TV Concussions
We’ve all seen it before. A man gets pistol whipped, karate chopped, hit in the head with a canoe paddle, or otherwise midly grazed somewhere above the neck. Instead of turning around and shouting, “Hey, cut it out, asshole!” they collapse artfully to the ground, where they stay unconcious until it’s narrativly convienient for them to wake.
After groggily rising, there’s absolutely no damage, no repurcussions - hell, there usually isn’t even a bruise.
Bullshit.
It’s really damn hard to knock someone unconcious. Go ahead. Try it some time. Bring half a dozen friends and prepare to spend the rest of the year in prison, but you’ll learn an important lesson.
I’m unusually aware of TV concussions these days. Some of that is because I watch shows like “Lost” and “Chuck,” where every episode people pass out like a parlor full of Victorian women with the vapors. I wish it was that easy.
A month and a half ago, I went around an unmarked rural hairpin turn at about 40 mph. My car spun around three times before ending up at the bottom of a six and a half foot ditch, facing the opposite direction. The force of impact broke a twelve foot long concrete culvert as well as totalling my car. It wasn’t my best night ever.
Adreneline did its job of keeping me astoundingly coherent until I reached home. Four hours later, all that lucidity evaporated. I got out of bed and headed to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of iced tea. Thirst. Basic need. Easy. When I got to the fridge, I couldn’t figure out how to get tea out of the pitcher and into a glass. Frustrated, I went back to the bed then tried to start the process over from the beginning. I kept this up for hours - walking from the bed to the fridge, not comprehending how to get a drink, desperatly restarting the whole confusing process in the hopes I could somehow figure it out. I was wrong. For the next week, I couldn’t drive, I couldn’t cook, I couldn’t comprehend simple instructions. I’m back up to about 85% but still can’t learn complicated new skills on the spot. I come in significantly last at my tried and true boardgames and have a great deal of difficulty learning how to play a new one.
Now, this wasn’t a severe concussion - y’know, the kind where you lose conciousness. This was a run of the mill, “Owie, my head’s on a little fuzzy,” everyday sort of affair. I’m plodding along on a perfectly average recovery track - but you don’t see me whipping out the Kung Fu.
Every time I see Casey knocked out by a Fulcrum agent, I want to see a follow up episode where the guy klutzily tries to chase them down but can’t drive straight, or gets lost staring at a map, or repeats, “2nd floor, door on the left…” obsessively for three straight hours.
Now, I know, sometimes people on TV just need to pass out for a little while. We’re down to 42 minutes of show for every TV hour. Longwinded negotiations or the cumbersome process of tying someone up and gagging them have to be cut to fit in another ad for KFC bowls. I hate every single thing in those and yet on TV they look like crack. I mean, c’mon, whipped potatoes? Soggy corn? Dubious gravy? Shreaded CHEEZE? How do those advertising demons combine such unworthy ingredients into a thing that looks like a trip to Valhalla and a roll with Thor all bundled in a to-go box?
Ahem. I digress.
The point is I’d be absolutely delighted if someone other than Dexter snuck around on TV with actual sedatives. Go on, kids. Let some quirky character carry chloroform sheets in her purse. She could pretend they’re wet-wipes and constantly be cleaning the remains of meals off people’s faces. Or give a leading male a tough twelve year old tomboy sidekick who’s always shooting spitballs through a straw. Everyone finds it obnoxious as hell, but hey, kids will be kids. And sometimes kids will shoot tiny little trank darts. Or, if you’re really desperate, just give everyone on the show tazers they can wave around instead of guns. Actually, that’d make a great reality show.
Now excuse me while I get off my soapbox and go watch some reruns of “Lost.” Wait…maybe multiple concussions explain Sawyer, Locke, Jack, and Desmond’s behavior. The show suddenly makes so much more sense. Keep pistol whipping each other, boys!
