A sense of power has her hooked on FX's 'Todd TV'
I was perfectly satisfied just to sit on my couch in anesthetized television-schlock-viewing bliss, eating Wheat Thins from the box. But like a defenseless spider in a living room corner caught by the wand of a Shop-Vac, I was sucked in before I knew it.
When the host of FX's "Todd TV" asked me to call in and vote on whether Todd should become a "singing-telegram guy" or a personal assistant to Poison frontman Bret Michaels, I obliged: Singing telegrams sounded fun. And when he asked whether Todd should pick his therapist or his mother as his new roommate, I chose his therapist. Sending in text messages on my cellphone, I soon sank deeper than I ever intended into a television show.
Before long, Todd was interrupting me in the middle of important meetings to ask what he should eat for dinnner. When he got tired and wanted to take a nap in the middle of the day, I made sure he went for a cup of coffee instead.
And with each decision, I wanted more. I surfed the "Todd TV" website to see what he was up to; I reveled in the daily updates sent via text message to my cellphone. And I soon began to wonder if I was not merely witnessing television history in the making, but shaping it.
Todd Santos is a 30-year-old wannabe singer and songwriter -- and, according to the show, a hopeless beach bum -- who was working as a waiter in Hermosa Beach, Calif., before the show took over his life.
"Todd needs your help, America," the promos pleaded.
"Todd TV," on Wednesday nights at 10, began airing three weeks ago and is slated for a seven-week run. Most critics have panned the show, and some TV experts have said it hasn't broken new ground.
"The real revolution would be if you could watch this thing 24 hours a day, and you could call in and say, `OK, now I'd like Todd to . . .,' " said Robert Thompson, founder of the Center for the Study of Popular Television at Syracuse University.
Perhaps. But before dismissing "Todd TV," critics and experts should go for the full ride, one in which the television broadcast is merely a piece of the experience.
The day after the first episode, for example, I received a text message: "Todd is at the market. What should he buy for dinner? A) Chicken or B) Fish. You have five minutes to vote." (I chose fish.)
About 10 minutes later, I received another message: America had decided on chicken. I was disappointed not to be in the majority, but more important, I was amazed by the instant-polling technology that, in my view, catapulted "Todd TV" to the cutting edge of reality television.
On "Big Brother," viewers have voted to reward a contestant with a letter from home or a night out. But on "Todd TV," I voted, received the results within 10 minutes, and then saw the results (chicken parmigiana) on the following week's broadcast. It was almost more engaging that the decision was so trivial. I felt a sense of power over every detail of Todd's life.
I began to share my enthusiasm with friends. "You don't know," I would say. "This is going to sweep the nation. You just wait and see."
Well, not quite. About 75,000 viewers on average have voted on decisions during the broadcast, according to Kim Thompson, director of communications for T-Mobile, the show's technology partner. Thompson wouldn't say how many signed up for the full package of daily decisions and text-message updates. (The calls add up to about $5 a week.)
It appears I'm part of an exclusive club. A club of 18- to 34-year-old male California-surfer types, just like Todd, according to the folks at Endemol, which produces the show. But I'm a 35-year-old woman. And a workaholic. Far from the intended "Todd TV" demographic. So like any reporter facing one of life's burning questions, I decided to call a specialist.
A quick Google search turned up Andrew F. Wood, coauthor of "Survivor Lessons: Essays on Communication and Reality Television" who said I was merely addicted, like many Americans, to the "God's-eye view" that "Todd TV" was providing. He said I was living vicariously through Todd.
There have been some disappointments. Like when Todd whined relentlessly about life decisions during the second episode. And when producers waited until 20 minutes into the show to reveal results of the prior week's decisions. Still, I'm hooked. Much to my friends' dismay.
I was explaining to a few of them recently that Todd, though I had allowed him a greasy lunch the other day, was now back on a healthy diet. I was about to speculate on the results of Todd's makeover, to be revealed tonight, when one friend turned on me, clearly exasperated.
"If I hear one more word about `Todd TV,' I'm leaving," she said.
"Just try it," I replied, feeling much like a drug pusher. "Just try watching it once."
Unfortunately -- or, perhaps, fortunately for her -- she doesn't have cable.
Donovan Slack can be reached at dslack@globe.com.
