I trust you’ve heard pet owners’ pointless arguments about the merits of cats versus the merits of dogs. As a non-pet owner — isn’t the whole idea of civilization to keep hair and poop out of our homes? — I listen to this unresolvable debate from the sidelines. Nevertheless, I spent childhood more than partial to cats, forming pleasant memories poring over page-a-day cat calendars and books about the various breeds (favorites: the Scottish Fold, the Japanese Bobtail, the swimming Turkish Van, the water bottle-textured Sphynx). I loved the aesthetics of cats, which felt tied up, somehow, in their behavior: they liked your appreciation, but they didn’t seem to need it.
Contrast that with dogs, who, according to the “dog people” lobbying in their favor, rush elatedly up to meet you when you come home. I get that, in the abstract, but I can’t help quoting Meet the Parents: “You need that assurance, do you? You prefer an emotionally shallow animal?” And I see the contrast between these animals as having even more relevance to movies than that. Doesn’t film, television, music, literature, radio, the web — doesn’t all media — break down along cat-dog lines? Either it dashes right up to you, tongue out, pleading for your attention, or it strikes a pose wherever it happens to sit, meeting you halfway if you care to approach — and not particularly minding if you don’t?
Of the myriad possible cinematic sins, only one strikes me as unforgivable: giving in to and thus baldly expressing terror that the audience might stop watching. I figured this out while watching Slumdog Millionaire, a movie constantly crapping its pants over the slightest possibility that you’ll look away. This syndrome breeds countless other ills, including but not limited to the tiresome “hyperkineticism” of cinema’s past 25 years and the blunt melodrama of its last hundred. While I no longer have any skin in the cat versus dog game, I care deeply about the cat versus dog media game.
Contrast that with dogs, who, according to the “dog people” lobbying in their favor, rush elatedly up to meet you when you come home. I get that, in the abstract, but I can’t help quoting Meet the Parents: “You need that assurance, do you? You prefer an emotionally shallow animal?” And I see the contrast between these animals as having even more relevance to movies than that. Doesn’t film, television, music, literature, radio, the web — doesn’t all media — break down along cat-dog lines? Either it dashes right up to you, tongue out, pleading for your attention, or it strikes a pose wherever it happens to sit, meeting you halfway if you care to approach — and not particularly minding if you don’t?
Of the myriad possible cinematic sins, only one strikes me as unforgivable: giving in to and thus baldly expressing terror that the audience might stop watching. I figured this out while watching Slumdog Millionaire, a movie constantly crapping its pants over the slightest possibility that you’ll look away. This syndrome breeds countless other ills, including but not limited to the tiresome “hyperkineticism” of cinema’s past 25 years and the blunt melodrama of its last hundred. While I no longer have any skin in the cat versus dog game, I care deeply about the cat versus dog media game.
Cat media: Bookworm. Apichatpong Weerasethakul. Charlie Rose. Jim Jarmusch. Entitled Opinions. 3:AM Magazine. Experimental video. In Our Time. David Lynch. New Directions Books. With Hidden Noise. Editions of Contemporary Music. A Piece of Monologue.
Dog media: Jerry Bruckheimer. Reality television. Hot-talk stations sweatily eyeing their Arbitron numbers. Fully SEO’d Social Media Hubs. 24-hour coverage of celebrity dating. Designed-to-be-viral videos. Gawker. Cable news broadcasts crammed with scrolling sub-screens. Dan Brown. The Black Eyed Peas. Maxim. “Productivity” pr0n. Turbocharged tips to jack your strat.
Yes, I admit to the simplification of presenting two extremes on an actual spectrum. But consider the core idea: cat media knows it’s good, and thus doesn’t mind if you don’t seek it out right away. Dog media doesn’t care if it’s good, as long as you’re absorbing it. I only want to experience media that has the confidence of a cat, media that doesn’t care whether or not I like it, media that refuses to fall all over itself in the mad scramble for my attention, my ticket sales, my quarter-hours spent listening, my page views. (Bonus points if it goes in the water, if it’s hairless, if its ears fold down, or if it’s got a cool poofy tail.)
That’s a lovely distinction – thank you.
Can one be both a cat media person and have a 10,000 subscribership goal? I suppose so if the purpose of the goal is not “hey, look at me” but rather more like “I want to do this, but if it doesn’t feed me by this point, time to move on”.
Posted by: Justin Wehr | February 28, 2011 at 07:52 PM
This reminds me of an aside in Barbery's "The Elegance of the Hedgehog": "The only purpose of cats is that they constitute mobile decorative objects". I agree 100% about being turned off by perpetually needy hard-sell dog media, but the downside of cat media: it's more difficult to socialize around. I have yet to have a water-cooler conversation turn to last night's Charlie Rose. Alas! My cultural cross to bear.
Posted by: Mark | February 28, 2011 at 07:56 PM
This is a great post, although I don't have much to add, other than I love to see identification of extremes of spectrums, keep it up. This and your astute podthoughts today, definitely a good day.
Posted by: Andy McKenzie | February 28, 2011 at 09:11 PM
My cat rushes up to meet me when I come home. Cats can be very affectionate!!
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