
up new releases like peanuts on the floor of an elephant cage. Though the
motion-picture academy that hands out the Oscars each year likes to put
itself forward as the purveyor of fine adult fare like Gosford Park and A
Beautiful Mind, more than 90 per cent of films produced in Hollywood aim to
capture teens and twentysomethings for their primary audience. It's a
chicken-and-egg quandary: The studios don't make movies for 45-year-olds
because 45-year-olds don't go to movies; 45-year-olds don't go to movies
because the studios ignore them.

The people producing the films and television shows are getting younger,
too. A report by the Writers Guild of America indicated that while 73 per
cent of writers in their 20s are working, 59 per cent of those in their 30s
are employed. For writers in their 50s, the figure drops to 32 per cent.
Don't ask an actress in her 40s about her prospects for work unless you
want a vase or ashtray chucked across the room in rage.

The rage for youth makes people do crazy things. Three years ago, Riley
Weston was writing for the flowery college-age women's drama Felicity when
someone discovered she was not 19, as she had claimed, but a well-seasoned
32. Weston was summarily fired and was last seen plying her youthful looks
in a downmarket Los Angeles stage show.

The desperate need to lower median ages is what keeps network executives
reaching for the Pepto-Bismol. With shows like Survivor and Big Brother,
CBS lowered its median age to 50, still the highest of the four major
networks but not by as much any more. ABC enjoyed the bump it got in
overall ratings from Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, but when fickle younger
viewers abandoned the show, sad monochromatic Regis was left barking at an
antediluvian audience. All by itself, Millionaire boosted ABC's median age
from 42 to 46 years old, but the high ratings on that one show sent
advertisers scurrying away from the network.

The youth revolution is cheerfully promoted by companies like
Illinois-based Teen Research Unlimited, which thrusts its pro-teen findings
into the hands of reporters with the breathlessness of a priest unveiling
the Holy Grail. "U.S. teens spent $172-billion in 2001," trumpeted a recent
press release from TRU. It sounds very impressive indeed, until you realize
that's less than 2.5 per cent of the $7-trillion U.S. consumers spend each
year.

"It's an interesting dilemma," says Prof. Craig. "If you look at disposable
income, people over 34 have much more money to spend, and they spend it on
bigger ticket items. That's even more pronounced over the age of 50."

"Why don't advertisers recognize this? Well, identifying a brand as
something that's not aimed at younger people taints the brand," continues
Craig. "This happened with Oldsmobile. No one wanted to buy it except older
people, and when you have something that's branded for older people,
younger people reject it. Then older people reject it, too, because they
don't want to be thought of as old, either."

The problem isn't just the kids. It's the self-hating fiftysomethings.

"Most advertisers feel they need to build up product loyalty so by the time
someone gets into their later years they're going to be predisposed to buy
certain brands," says Jeff Tyrell of ad firm TBWA, whose parent company OMD
buys ads for Pepsi, McDonald's and Visa.

"Advertising agencies are operating on a completely outdated image,"
responds John Rother, policy director for AARP, an advocacy group that
represents 50-plus consumers in the U.S. "The idea of older people as being
loyal to brands, forming an attachment to something 20 years ago and
they're not willing to switch, is completely untrue."

Adds Rother, "The advertising field is a very young field, in terms of the
people making decisions."

The problem isn't just the self-hating fiftysomethings. It's the
fiftysomething-hating thirty- and fortysomething ad-agency creative
directors.

Television wasn't always like this. When TV launched in the middle of the
last century, the genial comedies and musical variety shows that filled the
network programming blocks were aimed at the entire family. Making a run at
the two dominant players, in the late 1960s ABC asked the A. C. Nielsen
ratings company to look more carefully at audience composition and isolate
the viewership patterns of 18-to-49 year olds.

CBS started the trend of spurning the old folks. In the early 1970s,
sensing an imminent sea change, the network euthanized shows that performed
well among older and rural viewers but failed to attract the most desirable
audience. Within two years, The Beverly Hillbillies, Petticoat Junction and
Green Acres were gone, along with David Letterman's predecessor Ed
Sullivan, who was 69 years old when he got his pink slip from CBS.

"It was called 'rube chucking,' " recalls Ron Simon, the television curator
at the Museum of Radio and Television in New York. "It was a way CBS could
get rid of an older, rural audience for a younger, more happening audience
that lived in the city."

So along came the first urban comedies, the cultural predecessors of shows
like Friends and Frasier, which now fill the Nielsen Top 20. The Mary Tyler
Moore Show and The Bob Newhart Show brought in the younger viewers CBS
wanted. When ABC rolled out Happy Days, Laverne and Shirley and Three's
Company in the mid-1970s, the face of prime time was a generation younger
than it had been only a few years before.

In time, those lessons were improved upon by the next network on the scene.
Launching in 1987, Fox focused entirely on the younger viewer, realizing it
could be more profitable than the three other, more diffuse networks by not
spreading around its resources. Fox still doesn't have any shows that
regularly land in the Top 20, but it frequently leads in the key
demographic of young men.

Older viewers haven't always been the kiss of death. In 1994, when CBS lost
the contract for NFL games, the network touted itself as the best way to
reach the valuable fiftysomething viewer. Armed with data about the greying
of America and shifting generational interests, which implied that one in
three 50-year-olds skydive every weekend, CBS tried to convince advertisers
that older people weren't just sitting by the fire crocheting sweaters for
their grandchildren.

"The rap on the older audience was that they were reluctant to change
brands or try new brands," recalls Dean Hargrove, 58, who produced the
older-skewing series Jake and the Fatman and Diagnosis Murder for CBS, and
Matlock for NBC. "CBS's official response to that was: Well then you have
to explain the Lexus." He's referring to the fact that, when Toyota's posh
car was introduced in 1989, it quickly stole market share from Mercedes and
BMW, primarily among drivers over 50 years old.

Yet even as they were touting the advanced age of their viewers, CBS execs
were disparaging the audiences for shows like Diagnosis Murder, which
ranked No. 4 among viewers 55-plus, and No. 25 in overall viewers in its
final year.

"These were shows that the sales force didn't like because they didn't like
the demos," explains Hargrove. "They were very mainstream, what I would say
meat-and-potatoes kind of programming. They weren't shows that people
pointed to with pride, like The West Wing. They were very conventional,
traditional dramas and melodramas. The networks couldn't turn their back on
the number of households they were getting with these shows, which is why
they stayed on the air so long. But they were never thrilled with having
them."