Cynical Interpretive Communities: The Simpsons Meets the University Student ? Jonathan Gray

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    Cynical Interpretive Communities:
The Simpsons Meets the University Student

                  ? Jonathan Gray
        Goldsmiths College, University of London
                  media@london.com

Not to be quoted from without prior permission from author

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The purpose of this paper is to scratch the surface of what I believe is a commonplace
scepticism towards media cynicism. Whether observed as a symptom of a postmodern
malaise, or discussed in relation to a perceived ever-waning interest in the news and politics,
the nature and value of cynicism are under attack. Indeed, while critical pedagogy calls for
the teaching of critical media literacy and awareness – an engendering, in other words, of
media cynicism – there are many who question whether a cynical disposition when watching
the television, listening to music, in a shopping centre, or so forth can actually be something
positive, or whether it merely contributes to a distanced apathy and removal of oneself from
the public sphere, hence feeding and serving the status quo. Clearly, this is a large issue and
a grand question, one that requires testing on multiple fronts, but this paper aims to add to
the process by using audience research into how a certain group of university students watch
and use The Simpsons and its parodic, media literate, cynical take on advertisements, the
news, sitcoms, and all manner of other televisual genres. Ultimately, I will suggest that we
must broaden, if not wholly change, our definition and understanding of cynicism, for while at
present it is all-too-often regarded as static, individual, self-contained, pessimistic or even
apathetic, and destructive, I wish to suggest cynicism may also take the form of being
continuous, communal, discussion-forming, optimistic, and reconstructive.
        The audience research that led me to this alternative conception of cynicism was
conducted between late 2001 and early 2002, and involved interviewing 37 university
students for approximately 30-40 minutes about how they watched The Simpsons. The
students came from a variety of different colleges in London, England, from different
disciplinary backgrounds, from numerous countries (with a dominant balance between the
UK, USA, Australia, Canada, and South Africa, and a few students from other nations),
and represented various affective positions towards The Simpsons, from outright love to
outright hate. This paper is based on the responses by those who enjoyed The Simpsons. It
should be stressed, too, that the interviews were set up to offer an understanding glimpse
into how viewers responded to the parody in The Simpsons, and thus this paper grew out
of what I was told, and out of consistent responses: it represents something discovered
along the way, not the original object of study. There are, of course, issues raised by the

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choice of group under study, issues to which I will return. For now, however, let me begin
by surveying the state of media and communication studies’s perception of cynicism.

Cynicism Under Attack
A healthily distanced critical step-back from the media would seem to be desirable, and
similarly, media texts that encourage a cynical, savvy, and aware consumption would seem
to be valuable. After all, as Nick Couldry points out, a great deal of media power only
remains powerful as long as we allow it power over us. ‘[T]he media’s symbolic power,’ he
reminds us, ‘is far from automatic; in fact, it has to be continually reproduced through
various practices and dispositions at every level of social life’ (2000:4). If, then, the media
has become the dominant force in Naming, Framing, and Ordering reality (Couldry
2000:52), this is in part because we continue to trust it to name, frame, and order (see
Silverstone 1999). Behind every genre’s grammar, behind the often taken-for-granted form
of all media content, lie ideological messages, structures, thrusts, and inclinations, and if,
through default or choice, we ignore the role of generic grammar and form and of political
economy, we risk allowing business-as-usual. As such, a critically engaged cynical
disposition, at first sight, promises a sort of x-ray vision, by which the consumers/viewers
can see through the generic-rhetoric apparatus that clutters their way to the content.
Indeed, numerous books and teachers of critical theory see the supplying of such x-ray
goggles as their prime task. Take, for instance, Neil Postman, whose well-known tirade
against television (Postman 1986, Postman and Powers 1992) is a tirade in search of
education. Postman’s answer is not Jerry Mander’s – eliminate TV (1977) – but rather a
plea for critical, cynical awareness, for ‘no medium,’ he argues, ‘is excessively dangerous if
its users understand what its dangers are’ (1986:161).
        Running alongside the calls for cynical viewers, unwilling to believe or do all that is
told to them or asked of them, are the announcements that many of us are already such
viewers. Thus John Caughie (1990), Jim Collins (1992), and John Ellis (1993) all suggest
that ironically detached forms of watching are the norm for television, encouraged by the
medium’s hectic form and flow, and by its schizophrenic content. Meanwhile, audience
research frequently uncovers knowing, distanced viewers, so that, for instance, Angela
McRobbie argues that young girls know enough when reading girls’ magazines to know how

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they are being persuaded to consume (1996:189), Nava and Nava chart how particularly
young viewers of ads adopt a cynical, discriminating, and resistant mode of consumption
(1992), Schr? der finds considerable cynicism directed towards corporate responsibility ads
(1997), and the wealth of David Buckingham’s work with children and teens (see 1987,
1990, 1997, 2000) points towards considerable media savvy on the part of children of even
seven or eight. The focus of some of this work can suggest that cynicism is peculiar to, or at
least heightened amongst, younger generations, and amongst contemporary audiences, but at
the same time, as Pertti Alasuutari offers:
      it is probably a researcher’s delusion to think that people have become more
      reflective in their relationship to the media. It is rather that constructionist
      qualitative audience research, more than previous paradigms, is able to pay
      attention to the fact that ordinary people do not just watch TV without any
      reflection on that activity as a whole. (1999:12-13)

        As such, the radical political economy announcements that the media boogeyman is
grasping at us from under our beds, inside our closets, and, importantly, from that fearful
box in the living room may not be as scary as they sound with their rhetoric of
‘manufacturing consent’ (Herman and Chomsky 1988) and ‘clear and present danger’
(Herman and McChesney 1997:1). And yet, just when we thought it was safe to turn the
TV back on, cynicism and media savvy themselves have come under attack as of
questionable, even destructive, use. Of course, we would be dangerously wrong and
perilously ignorant to assume that teaching media savvy and cynicism would ever be enough
– clearly, massive structural changes are needed to rid us of the boogeyman altogether – but
the attack on cynicism proposes that our monster repellent is not and was never effective
even in stemming the tide.
        Cynicism, Anthony Giddens tells us, is one of four key ‘adaptive reactions’ to a
world replete with risk and in which we are forced to rely on endless networks of trust. We
can either respond, Giddens argues, with pragmatic acceptance, sustained optimism, radical
engagement, or cynical pessimism (1990:134-7). Giddens is careful not to equate cynicism
with apathy, but nevertheless lumps it in with a bleak, nihilistic outlook, and would also seem
to preclude cynicism from engaging radically (let alone pragmatically or optimistically). Here,
then, albeit in a short passage, the battle lines around cynicism are drawn.

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        If we then turn to Nina Eliasoph’s excellent study of how Americans avoid talking
about politics (1998), the picture continues to darken. Eliasoph writes of ‘cynical chic,’ a
distanced and distancing position whereby, weary and wary of ulterior motives, people revel
in a wilful rejection of any and all explicit politics. Writing of a particular group of cynically
chic Californians, Eliasoph states ‘the point of their conversation was always to convince
each other that they were smart enough to know that they could not do anything about the
problems’ (1998:154). Thus, to Eliasoph, cynicism involves removal from Giddens’s
‘radically engaged’ position, and leads to nihilistic excuses for non-action. Indeed, of the
several groups Eliasoph followed for two years, the cynical chic group, she argues, perhaps
spoke of politics the most, but to no end, and rarely if ever as rehearsal to export those
beliefs into a more general public sphere where substantive action might result. Effectively,
cynical chic, to Eliasoph, involves retreating into a position of intellectual superiority from
which nothing need be done. Similarly, she notes, ‘[w]hen the group’s focus is only on
reversing and resisting, common meanings must come from elsewhere, unquestioned’
(1998:128), and so cynicism leads only to destruction and/or conservatism, with no
reconstruction or progressivism.
        David Buckingham has worked with and built upon Eliasoph’s model of cynical chic
to make sense of how young people can seem so disinterested in politics and the news
(2000). Where Eliasoph sees an entirely negative practice, and seems to lay blame with
failed and neglected agency, Buckingham is more kind to his cynics, recognising that ‘the
cynicism expressed here also needs to be respected on its own terms, as a genuine and
sincere assessment of the actions of politicians and of the political system’ (2000:203), and
as ‘a valuable – and indeed pleasurable – way of rationalising one’s own sense of
powerlessness, and even of claiming a degree of superiority and control’ (2000:203). Thus,
cynicism is no longer a personality or community defect, but is nevertheless a symptom of
disenfranchisement, ‘the gallows humour of the politically impotent,’ as Philo and Miller state
(1998). In other words, it is still a pitiable state, not at all the liberating outsider’s vantage
point that some critical pedagogy may have given us hopes for. Certainly, from a very
different angle, journalist Susan Moeller diagnoses cynicism to be a symptom of
‘compassion fatigue’ (1999:9), the jaded, sad state of s/he who has seen too much, yet feels
unable to help.

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        Arguably cynicism’s biggest critic is Richard Stivers, who feels the supposed
superiority complex, scorn, derision, and nihilism of a cynical disposition are the key
problems facing and plaguing contemporary America, and the key obstacles to forming a
common culture based on an ethic of love and freedom. ‘Cynicism,’ he intones, ‘makes
things worse than they are in that it makes permanent the current condition, leaving us with
no hope of transcending it’ (1994:13). And lest this criticism be levelled at cynical people
alone, Stivers has great contempt for cynical television programmes which encourage, he
believes, the notion that ‘[t]he other is a failure; I, the scorner, am a success’ (1994:90). On
this point, he is joined by Mark Crispin Miller, who also refuses to allow cynical television
content any political effectiveness. Rather, echoing Fredric Jameson’s famous critique of
pastiche (1984), Miller sees cynical television as only so much postmodern deflection, ‘the
hipness unto death’ (1988:16), whereby ‘we are the ones belittled by each subtle televisual
gaze, which offers not a welcome but an ultimatum – that we had better see the joke or else
turn into it’ (1988:326). Miller sees cynicism and ironic detachment solely as strategies to
keep TV viewers ‘semihypnotised’ (1988:13), scared and scornful of being individuals, and,
ultimately, stuck in an inertia of agency.
        To summarise the case against cynicism, therefore, it is criticised for and seen as:
both static itself and paralysing of those who adopt a cynical disposition; as inherently
powerless and of the powerless, leading to nothing; as pessimistic, sombre, and nihilistic; as
a symptom of political disenfranchisement; as destructive or even pointlessly futile by nature;
and as a silencing plague to a community (or, pace Stivers, an entire country). Cynicism,
these critics would have us believe, is not only the ultimate dead end, but also the sad,
embittered point of no return. This, then, is the hypothesis for my audience research, and we
will now set about testing it.

Laughing with The Simpsons
First, though, why Simpsons viewers, and why university students? To answer the former
question, I feel it necessary for media and communication studies scholarship to break out of
its obsession with the news and non-fiction programming as the-all and end-all of any public
sphere. News cynicism may indeed take the form described above, for, as numerous
commentators have observed, the news can be a profoundly alienating genre (Groombridge

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1972, Lewis 1986, Robinson and Levy 1986). But the news is not the only source of
cynicism, nor is it the only site for meaningful political discussion. The Simpsons is a
remarkably clever, remarkably media literate and savvy satiric-parodic text that spends
much of its time commenting on and mocking the form, content, and production logic of both
the media and politics. As such, I was interested in the level to which discussion surrounding
this text might lead into discussion of the media and politics more generally. In David
Buckingham’s study of news created for youth, he comes to the conclusion that traditional
news and news form may be failing (see also Lewis 1986), and that ‘if young people are to
perceive the news – and indeed politics itself – as “relevant” to them, a more radical
approach is required. Relevance is not simply a matter of content – that is, of which stories
are chosen – but also of form’ (2000:175). Here then, I take a rather radical interpretation
of Buckingham’s call to arms, and try to study a form other than the news, and The
Simpsons, with its satiric-parodic tone and its large audience and fan base, seems an ideal
place to start.
        As for my choice to interview university students, this is at least one site at which
one finds Simpsons discussion in full gear. The criticism might well be levelled that students
– freshly trained in the art of critical thinking – are an inappropriately ‘rigged’ group to be
studying should I wish to make broader comments on media and political discussion.
However, first, I believe it long overdue that media and communication studies stop thinking
only or primarily of those we or somebody else would like to consider at risk. In developed
countries today, many individuals are flocking to universities, and thus they are a
demographically significant group that is as worthy of study as is any other. Moreover, since
we are interested here in the nature of cynicism, and in how it works and/or ‘affects’ its
‘carriers,’ university students would appear an ideal group to study, well-famed for their
questioning, challenging, cynical disposition.
        My suppositions regarding The Simpsons as a gateway to media and politics
proved true, as I ended up with numerous minidiscs and transcribed pages full of discussion
of media form and hegemony, of political two-facedness and rank hypocrisy, and of
rampant, unchecked consumerism. Amidst talk of, say, Homer’s endearing stupidity, Lisa’s
intelligence, and the quality of animation on The Simpsons, time and time again, my
intervieweees would end up talking media and politics. Frequently, this talk was unprompted

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– indeed, while I planned to ask all of them of politics and The Simpsons, they usually beat
me to it – but even when prompted, just as often it produced lengthy scripts, scripts that
tended to sound well-used already as points made in earlier discussions before I came
along, microphone in hand. Consider, for instance:

      Y5: I think what it does is it fu… looks to other television shows and to
      principles of structure, principles of morality, principles of umm,
      sponsorship, principles of errr…you know, how it’s put together, and it
      grossly generalises them sometimes, but as a way of exposing the
      structure that’s underneath that a lot of shows will try and hide [….] So
      what I think, what they’ve done for me is they’ve exposed a kind of
      structure that these kind of shows will often adhere to—a kind of
      pretension that they will adhere to—and because The Simpsons don’t
      care, or don’t need to care, they’ll generalise the pretension as a way of
      bringing it to the surface so you can see it and witness it, and then force
      the viewer to speculate on how generalised or how accurate that
      generalised notion of that pretension is.

        As Y5 suggests, many of the interviewees valued The Simpsons as a teacher and
propagator of media and political cynicism. Great stock was placed in the show’s proclivity
to mock, as Y4 states, ‘anyone who’s got an image,’ and to attack ‘falseness,’ as W5
offers, adding The Simpsons ‘likes to take the air out of false people.’ The interviewees
almost to the number recognised a leftist slant to The Simpsons’s politics, but similarly
professed its more encompassing cynicism that let few institutions, programmes, or
individuals off the hook:

      Z1: Umm, well everything’s kind of got an ironical twist on it, it’s got a lot of
      political satire in it, and it sort of speaks, I think, to a certain demographic, I
      feel, or it speaks to me. They kind of…everything’s a joke, and they make
      fun of everything.

      Z6: It plays everyone out, though.
      Z2: Yeah, so there’s no one particular view.

      Z3: The first couple of episodes were just sort of figuring its identity out,
      but by the time I hit university, the series sort of knew where it was going,
      knew what it was, so it had hit its full stride of taking the satire, taking the
      piss out of everything, so that’s when I started to watch.

      Z5: Well, they take the piss out of everyone, including themselves.

      X1: I think it has, for prime time television, it seems to have, in the sort of
      lexicon of American politics, a much more left-slant than anything else on,
      but I think that they’re very careful not to label themselves as Democratic

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      mouth piece or critics of the right. And they still have lots of Kennedy jokes
      [laughs]. And I think the point of the show is to be able to make fun of
      whatever politics don’t make sense in the eyes of the writers.

      Y5: I think it’s satire is really their umm, ummm….I think it’s their principle
      credo. And so therefore everyone and everything is fair game. Including
      themselves. Ummm, and I, I think that they’re very, very clear that they
      don’t want to try and get too sentimental, or try and get too…a political
      agenda or a political sort of standing block, because it’s, ultimately it’s
      futile, because [laughs] who are they to say that? It’s a bunch of drawn,
      yellow people who live in a false world, so who on earth are they to tell us
      how to live our lives?

Yet as particularly this last quote suggests, it is the very cynicism and refusal to take a
determined stance that so many of my interviewees liked so much about The Simpsons, and
that they frequently cited as one of the main appeals of the show. My interviewees often
talked of a ‘Simpsons attitude’ or a ‘Simpsons credo,’ whereby, to Y2, ‘it reminds us that
we can laugh at each other and let’s just not take each other too seriously, folks.’ If cynicism
is about holding anything and everything up for ridicule, these interviewees were indeed
cynical, and felt The Simpsons was markedly cynical.
        But here, then, the first cracks begin to appear in the version of cynicism offered in
the last section. For what these quotes and these interviews render very obvious is that
cynicism need not be deeply pessimistic or destructive. A cynicism that wants us not to take
each other ‘too seriously’ and that seems partly inspired by a revulsion to sanctimoniousness
is not nihilistic. Its mode of existence is one of dialogue and dialogism, not of outright
contestation for the sake of perverse contestation, and its point is to deny any discourse the
right of self-aggrandisement. This becomes more evident when we consider how fond many
viewers were of the show’s ability to mock itself, and their uneasiness with labelling The
Simpsons’s critique as engaging in a wholly ‘serious,’ embittered attack:

      X3: Yeah, like, I think they have a certain kind of humour that I like. You
      know, it’s that kind of sarcastic, err, but not too nasty kind of humour.

      Y5: It’s one of the only shows I would try and race home to make sure I
      could see, I would make time in order to see, and because again, what it
      does is it will attack, and also attack [Rupert] Murdock as well, but not
      really in a, it is a television satire in the sense that it doesn’t really attack. I
      mean, it’s not sort of fighting for a revolution, it’s not trying to lead any kind
      of revolution against anybody, which I think some people mistake
      television as being a tool for, so I think, eh, eh, it’s certainly a perfect
      embodiment for what television is.

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        As such, it would be a mistake to see such cynicism as destructive. Rather, it is
reconstructive, in that it aims to add what is missing to those ‘attacked’ discourses, groups,
or individuals, in the form of a healthy grounding, a sense of humility, and the other side of
any given story. And far from just being an aspect of the show that they enjoy, this is also an
aspect that many felt was important:

      X3: I guess because it reminds people…umm…I suppose to some extent
      it reflects what’s going on in society a bit [….] The capacity of it to make
      regular people think about, you know, their lifestyles in a new light, and not
      take everything for granted, umm, I think it does that better than most,
      cause it’s a little bit subversive, cause it’s disguised as a kid’s show – or,
      at least, it’s taken that way [….] I’m sure there’s many other shows that
      are also important, but none of them, none of them is subversive in that
      way. They’re all kind of documentaries, current affairs, and that sort of
      thing. So I guess it’s got more of a message than other comedy shows.

      X5:I would say that if it’s not [the most important TV show], it’s probably at
      least in the top 10
      JG: Yeah?
      X5: Definitely, yeah
      JG: Even if we put it in with the news, or…
      X5: Because it’s the flip-side of the news, and it’s the commentary, and
      they do bring in semi-relevant, recent, political events, economic events,
      social events, and they provide a very fresh, alternative perspective that
      doesn’t find its way into the mainstream media.

      Z4: I think it is important: because satire is important. It’s important to be
      able to…laugh at yourself, and I guess it’s quite important that even
      [Rupert Murdock]’s made fun of on the show. Nothing’s sacred.

      W5: I think it is an important show, simply because it offers some sort of
      filter, and offers some sort of organisational tool for, kind of looking back at
      our culture and figuring out what it’s all about.

      X1: I watch it because it makes me laugh, and, umm, it rhymes with a lot
      of the things that I find funny, or find need to be made fun of in American
      culture

      Y1: [very calculating with her words] It’s really the only show that is
      mainstream that will offer at times subversive elements. I wouldn’t say it’s
      entirely or fully subversive, but still it’s nice to see that type of political
      satire and humour cause you just don’t get it anywhere else.

        Furthermore, this cynicism is far from static and stagnant. David Morley points to
the possibility that people may forget to be cynical (1999), and while I do not wish to
discount this very real possibility, we must also remember the phenomenology of cynicism.

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Simpsons cynicism, it was often stated, is powerful precisely because it keeps coming back,
day after day, week after week, year after year:

      X1: It conducts a sort of weekly political critique of some kind, of
      something, and perhaps some people who are watching it aren’t
      expecting it.

      W5: It probably sharpens you up [….] So I think in that sense, it’s
      important, because the things that it chooses to satirise are always
      current, and it’s always things that are on a lot of people’s minds.

      Z3: Well, you see, it doesn’t influence me, but it just agrees with what I
      already felt
      JG: Okay
      Z3: And does bolster my political belief
      JG: Okay, so it’s reinforcive?
      Z3: Reinforcive, not influential. Yeah.

      Z1: But I mean I think it must have some influence, cause I felt like…I’ve
      watched it for so long that you do have that voice in your head, so I felt like
      it encouraged that.

Thus the cynicism is built upon, augmented, and fleshed out, and so if we ‘forget’ to be
cynical at one point in time, we may not at another point. Few interviewees felt that the show
had ‘converted’ them to a new attitude and/or awareness, but if we study the very metaphor
of ‘preaching to the converted,’ we have the picture of a religious prelate’s weekly,
reinforcive lesson and sermon, informing us and reinfusing, reinvigorating our beliefs.
        Moreover, not only does this cynicism recycle and rebuild itself through the show,
but also, and importantly, through talk of The Simpsons. As I have already mentioned,
most of my interviewees found The Simpsons, politics, and the state of the media to be
related topics, and conversation easily flowed between them. Indeed, where Nina Eliasoph
found it hard to hear political discussion amongst her subjects, The Simpsons proved a
veritable can-opener for this rare delicacy, as most of my interviewees had already
mobilised Simpsons characters, quotes, and plotlines to act as conversational short-hand for
political and media issues. Mayor Quimby, the show’s corrupt politician, was often spoke
of, acting as a gateway to talk of problems with politics, cheesy entertainers and shameless
promoters Troy McClure and Krusty the Clown were symbols of the uber-consumerism
and primacy of advertising that riddle television, and, in general, episode, character, and line

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references appeared always ready to be rolled out fast and furious to describe or illustrate
political points. Take, for instance:

      Y5: So, you know, certainly – how can we look at The Waltons again in
      the same light after seeing The Simpsons, or The Jetsons, or The
      Flintstones. But also, you know, I, I can’t watch a political leader making a
      speech without thinking of, certainly an American political leader making a
      speech without thinking of Mayor Quimby. You know, the Kennedys are
      totally gone for life (laughs), you know after Mayor Quimby I would say. TV
      News I laugh about, with [Simpsons newsman] Kent Brockman,
      especially American TV News I laugh about a huge amount, and American
      so-called TV documentary shows, like Hard Copy and stuff like that,
      which they have huge fun satirising.

        Yet, as Z3 suggests, it is not as if such talk occurs only in interviews; rather, ‘we
don’t specifically say, “Okay, topic of conversation: Simpsons,” but is does kind of “seep
through.”’ Of course, Simpsons talk was invested and filled with different things to different
interviewees, but by interview’s end, when I would ask if the interview had involved them
talking about The Simpsons in a way they would not normally, only a few agreed, while
most protested they talk this way, analyse The Simpsons, and use it to analyse all the time.
Some even talked of it taking on near-Biblical qualities, ‘using The Simpsons to live by’
(X1). And while clearly this talk was often also or instead about non-satiric-parodic
elements in the programme, the cynical disposition was certainly part and parcel of it.
        Again, then, these viewers’ cynicism and use of it defies the bleak picture offered in
the first section. Versus leading to nothing, and versus plaguing a community, Simpsons-
related cynicism, I was told and shown, led to discussion and fostered community. Talking
about and around The Simpsons proved a good and safe way to introduce political
discussion into the everyday. Indeed, several interviewees hailed The Simpsons and
Simpsons talk as a great way of breaking the ice when meeting new people, and
furthermore found it an effective means of ‘testing out’ others’ political beliefs and stance:

      W5: Most of my friends love The Simpsons. I don’t know if, if…it’s kind of
      a chicken and the egg thing: I don’t know if I like my friends because they
      like The Simpsons, or if we all come together cause we know a lot about it
      [laughs].

      Y2: It’s very difficult for me to imagine that someone wouldn’t get The
      Simpsons. I know a lot of people don’t, but in that case, you kinda need to

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      go back to the drawing board and start with your whole liberal education
      again [laughs].

Obviously, then, The Simpsons represents more than ‘just a good show’ to some
interviewees; rather, it also represents (or comes to represent) a political entity and beliefs.
Furthermore, the cynical, media savvy discourse that surrounds The Simpsons is clearly
capable of being exported into discussions with many different and assorted individuals and
groups, and in some way fosters a public sphere in which politics, the mass media, and
capitalist consumerism in particular can be held up to examination.
        Lest a key point be overlooked, too, The Simpsons is a comedy, and not even a
biting or cruel one at that. Its humour is cynical and revelatory, but not dark, scornful, or
blistering. Quite simply, then, and as we may expect, my interviewees enjoyed talking about
The Simpsons, frequently laughing, joking around, and revelling in the quotes they would
shoot my way. My overall impression as an interviewer (and, as a Simpsons watcher
myself), is that the show and its discussion of media and political foibles gave these people
energy, rather than sap it away. To call my interviewees pessimistic would be utterly wrong.
Savvy, aware, and wary? Yes. But not nihilistic, not without hope. The Simpsons was a
refuge of sorts, something ‘relaxing’ to watch at the end of the day. To reverse what has
been said of pessimism and cynicism, then, the two did not go hand in hand. Instead, these
viewers’ knowing cynicism of the media and politics was at base part-pragmatic, part-
pessimistic, but the joking around with media and politics that The Simpsons and their talk
involved, allowed them to face the realms of media and politics again with renewed vigour,
optimism, and engagement.
        On the face of it, though, this would seem only to modify the supposedly pessimistic,
nihilistic, and static functions of cynicism, leaving us still with an agency-paralysing force for
the disenfranchised and the powerless. Here, though, two final arguments must be made:
        First is that having a sense of humour, and being able to laugh (rather than cry) at
everything indeed appears a coping mechanism, but if it gets people talking about issues of
media and political representation, structure, and address, it is powerful in and of itself. As
Couldry tells us, symbolic power is, in part, only as powerful as the belief in it. Buckingham
argues therefore that ‘[t]alk needs to be interpreted, not as a straightforward reflection of
what individuals really think or believe, but as a form of social action’ (2000:98).

14

Admittedly, talking about, for instance, the amorality of advertisers does not overtly or
directly solve the problem, but it increases awareness, and it contributes to upping the
importance of such an issue in the public sphere. Eliasoph begins her book by noting that
‘people possess values, just as they possess other objects that may lie in the closet gathering
dust’ (1998:19), and the entire thrust of her project is to call for more ‘outing’ of these
values into the public sphere. ‘The more,’ she argues, ‘that groups are able to speak in
public, the more citizens will expect publicly-minded debate in public contexts, and perhaps
accept it as a cultural pattern’ (1998:259). Simpsons cynical discussion does just that,
opening up the public sphere, with a laugh as alibi, to the sort of discussion that has great
potential to increase, not diminish, agency, and that is, therefore, anything but powerless.
        As for the issue of the speakers’ ‘powerlessness,’ my interviewees were not at all
disenfranchised, embittered, and/or alienated individuals removing themselves from society.
They included amongst them a former White House intern and senatorial campaigner
‘upgrading’ by way of a Masters degree in Media Studies, several LSE and SOAS
international development and politics students, a secondary school teacher with a media
literacy class, and a public health student working on issues of AIDS mortality and
medication programmes. In other words, these were not powerless individuals who had
decided nothing could be done. They were certainly cynical, but not at all withdrawn.
Cynicism was no symptom of disenfranchisement: if anything (although here I speculate), it
was a motor and engine for their social and political work.
        Without a doubt, different groups internalise and externalise cynicism in different
ways, and thus I do not mean to propose that this group’s use of cynicism is in any
necessary way representative. Nevertheless, what I found on interviewing these people was
a very different cynicism from that of Eliasoph, Stivers, and Miller’s postulations. Renewing
itself and regenerating itself, this cynicism was dialogic and hence reconstructive by nature,
moved quickly to keep up with current media and political developments and players, and
inspired both community and agency. This cynicism engendered a public sphere and existed
within it, and craftily mixed warranted pragmatism with laughing optimism precisely to
combat despairing pessimistic removal and alienation. In short, this cynicism proved a
powerful light of hope in media and political discussion and action, not the dark void some
would have it to be.

15

Conclusion
We must, of course, be wary of over-exaggerating even the potential of cynicism, for
watching and consuming cynically is hardly the Great Solution to all media problems. I have
already cited David Morley’s reminder that we might forget to be cynical in any given
instance, but Morley also points out that cynicism still leaves us with no alternative
information source. Writing of our reliance on the news, he suggests that:
        we confront a situation where people often express cynicism in general (so that
        ‘not believing what you see in the media’ is no more than common sense), but
        then in any particular case they often find themselves pushed back into reliance
        on the mainstream media’s account of anything beyond the realm of their direct
        personal experience, simply for lack of any alternative perspective. (1999:142)

Cynicism may help us to look through news stories, generic form, and political economic
structure, but it will not tell us the ‘real’ story, or even other stories, nor will it create entirely
new genres, or tell us who owns what and what their private interests may be.
         Nevertheless, cynicism is a starting point from which we can rethink and analyse
existing media and political structures, form, and rhetoric, and simultaneously an end point to
media gullibility and naiveté. We live in a world in which the media loves to teach, and loves
to have us listen, watch, consume, learn. Thus, if, as Umberto Eco poses, ‘the first duty of
any teacher is, if not to say, “Don’t trust me,” at least to say, “Only trust me within reason”’
(1979:16), media cynicism teaches that first and all-important lesson.
         For too long, though, cynicism has been looked upon as pessimistic, nihilistic,
alienating, disempowering, and escapist. It is sometimes as if intellectuals can believe they
alone have the magic ability to be sceptical and cynical without abandoning their critical
faculties. In this paper, I have been arguing against this perspective. Much work on cynicism
concentrates on sombre, embittered cynical expressions, and so it is perhaps natural that it
arrives at a sombre, embittered cynicism. But here I have chosen to go another route (as I
feel studies of cynicism would be wise to), to look at laughing, jovial, and comic cynicism.
And what I found was a vibrant, active, and reconstructive/restorative force that has great
potential to increase the laughing cynic’s participation in the public sphere. Indeed, writing of
the potential of comedy to enact change, humour theorist Jerry Palmer argues trenchantly
that:

16

      political opposition does not consist essentially in the rational criticism of one’s
      opponents – central though this may be to political success – it consists
      essentially in the will to oppose, the will to say ‘No.’ Thereafter it may well be
      necessary to define the grounds of such opposition, but the essential moment is
      the simple recognition that one does not want that, that what one wants is
      something different: the essential moment is no more than the will to opposition.
      To mark something with the indelible seal of ridicule is intrinsically to indicate
      the will to oppose it. (1987:199)

The state of global media and politics, let us be honest, shows no sign of radically altering
itself any time soon, and as a consequence, a lot rides on the power and value of cynicism.
This paper has suggested, and will conclude on the note that, cynicism may indeed hold
great power. It is high time, therefore, that more be done, and more projects be embarked
upon, to study its place in various interpretive communities. Let us truly flesh out what ‘the
will to oppose’ entails.

17

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