Is it really worth my time?

Just recently, right after one of my countless viewings of a certain daytime teleserye, a question popped into my head: What did I just watch? Or, to use a more youthful expression, ‘Daheq did I just see?

The teleserye’s story was dragging and useless. I already knew what was going to happen, what was going to be said and what was going to be done by the character next, and when the theme song was going to enter in scenes; it was like playing a game you’d finished a million times that you don’t even know why you’re playing it.

I was suddenly curious in finding a television show today that had a story yet unused in the past. There is the story of twins meeting each other after 18 years of separation (of course the other one is poor and the other is filthy rich); there is the story of the hero with a tough past (probably left by his or her parents as a child) but with a tougher future because he, apparently, has magical and supernatural powers; then there is the love triangle between a girl, a handsome guy (the real love interest), and another handsome guy (the best friend). Sad to say, originality was playing hard to get.

The teleserye I was watching did not have any antagonists, no edge-of-the-seat conflicts, no original plot, script or twists – just plain kilig moments from the two-dimensional protagonists. It’s like the show of an unwatered plant, but reality is that it’s a show that puts primetime ones into shame. So why did I have to rush my shower time every other day just to watch it? ‘Daheq did I just see?

It was in this moment I realized that it wasn’t the story I was into: it was the guy protagonist, and I was pretty sure that 98 percent of my fellow watchers shared the same sentiments.

It was the guy all along. He was the reason why I watched the teleserye avidly, why the young and young at heart give an hour of their lives every day for a dull story, and why its billion-peso network is earning even more billions every minute.

The concept of a story today is produced right after the actor is chosen by the great people of the network. It’s obvious. It won’t matter if the story is dirt from the past, it’s the people who will act it out and the kilig moments that matter. The protagonists, they are the show; they are the sauce to the pasta; they bring home the bacon. That’s show business, baby.

These people don’t just show their beautiful selves on TV, they’re also in tons of billboards on our way to school; and while we eat, they stand behind us holding fries and Coke float or a donut. Why are they there? Because we, the audience, want them or want to be them. They are drop-dead gorgeous people we can’t resist, they are the people sold to us by their networks, and we buy and give our time to them easily. They make millions by looking pretty and acting storylines that have no substance. Are their sundaes or donuts really worth it? Do our time and effort for them reciprocate the value we’re getting from them?

I remember my professor tell our class, “The television industry is still an industry.” True enough, it is money that appears to be the master puppeteer in this business. Television shows are not what they used to be: all about the script and the absolute dedication to tell a story. What we generally see now are cliché actors who only do two things: acting out kilig or scenes with excessive slapping. I don’t know about you, but this makes me slap myself, too, in the face. Hard.

People working on television have so much more to offer. Heck, that’s an understatement. I’m sure they can produce epic materials that can make any viewer go, “Whoa, I did not expect any of that!” It’s possible, we know it, and they know it. It’s just a matter of breaking insecurities.

After a long day’s work, these shows are the stress relievers of millions of hardworking Filipinos. Would it hurt to have networks trying to come up with at least a hint of originality? Would it hurt to search for more talented and passionate actors who do it for the art not the fame? Would it hurt to spare a few millions to create a quality show for its quality viewers? Would it hurt to risk?

I am not saying that we should boycott these shows. No, I am saying that everything and everyone we see in that metal box can have so great an effect on anyone who watches it. Just think of the money you’re giving them when the only things they give you are recycled plotlines and actors. If you let television shows – local or international, variety or reality – control your desire and shower schedule, stop before you press that “On” button and think for a minute, “Is it really worth my time?”