MTV and the Mutilation Done

This was the case, in Torrington, Connecticut, where 13-year-old Jason Lind found himself in the burn unit of Boston's Shriners Hospital having necrotic skin scraped off his legs. Lind tried to recreate a pyromaniac's dream of a Jackass stunt: where Knoxville wore a 'meat-suit' then threw himself over a real BBQ pit.

Lind poured gasoline on his legs and lit a match. At 13 he was old enough to read MTV's tongue in cheek disclaimers, but his teen thought-processes concluded it would be fun to try it anyway. Somehow he had the time, place and means to attempt his recreation.

Another teenager tried to reproduce a prank that showed a regular cast member lunging a fast-food drive-thru window and stealing someone's order before it makes it to the customer. In the non-broadcast amateur version of this stunt, the wanna-be Jackass snapped the hourly-wage employee's wrist clean back and broken. Evidently, MTV was very lucky that this potential accident didn't happen when their cameras were rolling.

Sure a lot of these kids are the ones that hold extreme wrestling matches in their backyards. Jackass can't be responsible for an adolescent's entire lack of education and direction. How can a TV show be responsible for a 13-year-old who doesn't know what gasoline does near fire? MTV executives are just giving teenagers ideas that appear doable because of the show's no-frills all video presentation.

The Secret of Clapp's Success

There is no mystery in Jackass's power to relate to the predominantly male audience. Knoxville/Clapp was a junior jackass as a kid, before getting paid for it and meeting Spike Jonze. Clapp was a kid in Tennessee, who delighted in pulling terrible pranks on his family-a hobby inspired by his dad, the original Jackass. Having made it to 29, either Knoxville was intelligent enough not to cross the lines of safety, or fortunate enough to avoid being a mortality stat. The genus of his big break originated from freelance online and print zine-writing (Blunt, Bikini, Big Brother). Offering himself as a product testing guinea-pig, his reviews featuring more than a little of his childhood addiction to risky exploits attracted a lot of attention in the era of "Cop Chases Gone Bad!" Jonze produced a 'best-of' reel and even turned down membership in the Saturday Night Live Club, just to follow his dream of having his friends snorkel in human waste. As whacked-out as Jackass fans might think Knoxville is, they don't make the connection that he's also just a real person, an actor-hyphenate who wants to be famous. You can see Knoxville in small roles on Northern Exposure and Mountain Dew commercials, for example. Your average suburban malcontent doesn't realize, however, that he is no more conventional than his many years of head-shots. And insanely lucky that his idea for a show made it through the show-business pitch machine with some prestigious help after years of hustling.

But that kind of behind the scenes portrait isn't as funny as watching a production coordinator getting hurled down a flight of stairs while tied to a swivel chair. Between those poles, the more ominous after-effect of Jackass reveals itself: the state of torpor; a subliminal indoctrination into a numb experience. Numb to other people's feelings, numb to worst consequences of dangerous acts of vandalism and personal abuse. Some of the wretched pranks bombard you with so much callous and repulsive energy that you can't help wondering if your average dumb kid could really shake-it off as mere pastime entertainment.

While no one has died or been made handicapped attempting to replay their favorite Jackass bit at home, it's worth associating the potential for that, with a true example of what appears to be parental failure in the face of television.

Copycat Cases

This year in Florida, another 13-year old, Lionel Tate, was found guilty of First Degree Murder. His mother, a police-officer, napped while her son viciously beat his six-year old playmate Tiffany Eunick to death with his bare hands in her own living room. Momma Tate's fellow officers who came over to support her and noticed some disturbing things, being expert observers. What was initially thought to be an accidental death, now stunk like a crime scene-due to the definite appearance it's having been cleaned-up and altered. The young Tate's mother not only failed to recognize the rage of her fatherless boy and left him unattended in the company of a tiny girl, but she apparently tried to cover-up her failure by bleaching blood and vomit from her carpet, walls and furniture. Publicly she says her son was a victim of Pro-Wrestling on television, specifically the Worldwide Wrestling Federation and Vince McMahon. She is lying: a small child with ruptured internal organs, who is puking blood and vomit, convulsing from brain-injury isn't representative of anything produced by the WWF, or Bugs Bunny - also thought at one time to be responsible for violence in kids.

Subverting Extreme Art Performances Through a Rearview Mirror

On November 9, 1974 one of Chris Burden's most intoxicating works was to be revealed at an old house which was the scene of a reception for his latest exhibit. No one saw evidence of Burden's work anywhere and upon inquiry, people were directed to follow the curator to the basement.

The first person down the hole was mum, anxious about what had gone on behind the door. This increased people's curiosity, and word spread that "something" was happening at last.

One at a time, watchers were was allowed through a single metal door, which was then closed behind them. Curious spectators lined up waiting for hours as the average visitor remained behind the door for as much as a half an hour. Frustrated by suspense and a desire to be included, people kicked at the door and tried to break windows for a peek inside that basement chamber.

Inside the room itself, which consisted of a boiler and brick walls, sat Chris Burden, alone in a small chair, lit by some glowing coals, opposite another empty chair. When their eyes became acquainted to the dark, all of the mere fifteen observers in the basement that night realized that this was it.

Themselves, and pretty much nothing.

Some viewers later told others that they felt and saw nothing, and that nothing worth happening or disrupting transpired. I prefer to think they were quite aware, soon enough: they were the exhibit and their experiences were the experiment.