Show's predictability means special segments are few and far between
A few years ago, when we ran separate errands on weekend afternoons, my husband and I used to dial each other's cellphones with orders to turn on the radio: "I'm listening to the most annoying story on 'This American Life.' " It was a fun game for a while, before it got too easy.
Don't get me wrong; I've heard great things on "This American Life." I once stumbled on a piece about a guy who sang Sinatra off his New York balcony that I still bring up in conversation. And I'm not one of those people who hates Ira Glass. I have no quibble with his voice. At times, I find him witty.
No, my problem is with the show that has built up around him, the way a nifty idea -- that radio didn't have to sound like radio -- turned so rapidly into self-parody. For every funny, perceptive segment I've heard (and they're still coming, I concede) there is a far-too-long and not-nearly-deep-enough reflection on a not-very-interesting subject. For every David Sedaris, there are 37 dudes with a forum to reflect on their teenage angst. The results are so predictable, by now, that they're easy to break down to their most irritating parts:
1. The triumph of navel gazing
I stopped listening regularly to "This American Life" once I realized the show could have been renamed "My Weird Family." Or "Mistakes I Once Made While My Weird Family Looked On" If, as one recent study suggests, we've created a generation of narcissists, "This American Life" has given them a forum: It's the original blah-blah-blog. One recent show featured a 14-minute story about a guy who dropped out of college and lived in a ratty apartment. Even the narrator sounded bored.
Except that's not really a distinction. On "This American Life," the narrators always sound bored. Which brings me to. . .
2. The disinterested radio voice
Maybe Glass's atypical voice started this trend, or Sedaris's droll delivery. Maybe it's just a reaction to the clear, bright tones people use on traditional radio, in the interest of being understood. "This American Life" offers what producers must think is a more "authentic" style of delivery, which has something to do with talking fast and mumbling, but mostly means the narrator sounds as if he's going to fall asleep, mid-segment.
Unless the music wakes him up. Because another constant seems to be. . .
3. Music as punch line
Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch. Here it comes, some snippet of a techno-lounge track. It creeps in as a Very Important Point heads your way, crescendo s for effect, then drops back down. In that ratty-apartment story, it first came up when the narrator announced, in monotone, that he chose to attend the University of Houston. "My girl-friend was there," he said. Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch. From then on, every time he reached a punch line or epiphany, the music returned, on cue. It happened a lot, since these segments are always filled with. . .
4. Deep pronouncements
In another recent piece about a New York man who gave his house over to prostitutes, the narrator offered all sorts of suggestions about her subject's motivation. None of them came from the man himself, mind you, but our sleepy-sounding reporter sounded quite sure of herself. "I think it made him feel in control of his life," she said at one point.
Also, it "made him feel young." And "the thought occurred to me he might be gay." For this, she offered evidence: He once lived with his mother, and he "loves rare books." Ah. Journalism at its finest.
I do have good news to report: Based on a peek at early episodes, the new Showtime TV version of "This American Life" seems better. That's partly because Glass -- who actually sounds intrigued by the subject matter -- acts as the primary narrator. But I suspect it also has something to do with the medium. Aligned with visuals, the music seems less obtrusive. The subjects get more space to tell their stories. There's something to show, as opposed to just something to say.
Maybe that's the dirty little secret of "This American Life " : It wasn't meant to be a radio show after all.
Joanna Weiss can be reached at weiss@globe.com. 