![]() ![]() Today, authenticity as spectacle has become the Holy Grail of contemporary culture, the unifying style by which the zeitgeist is seen to be made articulate. But whether we authorise our consumption of mediated events in the name of public interest and reportage, or whether we argue the fine line between voyeurism and documentary, we require, above all, that the occasions of disruption which comprise our sense of spectacle are authentic - 'authenticity' is the hallmark of truth, and hence the gauge of social value. We can all become members of an invisible audience, the legitimacy of whose presence will be the subject of continuous and necessary debate. Through sound, the Internet and lens-based media we can pick out the soft centres, as it were, of heightened emotions and volatile situations. We absorb the atmosphere of spectacle as a kind of narrative - a fact which has been well illustrated, in photographic terms, by Weegee's stark images of life and death 'as-it-happened' on the streets of New York. But to witness those same occasions in their mediated form is to experience all of their drama, but with none of the personal danger. To be present in the vicinity of such a disruption is to experience the adrenaline rush of confusion and fear which we instinctively generate to protect ourselves. From a scuffle in the street to a major disaster, these moments of transition disrupt our sense of security and our perception of the world. There is a common social impulse to witness spectacle, and, equally importantly, a desire to experience that frisson of excitement, shock, or fear which accompanies the moment when the predictable passage of daily events is suddenly converted into drama by the occurrence of extreme behaviour. As Grundy attempts to return to the autocue - his only lifeline to safety - we see a moment of extreme vulnerability in a medium which relies on the illusion of control. Throughout the shambolic interview, during which it becomes clear that The Sex Pistols are not going to submit to the role of 'studio guests', there is a gradual accumulation of tension - part embarrassment and part threat - which derives less from the inevitability of a conflict, than from the sense that we are witnessing an authentic breakdown in the power of television to contain its subject. Leaving aside the early evening transmission time - which was the overriding factor that got Today into trouble and Grundy suspended - what remains compelling is the all too apparent manner in which the presenter loses control of his guests, and, as a consequence, reveals the speed with which television can lose its assumed authority. ![]() 'What a clever boy!' he purrs, with thinly veiled rage, as Jones responds to his challenge to 'say something outrageous' by calling him first a 'dirty fucker' and then a 'fucking rotter'. The actual swearing - 'the muck' which prompted Mr Holmes to put his boot through the tube - seems almost as weighed down by self-consciousness as Bill Grundy's attempts to rise above his cheeky guests with a touch of school-masterly sarcasm. ![]() Viewed now, the spoken dialogue between Jones and Grundy sounds curiously quaint, but the episode as a whole is still engaging. ![]()
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