Social Commentary #1: Movies
For Dr. Jackson's Honors Seminar, we have to write three 2-to-3-page social commentaries: one on movies, one on TV, one on university life.
I haven't written my TV one yet, but here's my take on a special type of movie.
FaceHOOKED: His Dark Secret (A Lifetime Original Movie)
Loud hard rock blares from a dark room illuminated only by the glow of a computer screen. Cut to a teenage boy, slack-jawed, his eyes glazed with idiotic pleasure, his face bathed in the soft blue light. His hand rummages through a pile of empty Cheetos bags and energy drink cans, searching for a cheesy pathway to aortic trauma. Cut to the computer screen: a teenage girl’s Facebook profile. Zoom and pan to her chest, covered only by a tank top, blouse, and cardigan. Cut to the boy’s finger resting on the mouse. It twitches eagerly: “See more photos.” Pan back to the boy’s vacant face.
Dissolve into a shot of the same boy’s face, now grinning widely as he hugs his mom. White text at the bottom of the screen: “THREE MONTHS EARLIER.”
Zoom out to reveal the boy is in a baseball uniform, standing behind the dugout after what must have been an important win.
“I cannot believe I am such an academically and athletically gifted youngster!” the boy exclaims, maintaining the embrace.
“I, your proud and strong-willed mother, can believe it,” she says. “I have always believed in you, as evidenced by our current embrace and stilted dialogue.”
His dad comes into the picture, socks his son in the bicep, and clichés profusely. “Way to go, Son. Go get ‘em, Tiger. I am so proud of you.”
Exterior shot of The Reverend John Hale High School: students shuffle through the doors as one, a herd of pubescent devils waiting to corrupt your child.
Interior shot, school hallway: A buff, 28-year-old “16-year-old” with slicked-back hair and a letterman’s jacket approaches our boy. “Yo, Joey,” he says, “you got a Facebook?”
Our beatific Joey has never heard of such an infernal contraption. “Facebook?”
Big, buff, shouldn’t-you-be-well-out-of-college kid grimaces in obvious disapproval. His face says it all: What sort of moron hasn’t heard of Facebook?
As an astute young man, Joey realizes his mistake. “Uh, yeah, of course I’ve got a Facebook. Like, who doesn’t?”
Letterman guy nods enthusiastically. “I’ll totally add you later.”
Joey nods slowly, cautiously. “Yeah. ‘Add’ me.” What does that mean? He can’t help but wonder.
Cut to Joey, tossing and turning in bed. Cut to his alarm clock: 1:26 a.m. His eyes are wide open and bloodshot. Determined, he throws his comforter to the floor, gets up, and goes to his computer. He goes to “U Search” - or some other thing they had to use because Google wouldn’t be caught dead in this flick - and types in “facebook.”
Within minutes, Joey has created an account and is adding friends like there’s no tomorrow. In a week, he has over 2,000 friends, most of whom he’s never met. He is checking out pictures of friends and strangers alike. He is seeing women in clothes.
One night, around midnight, Joey’s mother sees the computer’s glow leaking from beneath her son’s door. She pops her head in to tell him to go to bed, only to find her son on Facebook, chatting with two or three friends from school while browsing another friend’s pictures.
Joey sees his mom’s shadow and quickly switches screens to a history paper. “M-Mom. Hi. I was just, uh, going to bed.” He turns off the computer.
Looking distraught, Mom barely manages a “good night” before running to her bedroom. “James!” she hisses, shaking her husband from a sound sleep. “James, WAKE UP!”
Groggy, Dad wakes up. “What, what is it?”
“James, Joey is looking at pictures of girls. On the internet.”
He rolls over, bleary-eyed. “What? Naked ones?”
“No! It’s worse. They’re his ‘friends.’”
“Okay…” Her clueless husband will clearly not back her up on this one.
“We have to talk to him,” she whispers.
“Okay, you do it.” He rolls back over.
“But you’re his father!”
“Honey, I think this is pretty normal.”
Silence. Cut to alarm clock: 1:34 a.m. Dissolve to alarm clock: 2:30 a.m. The husband’s snores fill the room. Pan to Mom, wide awake, her eyes open. She whispers to the night: “Someone must do something.”
Talks are unsuccessful. Groundings don’t work. Shutting off the internet fails. Joey is addicted to Facebook. He develops spinal problems from sitting at the computer. He contracts carpal tunnel from typing and clicking. He begins eating poorly and drinking energy drinks to stay amped up for friend requesting. As a result, his grades slip and he is cut from the team. His life begins a downward spiral, setting him on a track for diabetes, heart disease, and DEATH.
Luckily, his loving mother, the only one to have seen her son’s dangerous path all along, is able to step in and get him to admit his problem and seek help. At this point, Joey’s Facebook addiction is so bad that even his stupid dad recognizes it. The intervention works; Joey gives up Facebook and gets to go to prom with someone we haven’t seen until 15 minutes before the end of the movie.
This plot was adapted, abridged, and (unfortunately barely) altered from the actual Lifetime Original Movie “Cyber Seduction: His Secret Life,” which is about internet porn.
I haven't written my TV one yet, but here's my take on a special type of movie.
FaceHOOKED: His Dark Secret (A Lifetime Original Movie)
Loud hard rock blares from a dark room illuminated only by the glow of a computer screen. Cut to a teenage boy, slack-jawed, his eyes glazed with idiotic pleasure, his face bathed in the soft blue light. His hand rummages through a pile of empty Cheetos bags and energy drink cans, searching for a cheesy pathway to aortic trauma. Cut to the computer screen: a teenage girl’s Facebook profile. Zoom and pan to her chest, covered only by a tank top, blouse, and cardigan. Cut to the boy’s finger resting on the mouse. It twitches eagerly: “See more photos.” Pan back to the boy’s vacant face.
Dissolve into a shot of the same boy’s face, now grinning widely as he hugs his mom. White text at the bottom of the screen: “THREE MONTHS EARLIER.”
Zoom out to reveal the boy is in a baseball uniform, standing behind the dugout after what must have been an important win.
“I cannot believe I am such an academically and athletically gifted youngster!” the boy exclaims, maintaining the embrace.
“I, your proud and strong-willed mother, can believe it,” she says. “I have always believed in you, as evidenced by our current embrace and stilted dialogue.”
His dad comes into the picture, socks his son in the bicep, and clichés profusely. “Way to go, Son. Go get ‘em, Tiger. I am so proud of you.”
Exterior shot of The Reverend John Hale High School: students shuffle through the doors as one, a herd of pubescent devils waiting to corrupt your child.
Interior shot, school hallway: A buff, 28-year-old “16-year-old” with slicked-back hair and a letterman’s jacket approaches our boy. “Yo, Joey,” he says, “you got a Facebook?”
Our beatific Joey has never heard of such an infernal contraption. “Facebook?”
Big, buff, shouldn’t-you-be-well-out-of-college kid grimaces in obvious disapproval. His face says it all: What sort of moron hasn’t heard of Facebook?
As an astute young man, Joey realizes his mistake. “Uh, yeah, of course I’ve got a Facebook. Like, who doesn’t?”
Letterman guy nods enthusiastically. “I’ll totally add you later.”
Joey nods slowly, cautiously. “Yeah. ‘Add’ me.” What does that mean? He can’t help but wonder.
Cut to Joey, tossing and turning in bed. Cut to his alarm clock: 1:26 a.m. His eyes are wide open and bloodshot. Determined, he throws his comforter to the floor, gets up, and goes to his computer. He goes to “U Search” - or some other thing they had to use because Google wouldn’t be caught dead in this flick - and types in “facebook.”
Within minutes, Joey has created an account and is adding friends like there’s no tomorrow. In a week, he has over 2,000 friends, most of whom he’s never met. He is checking out pictures of friends and strangers alike. He is seeing women in clothes.
One night, around midnight, Joey’s mother sees the computer’s glow leaking from beneath her son’s door. She pops her head in to tell him to go to bed, only to find her son on Facebook, chatting with two or three friends from school while browsing another friend’s pictures.
Joey sees his mom’s shadow and quickly switches screens to a history paper. “M-Mom. Hi. I was just, uh, going to bed.” He turns off the computer.
Looking distraught, Mom barely manages a “good night” before running to her bedroom. “James!” she hisses, shaking her husband from a sound sleep. “James, WAKE UP!”
Groggy, Dad wakes up. “What, what is it?”
“James, Joey is looking at pictures of girls. On the internet.”
He rolls over, bleary-eyed. “What? Naked ones?”
“No! It’s worse. They’re his ‘friends.’”
“Okay…” Her clueless husband will clearly not back her up on this one.
“We have to talk to him,” she whispers.
“Okay, you do it.” He rolls back over.
“But you’re his father!”
“Honey, I think this is pretty normal.”
Silence. Cut to alarm clock: 1:34 a.m. Dissolve to alarm clock: 2:30 a.m. The husband’s snores fill the room. Pan to Mom, wide awake, her eyes open. She whispers to the night: “Someone must do something.”
Talks are unsuccessful. Groundings don’t work. Shutting off the internet fails. Joey is addicted to Facebook. He develops spinal problems from sitting at the computer. He contracts carpal tunnel from typing and clicking. He begins eating poorly and drinking energy drinks to stay amped up for friend requesting. As a result, his grades slip and he is cut from the team. His life begins a downward spiral, setting him on a track for diabetes, heart disease, and DEATH.
Luckily, his loving mother, the only one to have seen her son’s dangerous path all along, is able to step in and get him to admit his problem and seek help. At this point, Joey’s Facebook addiction is so bad that even his stupid dad recognizes it. The intervention works; Joey gives up Facebook and gets to go to prom with someone we haven’t seen until 15 minutes before the end of the movie.
This plot was adapted, abridged, and (unfortunately barely) altered from the actual Lifetime Original Movie “Cyber Seduction: His Secret Life,” which is about internet porn.