Northwestern University Korean Pop Music Globalization & Gatekeeping Paper I already attached the instructions in the file. please follow my instructions b

Northwestern University Korean Pop Music Globalization & Gatekeeping Paper I already attached the instructions in the file. please follow my instructions be careful. er!
MAKING HITS
WILLIAM
T. B I E L B Y A N D
DENISE
D. B I E L B Y
Ever watch American Idol? I’m guessing you have. The reality TV
show, which premiered in June of 2 0 0 2 , remains one of the most
watched shows on TV. An estimated 25 million viewers watch the
show each week and winners can garner upwards of 65 million or
more votes (viewers can vote multiple times). When you consider
that President Barack Obama won the 2 0 0 8 presidential election
with 65 million votes, the show’s popularity becomes clear.
American Idol is a massive hit, by any measure. But what is the
secret of its success? Every TV executive in the world is asking the
same question. William and Denise Bielby aren’t TV executives, but
they also wanted to know how hit shows are made. Television is one of
the culture industries that Horkheimer and Adorno (p. 65) wrote
about so critically. The Bielbys set aside criticisms and concerns about
the effects of mass culture and ask instead: How is it made?
Their answers are illuminating. TV executives don’t have a crystal
ball that tells them what will work, so every year they consider thousands of possible ideas for new shows, selecting about 6 0 0 or so for
development. Producers decide which shows to pilot based on the
genre of the show (e.g., sitcom or reality), the reputation of the producers and creative talent involved, and how well they think it can
imitate other successful shows. They consider all these factors
because of the inherent risk and uncertainty involved in predicting
what makes a hit. Ironically, while there is no formula for making
hits, the industry takes a fairly formulaic approach in order to justify,
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187
to themselves and to others, that they know what they are doing.
What makes a hit remains a bit of a mystery.
“ALL HITS ARE FLUKES”: INSTITUTIO NALIZED
DECISIO N M AKING AND THE RH ETO RIC
O F N ETW O RK PRIME-TIME PROGRAM
DEVELO PM ENT
Interdependence Among Suppliers,
Networks, and Markets
ach year, the four networks evaluate thousands of concepts for new
E
series and purchase approximately 600 pilot scripts. From these, the
networks select about 20% to be produced as pilots at the networks’
expense (CBS Inc. 1990). About one-third of the pilots eventually appear
on the prime-time schedule. For example, of the 112 pilots commissioned
by A BC , CBS, N B C , and Fox for 1991, 23 debuted in the fall and another
15 were scheduled as midseason replacements.
Until very recently, the F C C ’s Financial Interest and Syndication Rules
(the “Fin-Syn” rules) have placed strict limits on the amount of prime-time
programming that can be produced by the networks themselves, so most
prime-time pilots and series are supplied by independent writer-producers
working for outside production companies. Program suppliers include
small independent companies and the television subsidiaries of the major
film studios. Either as sole producers or in joint ventures with smaller
companies, the major studios account for a majority of the series produced
for network prime time. Program suppliers retain ownership of the series
and license networks to one first-run and one rerun broadcast of each episode (Bielbyand Bielby 1990; Cantor and Cantor 1992).
Since (with a few exceptions) the networks do not own the shows they
broadcast, advertising revenues from network broadcasts are their primary
source of profit from prime-time series. At the same time, the licensing
fees received by the program suppliers typically do not cover the cost of
production. A typical sitcom costs about $600,000 per episode to produce
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PRO D U CTIO N , STABILITY, AND CHANGE
and is licensed to the network for about $500,000. An episode of a typical one-hour drama costs about $1.2-$1.3 million to produce and is
licensed to the network for $250,000-3300,000 less than the cost of
production (Channels 1990). Program suppliers incur these short-term
losses in anticipation of substantial profits from eventual syndication of
successful series.
Thus, program suppliers and network programmers are mutually dependent. On the one hand, a writer-producer who creates a new series seeks
access to a network’s prime-time schedule. The supplier is hoping for a
network run of at least three or four seasons, so that enough episodes will
be produced to make the series profitable in subsequent syndication. On
the other hand, the network programmer is dependent upon program suppliers for new series that will attract audiences that advertisers want to
reach. A series that fails to deliver a sizable audience with a desirable demographic composition will be unprofitable for the network and its affiliates.
However, participants in network program development are not simply
interacting in a product market. They are also embedded in an institutional context that introduces a symbolic dimension that they manage and
enact through their decisions.
Decision Making Amid Ambiguity and Uncertainty
“Institutions” are routinely reproduced, taken-for-granted social practices
that have “rule-like status.” in thought and action (Meyer and Rowan 1977;
Jepperson 1991). Network prime-time program development is an institution in this sense, and decisions about introducing new series are made in an
“institutionalized” context. In such contexts, decision makers cope with
ambiguity and uncertainty by substituting imitation, routines, and rules of
thumb for rational calculation as decision criteria (March and Olsen 1976).
To maintain legitimacy, they are likely to engage in activities that have “ritual significance” to outsiders, providing “prudent, rational, and legitimate
accounts” of their actions (Meyer and Rowan 1977).
Highly institutionalized decision contexts exhibit two distinctive features: (1) technologies are poorly understood; and (2) actions are evaluated
according to multiple, ambiguous, and contradictory criteria by external
constituencies (Meyer and Rowan 1977). The context for decisions about
new prime-time series is highly institutionalized in both respects. First,
M aking Hits
189
network programmers are making decisions about productions for which
there are no agreed-upon standards of competence. An experienced programmer can probably distinguish well-crafted from mediocre scripts and
make informed judgments about the quality of acting, editing, and direction of a pilot. Nevertheless, the programmer has no reliable basis for
predicting whether audiences, advertisers, and critics will accept the series.
In the words of Jeff Sagansky, president o f C BS Entertainment, “All hits
are flukes” (Frank 1991, p. 1; also see Cantor and Cantor 1992, p. 70). Gitlin
(1983) found network executives consistently expressing views like these
and concluded that the “problem of knowing” is a key feature of program
development decisions.
Second network programmers are making decisions that are subject
to multiple, ambiguous, and often conflicting assessment criteria. Least
ambiguous are criteria of commercial success. A commercially successful
series is one that delivers a large audience with a demographic composition
valued by advertisers. However, feedback from ratings comes months after
the decision is made to schedule a series, and even that feedback can be
misleading for a series that slowly builds an audience over the course of one
or two seasons.
Criteria for critical acclaim are more varied, and critics often reserve their
most favorable assessments for so-called quality series that the networks
have dropped from their prime-time schedules. Critics’ “obituaries” for their
favorite canceled series often reveal the conflicting criteria that underlie
judgments about aesthetic versus commercial success. For example, at the
end of the 1990-91 season, Wall Street Journal critic Robert Goldberg (1991)
celebrated the qualities of “subtlety in depicting relationships,” “solid writing,” and “innovative ideas” among canceled shows on his “Best of 1990-91”
list, while Los Angeles Times critic Rick Du Brow (1991) recently lamented the
loss of “humanistic ensemble dramas,” “well-crafted TV fiction,” and “work of
major social import.”
Dozens of special interest groups also monitor network executives’ programming decisions. They evaluate network series on issues as diverse as
representations of race, age, gender, drug use, violence, birth control, and
“traditional” family values (Montgomery 1989). In short, as a cultural object,
a television series has a range o f meanings attributed to it (Griswold
1987). A decision to develop a series for prime time is simultaneously a
choice about a commercial commodity, an aesthetic endeavor, and a social
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P R O D U CTIO N , STABILITY, AND CHANGE
institution. As a result, those making programming decisions will be variously evaluated according to perceptions of their business judgment, their
aesthetic tastes, and the values they impart.
Because the industry is so highly centralized, programmers are more
directly accountable to commercial interests than to other constituencies.
DiMaggio (1977) has described such an industry context as a “centralized
brokerage system.” Network programmers mediate the business relationship between creative personnel employed by independent production
companies and advertisers who bear the costs of distribution. The programmer “brokers” the inherent conflict between the creative interests of the
writer-producers who create and supply programs and the commercial interests of advertisers. Programmers perform the monitoring function that
would otherwise reside in the authority relations of a bureaucratic structure or in the professional standards and contractually mandated product
specifications o f a craft structure.
In mediating the relationship between writer-producers and the networks, programmers do not give equal weight to creative and commercial
concerns. Writer-producers have almost no alternative to the four networks
as distribution channels for their creations, despite the growth of cable
and first-run syndication in recent years. M ost are also dependent upon
one o f the seven major studios for financing, and, of course, series creators
have their own interests in commercial success. Thus, as DiM aggio (1977)
has theorized, in a mass-culture industry with a high level of market concentration such as network television, brokers are more directly accountable to commercial interests than to creative interests.
Rhetorical Strategies for Introducing New Series
“FRAMING” PRIME-TIME PROGRAM DEVELOPMENT
A “frame” is a central organizing idea for making sense of events (Gamson
1988; Gamson and Modigliani 1989). Gamson (1988) and Snow and Benford (1988; Benford 1993) have applied the concept to represent how social
movement elites develop rhetorical strategies to mobilize constituencies
and shape understandings. According to Gamson and Modigliani, meaning in media discourse is managed by assembling frames into “interpretive
packages.” A package “offers a number of different condensing symbols
that suggest the core frame and positions in shorthand, making it possible
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191
to display the package as a whole with a deft metaphor, catchphrase, or
other symbolic device” (Gamson and Modigliani 1989, p. 3).
We apply the frame concept to the vocabularies articulated by decision
makers to justify their actions in highly institutionalized contexts. In
developing new prime-time series, network programmers are compelled to
provide legitimate accounts for their decisions (Meyer and Rowan 1977).
We argue that they do so by organizing discourse around widely accepted
frames. Specifically, in describing series in development, network executives invoke the framing devices of genre, reputation, and imitation.
GENRE, REPUTATION, AND IMITATION
Genre.—Television genres are conventions regarding the content of television series—formulas that prescribe format, themes, premises, characterizations, etc. In contemporary television, consensus among writers, producers,
programmers, advertisers, and audiences over the boundaries of genres is
probably greater than in any other area of popular culture. Ideas for new
series are “pitched” in terms of widely recognized genres, while network
scheduling decisions, advertisers’ purchasing decisions, and audience viewing patterns are all based, to some extent, upon shared understandings
about program categories.
Since the late 1950s the television industry has recognized two basic
genres for prime-time network series: the half-hour situation comedy (“sitcom”) and the one-hour drama. These genres are recognized and reproduced in the industry’s organizational structures. Since the late 1970s the
entertainment divisions of A BC, CBS, and N B C have contained separate
units for comedy development and drama development, and corresponding
units exist in the television divisions of the major studios. Pilots for new
sitcoms and dramas are easily recognized and labeled as such.
Over the past several years the “reality” series has become recognized
as a third basic prime-time genre. The reality genre label is typically applied
to inexpensively produced half-hour nonfiction series other than programs
produced by the network news divisions. The reality genre is less established than the sitcom and drama categories. Nevertheless, the reality
series’ existence as a distinct genre is recognized as such by programmers,
producers, creative personnel, advertisers, critics, the industry press, and,
increasingly, audiences.
As industry conventions, genres can be viewed as forms of social organization that facilitate the coordination of production. Work outside of
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established genres disrupts shared understandings and requires more effort
to coordinate and promote (Becker 1982). Accordingly, a writer-producer
seeking to sell a pilot that defies the conventions of established genres can
expect resistance from network programmers. Moreover, a programmer
seeking to place such a series on the network schedule can expect advertisers and local affiliates (who sell local advertising time) to demand reassurance that despite—or because of—its innovative elements, the new series
will be accessible to audiences and commercially viable.
Genres are more than just shared understandings that economize on the
costs of doing business. They are taken-for-granted categories that guide
thought and action, serving to rationalize and legitimate decisions made in
a context that is characterized by a high degree of ambiguity and uncertainty. A s such, they are readily available as a framing device. Thus, locating
a series pilot with respect to an established genre provides an immediate
frame of reference for the new and unknown cultural product. Even before
the pilot is produced, the potential new series is linked to a category that is
widely perceived as familiar, understandable, and appropriate.
Reputation.—In culture industries the success of new products cannot
be known a priori. As a result, those who propose new products are likely
to be evaluated on the basis of reputations built upon prior successes
(DiMaggio 1977, p. 442). The importance of reputation has been documented in studies of studio musicians (Faulkner 1983), filmmakers (Baker
and Faulkner 1991), and television writers (Bielby and Bielby 1993; Gitlin
1983). Accordingly, we expect reputation to figure prominently in programmers’ rhetoric about series in development. Linking new series to
producers’ prior hits reassures commercial constituencies that well-crafted
episodes will be produced in an orderly and timely manner and will contain elements proven successful with audiences in the past. Similarly, linking a new series to a well-known celebrity establishes an association with
a familiar and successful commodity.
Imitation.—When decisions are made under conditions of ambiguity and
uncertainty, decision makers often attempt to establish legitimacy by imitating the successful efforts of others (March and Olsen 1976; DiMaggio
and Powell 1983). Accordingly, we expect network programmers to rely upon
imitation as a rhetorical strategy in their discourse about series in development. A new production can be described as similar to another hit series,
even if it is supplied by a different production team. In addition, network
executives can emphasize a series’ similarity to or origins in a product
M aking Hits
193
from another popular medium, such as a hit film, play, comic book, or
novel.
In sum, in a context where formulas for producing successful products
do not exist and “all hits are flukes,” decision makers rely on rhetorical strategies to demonstrate that their actions are rational and appropriate. Network executives construct succinct interpretive packages by linking new
series to established genres, to reputable producers, and to other popular
and successful cultural commodities. If the series is successful, external
constituencies will view the executives’ actions as understandable and
familiar (Hirsch 1986).
Discussion
Overall, what is most striking about our findings is the importance of
claims about linkages to established writer-producers in the program
development process. For the 1991-92 season, the framing device of linking a potential new series to established writer-producers is invoked much
more frequently than any other rhetorical strategy, and it is the only one
positively associated with the likelihood of a series being selected for a network’s prime-time schedule. Other framing devices appear to be strictly
symbolic, designed to shape perceptions of constituencies with conflicting
assessment criteria in a context characterized by uncertainty and ambiguity. In an industry where all hits are flukes, decision makers use rhetorical
strategies to reassure others that their decisions are rational, appropriate,
and legitimate.
If anything, our statistical findings understate the importance of actual
links (as opposed to claims about links) between networks and established
writer-producers. Not reflected in our statistical analysis are several new
series from veteran producers selected for the network schedules without
going through the normal development process of pilot production and
evaluation. For example, Flesh ‘ri Blood, from the producers of Cheers, was
scheduled by N B C based on a six-minute presentation to network executives (de Moraes 1991c), while Gary David Goldberg’s Brooklyn Bridge was
sold to C BS on the basis of a script alone (Lowry 1991k).
The commitments to these shows reflect a recent change in the network
development process. The networks are increasingly making multiyear,
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multiseries commitments to the most sought-after producers. For exampie, the network may commit to ordering a specific number of episodes
of a series before seeing a pilot, or even a script, or it may agree to pay a
financial penalty to the producer if the network fails to order a fixed numher of episodes (CBS Inc. 1990, p. 26). A t least six of the series in our data,
all linked to established producers, had such commitments from the networks at the time the development slates were announced in March.
A s the level of risk and uncertainty facing the industry increases (Marich
1991), these kinds of arrangements are likely to proliferate. Reliance on
established writer-producers is likely to intensify, which should be reflected
in the discourse framing the program development process in the future. In
terms of the defining characteristics of a centralized brokerage system, (1) it
is becoming more difficult to predict the success of a new series a priori, (2)
pressures for commercial success are increasing, and (3) network programmers are becoming more dependent on contribut…
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