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Reflections on the Varieties of Televisual Nostalgia - De File
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cbertsch
cbertsch
Reflections on the Varieties of Televisual Nostalgia
Skylar was home sick yesterday. From 9am until 1pm she lay on the futon in the front room watching PBS, like she used to in pre-school when she was sick far more often than she is these days. As hard as those times were, being with her yesterday made me nostalgic for that era in our lives. Staying with her -- she wanted me nearby -- also led, though I was trying to work, to getting absorbed in the programming myself. That used to happen when she was two and three. But it's also an experience that I remember from my own childhood, which commenced more or less when public television children's programming in the United States did.

As I looked up from the laptop to see Big Bird, I had body memories of lying on the rug in the early eighteenth-century log cabin that was both our living room and the half-timberd Ur-structure around which the rest of our Pennsylvania farmhouse was built. It was usually gray in winter there, unlike the brilliant blue prevalent in these parts. Yet something about the chill in the air yesterday morning made me feel closer to that childhood home. While I was pondering my nostalgia, I suddenly realized with full force that Skylar herself was also indulging in nostalgia for her youth. She paid close attention to shows that are designed for pre-schoolers and exhibited affection towards them, not the resistance of a few years back when she felt the need to indicate that she had grown out of her pre-school preferences.

And that got me thinking about the way that I watched PBS children's television as a kid. I know that I was watching both Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood as a pre-schooler. I have diffuse, though undeniably accurate memories of both, particularly of the animated segments on the former and the model cars on the latter. But most of my recollections of PBS children's programs date from a later period, when I would watch them alongside my pre-school-age sister. Back then I could not articulate why I felt compelled to watch shows I should have outgrown with so much interest. Nevertheless, I did remark the strange feelings stirred up by the practice, filing away a mental note to return to my experience later, when I would be able to make sense of it. That's what I did yesterday, after watching Skylar do what I did at her age.

In the strain of psychoanalysis promulgated by Jacques Lacan, the "mirror stage" is a concept as slippery as it is significant. Although supposedly referring to an actual stage in development, when a child between the ages of six and eighteen months is able to identify itself as an autonomous and complete being in the course of seeing its reflection, it also functions by analogy as the name for later experiences that play a crucial role in delineating the self. As Lacan notes in his first seminar of 1953-1954, "the mirror-stage is not simply a moment in development (74)."

Seeing oneself in the mirror after one has become conscious of having a self is the most obvious example of this mirror stage by analogy. But there are other experiences, though further removed from what happens in the literal mirror stage, that still bear a strong resemblance to it. The sort of identification we experience watching a film or television show, while distinct from the identification we engage in when confronting our own image in the mirror, nevertheless functions to delineate the self. The line between identifying with a person and identifying oneself as a person is prone to blurring. This sort of confusion comes up again and again in Lacan's work, testifying, as he notes a little later in that first seminar, to the "strict intrication of the imaginary world and the real world in the psychic economy (78)."

Because the literal mirror stage is by definition locked away in the pre-history of our minds, it is inaccessible to recollection without the help of others. Our elders enable us to picture ourselves at that age -- just as they no doubt propped up our not-yet-walking bodies before the mirror -- thereby becoming the temporal equivalent of the "trotte-bébé" Lacan mentions in his famous essay on the mirror stage (1). Their descriptions of experiences which are ours, yet which we never truly feel to be our own, are our means of retroactively constructing a narrative in which we become ourselves. And those descriptions, in turn, inspire us to recall moments like the mirror stage for which we do have distinct memories.

A turning point before the mirror -- which can also be literal, such as a reflective surface, or figurative, such as a text with which we identify -- that we remember thus takes the place of that primary turning point we can't. Perhaps this is the right way to think about the varieties of nostalgia for childhood that I was musing on yesterday. Part of the difficulty in sorting all this out, however, is that children of my generation and, even more so, my daughter's were likely to go through the literal mirror stage at a time when they were already watching a lot of television, displacing one of those mirror stages by analogy back in time so that it overlapped with, rather than merely following, the literal mirror stage it mirrored. Although I am dubious of the argument that early exposure to television can be damaging to children, I will concede that there is something about this overlapping that is profoundly unsettling.

At some point, I'd like to elaborate on these reflections further. For now, I'll just leave you with a few brushstrokes sketching out landmarks on the horizon towards which I think I'm heading. I've been trying for some time to figure out the role that DVD box sets of older television shows are playing in our culture. People buy them, though they might like more recent fare better, even when they don't have the time to watch them. Indeed, as a visit to any media retailer over the recently passed holiday season would have amply illustrated, those box sets are a prime source of revenue in this era of shrinking media sales.

What I'm wondering is whether this nostalgia-driven consumption, irrational from both the standpoint of money and time management, is the product of a desire to produce the sort of experience that Skylar and I were having yesterday morning. The release of the first season of Sesame Street, which received a lot of press for being labeled as not suitable for young children, provides a perfect example of how this desire might be mobilized. After all, most of the people who buy it are not buying it for actually existing young people, but their own inner children. But other television shows -- the sort they might have watched at age eight, twelve, or sixteen -- could also function this way, as mirror stages by analogy. Furthermore, I think it highly probable, that, if they were performing this function, they would stand in for that first mirror stage by analogy -- the television programming seen before the establishment of memories that can be accessed in adulthood -- as well as the literal mirror stage.

In thinking about how the media might provide such mirror stages by analogy, it is worth noting that Jacques Lacan's conception of the mirror stage emphasizes the importance of differences in scale in the process. As Yannis Stavrakakis writes in Lacan & the Political, "the image in the mirror could never be identical to the infant since it is always of different size, it is inverted as all mirror images are, and, most importantly, it remains something alien (17)." Although Stavrakakis is not discussing identification that works through the figurative "mirror" provided by the media here, I can't help but think that the fact that television confronts us with images smaller than life size and cinema with images larger than life size plays a crucial role in their capacity to inspire so much psychological investment in spectators.

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Current Location: 85704
Muse: "Can you tell me how to get/How to get to Sesame Street. . ."

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Comments
elizabeg From: elizabeg Date: January 18th, 2008 08:38 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
Interesting. I did grow up watching both Sesame Street and Mister Rogers, but haven't done too much re-watching--and I don't know that I was watching it quite as early as that. Perhaps by the time my brother was in pre-school, when I would have been more like 4-5, but what I do remember is getting chastised by the cousin three years older than I am at some point--probably when I was about Skylar's age--for confessing that I enjoyed both when I was younger.

You know I'm prone to watch shows I never watched in their heyday--with an enthusiasm that borders on nostalgia but lacks its grounding in personal experience. I wonder about that a lot. Sure, I'll rail that spy and detective shows from the 60s to 80s are just plain good television. But I wonder nonetheless why I like living through something as if I'm reliving it when I know I'm not. The Avengers is my most recent case in point. But Rockford, MacGyver, and Remington Steele are all favorites. I think I may remember *reruns* of Rockford fondly. Maybe MacGyver. But if it's a re-run (and/or given that all TV begins with the potential to be re-run) how does that affect experiences of identification and later nostalgia?

And finally (because this comment is seriously long already), J and I recently finished Netflixing the entire run of My So-Called Life, which I *did* watch in entirety when it first aired. But I wasn't a child. It's my high school self I'm revisiting. And I loved watching it but not always--the show is painful but so is that return (very Didion with her selves at the back door, if you know what I mean). J had no memories--and no co-ed high school--but it still affected him profoundly too. I'm still thinking about that and you've given me much to think about. So thank you--very much.

I hope Skylar's already on the mend.
elizabeg From: elizabeg Date: January 18th, 2008 08:43 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
Oh! And because this is too great not to mention, there's this scene you would have loved at the end of one of the My So-Called Life episodes where the characters wax poetic on Sesame Street and their youth and then one breaks into that song, dancing up and down the street in her 90s flannel.

And 2) I've heard more than one person in my age bracket swear that they're buying the box set of MSL to save for infants they do or do not presently have, but who they swear will one day grow up and therefore need precisely this show, complete with its flannel, replete with their nostalgia. Thoughts?
cbertsch From: cbertsch Date: January 19th, 2008 02:17 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
I somehow managed to miss the entirety of that show, though I had a number of friends that watched it. I really need to check it out, in part for the reasons you suggest. Great point about folks buying it for children-yet-to-be.
elizabeg From: elizabeg Date: January 19th, 2008 07:54 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
It really is quite good and worth seeing if you have a chance ABC didn't know how to spin the show but the fact that it aired weekly on an non-cable network even if just for one season really was the something you've likely heard tell of. I encountered _Freaks and Geeks_ for the first time much more recently but it's also quite good, in case you were wondering.

I love and yet don't quite understand the insistence by older 20somethings that they're buying such shows for the children they may or may not have already or in the future. They're watching it themselves in the immediate and extended present, I imagine--the same way I'm watching them now. Would my own children really respond the same way that I do to seeing someone else at the same age I was once (the same age I was then, when it aired) folding and rolling herself into the folds of an oversized flannel shirt while something insane like the Cranberries plays on the stereo in her TV bedroom? Is all teen angst really the same? Or will my children swear otherwise as they burrow into some other fabric in search of themselves? And will they be right even though I swore the same thing myself--even though the flannel I loved best I'd stolen from my mother's closet? God these reflections are dizzying. But will I remember to let my children believe that I don't understand at least sometimes, if only so that when/if they arrive at opinions I already hold they'll believe them their own?
cbertsch From: cbertsch Date: January 19th, 2008 02:20 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
She's doing better, thanks.

I also have that nostalgia for what I haven't experienced myself, a topic I want to muse on as well. In particular, I have an intense nostalgia for the few years prior to my birth, 1965-1967. A lot of that has to do with the way the Sixties are narrated. But I think it also might have to do with the way I used to watch slide shows of my parents' trips prior to my arrival on the scene.
elizabeg From: elizabeg Date: January 19th, 2008 07:42 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
I can understand that. And I had the 60s narrative-based nostalgia, too--most severe around the time I hit high school, I think. But my love for some of the music and shows that I love isn't entirely reducible to that, so yes, more musing is needed.
From: babyiwasshot Date: January 19th, 2008 01:12 am (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)

alphabet city

HAve you seen avenue Q yet?
cbertsch From: cbertsch Date: January 19th, 2008 02:16 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)

Re: alphabet city

No, although I've read a ton about it and heard some of the soundtrack. Definitely worth pondering in this regard.
schencka From: schencka Date: January 19th, 2008 05:07 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)

Re: Memory

First, I must declare Prof. Bertsch a master of meshing academic style *ecriture* with personal memoir blogging. Exhibit A:

"In the strain of psychoanalysis promulgated by Jacques Lacan, the 'mirror stage' is a concept as slippery as it is significant."

I love that move -- it's the perfect conference paper topic sentence structure, isn't it?

Second, have you seen _There Will Be Blood_ and its brother _No Country for Old Men_? I'm really interested in how these two films came out so near one another, as if they're in conversation -- in theme, setting, story structure, style, sound, cinematography, and of course, the version of "America" they create, especially relating to how both film go to great lengths to problematize (although I realize that term is a bit of an academic cliche) Capital's inherent violence.

As for children's programming, I was so proud as a youngster that my first name -- Adam -- was the same as He-Man's. But this was his pink-wearing, faux-gay doppelganger, before he became the He-Man (his tiger likewise went from weakling to killer). Could it be that this internal conflict could instill in young men an ambivalence between sensitive masculinity and its corollary hyper-masculinity? At least in my case, I must offer a qualified "Yes."

All the best,
--adam
cbertsch From: cbertsch Date: January 21st, 2008 07:17 am (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)

Re: Memory

Great to hear from you, Adam! And sorry for the belated reply. I missed this in the madness.

It's nice to know someone like you, who reads so carefully, is reading.

I, too, thought the overlap between those two films was eerie.

If only I could bring myself to write sentences like that when it counts. . .
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