Pop Vultures

The fun part of having a slightly obsessive personality is the way I can disappear into other worlds for days on end, exploring and playing, discovering new things. For instance, once a year, I decide it’s time to buy a house, so I read up on real estate prices in various cities, compare mortgage rates, debate the minutiae of two vs. three bedrooms. About a week later, I remember that I don’t actually have any money, so I reluctantly emerge from the fantasy and renew my lease for another year.

Of course, the downside of having a slightly obsessive personality is that I can lose weeks of my life to a very silly fantasy. And, sometimes, when it’s particularly appealing, I can lose myself to someone else’s fantasy. This last week, I became a single woman in a small Alaskan town.

Let me be clear: Men In Trees is not an especially original show. We’ve seen all the characters before, many of them on Northern Exposure, to which this show owes a great deal. We’ve definitely seen the on/off lead relationship and can predict exactly how long it will take for them to overcome all obstacles and finally get together (season two finale – I’m calling it now). The dialogue is fine, but hardly stellar. There is no reason for this to become an obsession.

Unless, like me, you frequently dream of chucking it all for a cabin in the woods. Or if you were brought up in cities and have some romanticized view of small towns, in which everyone is likable and quirky and takes care of each other, instead of being isolationist Republicans who harshly judge outsiders (the reality, I suspect, is somewhere between the two extremes). Much like Northern Exposure before it and the recently canceled Gilmore Girls, Men In Trees works because it creates an entire world in which everything is a little bit better than it is in reality. The people are a bit kinder, a bit more attractive, a bit easier to love. The setting is flawless, a pristine mountain town that’s still easily accessible by bush plane or Greyhound bus. If bad things happen, they don’t stick. In a place like Elmo, Alaska, you know everything will always work out just fine.

There is a highly debatable audience theory which suggests that we choose our media based on our need for either diversion, information, the formation of our personal identify or fulfillment of personal relationships. If you buy into that theory, then I do watch it for that last reason. Just as I did with Stars Hollow or Roslyn before, I like to visit with these people for an hour, lose myself in a life that seems much more attractive than my own. It seems like this is the way life should be: warm and quirky and light-hearted with close-knit friends and neighbors. If it’s peopled with a few hot Alaskan men, then so much the better.

The danger, of course, is that I start to wonder if my citified life is less fulfilling than this fictional one. It’s only this sort of show that inspires this reaction. I never watch sci-fi and wonder why I don’t have a laser gun, or dream of shoe-whoring with the Sex & the City cast, or picture myself as a kick-ass spy taking down government cabals. This fantasy is insidious because it is almost, almost possible to achieve.

Unless you know something I don’t. Have you ever found an Elmo or a Stars Hollow or a Roslyn? If so, let me know. It’s about time to start looking for a house again.

What about you? Do you have a fantasy television locale, and why does it appeal to you?