"His drilling in the [Arctic National Wildlife Reserve] led me to use the oil towers."
Having grown up in the Bay Area and returned here after a college stint in Santa Cruz, Boyce — like other Bay Area artists with an interest in culture jamming — calls upon Negativland ("I thought their whole Escape from Noise album was great") and Craig Baldwin ("He's kind of the godfather of cinema here") as two major inspirations. In fact, both he and Baldwin have shared a fascination with televangelist Robert Tilton, whose bizarre preaching makes him a perfect lab rat on whom to try out editing experiments. "He speaks in tongues so nicely," Boyce says with a smile. "He's just so over-the-top and sad and terrible that he lends himself to all the extremes of the [editing] system, such as playing something backwards."
Boyce believes that the absurdity of "an abrupt jump cut between incongruous things" can "really be beautiful." And the TV Carnage DVDs put together by Derrick Beckles might illustrate that observation even better than Boyce's more minimalist tweaking. In just one of hundreds of uproarious moments within TV Carnage’s most recent DVD, the wonderfully titled Sore for Sighted Eyes, a sheet-clad John Ritter stares in abject disbelief at a TV on which Rosie O’Donnell pretends to have Down syndrome. At least two different movie writers at this paper (yours truly included) have shed tears from laughing at this sequence.
"I just picture a conveyer belt, and there are just so many points at which someone could press a big red stop button, but it doesn't happen," Beckles says, discussing the source (an Angelica Huston–helmed TV movie called Riding the Bus with My Sister) for the O’Donnell footage. "There’s this untouchable hubris. It blows my mind that people are paid for some of these ideas. Crispin Glover told me that the actors with Down syndrome in [his movie] What Is It? were offended by [the O’Donnell performance], or that they felt uneasy. It is uneasy to see Rosie O’Donnell do a Pee-wee Herman impersonation and think she’s embodying someone with Down syndrome."
Beckles’s interest in manipuutf8g TV — or as he puts it, “exorcising my own demons” by exorcising television’s — dates back to childhood. But it took several years in the belly of MGM to really fire a desire that has resulted in five DVDs to date. "TV Carnage is my way of screaming," he says at one point during a phone conversation that proves he’s as funny as his work. Like Boyce and audio contemporaries such as Gregg Gillis of Girl Talk (see "Gregg the Ripper," page 69), he filters "mounds and mounds and shelves and shelves" of tapes and other material through his computer.
"It’s not so much that I’m always in front of the TV," Beckles explains. "I'd just say that I have this divining rod for shit. I have these psychic premonitions when I turn on my TV. I have years and years of footage. I pull all of it into my computer and say, 'Now what?' Then I take a swig of whiskey and go, 'You’ve got yourself into it again.'" On Sore for Sighted Eyes this approach results in eye-defying montages dedicated to subjects such as white rapping. (Believe me, you have not lived until you’ve died inside seeing Mike Ditka and the Grabowskis or the Sealy Roll.)
Overall, mind control is TV Carnage’s main theme. One segment within the release Casual Fridays looks at children who act like adults and adults who act like children — two plagues that run rampant on TV. “Kids are like al-Qaeda," he says. "They’ll shift their plans every day to keep you wondering. [Meanwhile], you can just feel the adults who host teen shows thinking about their mortgage payments: ‘What are kids doing now? Slitting each other’s throats? Great! Let’s do a show about it!’” An infamous "swearing sandwich" sequence within TV Carnage’s When Television Attacks encapsulates Beckles’s worldview.