The Joy of Pain

by Richard H. Smith

  The site for the meeting has been rigged inside and out with as many as 17 hidden cameras and microphones. A young-looking actress, made to look like the girl or boy the man is expecting to meet, greets the man and invites him into a patio area or inside the house, typically the kitchen. After a brief conversation that ends with the decoy stepping out of the room for a moment, the man is surprised by the host of the show, Chris Hansen—who enters usually through the door that the decoy has just exited. Often, Hansen begins his conversation in an ironic way, as if his surprise presence is part of an expected flow of events. “What’s going on?” he might say. Or, if the man has brought some food and drink for the anticipated meeting, Hansen might say, “Going to have some fun?” Hansen asks the man to take a seat, a request that is usually obeyed instantly, and then he begins questioning the man’s reasons for being in the house. Viewers already know some basic details of the online conversation, and when the man almost invariably lies about his intentions, viewers follow along as Hansen confronts the lies. Hansen typically holds a copy of what appears to be the full transcript of the online chat the man has had with the decoy. He will read passages from the transcript that seem to contradict the man’s claims while viewers watch the man hesitating and squirming as he tries to reconcile the transcript statements with his current claims. Once Hansen seems satisfied the conversation has run its course, he announces who he is and why he’s there, using variants of this phrase:

  “I have to tell you that I am Chris Hansen with Dateline NBC and we are doing a story about computer predators/adults who try to meet teens online for sex.”17

  As Hansen reveals his identity, two Dateline employees with large, shoulder-held TV cameras and others holding long boom mikes emerge through entryways and angle for close views of how these men react. Of course, these men have already grasped that things are not going according to plan. Most realize that they are in big trouble. Some even recognize Hansen from earlier episodes of the show. But it is when Hansen makes his announcement and the cameras appear that the full enormity of what is coming down usually hits them. Some men immediately try to exit the room, covering their faces with their hands or by pulling up their shirts. Some collapse to the floor. When a man makes it outside, he finds himself surrounded by a group of police officers with guns raised, shrieking commands, who usually shove the man to the ground, handcuff him from the back, and then lead him away to certain arrest and arraignment. These men—instant pariahs—are surely near the bottom of fortune’s wheel. With their reputations obliterated, they have, to borrow from Shakespeare, lost the immortal part of themselves, and what remains is bestial.18

  While it aired new episodes, the show was a dependable sweeps-week draw for NBC. The reruns, some in more elaborated and less edited formats, continue to attract audiences. Chris Hansen has become an icon and a go-to expert on online predatory behavior—even testifying before Congress on the issue. The show is so well known that some of its repeated features have become part of popular culture, most notably the point in each exchange when the men realize they are to be humiliated on national TV, their lives wrecked in the most public of ways. The phrase, “I am Chris Hansen” is now recognized to the point of frequent parody, appearing in some form in shows ranging from The Simpsons to 30 Rock.19

  WHY IS PREDATOR SO ENTERTAINING?

  As Steven Winn of Slate Magazine put it so aptly, the show has a “queasily transfixing” appeal.20 There are a number of reasons why. Clearly, some viewers enjoy learning about the dirty secrets of others. On the grand stage of the 21st-century public square, the show is gossip writ large. There is certainly a pornographic element in the details of the online chats between the men and the decoys.21 Little is left to the imagination. And because this material is presented in the context of what appears to be a highly deserved sting, many viewers can obscure their awareness of any voyeuristic and pornographic gratifications by being distracted by righteous disgust. Again, as I stressed in Chapters 5 and 6, deserved misfortunes create a direct route to schadenfreude. But, as with the appeal of watching William Hung and the other less talented American Idol contestants, we also know that a big part of the comic pleasure likely results from the satisfaction of downward comparisons, spiked with humiliation. And Predator seems to take this satisfaction to another level. How else could Jimmy Kimmel say this when introducing Chris Hansen as a guest for his late night TV show?

  Our next guest is host of the funniest comedy on television. It’s called To Catch a Predator. … If you’ve never seen it, it’s like Punk’d for pedophiles. It’s a great show. … Please say hello to Chris Hansen.22

  Predator may help us feel better about ourselves, but this is through another person’s extreme humiliation. How is it that the producers of Predator are able to get away with humiliating someone so mercilessly on national TV, let alone serving up almost wall-to-wall opportunities for raw voyeuristic and pornographic fulfillment? How is it that they can trust that most people will find it agreeable to see these men brought down so low and exposed in such a vulgar, grubby glare—without being troubled by guilt?

  THE LOWEST OF THE LOW

  The title of the show tells us a lot. Viewers watch with the operating assumption that the men who appear are “predators”—classified into a squalid category of humanity from the start. There are few labels held with deeper disgust, fear, and contempt than a “sexual predator” or “pedophile,” even though the actual category of behavior is broad and ranges in degree and in cure.23 Taking sexual advantage of a child ranks at or near the top of most cultures’ lists of immoral behaviors. It is not only repugnant, but it also suggests an unalterable defect, a moral leprosy, a placing of the person outside the circle of humanity. Even among criminals, molesting a child is usually regarded with a singular disgust and probably boosts the self-esteem of the average inmate—“Yes, I killed a man, but I’m no pedophile.”24 Sex offenders are at special risk for physical assault in prison as a result. Unlike even felons convicted of violent crimes, those convicted of child molestation are put on criminal registries and Web sites. Letters are sent out to neighbors when they move into a neighborhood, and they are often unable to live within 1,000 feet of schools.

  Predator does nothing to alter these perceptions. Douglas McCollam, an attorney and contributing writer for Columbia Journalism Review, argues that the label “predator” alone creates immediate images in many viewers’ minds of a “drooling, trench-coated sex fiend hanging out at the local playground with a bag full of candy.”25 Because of high-profile examples of child abductions, such as the Polly Klaas case, people’s fears are easily roused.26 These understandable worries grant the show considerable leeway. There seems little need to treat such people with the basic respect owed to human beings. Not only do they deserve humiliation, but they must be caught and then humiliated as a way of deterring this vile behavior. This must help explain why viewers find the humiliation of these men so pleasing—and entertaining. After all, these men, these predators, showed up with the clear intent to have sexual contact with young girls or boys. Where is the defense for this? Humiliation is a just start of their punishment, a fitting prelude to a jail sentence.

  Gone are the days of public hangings, stocks, and pillories. Modern sensibilities lead us to resist the idea that we could deliberately take pleasure in seeing others humiliated—as least as official policy.27 Yet these sensibilities seem to remain inert in the case of people who molest children. This means that the producers of Predator have an effective firewall against easy criticism when the show humiliates these men, clearing all involved from guilty feelings for participating in this process. The crystalline sense of deservingness creates a clear path to schadenfreude free of moral clutter.

  It is hard to overstate the contempt most people have for those who molest children. It is so deep and reflexive that showing any sympathy for these men risks contaminating the defender with a nasty stench. I feel this risk keenly. I have read many commentaries on Predator
, and no writer fails to include a phrase emphasizing disgust over the category of behavior linked with these men, lest even implied criticism of those involved with the show be misconstrued. McCollam raises credible concerns about the ethics of the show, but even he notes, “Let’s concede up front that this is an unsympathetic bunch of would-be perverts.”28 Truly, “predators” are a reviled category of humanity—the idea of viewing them in less than damning terms has potentially tainting effects on one who would do so.

  AN EASY STACKING OF THE DECK

  Even if viewers are inclined to doubt the full deservingness of the humiliations, the show does little to further these inclinations. Although it may seem that the evidence against these men is being provided in a fair and objective fashion, in fact, viewers get only an edited version of the online chat and of the interaction between Hansen and the men. The average episode contains about 10 interactions. Some of the chats extended for days; others for less than an hour. At best, viewers learn only a few exchanged lines of dialogue, and many of those selected are sexually charged. Dateline claims that the men always initiate the sexual material and suggest the initial meeting, but the development of this stage is rarely laid out in full. There is little room for fine distinctions here, and viewers have to trust the producers in these and other matters. And there is little in how the program evolves that disrupts this structure and causes one to distrust the narrative themes. The chat conversations, when they are described, are often typed on the screen as if they are happening live. These recreations may exaggerate the implications of the written content and heighten their effects on viewers. The material selected is usually so disgusting (and “titillating”) and incriminating on the face of it that anything else that might have been said that might allow viewers to see the men in a more positive light seems beside the point. Furthermore, Hansen always has a big ace up his sleeve: No matter what the apparent extenuating circumstances might be, no matter what excuses the men might have, the plain fact is that they showed up at a place expecting to have some sort of sexual contact with an underage person. There seems no cause to be distracted by trivial details that suggest a more nuanced view of the “predator’s” intentions, responsibility, and blameworthiness.

  Hansen has a huge advantage over these men as he steps into the room. Hansen knows what their apparent intentions are, as do viewers, and these men do not know that he knows (and they surely do not know that a national audience will also know). Hansen uses this advantage to make these men look foolish, ridiculous, or worse—dialing up the humiliation and the schadenfreude.

  There are many deft touches enhanced by the editing process that add to the potential for schadenfreude. One case involved a prominent doctor who carried himself in a refined way compared with most of the other men. The sting in this case was situated in the backyard patio of a house in a suburban neighborhood. The decoy appeared to have made a pitcher of crushed ice lemonade, and she suggested that he pour her a drink while she went to change clothes. As he slanted the pitcher, the ice held for a moment and then avalanched down, overloading the glass and splattering. The man tried to maintain his cool. This small comic moment at the doctor’s expense added entertainment value to the bigger drama that began when the doctor looked around for a towel, only to spot Dateline’s camera crew. He immediately turned, put on his sunglasses in a feckless instinctive move to hide his identity, and raced out of the patio. When he got to the driveway of the house, three police officers swarmed, guns drawn in his direction, directing him to the ground. He was pushed to the cement pavement and handcuffed behind his back.29

  It was an extraordinary sequence with few unrecorded moments. In addition to the police officers, other people also came into view. One man held a large TV camera over his shoulder and moved within a few feet to the doctor’s right. A second man moved in from the right. Why these extra cameras? After all, there were fixed, hidden cameras already covering every square inch of space (as the editing shows). Might not these added cameras cause viewers to start wondering whether law enforcement is getting too cozy with the entertainment goals of Dateline? However, if the point of the show and secret of its appeal are to humiliate for entertainment purposes, the host of cameras amplifies the sense of excruciating humiliation. With the next edited shot, there was a close-up of the doctor’s reactions (some moments after he had been allowed to get back on his feet). This shot showed him protesting, “I wasn’t doing anything … oh man, I wasn’t doing anything!” From about two feet away, there was a shot of his face as he seems to be half crying. Then, there was a series of edited moments taking viewers through the process of the doctor being questioned by police. Hansen’s voice provided steady commentary, at once clinically detached (“The police ask routine, personal questions but the doctor appears distracted”), sometimes expressing disbelief (“It’s hard to believe that someone of his stature would show up to meet a girl who said she was 13”), always with an air of moral superiority free of qualms about the tactics being used.30

  Hansen appears well insulated from doubts about the appropriateness of the tactics employed by the show. In an informative 2007 book he wrote about Predator, he described many of his interactions with these men. He stated that it was important not to go “overboard” but granted the “prosecutorial” tone that he sometimes used. Although there were “some sad cases that come knocking on our door,”31 he emphasized the manipulative features of the men’s actions, the offensive aspects of their chats, the fact that they made the initial contact, the intent of their actions, and the overall threat they pose for society. With these and other arguments in mind, he admitted that none of the many exchanges inspired in him any strong sympathy.32

  THE GRATIFICATIONS OF HIGH STATUS AND REVENGE

  Social science research on why people watch reality TV generally fits with why certain content appears in programs such as American Idol and Predator. Media researchers Steven Reiss and James Wiltz argue that people will watch TV, or any stimulus, to satisfy basic motives and desires. In one study, Reiss and Wiltz examined the free-time activities of a large group of people. Participants indicated how much they enjoyed different types of travel, sports, and music, as well as various popular reality TV programs. They also completed a personality measure tapping 16 basic desires and their associated joys when these desires are fulfilled. Two motives were most clearly associated with reality TV viewing. The strongest of these two was status, or, as Reiss and Wiltz define it, a “desire for prestige” with the associated joy of “self-importance.” The next strongest was vengeance, a “desire to get even” with the associated joy of “vindication.” The greater the number of reality TV shows viewed and liked, the more important these two desires.33

  Both American Idol and Predator invite viewers to feel good about their relative status and hence their sense of importance. With Idol, William Hung was given screen time more because of his inferiority rather than his talent. With Predator, the men profiled are already near the lowest of the low, but the show is structured to bring them down further still. As Dan Snierson and Josh Wolk of Entertainment Weekly commented bluntly, “Do we watch reality television for precious insight into the human condition? Please. We watch for those awkward scenes that make us feel a smidge better about our own little unfilmed lives.”34

  What about vengeance? In both programs, and more so with Predator, participants “deserve” their humiliations. With Idol, these humiliated contestants are considered fools to think they could win. No one is forcing them to audition. With Predator, what else do these perverted men deserve but crushing humiliation—and, of course, jail time? They receive what they deserve.

  In some ways, shows like Predator really do harken back to times when humiliation was a more general punishment of choice for many cultures.35 Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter is a work of fiction, but it captures the spirit of the Puritans who believed that punishment should be humiliating.36 Until the 19th century, stocks and pillories served as a public puni
shment instead of imprisonment. The convicted were sentenced to stand in public sites, such as village greens, that people frequented. It was common for people to make fun of victims and throw all manner of things at them, from rotten food to dead animals. The pillory was a favorite because the victim’s face was immobilized, along with his or her hands. Sometimes the ears were nailed to the wood to prevent the face from moving. For many onlookers, it must have been a feasting time for schadenfreude.37

  Are some segments of television programming today serving a similar role? Predator educates viewers about a potential societal threat, but compelling entertainment seems to drive many of the choices that the producers make. The gratifications of humiliation and resulting guilt-free schadenfreude are a potent draw. Deserved humiliation and anticipated schadenfreude seem to be the formula for the show’s success, and the decisions appear made to swell the gratifying effects of this pairing.

  The producers of Predator (as well as American Idol and so many other reality TV shows) know there is a line that they must avoid crossing. They may test the limits of humiliation, but they surely wish to avoid the chance that schadenfreude is replaced by outrage over the treatment of these men, a decline in viewing, and the withdrawal of advertising dollars. The continued reruns of Predator suggest that this line has not been crossed, even though no new shows have been produced since the 2008 episode in which a Texas man committed suicide rather than face arrest and public humiliation. Hansen has achieved cool celebrity status and is respected enough to testify before Congress on the problems of online sexual predators, despite using humiliation as a catapult to these achievements. This suggests that it is these men who have been effectively demonized rather than the show itself.