Can someone tell me what has happened to VH1? Every time I tune in these days, I'm greeted with yet another poorly-scripted quasi-documentary on some subject barely related to music at all. Like a young girl who plasters her room full of Backstreet and *NSYNC posters, VH1 now engages in celebrity worship so shamelessly that it destroys any credibility it might have actually had on the subject. Viewing VH1 programming today is like taking a prep course before moving onto the E! network--a far cry from the glory days of actual music and endless episodes of witty programming like Pop-Up Video.
Take a look for yourself. VH1's stellar line-up now includes: "The 100 Hottest Hotties," (a title ripped from the pages of Seventeen) "Sexy Soaps" (where we learn about hot "Guiding Light" moments straight from the experts!), "Showgirls Bootcamp" (Someone at Spike TV is kicking himself for missing this one.), "Awesome Make-outs" (Hm, I wonder if they'll include Britney and Madonna?), "How the Stars Get Hot" (Apparently birth doesn't suffice.), "I Married MC Hammer" (OK, I admit I want to watch this.), "When Teen Tarts Ruled the World" ([shakes head]), "Vegas Superstars" (They used to charge money for tourism infomercials.) and my favorite, the VH1 News Special: "Rich, Famous and Naked" all about Paris Hilton. It's nice to know that in uncertain times like these we can always turn to VH1 News.
While they all sound a bit flighty, it's not really even the concept of the shows that so much bothers me. To be honest, I sort of like hearing about the legal woes of famous people and seeing how Matthew Knowles whipped Beyonce into shape. The problem is the utterly inane and unapologetically vapid nature of the shows themselves. They rarely tell us anything we didn't already know, all the while spouting truisms and faux-enthusiasm ad nauseam. The repetition, the miscellaneous commentators, the intolerable predictability of it all and the clichés-oh god the clichés.
Watching VH1 is the most excruciatingly banal experience of the new millennium thus far. And yes, I've seen Dr. Phil.
Consider for a moment the case of J Lo's ass-always big news on VH1. Miss Lopez, who VH1 declared the 15th biggest Pop Culture Icon IN THE HISTORY OF HUMANITY (c'mon, what has this woman actually done?) ahead of every other female musician (besides Madonna), is constantly at the top of VH1 lists. On "The 100 Hottest Hotties," producers painfully asked "Will J Lo's ass out-hot the Olsens?" It did. The ass itself was awarded 11th place in the countdown. It's trite, over-talked about material like this that VH1 execs seem addicted to.
The Pop Culture Icon countdown is itself a fantastic showcase of absurd VH1 judgments. It's mind-boggling to consider how little historical perspective the producers of the show must have had. Their inability to look beyond the last 6-months of pop-culture thrills is disgraceful, and proved simply embarrassing when the show got put on the air. Consider: The cast of Friends is #11, The Beatles #12; Britney Spears is #20, Frank Sinatra #27; Eminem is #31, JFK #32. The most incomprehensible of them all, however, is the Osbournes whose 15 minutes of fame on an overhyped MTV show earned them #40 on the countdown ahead of Elizabeth Taylor (#49), Barbra Streisand (#66), Bob Dylan (#68), and Sigmund Freud (#124). Pamela Anderson's breast implants, whorish make-up and skimpy costumes earned her a higher rating than Grace Kelly who in her time would have put Mrs. Kid Rock to shame.
My anger after seeing that show had nearly receded until I viewed the five-hour long epic on "The 100 Hottest Hotties" just last weekend. The show was little more than a constant refrain of over-excited voices-"he is so hot," "she is hot," "hot hot hot" -all coming from half-rate "celebrity" panelists to whom I was totally indifferent. The skilled writers of the show included a number of not-so-helpful tips, including this nasty quip on the Olsen Twins: "F.Y.I., future felons, they're just 17. Now go wash." That Adrien Brody-a man who looks like he just survived a concentration camp himself-came in at #21 on the list is beyond the point. The uber-underqualified panel of commentators included such arbitrary misfits as the Dahm Triplets and Alton and Irulan from "The Real World: Las Vegas" and absolute unknowns including comedian Doug Benson and three-yes, three-Playboy Playmates whose sagacity went nearly unparalleled: "Oh yeah, I'd do him for sure."
It was the writers of the show themselves, however, who audaciously referred to the 1997 movie Booty Call as "an Art House film."
Then again, at VH1 these days, perhaps it really is.
Get The Chronicle straight to your inbox
Signup for our weekly newsletter. Cancel at any time.