It's the bane of the critic's existence that no matter how much you like something, you can't force it to be popular. Music critics don't hold sway over the Billboard charts, movie critics don't control the box office, and TV critics don't control the Nielsen ratings.
Unlike the movie and music charts though, TV ratings aren't determined by the widest possible tally of the medium's consumers. Nielsen uses electronic meters in select households, as well as hand-written diaries, to determine programs' ratings. According to the company's website, www.nielsenmedia.com, a mere 5,000 households determine the national ratings. In each of 56 particular local markets, including Las Vegas, an additional 20,000 households determine local ratings. If each household contains an average of four people, this means that, at most, 20,000 people control the numbers you see every week online and in publications like Entertainment Weekly.
That's some kind of power. Far more than, say, buying a CD or a movie ticket, in terms of the ability to affect the popularity of a musician or actor. In addition to the electronic meters, Nielsen sends out over 1 million diaries during four key months known as sweeps (February, May, July, November), with households keeping track of what they watch for one week. While not as powerful as the people with meters, the diary-holders still have a disproportionate influence over what shows are highly rated.
Imagine my surprise—and slight diabolical delight—then, when a Nielsen diary showed up in my mailbox a few weeks ago. It was addressed with the wrong name, but no matter, said the helpful Nielsen home office; they simply wanted whoever lives at my address to fill out the diary. Finally, I thought, this is my chance to tip the scales in favor of my favorite shows, to take my finely discerning taste and use it to influence the all-important sweeps ratings.
What I should have done was make a list of all the shows I wanted to give a bump in the ratings, and make sure to watch them. Instead I found myself wary of turning on the TV because it would mean I'd have to catalog my channel surfing, although only if I watched a program for five minutes or more. I was afraid of lingering too long on some movie on Oxygen or some show on ABC Family lest I be required to write it down, thus giving the 83rd airing of Anywhere But Here or The Bachelor reruns a slightly higher rating.
Most of my regular favorites had already finished their seasons, so aside from the finales of 24 and Alias, none of them made the cut. I was busy with work, I had a friend in town, and before I knew it, my diary was filled with mostly blank spaces and syndicated episodes of That '70s Show and The Simpsons which I had watched while eating dinner.
Maybe I should have lied. If I really wanted to wield my powerful influence, I should have just written in the shows that I wanted to do well. I could have written in Kim Possible on the Disney Channel, helping the surprisingly funny and inventive cartoon adventure with a kick-ass female heroine achieve a higher share (though certainly not within its target demographic). I could have written in Timbersports and the World's Strongest Man on ESPN and ESPN2, showing the sports channels' head honchos that football, basketball and baseball are played out, and that what viewers really want to see is big men sawing and/or lifting things. I could have written in Best Week Ever on VH1, the pointless pop-culture commentary show featuring comedians you've never heard of dissecting the week's event in a vapid yet hilarious way.
If I'd had the diary earlier in the season, maybe I could have saved Karen Sisco or Wonderfalls or even Miss Match, all clever, well-written shows with strong female leads and intriguing premises that got consigned to the network scrap heap.
Maybe if I had written in USA's Karen Sisco reruns, it would have shown ABC how stupid they were for canceling it. Maybe I even could have done what an entire Internet campaign failed to do and get the WB to give Angel one more season.
I could go on, and most of the time I do, but this time I blew it. I was one of the elite, and I wasted the opportunity. I now have to go back to shouting into the wind about great shows no one watches, or at least none of the 20,000 or so elect. But like people who don't vote, I no longer have a right to complain. I just have one request for Nielsen: Can I have another diary?