Previously on 24...

Previously on 24...

...renegade counter-terrorist agent Jack Bauer (Kiefer Sutherland), faced with the prospect of being detained by the authorities, deliberately sprayed bullets into a crowd of innocent British civilians protesting the American use of drones. When confronted with his actions a couple of episodes later, Jack responds with irritation: "I barely grazed them!"

"How do you know that?" the astonished interrogator asks.

"Because I was the one doing the shooting," Bauer growls.

I laughed during both scenes, but not for my usual reasons. I started watching 24 not as a drama but as a farcical comedy sometime during the second season. But this pair of scenes was different, and I'm not finding the show as funny as I used to. This time, I laughed in disbelief.

Others have written with far more eloquence than I about 24's troubling worldview, one that pits religions and ethnicities against each other, one with no room for cooperation, compromise or negotiation, one that enthusiastically embraces torture and violence as the only sound public policy in a world bubbling over with apocalyptic levels of terrorism. This is a world where terrorists have set off nuclear weapons and caused meltdowns in American cities, where plague has been unleashed, Presidents assassinated and fifty percent of authority figures are traitors. Jack Bauer, who is always right, is the violent force of nature who has electrocuted suspects, chopped off heads with a hacksaw and literally tore an opponent's throat out with his teeth, like a vampire. This is the show's hero - not a protagonist, but explicitly a hero, practically worshipped by all right-thinking supporting characters on the show. Those who doubt or question Jack are inevitably proven wrong, sometimes (often!) with fatal consequences.

I could laugh at 24 because as each season went by it seemed to me that the creators were taking the show less and less seriously. It began to serve as a window into the paranoid worldview of hyper-extremists, those fearful few who have created the surveillance society the rest of us now begrudgingly inhabit.

But Jack's assault on those British protesters this season was ugly, mean-spirited, and played without any sense of irony. Cues in the direction, editing, script and music make it clear that the producers intend audiences to sympathize with Jack's psychotic violence as right and proper under the circumstances. He was only doing what had to be done for the greater good - in this case, ostensibly to protect the citizens of London from American drones hijacked by terrorists, but really to protect American interests and the right to continue using drones for their "proper" purpose. The message is clear: anyone stupid enough to protest against drones (or, metaphorically, state-sponsored violence as public policy) deserves to be shot.

I would like to think that reasonable people can have a rational discussion on the use of drones in the so-called war on terror. 24 makes it clear that even to question the use of drones, and by proxy the war itself, is tantamount to treason against Western values...whatever those might be in this troubled age.

(Stephen Fry's participation in this season (he plays the British Prime Minister) is particularly disconcerting, since Fry has through word and deed consistently shown himself to be a pretty intelligent, progressive human being. Then again, Kiefer Sutherland himself has described himself as a socialist and supports gun control, and I suppose actors aren't required to limit themselves to roles and projects that support their political views.)

24's big first-season hook, the concept that made it different, was its claim that "Events occur in real time," as stated at the beginning of each episode. It's become clear that the events of 24 now occur in what might be called "unreal time," a twisted funhouse mirror of the real world, a place of blood and shadows where no one can be trusted, power is the only virtue and compassion is weakness.

Saving 24

I used to be a big fan of 24. The first season's real-time format was innovative and riveting, and the second raised the stakes with a terrifying nuclear threat.

But the underlying premise of the show can really only support one or two seasons. In the context of fiction, it's perfectly believeable that counterterrorist agent Jack Bauer could have one really long day, twenty-four hours of mayhem and suspense, culminating in great personal sacrifice. A second such day was pushing it, but now we're up Jack Bauer's eighth "very bad day" and the audience's suspension bridge of disbelief collapsed into kindling long ago.

These days, I watch 24 as a comedy rather than a drama. What atrocity will Jack commit next in the name of his country's security? Which CTU agent or analyst is the mole this season? Which recurring character will be killed off? How will the producers create a threat greater than the one Jack faced last season? What personal trauma will Jack have to overcome this time? How snarky can Chloe get? How many times will Jack scream "DO IT NOW...or MILLIONS OF PEOPLE WILL DIE!"?

Sadly, 24 has become predictable, perhaps the greatest danger to any show that hopes to generate suspense. That's why the producers should take a differerent approach next season.

I propose that Jack's next "very bad day" should be the sort of bad day any civil servant might have...

FADE IN

The following takes place between the hours of 6:00 am and 7:00 am.

Events occur in real time.

JACK BAUER wakes up to the sound of a bleating alarm clock. He slams his hand down. Split-screen views show supporting characters like CHLOE O'BRIAN and KIM BAUER and RENEE WALKER doing exactly the same thing.

JACK, CHLOE, KIM and RENEE perform their morning toilet; they shower, brush their teeth, etc. in real time. Meanwhile, as the digital clock ticks away, we cut to various stores and institutions, including a tailor shop, a school, a deli, etc., all closed because, well, it's 6 am.

You can see where this is going. Nothing at all dramatic will happen during the day, save for the ordinary crises that beset us all. Jack will need a pair of slacks from the tailor, but they won't be finished, giving Jack the opportunity to bark, "If these slacks aren't hemmed in fifteen minutes, I won't be able to pick up Renee in time for the opera! DO IT NOW!"

Of course the last seven or eight episodes probably won't get very good ratings, since the characters will all be sleeping. But think of the incredibly low production costs..!

10

The following conversation takes place on Thursday night, before a showing of the Woods condo, between 7:40 and 7:50 pm. Events occur in real time.

"Just put some vinegar in the pail, and some hot water."

"Where's the vinegar?"

"Under the sink in a clear bottle."

"Is this it?"

"No."

"Wait, is it in this one that says 'vinegar?'"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me that the bottle says 'vinegar?'"

"I didn't think of it."

"Okay, now what do I do?"

"Pour the vinegar into the pail along with some hot water."

"The whole bottle?"

"NO. This is enough."

"Okay, now just the hot water?"

"No, add some dish soap."

"Wait, you're not supposed to mix chemicals. Besides, you can't wash the floor with dish soap. Dish soap is for dishes. For that matter, vinegar is for French fries."

"JUST DO IT."

"Wait, I have to write this conversation down before I forget it."

...

"EARL! Wash the floors!"

"Just a minute! I'll just be a second!"

"Well hurry up, I have to take a shower and I have to pee..!"

BOOP...BEEP...BOOP...BEEP...BOOP...BEEP

Earl Woods: Agent of CTU

Last night, I dreamed I was watching 24. I was in the bedroom, and the television was providing the only light; I was hunched forward, fascinated as Jack Bauer and his Counter Terrorist Unit team chased down a suspect through an industrial park in Calgary. Jack and company were driving SUVs; the terrorist, a balding, toque-wearing Caucasian with a few days’ growth of dark beard, was driving a battered white Lincoln town car.

I was amazed that the show’s producers had chosen to make Canada the setting for this season. And not only that, Calgary city police had joined the chase, along with elite CSIS units. The vehicles roared along, tires squealing, dust flying – all the clichés were in place.

The suspect abandoned his vehicle beside a rust-brown warehouse with large, lime-green bay doors. He leapt out, and a CSIS agent was close behind, also on foot, toting a machinegun. The suspect rounded a corner and found himself trapped in a dead end; the CSIS agent shouted “On the ground!”, but the suspect merely turned and shot him.

“Argh!” I said, dismayed that the Canadian hadn’t made the arrest, that once again it was up to Jack to save the day. Any minute, and Jack would come thundering down the alley, disarm the guy, and they’d cut to the next scene.

But instead, the suspect turned to face the wall of the warehouse, and suddenly I noticed that there was a door there, a door with flaking paint and a battered old doorknob. The suspect opened the door and walked into the warehouse, and suddenly a flatscreen monitor dropped from the ceiling and hung suspended before his startled face. An older man with silver hair appeared on the screen and began speaking to the suspect in a foreign language. Subtitles translated his words, not into English, but yet another foreign language. It was clear, however, that the man on the screen was giving orders to the terror suspect.

Meanwhile, Jack Bauer and his team, along with several Canadian police officers, had found the body of the fallen CSIS agent. They tried to enter the warehouse via the same door the suspect had used, but found it locked. There was a brief discussion of what to do next, and it was decided that they would have to find a battering ram of some kind to break down the door. Moments later, they found a huge mobile crane, and Jack and his right-hand man hopped into the cab and started up the engine.

At this point, I became a part of the show’s cast; I was another CTU agent, and I watched as Jack and his friend revved the crane’s engine and drove towards the warehouse. I ran behind, accompanied by a Calgarian police officer, and watched as the crane smashed through the warehouse wall. There was a tremendous explosion of dust and debris, and I was horrified at the scope of the crash. The police officer and I ran into the wreckage of the building, where we found Jack, burned and bleeding, coughing over the body of the other CTU agent.

“Are you all right?” I asked Jack.

“Find the suspect!” he said. I looked up, and the suspect was right there – and he was pointing a gun at me.

“Jack –” I said, trying to warn him, but the suspect pulled the trigger and shot me in the upper chest.

“Ah, dammit,” I thought. It really, really hurt, and I realized that I was dying. The suspect was telling Jack to surrender, to put his hands behind his head, and all I could see was my life spinning away into darkness. Everything went black.

But then I thought, “I don’t have to die. I can survive this.” So I focussed my will, and moved the bullet higher up, into my left shoulder, where the wound would be painful but not fatal. Then, I played dead as the suspect, joined by some of his comrades, put me in a body bag. They dragged me across the warehouse floor, into a space made up of office cubicles. The floor was cold and it was hard to breathe without giving away the fact that I was alive, but somehow I managed.

Time passed. The terrorists (and Jack) went away, and office workers started to file into the warehouse – which was now more like an office building. Soon I was surrounded by curious professional women, one of whom pulled off the body bag, lifted one of my legs, and rapped me hard on the left testicle. I couldn’t play dead through that, and I jumped up with a yelp of pain. The women jumped back, and I turned to one of them (played by whichever actress plays the mother on That 70s Show) and pleaded with her to help me. She hesitated, and suddenly Lesleah Horvat, head of the floral department at Hole’s walked into the office. She was surprised to see me, and I was equally shocked by her arrival. She said she was meeting with someone to arrange flowers for a wedding, and I realized that it was the head terrorist himself, the man on the video screen, who Lesleah would be talking to.

This made my situation even more precarious, and so the woman I asked for help agreed that I could hide under her desk. I did so, once again trying hard not to make any noise. A difficult task, considering it was all I could do not to whimper in pain from the bullet wound!

I waited under the desk. The light changed as the sun moved through the sky, and I watched the patterns of shadows move across the floor. Eventually it was night, and I crept from under the desk.

I was surrounded by good-looking Asian people in business attire. A friendly woman spoke to me, but I couldn’t understand her; she wore a nametag, but it was in Chinese or Japanese script. I wandered through the cubicles, looking for someone who spoke English, but no one could help me, though clearly they wanted to.

Eventually, I made my way through the cubicles and found myself in the lobby of a large metropolitan airport.

“Where am I?” I implored. A group of young Caucasian men in their twenties looked over at me.

“You’re in Canada,” they said.

“Who’s the mayor of Calgary?” one of them asked.

“How should I know, I’m an American!” I said. At least, I was playing an American on the show, so I reasoned that I shouldn’t know who the mayor of Calgary is.

“You’re in Edmonton,” one of the men said.

“Edmonton? Why would they send me to Edmonton…unless…because they know that I’d know where to hide!”

I ran down the corridor. The airport changed into the University of Alberta campus, into the Central Academic Building. There were klaxons blaring, and students were running everywhere; terrorists were on the campus, gunning down everyone they encountered, and I knew that they were looking for me, and that I was causing all this destruction.

I ran into the biological sciences building – I knew that the crazy architecture there would offer me someplace to hide. I headed for the basement, leaping down the stairs, and there on the bottom level I found Jim Hole.

“This way!” he said, pointing to an elevator door half-submerged into the floor. He pried the doors open and I jumped in feet first, landing on the elevator floor – which was, in fact, another set of doors. Jim closed the door above me, waving his hand as if to wish me well, and for a moment I was in darkness. I could hear a distant rattle of gunfire.

I knelt on the floor and forced the doors apart, slowly. Light burst through the widening seam, and I felt as though something good waited on the other side…
I dropped through the doors, and awoke.