Pity Max Headroom. We think of him today as an empty-headed relic of the 1980s—if we think of him at all. Well, allow me to refresh your Memorex: Max was a computer-enhanced “talking head” with a freakishly sculpted scalp, chronic stutter, and a knack for one-liners. Though he spent most of the late ’80s hawking New Coke (“C-c-c-catch the wave!”), Max was more than a Spuds MacKenzie-style spokes gimmick. His creators designed him as high satire and dark prophecy. In 1987, he starred in a landmark cyberpunk series on ABC, a media-spoofing sci-fi adventure set in a dystopia that exists “twenty minutes into the future.”
Two decades later, right around the time that future is supposed to be happening, Max Headroom is getting a DVD release, and maybe Max will get his due. Turns out he sold us more than sugar water. “I’m an image whose time has come,” he told us back then, and he wasn’t kidding. Max was the forehead of today’s mass punditocracy, presaging Glenn Beck, Keith Olbermann, and the rest of today’s flesh-and-blood bloviators.
Max wasn’t the first talking head, of course. Hired to invent a new kind of free-floating veejay personality for Britain’s Channel 4, British video artists Annabel Jankel and Rocky Morton created him in reaction to the “false intimacy” of US television personalities in the Reagan era. The concept was picked up in the US by ABC, and the pair (along with writer-futurist George Stone) poured all their tele-disgust into Max and his mythos — enough to fill 14 episodes of the short-lived prime-time drama. (It was canceled after one season.) In the series, Max is the accidentally downloaded consciousness of a crusading TV newsman named Edison Carter. (Both were played by Canadian actor Matt Frewer.) Max was the true journalist’s evil twin: Where Edison sought the facts at any cost, Max was content with flash-fried opinion. Where Edison bemoaned the creeping commercialization of the airwaves, Max embraced it (albeit ironically), going to commercial with “And the Max Headroom award for worst commercial goes to …” Max was a fact-free zone, supremely confident and totally subjective. For Jankel, he was a Frankenstein monster of media excess, a figure of “pure, amped-up, swaggering arrogance.”
The irony, of course, is that two decades on, Max wouldn’t stand out in a crowd (and not just because he has no legs). There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of heads-in-boxes today, each with just as many catchphrases — and just as few facts. With the hair and the hyperwhiteness, Fox News’ Beck is clearly the child of Max; he simply substitutes crocodile tears for neck-jerks when he tells us to “t-t-t-take our country back!”
Thankfully, Max gave birth to more than a new generation of screen-hoarding Svengalis: He also gave us the key to busting their monopoly. See, on the show, Max was uncontrollable. He represented both the machine and the ghost that haunted it. He flitted from screen to screen, saying his piece to anyone who’d listen. Today, we’re all little Maxes, opining away, fragmenting the feared and revered Boob Tube of the ’80s into that far less monolithic series of tubes we call the Internet. Which, unlike TV, talks back. That’s why the days of all-powerful networks are already as distant as the cola wars.
That’s cold comfort for Max, of course, who clearly misses his celebrity status. He was recently brought back for a British PSA on the changeover to digital television. He was old and cranky, bemoaning the loss of his uniqueness. “Don’t they realize that it all started with me?” he whines — adding ominously, “You’ll be digital like me s-s-s-someday!” Someday is now, Max. And th-th-thank you for making it possible. Sorry you’re now stuck in the same box as Chris Matthews. I’d suggest you change the channel, but, well, you don’t have any hands.
Email scottiswired@gmail.com.
i did not write this but had it archived and just found it doing some research on "reporters". thanks scotiswired, whoever you are.
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Saturday, January 28, 2012
Pity Max Headroom. We think of him today as an empty-headed relic of the 1980s—if we think of him at all. Well, allow me to refresh your Memorex: Max was a computer-enhanced “talking head” with a freakishly sculpted scalp, chronic stutter, and a knack for one-liners. Though he spent most of the late ’80s hawking New Coke (“C-c-c-catch the wave!”), Max was more than a Spuds MacKenzie-style spokes gimmick. His creators designed him as high satire and dark prophecy. In 1987, he starred in a landmark cyberpunk series on ABC, a media-spoofing sci-fi adventure set in a dystopia that exists “twenty minutes into the future.” Two decades later, right around the time that future is supposed to be happening, Max Headroom is getting a DVD release, and maybe Max will get his due. Turns out he sold us more than sugar water. “I’m an image whose time has come,” he told us back then, and he wasn’t kidding. Max was the forehead of today’s mass punditocracy, presaging Glenn Beck, Keith Olbermann, and the rest of today’s flesh-and-blood bloviators. Max wasn’t the first talking head, of course. Hired to invent a new kind of free-floating veejay personality for Britain’s Channel 4, British video artists Annabel Jankel and Rocky Morton created him in reaction to the “false intimacy” of US television personalities in the Reagan era. The concept was picked up in the US by ABC, and the pair (along with writer-futurist George Stone) poured all their tele-disgust into Max and his mythos — enough to fill 14 episodes of the short-lived prime-time drama. (It was canceled after one season.) In the series, Max is the accidentally downloaded consciousness of a crusading TV newsman named Edison Carter. (Both were played by Canadian actor Matt Frewer.) Max was the true journalist’s evil twin: Where Edison sought the facts at any cost, Max was content with flash-fried opinion. Where Edison bemoaned the creeping commercialization of the airwaves, Max embraced it (albeit ironically), going to commercial with “And the Max Headroom award for worst commercial goes to …” Max was a fact-free zone, supremely confident and totally subjective. For Jankel, he was a Frankenstein monster of media excess, a figure of “pure, amped-up, swaggering arrogance.” The irony, of course, is that two decades on, Max wouldn’t stand out in a crowd (and not just because he has no legs). There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of heads-in-boxes today, each with just as many catchphrases — and just as few facts. With the hair and the hyperwhiteness, Fox News’ Beck is clearly the child of Max; he simply substitutes crocodile tears for neck-jerks when he tells us to “t-t-t-take our country back!” Thankfully, Max gave birth to more than a new generation of screen-hoarding Svengalis: He also gave us the key to busting their monopoly. See, on the show, Max was uncontrollable. He represented both the machine and the ghost that haunted it. He flitted from screen to screen, saying his piece to anyone who’d listen. Today, we’re all little Maxes, opining away, fragmenting the feared and revered Boob Tube of the ’80s into that far less monolithic series of tubes we call the Internet. Which, unlike TV, talks back. That’s why the days of all-powerful networks are already as distant as the cola wars. That’s cold comfort for Max, of course, who clearly misses his celebrity status. He was recently brought back for a British PSA on the changeover to digital television. He was old and cranky, bemoaning the loss of his uniqueness. “Don’t they realize that it all started with me?” he whines — adding ominously, “You’ll be digital like me s-s-s-someday!” Someday is now, Max. And th-th-thank you for making it possible. Sorry you’re now stuck in the same box as Chris Matthews. I’d suggest you change the channel, but, well, you don’t have any hands. MAX HEADROOM; where i get the news Email scottiswired@gmail.com. • Post Comment | Permalink
Monday, January 9, 2012
Casey Anthony Video Diary: Attorney Jose Baez Threatens Charges Against Leaker
by the way, what income does she have? is she on the government mule? would not surprize me.
Read the Article at HuffingtonPost
Monday, January 2, 2012
TARZAN & Cheetah
| Did Cheetah from 1930s Tarzan flicks die? | ||
 | "Florida does have the fountain of youth, anti-aging doctors and a lot of monkey brained journalists that tend to hype...so who knows. i wonder if they will sell his paintings.....but, we are all connected and Chimps may be our closest relatives, so RIP little chimp, whatever your name" |  |
Friday, December 30, 2011
no facts
I am sure that we humans, researchers and truth-seekers, are beyond the "age of facts" as we are way over the "age of reason" of the 1800's. 'Get the facts', dad used to say. He was a man of the 20's and 30's, an age when there were facts to get. I was raised in the age of information and read Alvin Tofflers "Third Wave" and realized its all just 411 (information). How we process it, cognitively, philosophically, morally or perceptually, depends on the theory of relativity and/or Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, certainly more Fact than Einstein, believing that "god does not play dice with the universe". Actually, when i enrolled in my first COBOL/FORTRAN punch card IBM course, we called it 'data'. Star Trek had it right: DATA was a correct name for a cyborg. We are all just cyborgs, eating data for our daily bread dose of what others have defined as real facts for us. Reality TV is just fantasy and fantasy is more real as we learn that ideas are visions into a future not yet hardened by hard inventions. The world as we were taught to see it is as universe; one place; in quantum physics, it is in fact (and I use the term loosely), a meta-verse with possibly 10 dimensions of space and maybe even two of time (see Greens Elegant universe). What we dream, what we think (which means remember in Greek), is not so important. It is what we live in the now moment and our creations of imagination are what help assemble new ways of progress, technology and human life of the future. The only true source is us: "to thine own self be true" & "know thyself" are the only lessons we need to learn to embark on a consciousness of the future of 'no facts'.
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