This Blog Is Not Yet Rated

Standing there with Mister Rogers looking out at Madaket Bay so many years ago,I never would have guessed that one conversation about depth and substance would lead me rethink so many concepts that I held to be self evident.

Take choice.

I just finished watching "This Film Is Not Yet Rated," director Kirby Dick's exploration of the MPAA's rating system.

The MPAA (Motion Picture Association of America) is a non-profit trade association based which was formed to advance the interests of movie studios. They're responsible for the well-known film rating system: G, PG, PG-13, R, NC-17.

The difference between an R or NC-17 rating can make or break a film. The criteria upon which films are rated, however, is secret. As are the voting members. As is the distinction between blood and gore rating PG, and sex rating R.

And get this.

The MPAA's members consist of the "big six" major Hollywood studios: Disney, Sony, Paramount, Fox , Universal Studios, and Warner Bros. Which is really ABC, Sony/BMG, Viacom, Newscorp, GE, and Time/Warner.

The big six corporations represent 90% OF ALL MEDIA.

How on earth can there possibly be a marketplace of ideas in America if six companies control 90% of newspapers, telvevision, cable and film content?

The older I get, the further I walk down this path Mister Rogers set me on (or, if I know him at all, this path that he knew I was staring down, and subtly encouraged me to travel), and the more I learn, the more I think this whole thing -- American democracy -- is a farce. Do we really have any choice at all? Lucky Charms or Frosted Flakes? Coke or Pepsi? Twinky or Ho-Ho?

We have plenty of choices, but they all promote tooth decay.

Captivate

I understand that capitalism abhors a vacuum. So it didn't surprise me when ad-strewn programming began popping up on pint-size monitors above urinals, and flat screens materialized in the subway. But the elevator? The last bastion of anxious, corporate silence?

The shiny, silver monitor screen first made it debut just before the end of last year. The "news" content it delivers is light weight: brief, generic, feel-good CNN headlines, weather, and sports scores. On the right side of the screen, full-motion ads are in constant rotation. The copyright on the bottom center of the screen reads, Captivate Networks.

Captivate Networks describes itself as "an innovative marketing vehicle for media properties. Our network delivers a very desirable demographic of more than 2.2 million business professionals in Class A office buildings across North America every day."

While some great ideas are hatched in boardrooms, others are born between floors. What began as a flash of inspiration during an elevator ride has grown into a leading alternative media company that delivers more than 48 million impressions a month, and is backed by Gannett, an international media powerhouse.

Today, Captivate delivers its national news, entertainment, and advertising to more than 2.2 million viewers via more than 7,300 wireless, digital screens located in the elevators of premier office towers in 21 of North America's top markets. Captivate partners with a number of major media partners to provide programming for the network, and helps hundreds of leading brands transform downtime into Captivate Time.

Captivate Time. Love that.

Our viewers are better educated, and enjoy an annual household income nearly double the national average, giving them the purchasing power necessary to drive sales of advertisers' products and services. Because we deliver your message to a captive audience in a focused, distraction-free environment, we have an average ad recall rate that exceeds that of most other media. We're memorable and measurable Ð and consistently generate strong, tangible results on behalf of our clients. When it comes to keeping your story top of mind with your target customer, Captivate takes your marketing efforts to new heights.

I do my best to avert my gaze when I step into the elevators here at 1515 Broadway. But eyes respond to movement. The brain responds to stimulous. It's a biological imperative. And more and more, it's difficult to get away from advertising in all its forms.

You are what you consume, so chose wisely.

Or, as President Gerorge Walker Bush said on September 12th, "Keep shopping!"

A Million To One

Until just before six o'clock last night, Chris and I were batting a thousand. And then this email landed in my inbox:

Dear Mr. Wagner:

I am over my head in deadlines for projects that must be finished on time -- including preparations for a new weekly broadcast, a big documentary to air in April, and a four-part series that we are producing at this very moment -- and I honestly can't work in an interview as you suggest. Furthermore, those questions you want me to answer require a great deal more thought than I can muster these days.

Bill Moyers

The return address was that of Mr. Moyers' assistant, which I like to think accounts for the terse language. Or it may be that Mr. Moyers is absolutely beside himself with our vacuous, accelerated culture, as evidenced in his fiery keynote speech at last week's Media Reform Conference in Memphis, Tennessee.

Two basic pillars of American society - shared economic prosperity and a public sector capable of serving the common good - are crumbling. The third basic pillar of American democracy - an independent press- is under sustained attack, and the channels of information are choked.

A few huge corporations now dominate the media landscape in America. Almost all the networks carried by most cable systems are owned by one of the major media conglomerates. Two thirds of today's newspaper markets are monopolies. As ownership gets more and more concentrated, fewer and fewer independent sources of information have survived in the marketplace. And those few significant alternatives that do survive, such as PBS and NPR, are under growing financial and political pressure to reduce critical news content and shift their focus in a "mainstream" direction, which means being more attentive to the establishment than to the bleak realities of powerlessness that shape the lives of ordinary people.

What does today's media system mean for the notion of the "informed public" cherished by democratic theory? Quite literally, it means that virtually everything the average person sees or hears outside of her own personal communications is determined by the interests of private, unaccountable executives and investors whose primary goal is increasing profits and raising the company's share price. More insidiously, this small group of elites determines what ordinary people do not see or hear. In-depth news coverage of anything, let alone of the problems people face day-to-day, is as scarce as sex, violence, and voyeurism are pervasive. Successful business model or not, by democratic standards, this is censorship of knowledge by monopolization of the means of information. In its current form - which Barry Diller happily describes as oligopoly- media growth has one clear consequence: there is more information and easier access to it, but it's more narrow in content and perspective, so that what we see from the couch is overwhelmingly a view from the top.

Mr. Moyers is, of course, slamming the hammer down on the nail: the market is squelching the message -- so long as the message deviates from "Everything is fine. Please keep shopping." And while his (temporary) rejection is disheartening, it is understandable. The man is 72-years-old, and more overcommitted than I can begin to imagine.

Still, I will not relent. I cannot relent. Instead, I will reply to Mr. Moyers with a spirit of soulful intent. I will empathize with his schedule. I will diminish the scope of our ask, and downplay its urgency. I will tell him that, at the conclusion of our interview, Linda Ellerbee said, "You need to talk to Bill Moyers."

One May Not Reach The Dawn Save By The Path Of The Night

In September of 1993, just a few days after my twenty-second birthday, I drove from Syracuse, New York, to Durango, Colorado. Terrified by the great question of what to do with my life, I spent a five days studying Lakota rights of passage -- vision questing -- at the Animas Valley Institute, before setting out for four nights in Utah's high desert.

Not surprisingly, my vision quest did not unfold as I might have imagined. After two days of fasting, meditation, and prayer, no apparitions had appeared, no ancestors had materialized, and no ghosts visited my half sleep to say, "You are to become a great spiritual leader." Instead, I was tired, sore, and irritable. The only voice I heard was the one in my head berating me my masochism.

A small storm broke on the third afternoon, as I hiked down a scree slope to distill fresh water from a stream. My pulse quickened as I imagined myself swept away by a flash flood. The thunder soon passed, though. As I knelt by the stream, I noticed a few small cat tracks in the mud. And in a small pool by the bank, I noticed a cluster of tadpoles. I paused a moment, and repeated my mantra out loud.

"What is my path?"

And for the first time, I heard a new voice speak. It neither berated nor belittled me, but instead, softly but firmly said, "You are already on the path."

* * *

Christofer and I met on the 79th Street subway platform yesterday morning. Between the clatter of the train, and a gaggle of screaming high school kids, I was about as far from the bubbling tranquility of Utah as possible. We exited at 66th Street, walked to his parking garage, and loaded his truck with our gear: the Sony HDDV, twin light boxes, tripod, and AV bag. He began shooting as I drove us downtown to Linda Ellerbee's Soho offices. We circled 96 Morton Street three times before finding a parking place, unloaded, and stepped inside fifteen minutes early.

Linda's assistant, Holly, met us at the elevator, ushered us into Linda's office, then left us to our own devices.

Linda's office, a wide, sun-filled space dominated by two denim couches and a huge wooden desk, was littered with accumulation from an esteemed thirty-year career: a framed photo of her interviewing Fidel Castro, a print of her laughing uproariously with former Texas governor Ann Richards, a sign reading "Tradition is a thing of the past." On her desk, two computers (Mac and PC) rest amongst scattered newspapers, magazines, books, pens, and Post It notes. Next door, the conference room was stuffed to the gills with accolades: thirteen Emmy Awards, four Peabody Awards, and countless others. Chris set up the lights and mics, and set the shot. And then, reviewing our notes and prattling nervously amongst ourselves, we waited...

Soon enough, our ears became trained to the sound of the elevator doors. With each bell, our heads craned. Finally, we saw Linda striding down the hallway smiling broadly beneath hue, Jackie O sunglasses. I took a deep breath, and rose to shake her hand...

Ms. Ellerbee is a Texan. A sign on Linda's door read "Beware The Stinging Ellerbee." She is known for her intelligence, integrity, and wit. She was network news when network news still mattered, and has reams of awards lauding the concise, no-nonsense editorial, never condescending voice she cultivated there. And so, I did not expect her to suffer fools gladly. And while I don't consider myself a fool, I was resolved not to let lack of preparation or poise sideline our conversation. And while my trusty reporter's notebook (which I've used for every "Mister Rogers & Me" interview so far) was loaded with questions, I was hoping to have a conversation, not a Q&A.

Mission accomplished. Ms. Ellerbee was warm, witty, and right on target. She spoke in a hushed, almost reverent tone. She told us that Mister Rogers her hero, and that she frequently asked herself, "What would Mister Rogers do?" as she crafts her award winning "Nick News". She talked about depth and simplicity ("Simple, she said, "Is not the same as easy."), about the 24-hour news cycle, consumerism and technology with equal authority and expertise. She was emphatic, and passionate. And her eyes absolutely sparkled. I sat still in my seat across the desk, teetering between absolute inspiration and sheer terror, sneaking instantaneous peaks at my notes.

When asked how she seeks to still the din of our accelerated culture, Ms. Ellerbee told me that she goes for long hikes by herself, sometimes for a week at a time. After a few days in the mountains, or the desert, she said, all of the noise within and without fades, and she is left with the clarity and tranquility of her best inner voice. She began these solo sojourns, she said, while recovering from a bout with breast cancer.

When the interview was over, I asked her to pose for a photo, and sign my copy of "And So It Goes."

"Do you have my new book?" she asked, procuring a copy.

* * *

Back at my desk a few hours later, swept up in the chaos and frenzy of MTV News, I paused to crack the cover of "Take Big Bites: Adventures Around The World And Across The Table," and read her inscription.

"Benjamin," she wrote. "You're already on the path."

A Deep & Simple "Companion"

Abbi and I were watching "A Prarie Home Companion" on demand when it hit me like a ton of bricks.

"We have to interview Garrison Keillor!"

As a Midwesterner, Mr. Keillor's show has been on my radio as long as I can remember. His dulcet baritone was constant companion in the numerous cross-country trips of my college years.

I've always appreciated the oasis of calm that exists on his air. There is no big city rush, no cacophony. His storytelling is patient and tempered, each tale invested with deeper meaning. He inspires. "A Prarie Home Companion" holds the increasingly rare distinction of tasting good, and being good.

I wrote the following in my Daily Journal upon seeing a living taping of Mr. Keillor's beloved radio show on Christmas Eve 2005:

My mother, brother and I all live within a twelve block radius of one another now, which is primarily serendipity, not strategy. And though it facilitates seeing one another now and then, busy lives and the general good sense not to overdue it have limited such gathering to the "rare" to "very rare" file. Which is, in general, fine with me. This theater going experience, though, was in the "rarest of the rare" column. It was Christofer's idea.

So there we were: a single mother and her two sons in the orchestra section of Town Hall enjoying Mr. Keilor's slice of Midwestern kitsch. Of course, it's not insignificant that Chris should take us there. The Midwest -- as a symbol -- has been lost to all three of us. For my mother, who grew up in Iowa, it is a different story, one I wouldn't feign to know or understand. But for me, the Midwest is a far-off place where, once upon a time amidst fireflies and crickets, everything was deep and simple. I tune into "A Prarie Home Companion" and, through Mr. Keillor's Lake Woebegone tales, endeavor to return to that quieter, more tranquil time. I imagine Chris does too.

It was a fairly magical Christmas gift to hear my brother laughing so deeply, and to hear my mother singing so clearly. It was a fairly magical Christmas gift to sing "Silent Night" with 1500 New Yorkers. And it was a fairly magical Christmas gift to hear 75-year-old folk legend Odetta read this poem aloud:


Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure about you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to manifest the glory of God that is within us.

It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.


Standing there in her white knit dress, funky beret and multi-color scarf, this frail, soulful woman led the audience -- né, this congregation -- through four verses of "This Little Light Of Mine," then shuffled off, leaving us all to bask in the glow of our collective brilliance.

And so, with an assist from my colleague, MTV News Talent Coordinator Alyssa Vitrano (who dug up Mr. Keillor's contact information), I called Minneapolis this afternoon. And while I was nervous, hurried, and unrehearsed, Prairie Home Production publicist, Katrina Cicala, was poised, patient, warm.

"Take your time," she said. "I love a good story."

Katrina seemed optimistic following my brief description of the project.

"Sounds great," she said. "I love Mister Rogers."

I followed our brief conversation with the following email:

Much of Mister Rogers' "deep and simple" ethos -- a phrase he plucked from author/activist/mystic (and friend) Bo Lozoff's book, "Deep & Simple" -- was based on his unique perspective as a Presbyterian minister, and as a participant, observer and activist within our accelerated media culture. Thus far, we've interviewed journalists Susan Stamberg, Tim Russert and Linda Ellerbee, authors Marc Brown, Tim Madigan, and Amy Hollingsworth, and Mr. Lozoff to that end. In the next few months, we plan to speak with Bill Moyers, Yo Yo Ma, and -- hopefully -- Mr. Keillor.

Mr. Keillor's work has been a constant source of deep insight, simple joy, and profound inspiration for myself, and millions like me. "A Prairie Home Companion" is an oasis of substance amidst the vacuous folly of an accelerated culture. To that end, we seek Mr. Keillor's answers to questions such as: "Has American culture become shallow and complex?" "How does media and consumer culture conspire against depth and simplicity?" And "To whom does culture look for deep and simple inspiration and guidance?" Not to mention, "Did you ever cross paths with Fred Rogers?" And "From where do you personally draw you depth and substance?"

So... listen up when those ton of bricks hit. All that weight might mean something, and might turn out better than you think. I'm hoping so anyway.

Found!

I'm a big fan of "This American Life." If you don't know it, you should. It's a Public Radio show out of WBEZ in Chicago. Just as its creators describe it, "This American Life" is "like movies for radio." I love the patient, deliberately thematic storytelling. And I love host Ira Glass' voice, and sense of humor.

I was asonished, then, when, last summer, I heard a promo for the show teasing a segment on a young man's friendship with Mister Rogers.

'That's my story,' I thought. Still, I eagerly tuned in.

The story begins in the mid-Seventies when Davy Rothbart's little brother writes to Mister Rogers. Both kids are astounded when Mister Rogers writes back two weeks later. They arrange to meet him later that summer in Nantucket. Twenty years later, Davy visits Mister Rogers in Pittsburgh.

"When you talk with him," Davy says, "he's utterly engaged. He asks a lot of questions, and he seems to actually care what you say. He let's his feelings come right to the surface. I've never been around someone who's both so vulnerable, and so fearless about showing you who he is."

Fast forward to this afternoon. Two weeks into the new year, I decide to jump starting the doc. So I Google Davy.

Ends up, Davey Rothbart is the founder of a small, Dave Eggers-style creative empire. He's the founder Found Magazine (which I've long known of), the author of "The Lone Surfer Of Kansas, Montana," and -- ends up -- a frequent contributor to "This American Life."

So I start to try to tack him down in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I call directory assistance, and call the number. Disconnected. I try his production company, 21 Balloons. No answer. Then I try Found.

"Hello, Found."

"Is Davy there?"

"Um, this is an antique shop. But we carry the magazine and the book."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm calling from MTV News in New York."

"MTV! Wow! Well, well, um... I think the people downstairs know his number. If you give me your number, I can call you back with his."

Two minutes later, she calls.

"The people downstairs didn't want to give me his number but they said they'd call him and give him yours."

Two minutes later, Davy Rothbarth calls.

"Only in the Midwest!" I answer, explaining the circuitous nature of our being connected. Then I tell him that my family rented the cottage next door to Mister Rogers, and that I heard his "This American Life" segment, and that I'd love to interview him for my documentary.

"Sure!" he says. "I got mad love for Mister Rogers."

Meeting People Is Easy

Sometimes you chase a potential interview. Other times they drop right in your lap.

I received this email a few days ago:

Benjamin:

How strange that tonight I was at the piano noodling around with some old tunes from Mister Rogers Neighborhood - then quite by accident discovered your site! All of the wonderful recollections struck a deep chord. I met Fred in 1977 - at the start of my graduate degree in - children's TV... and we became fast friends. He would often sign his letters and emails "your forever friend." So you can imagine how I appreciated reading about your project! I feel as if the FCI family - David Newell, Sam Newberry, Hedda Sharapan, and of course Bill Isler and Elaine Lynch - are lifelong friends as well!

I never did break into children's TV - and now run a non-profit advocacy org. in DC - while producing educational videos on occasion.

A few months back I wrote a chapter for a book on friendship about Fred and told about Fred and the baby pacifier. If we should ever meet I would love to share it with you. And you may be interested to hear about how his favorite number reached me the day he died...

And dang it all - I was in NY yesterday. Next time I'm in the city (which is about once every month or so) - I will try and make one of your shows. I would love to meet you.

Anyway I just wanted to touch base with you and wish you well on the project - and to say I can't wait to see it!

Vince Isner
Charlottesville, VA

Everyone tells me how Fred loved bringing people together...

We'll see...

Slipping Into Deeper Lives

The thing that makes me nuts about this blog (and this film, for that matter) is my need to both demonstrate and feel that we're moving forward. On the surface, it would seem not; I haven't postd in days. In fact, though, we are. Not just literally (we're on Linda Ellerbee's calendar in January, and still working on Bill Moyers, though. There's more to this project than who we interview and what they say.

The entire undertaking reflects a desire, an ambition, a need to (as I sang in "Snapshot Summertime" way back in 1994) slip into a deeper life. To that end, then, and filtered through a "deep and simple" lens, every day has its reward.

Earlier this week, I received a rigurously considered and thoroughly thoughtful email from one of my oldest and most beloved friends, Kristan Flynn. Kristan, and her husband Jeff, are amongst my closest and favorite friends. Though distance (they live in Princeton) precludes spending a ton of time together, there's never a shortage of substantive conversation when we do snag a minute. Her email runs nearly 1300 words and covers everything from childhood obesity to Catholicism.

In considering what forces oppose that which is deep and simple, Kristan's thesis -- like Bo Lozoff's -- is that consumerism -- you are what you buy -- is largely responsible. She writes:

We have ceded ground to the notion that our identities and contribution to the wider social context is in the most primal way determined by what we purchase and how we behave as consumers. This has been going on for quite some time, but now it seems some of the controls and safety nets in place have been removed. The fish has rotted at the head (adults - corporate scandals, congress, an illegal war) and now is reaching the tail (children). While I am more aware of this issue as it relates to food due to my studies I think it is applicable to so many arenas.

The moment that this struck me the most was after September 11, at a time that should have been an opportunity for introspection and leadership we were told to return to normal and "normal" was defined as shopping. It made me realize, the powerful parties that had the ear of the President were communicating their greatest fears, which was "We can’t have this kill 4th quarter profits."

We were at a point when there was an almost universal openenss to a broader challenge. A willingness to contribute, sacrifice and connect. In response we were told, there is nothing to see here and the best thing you can do is provide us your power by proxy. We'll make the big decisions, you just get out there and spend money.

I laugh every time I remember my brother saying, "What is the conflict in our movie? Every story needs a conflict." Because we couldn't be levelling responsibility any higher up the cultural org chart.

Sometimes I feel hopeless against it. All week long I've been watching Spike Lee's "When The Levees Broke" (see "With Your Feet In The Air And Your Head On The Ground" at my other web site). And all week long I've been asking myself, "Where are our priorities? How are we failing each other so miserably?" And I wonder what more I can do. Sure, I record my benefit records, and donated to The Red Cross. Sure, I speak out online and to whomever will listen. And sure, I'm working on this film. But what does it take to turn the tide against a power base that characterizes the largest single-day anti-war protest in history a "focus group"?

I'm not sure. But I sure am glad there are at least a few people, like Kristan, willing to ask the tough questions, and consider the difficult answers.

Cough, Cough

Following a brief and hope-filled respite, I am sick again.

Holly at Lucky Duck Productions has kindly accepted our apologies on behalf of Linda Ellerbee. We're postponing our interview until January.

Meanwhile, Chris has been cutting "select reels" to DVD for screening. He likes to call periodically to tease me with monologues like the following.

"I just cut a select for Stamberg. You spend, like, five minutes asking the first question, then she goes, 'You mean, Why do I work for NPR.'"

Brotherhood, indeed.

Cough, Cough.

And So It Is: Linda Ellerbee Signs On

And so it is: We're interviewing Linda Ellerbee in her office on Thursday (December 7) at 11:15.

From the Museum of Broadcast Communications:

Linda Ellerbee, respected and outspoken broadcast journalist, has functioned as a network news correspondent, anchor, writer, producer, and is currently president of her own production company, Lucky Duck Productions. Gaining fame in the 1970s and 1980s for her stints as an NBC News Washington correspondent, Weekend co-anchor, reporter, and co-anchor of NBC News Overnight, Linda Ellerbee became a symbol for a different type of reporter: literate, funny, irreverent, and never condescending.

Her television production company, Lucky Duck Productions, has a reputation as a supplier of outstanding children's programming. Founded with partner Rolfe Tessem in 1987 the company has won three CableAces, two Peabodys, a duPont, and an Emmy. Each week Ellerbee writes and hosts Nick News for children and young people.

Upon Fred's passing, Ms. Ellerbee told the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

"His legacy will be that he made millions of children feel safe and comforted in a time when so much of the bombardment of the media is overwhelming. For everything that we all agree is bad about television and children, he was the good of it. Nothing is as bad as he was good."

At The Academy of Television Arts & Sciences 2003 tribute to Mister Rogers, she said:

He spoke from the heart to the heart. He gave kids comfort. He gave kids ideas and knowledge. He gave them self-confidence. He gave them permission to just be kids. And he never ever talked down to them.

He understood that kids were human beings, only younger and shorter. It’s amazing how rare that attitude is in children’s television. However, 12 years ago, when we began "Nick News," even though our audience would be older than that of Fred Rogers, I was determined to do the one thing Fred Rogers did best: I would show respect for kids.

Why? Because they deserve it, and because it works. And sometimes I would say to myself, I wonder if Mister Rogers has seen our show? Am I doing him proud?

And then one day, we both attended a conference at the White House on children’s television. Most people there were thrilled to be seated at the same table with the President of the United States. I thought the President of the United States ought to be thrilled to be seated at the same table with Mister Rogers. I know I was, and I introduced myself to Mister Rogers and I asked him what advice he had for "Nick News."

He said, "Just keep it on the air. That’s the hard part."

She recently conceded that:

She treasures a note she received from Fred Rogers, who wrote that hers was the best news show not only for kids, but also for adults. In the Mister Rogers mold, she believes "we've got to get to know one another."

To be honest with you, I'm not sure what my exact line of questioning will be. It's just so obvious that she is fighting the good fight, and walking the walk, and advocating -- whether wittingly or not -- for that which is "deep and simple." On a certain level, I'd like to float the premise, and see where the conversation goes. But then, this is a woman who anchored NBC News. I'll do some homework.