The Fall of the Roman Empire; or, Superbowl 46 halftime show
In a media landscape of contrived, micro-managed pseudo-spectacle, the Superbowl halftime show is one of the last few big stages where you can see something ‘happen’. I don’t necessarily mean something good, either. Witness Justin Timberlake unleashing Janet Jackson’s breast (and a tiresome storm of predictable ‘outrage’). Or ‘The Boss’ thrusting his crotch into millions of American homes. It’s exciting! It’s live! Anything can happen!
This year’s halftime show came to us via Madonna, no stranger to controversy and one of the most irredeemably awful celebrities. Add confirmed guests, the wacky Nicki Minaj and the crazy M.I.A., and I was excited. Maybe they’d all expose their breasts and make out while grinding on cameras and finally Western culture would descend into the all-in orgy it’s been spiraling towards for so long.
So, here’s my live-ish thoughts on the halftime show. (Also, as a disclaimer, I actually enjoy the sport of gridiron so I view the existence of the needlessly grandiose halftime show as an affront to human dignity. Enjoy!)