[Chronique d’Odile Tremblay] The immoderation of present times

We live in a world of excess. Let an event occur, and the media machine races to delirium. There is barely space left to cast “Wo!” » to the galloping mount gone in fear. Thus the detective series District 31. The commotion had begun when its imminent end was announced. When it was indeed consumed last week, the deluge of reactions, papers of all kinds, interviews with screenwriter Luc Dionne as well as actors and the bereaved public fell on us. Until Newscast which blew on the fire of general affliction. A mortuary veil enveloped all of Quebec. District 31 and Guy Lafleur: same first-class funeral.

This series was followed by a very large number of spectators who had become attached to the characters, appreciated its intrigues and its twists. During the pandemic confinements, some had adopted this squad as a comfort family at home. In addition, a feeling of belonging is created by being together, although separated, during the same appointment several times a week. There aren’t so many opportunities for communion anymore. Virtual mass, but mass all the same.

We are still talking about a TV series with its strengths and weaknesses. Its execution left something to be desired; many criticized it for its lack of diversity. But the extreme popularity of a show depends on the dosage of the ingredients that compose it. This one had known how to play on the strings of the identification of the public with the protagonists, as on the skilful ricochets of the adventures. We take our hats off to Luc Dionne for holding her at arm’s length for so long. Still, we could no longer read an article or listen to yet another report on TV about the series-phenomenon without rolling our eyes. And the almost unanimous praise for the final episode, however very tearful, left you wondering. The collective emotion of the screen in the armchair swept away the slightest critical start. This fiction will have taken on as much importance as reality, blurring its borders and borrowing its tears. The real and the imaginary at the time of the fall now bend under the same excess of the present time. A shock wave runs through the collective spine and it resonates, resonates, until it deafens us.

Even the death of Guy Lafleur, idol of several generations of Quebecers, suffers from this media swelling. Who still wants to read a column on number 10 after having already ingested forty? Testimonies of obvious sincerity. But even the most ardent admirers of the great sportsman were overwhelmed by this surge. Mourning is not in question, neither is the national funeral of the hockey ace, but the overflow of ink and images swallows up the death and the legacy of the icons, without leaving an intimate space for meditation. . At the next tsunami, it goes away.

The phenomenon of excessiveness goes beyond the borders of Quebec. On the whole planet, the universe of social media, which runs on buzz and clicks, colors the entire journalistic sphere by leading to this escalation and also by arousing polarization. It takes boom effects, extreme positions, echoing cries. We no longer invite people to think, but to lean to one side like a flock of birds, otherwise quickly to order!

It’s like the slap Will Smith gave Chris Rock at the last Oscar gala. She was highly condemnable. He has been reproached for it everywhere and pays dearly for his violence, with a life and a concert career turned upside down. The American actor deserved his fate, but what has become the “slapgate” goes beyond the limits, relentlessly driving the accusing nail. In the wake of the scandal,
let’s let it go inside and find another bone to chew on. Too much emphasis on a subject ends up dumbing down the audience. Too much polarization too. Exit the nuance of the speeches. Take the debates around the movement woke. In the eyes of detractors, this term, which has become highly pejorative, now boils down to its perverse effects. These are numerous and irritating: rigid quotas in favor of minorities to obtain a post at the university; blind condemnations of Picasso for bad morals, forgetting his gigantic contribution to the history of art, and so on. Still, without this movement advocating social justice, women and minorities would remain in the shade. The conservative status quo, also steeped in perverse effects (right-wing extremism sends shivers down your spine) is not soluble in modernity. You will have to learn to connect the two currents to achieve the right balance one day. In the meantime, under too many loud cries and groans, we no longer hear ourselves thinking.

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