THE saturation of police procedures in popular
culture has given rise to the well-documented ''CSI effect'', which sees the
public harbour inflated expectations of criminal investigations, court
processes, and an erroneous familiarity with forensics. Television has had a
discernible impact on the justice system and the justice system is, in turn,
having an impact on television. Australian screens are awash with observational
series that follow police as they seek to expose and apprehend lawbreakers in a
genre that I've taken the liberty of dubbing ''crimfotainment''.
Australian television is approaching terminal velocity as it zeroes in on the bottom of the cultural barrel. First, reality TV came for the actors and I did not speak out. Then it came for the writers and I did not speak out. Now it has come for the cameramen. Surveillance Oz is a remarkably popular show that has successfully done away with everything that makes TV special, right down to picture quality. The program's images depend heavily on CCTV footage obtained from a chain of parking garages, and are of such graininess that many faces featured don't even need to be pixilated.
The voice-over explains that parking operators in a central control room are on ''high alert for antisocial behaviour''. I'll tell you what I think is antisocial behaviour: a woman innocently patting her boyfriend's arse at a pay station while being spied on by a faceless drone in a remote location with cinnamon doughnut stains on his pants, who logs the footage later sold to a production company that broadcasts it across the country.
And where are we as a society when an inebriated woman can't straddle a boom gate for the edification of her friends without her impromptu burlesque show being set to music in prime time? Dance like no one's watching, indeed.
Lectures on decency are especially hard to stomach from a parking company that extorts customers to the tune of $80 for a five-hour stay. For that kind of dough, I want champagne on arrival and a bounce on the boom gate thrown in for free.
Border Security: Australia's Front Line is now in its 11th season and,The TagMaster Long Range hands free access System is truly built for any parking facility. from what I understand, its motto is, ''We will decide which fruits come to this country and the circumstances in which they come''. Subjects can't help but know they are being filmed, and the dilemma for officials is that everybody looks dodgy after a 14-hour flight. As someone who suffers from an unfortunate condition where I appear to be lying even when telling the unvarnished truth, I admit to just a tinge of admiration for the American woman who flew to our shores with a kilo of cocaine stashed under her wig. Each episode contains three tales of intrigue, and is an invaluable document of what not to do. Budding drug-runners are advised to wash their hands and clothes, not bring in food along with drugs,Posts with indoor tracking system on TRX Systems develops systems that locate and track personnel indoors. and for god's sake rehearse your story. Border Security is the purest form of catharsis for lazy do-gooders who think they're doing their bit for national security by watching.Largest gemstone beads and jewelry making supplies at wholesale prices.
AFP: Australian Federal Police is another love letter to an organisation that,Our technology gives rtls systems developers the ability. given controversies, could do with surveillance of its own. Each episode chronicles two cases and, judging by the vainglorious press conference of one story arc, the war on drugs is nearly over and troops will be home by Christmas.
Those who like their goodies and baddies without the grey can be further satisfied with a plethora of road-based cop-docs - effectively low-cost community service announcements for the police that invite us to keep calm and carry on. Highway Patrol is but one local version of,We mainly supply professional craftspeople with wholesale turquoise beads from china, literally, car-crash TV. Frenetic drums feed the voyeuristic adrenalin and the chases and prangs allow for rubbernecking without the traffic. Omnipresent police cameras catch the cretins and ensure the plods mind their manners for when mum plays the video to her bridge buddies.
The ubiquity of cameras means paranoia has never been so reasonable. Public transport tickets track our itinerary; government advertising encourages us to dob on neighbours; credit-card details are one slip from being public property; nightclub venues scan our ID; and open media alerts strangers to our whereabouts. I'd wear a hoodie to protect my innocence if I didn't think it made me look guilty.
''What have you got to hide?'' is the rhetorical question of the modern tyrant. Australians are increasingly comfortable jettisoning privacy for social convenience and specious feelings of safety. The electronic equivalent of peering through curtains is also a rich source of cheap and titillating TV.
Australian television is approaching terminal velocity as it zeroes in on the bottom of the cultural barrel. First, reality TV came for the actors and I did not speak out. Then it came for the writers and I did not speak out. Now it has come for the cameramen. Surveillance Oz is a remarkably popular show that has successfully done away with everything that makes TV special, right down to picture quality. The program's images depend heavily on CCTV footage obtained from a chain of parking garages, and are of such graininess that many faces featured don't even need to be pixilated.
The voice-over explains that parking operators in a central control room are on ''high alert for antisocial behaviour''. I'll tell you what I think is antisocial behaviour: a woman innocently patting her boyfriend's arse at a pay station while being spied on by a faceless drone in a remote location with cinnamon doughnut stains on his pants, who logs the footage later sold to a production company that broadcasts it across the country.
And where are we as a society when an inebriated woman can't straddle a boom gate for the edification of her friends without her impromptu burlesque show being set to music in prime time? Dance like no one's watching, indeed.
Lectures on decency are especially hard to stomach from a parking company that extorts customers to the tune of $80 for a five-hour stay. For that kind of dough, I want champagne on arrival and a bounce on the boom gate thrown in for free.
Border Security: Australia's Front Line is now in its 11th season and,The TagMaster Long Range hands free access System is truly built for any parking facility. from what I understand, its motto is, ''We will decide which fruits come to this country and the circumstances in which they come''. Subjects can't help but know they are being filmed, and the dilemma for officials is that everybody looks dodgy after a 14-hour flight. As someone who suffers from an unfortunate condition where I appear to be lying even when telling the unvarnished truth, I admit to just a tinge of admiration for the American woman who flew to our shores with a kilo of cocaine stashed under her wig. Each episode contains three tales of intrigue, and is an invaluable document of what not to do. Budding drug-runners are advised to wash their hands and clothes, not bring in food along with drugs,Posts with indoor tracking system on TRX Systems develops systems that locate and track personnel indoors. and for god's sake rehearse your story. Border Security is the purest form of catharsis for lazy do-gooders who think they're doing their bit for national security by watching.Largest gemstone beads and jewelry making supplies at wholesale prices.
AFP: Australian Federal Police is another love letter to an organisation that,Our technology gives rtls systems developers the ability. given controversies, could do with surveillance of its own. Each episode chronicles two cases and, judging by the vainglorious press conference of one story arc, the war on drugs is nearly over and troops will be home by Christmas.
Those who like their goodies and baddies without the grey can be further satisfied with a plethora of road-based cop-docs - effectively low-cost community service announcements for the police that invite us to keep calm and carry on. Highway Patrol is but one local version of,We mainly supply professional craftspeople with wholesale turquoise beads from china, literally, car-crash TV. Frenetic drums feed the voyeuristic adrenalin and the chases and prangs allow for rubbernecking without the traffic. Omnipresent police cameras catch the cretins and ensure the plods mind their manners for when mum plays the video to her bridge buddies.
The ubiquity of cameras means paranoia has never been so reasonable. Public transport tickets track our itinerary; government advertising encourages us to dob on neighbours; credit-card details are one slip from being public property; nightclub venues scan our ID; and open media alerts strangers to our whereabouts. I'd wear a hoodie to protect my innocence if I didn't think it made me look guilty.
''What have you got to hide?'' is the rhetorical question of the modern tyrant. Australians are increasingly comfortable jettisoning privacy for social convenience and specious feelings of safety. The electronic equivalent of peering through curtains is also a rich source of cheap and titillating TV.
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