Illustration by Chrisine Hipp.

When “Julia,” a television show about a black nurse and single mother came on the air in 1968, many viewers — white people and people of color alike — wrote in to thank NBC for finally taking a chance with some positive representation of black America.

Some black viewers took their appreciation a step further, offering unsolicited yet earnest advice to the show’s writers:

It’s great you have a black main character that isn’t a buffoon (see “Amos and Andy”). But that doesn’t excuse the whitewashing.

To be realistic, the title character in “Julia” should speak differently, they said, and she should have more black friends. A few even went so far as to suggest themselves as inspiration for new characters, drawing from their own lives to propose episode plot lines.

Whether it’s healthy or not, people always have and always will relate to television. That black viewers unsatisfied with “Julia” would even bother writing in proves the power of the screen — however lacking in believability it was, “Julia” still had allowed them a glimpse into an impossible version of their own world, and the experience was an intoxicating mix of comforting and hollowing.

So they wanted more. And they wanted it to be better.

Now it’s 2012, and nobody writes letters anymore — they write blog posts. If you haven’t seen the online response to Lena Dunham’s new HBO project, “Girls,” consider yourself warned, because it’s a mixed bag of the wise and the reactionary, the insightful and the simple-minded, those with exciting new points and those who miss the point entirely — and sometimes you can find all of that in a single post.

Among the main complaints about the show: Groundbreaking though it may be in its frank depiction of female sexuality and the disappointments of post-college life, “Girls” fails to include representation of any race or class outside of Dunham’s own white, upper middle–class world.

But here’s what I like about “Girls,” and I think I can speak for a lot of viewers on this point: It’s not perfect, but, to borrow a phrase from Dunham herself, it is “a young, young person trying very, very hard.”

Trying at what, you ask? Well, there is a scene in the second episode that had me jumping up and down on my couch. Shoshanna, the girl on the show most likely to identify with “Sex and the City” characters and who is often thrown in for comic relief, is reading aloud from a self-help book, the kind that addresses its readers as “ladies.”

“I’m not a lady,” says Jessa, her cousin and roommate, irritably.

“Yes, you are,” says Shoshanna. “We’re the ladies.”

“Don’t I have a choice?”

That’s what “Girls” is trying to do — it’s trying to represent and entertain the Jessas of the world, the ones who have no interest in being a self-helping lady. It’s trying to be a show that will help girls — and surely plenty of guys as well — feel less lost, that will cut through some of the pseudo-post-lip-gloss-feminist bullshit thrown at us lately via other “girly” shows like “Whitney” and “Two Broke Girls.”

For the record, I do wish “Girls” was more diverse (a process which should always begin in the writers’ room, not with the cast, to avoid tokenism), or at least that there were more diverse shows with the refreshing viewpoint of “Girls,” because everyone deserves representation. But like the “Julia” viewers who wrote in with suggestions and still kept watching every week, I’ve already been hit by the show on a level I’ll never recover from.

Black audiences appreciated “Julia” because they got to see someone with their skin color who wasn’t portrayed as a criminal or idiot on primetime. I appreciate “Girls” because I get to see people with my reproductive organs and around my age who aren’t ladies or whores, aren’t saints or bitches, aren’t larger-than-life caricatures stomping around the city in Jimmy Choos — they’re just, well, girls. That’s enough for me.

“The X Factor” is a music competition televised across the country and in dozens of countries worldwide in search of newsinging talent. The show originally came from the United Kingdom and was created by Simon Cowell, best known in the United States as a former judge on “American Idol.” Fellow Santa Cruz local James Durbin had a similar journey to Rene on “American Idol” and made it as far as the top three.

Rene, 28, recently made it to the the top 12 out of thousands of contestants who auditioned across the country. He began his audition with an original piece titled “Young Homie,” which mentions his personal struggle with addiction, which persisted for 10 years: “Yeah, it’s been two months [and] three years now. Haven’t had a drink and I’m starting to see clear now, I’m putting all my fears down, I can hear the cheers now.”

Rene, who grew up in Santa Cruz and up until recently earned a living hauling trash, said on the show that he “couldn’t have asked for better parents and brothers and sisters.” Rene decided to audition on “The X Factor,” which served as an unexpected gateway to the spotlight for him.

“At auditions, Chris shared his struggle with addiction and how he was turning his life around for his son,” according to a statement released by the show. “We loved him already, but we loved him even more with his original song ‘Young Homie.’ Now, he’s still bringing the ‘truth’ to every performance.”

Rene said his past gives him drive to succeed and empower himself through singing.

“My ‘X Factor’ is triumph over struggles, at least for today,” Rene said on the show. “The passion I have and the experiences I’ve been through — I channel that emotion.”

Illustration by Jamie Morton.

In a time when we willingly broadcast the most intimate details of our lives using a medium without bounds, the idea of having a film crew follow your family around may seem a little less than extraordinary. However, for the Loud family and television audiences circa 1973, the notion was revolutionary, and the results wildly controversial.

Oct. 12 through Nov. 16, UCSC’s Wednesday Night Cinema Society will be screening episodic installments of “An American Family,” a series considered by many media scholars to be the first and most controversial experiment within the genre of reality TV. This is a rare opportunity to recreate the communal viewing experience and engage in some lively discussion with students and faculty.

The series, which originally aired on PBS in 1973, chronicles the day-to-day lives of the Louds, a Santa Barbara family of seven. At first glance they seem pretty typical, each member fulfilling their role, engaging in the kinds of everyday experiences we’ve come to expect from a traditional, middle-class family in America.

But what began as an effort to document the everyday life of an average 1970s American household soon evolved into a 12-hour journey into the psyche of the nuclear family and an odyssey into the ethical issues of documentary filmmaking.

As the series unfolds, the deep-seated issues that underlie the family’s daily interactions surface.

“With ‘An American Family,’” said L.S. Kim, associate professor of film and digital media at UC Santa Cruz, “there’s definitely a sociological goal, as opposed to contemporary reality TV, where the focus is on pleasure and entertainment.”

Over the span of the series, the Louds struggle to function in spite of a strained relationship with their openly gay son and a deteriorating marriage, which actually ends when the series does.

One of the many interesting issues brought up by “An American Family” is the ethics — or lack thereof — of reality filmmaking. After the series was broadcast, the Louds spoke out against the production team, claiming the footage (of which 300 hours was recorded) had been edited to emphasize the negative, resulting in misrepresentation.

It has also been suggested that the presence of a film crew had a direct impact on the ultimate disintegration of the family, functioning as a catalyst for drama. These issues remain relevant in contemporary documentary filmmaking, and continue to shape the discussion of what constitutes reality or truth in the evolving media of film and television.

The screenings take place at 7 p.m. on Wednesday nights in Room 150 of the communications building, and are open to all UCSC students who want a disturbing slice of the Loud life.

It all started in eighth grade. I owe a lot to my middle school English teacher. She made us all participate in our own Toastmasters, meaning we each had to give five-minute speeches about any topic of our choosing. The point was to become competent at organizing and delivering speeches and explaining things clearly.

I was nervous but also excited by the opportunity to educate my sometimes less-than-enthralling peers about anything I wanted. But as often happens when presented with limitless choices, I was paralyzed by the possibilities. I kept a running list of potential topics, but not one idea outshone the rest.

As had often happened before and has often happened since, television gave me the answer — more specifically, the E! Entertainment channel gave me the answer. One night when I no doubt should have been doing math homework, the “E! True Hollywood Story” of Oprah Winfrey came on TV.

Illustration by Bela Messex

I’d been a casual fan of Oprah for a couple years. I was at the awkward age in my life when neither playing with toys nor going out with friends was a common after-school occurrence (it’s called middle school), and that meant that I had a lot more time to watch TV.

But that E! True Hollywood Story converted me into a hardcore fan. After seeing Oprah’s story — the story of an impoverished childhood as a rape survivor, and the story of fighting for a job at a local TV station and using it to eventually propel herself to national syndication, against all odds — I became mildly obsessed.

Because — no apologies to the naysayers — Oprah is awesome. And I honestly can’t think of a better mainstream famous female role model than Ms. Winfrey.

Women in the media often exist to be looked at. They succeed on the merits of their looks and sexuality, or their relationships, or their ability to perform in the role that is manufactured for them. But Oprah succeeded because of her ability to talk, and most importantly, her ability to ask questions.

Much has been said about Oprah’s ego, and I can understand how some would find her overbearing and ridiculous. But she didn’t get to the top by being obsessed with herself — in fact, it’s just the opposite. Oprah originally gained popularity by shedding light and peering into all sorts of topics, often ones that were overlooked or mistreated by the traditional media.

Through different interviews and shows, she put a human face on issues, one of the most notable issues being AIDS. Major TV news shows can conflate this epidemic into being all fear and no content, and that was especially true in the ’80s. But by having a talk show — a program whose very title implied that its purpose was to let people talk — Oprah could allow stories to be told.

In 1987, the same year that Ronald Reagan finally publicly acknowledged the existence of AIDS, Oprah, who had only been on air a few years, did a show about the town of Williamsburg, West Virginia, which had recently been rocked by a controversy revolving around an out gay man who was HIV-positive, a public swimming pool and a lot of ignorance. She traveled to the town, and the citizens were both her audience and her interviewees.

The episode showed a public dialogue that, while being very hateful and prejudiced, also served as an important narrative for the country to see. The rest of the media had covered the issue, and people had judged what they thought about it. But Oprah putting the story, the issue, the man and the entire town on television for an hour was huge because it existed as a record of what was really going on at this point in history. It wasn’t hyped up with the language of fear that many media outlets used when covering AIDS, and it wasn’t downplayed into almost nonexistence the way Reagan wished it to be. It simply was: Oprah asked the people questions, and they answered.

It was definitely a risk to do that show, as many of her viewers at the time probably still harbored deep resentment towards homosexual people and an intense fear of AIDS. But she did it anyway — why? For ratings? That probably had something to do with it. But still, she went far outside the safety net of what talk shows were supposed to be about at the time, and she continued to do so, covering things like sexual abuse, meat contamination, drug addiction, obesity and much more.

And when Oprah revisited the town 23 years later, we could see how much had changed since 1987 — and how much remained the same.

So naturally, 13-year-old me gave a speech about her. I don’t remember much about it, beyond yelling at my fellow students that they’d all won free cars. But I hope I stressed the importance of asking questions.

Because over the years, Oprah has asked a whole lot of people questions. Her style has changed, her subjects have changed, and some would say she’s grown less relevant, and worships far too frequently at the altar of consumption.

But the fact that being a dirt-poor, sexually abused African American girl who grew up to be one of the most influential people on the planet, is owed mostly to her ability to ask questions — and her persistence at doing so — remains remarkable. It attests to the power of human connection, to the importance of dialogue, and to the unstoppable force that is curiosity and the equally impressive need to be heard.

And as her talk show comes to an end, the power of conversation is more important than ever. Nobody will ever replace Oprah Winfrey, but hopefully everyone can keep in mind what she said during her final episode.

“Wherever you are, that is your platform, your stage, your circle of influence,” Winfrey said. “That is your talk show, and that is where your power lies.”

Illustration by Louise Leong.

Reality TV: can’t live with it, can’t bring my lazy self to change the channel when it comes on. At least, that’s the attitude I used to have, though lately this has grown into a full, outright appreciation for the genre. I genuinely like the stuff, and a lot of it has more cultural worth than most give it credit for. That being said, it’s obvious that not all “reality” is created equal, which is why it may seem strange that I sought out the first episode of new series “Audrina” on VH1.

Before I get into defending myself, some background about the show and its star. Audrina Patridge is famous for being famous. She’s an It Girl, a descendant from the lineage of Edie Sedgwick and Paris Hilton, and with her new reality show, she’s milking that status for all it’s worth.

“Audrina” is different from Patridge’s former reality show appearances, “The Hills” and “Dancing With The Stars,” because it’s all about Audrina (get the title?) and her family. The producers are obviously going for a “Keeping Up With The Kardashians” type of show here, down to the details: It’s a family with an overbearing mother, three clashing sisters, a harmless brother and a meek father, living in Southern California and generally being a collective pain in the ass.

Here’s why I was so excited to watch the show: I love “The Hills.” Although I was late to the party, as soon as I gave the show a chance, I was hooked, because it’s real life. Not real life in the sense that what they filmed are things that literally happened — it’s obviously scripted and hyped up. But it is real life in the sense that it has some of the most realistic plot lines on television, especially in the first few seasons.

It’s a story you know — people hang out with their friends, some stupid drama or misunderstanding breaks out, and then a whole week is spent hanging out, having lunch and overanalyzing the situation to death. How many times have you had to sit and listen to the same complaints and observations from the same bitter people, and then have to respond by pretending these were highly original insights?

Also, remember when LC abruptly left the show with hardly a goodbye, and Kristin came in to take her place, and nobody on the show even commented about how weird that was? Some saw that as highly unrealistic, but when you’re a young adult, people lasso in and out of your life with surprising flexibility. It all depends on schedules and proximity and late-night intoxicated bonding or fighting sessions, so for some people, every quarter brings a new cast of characters.

“The Hills” just takes all of that to the extreme, and the results were hilarious and addictive. The writers for that show got it: people hold grudges, act stupid, make up and generally don’t learn anything from their mistakes, although they claim to. It’s real life.

“Audrina” looks like it could be building on that theme, though this time with a focus on family dynamics instead of a group of twenty-something friends. There are some obvious gender implications that come with that. Audrina’s mom and sister are shown as raving lunatics, quick to jump to conclusions and hurl insults. Meanwhile, the dad serves as a sort of hands-off voice of supposed reason, and the brother is just a friendly guy who wants to have a good time.

What I liked about “The Hills” was that everyone was basically shown in the same unfavorable light. Although it was problematic to have a show from a girl’s point of view being mostly about boy troubles and fighting with her friends, at least those boys she stressed over were equally shallow and clueless. So yes, Heidi is a terrible role model for young women, but Spencer isn’t some sort of scholar himself. The point was that these people were the worst parts of ourselves.

Hopefully “Audrina” will develop to show both genders on an equally low plane. I can get past awkward bikini photo shoots that clearly objectify Audrina, but only if her boyfriend gets into some sort of crazy voodoo crystals, as Spencer famously did. Then it can be equal opportunity idiocy.

Probably the most interesting part of Audrina so far isn’t the plot, but the way it’s filmed. Confessionals are commonplace on reality shows (though they never were a part of “The Hills”), but what’s intriguing about this new program is that it shows a wide shot of the studio room where they are filmed, before focusing in on a cast member’s face. The same studio, with a white screen in the background, is also where the opening credits takes place, which are clearly and openly posed.

These things serve as constant reminders that the show is a production, and not in any way a straightforward representation of what happens. It’s picking up where the famous finale of “The Hills” took off, when the camera pulled back to reveal that they were actually on a staged version of a Hollywood street.

Truth be told, “Audrina” just isn’t as entertaining as “The Hills,” and that’s a shame. But, hey, given the fact that I apparently have nothing better to do than watch and write about these shows, maybe “Audrina” being boring just makes it even more like real life than anything else.

Because, I hate to say it, but nobody can make me feel as good as the Food Network.

And who is anybody to judge me for that? In college — a world of dining halls, cups of noodles and reheated leftovers — just watching the careful preparation of a beautiful meal can be a comforting experience. Moving away from home means leaving any sort of domesticity, and watching Ina Garten of “Barefoot Contessa” make potato salad and peach tarts became a replacement for helping my dad make spaghetti or tacos.

Illustration by Muriel Gordon

The Food Network became popular by showing hosts in their kitchens cooking meals of varying skill level and taste. But viewers like me tune in as much for the witticisms and encouragements the chefs serve up as for the food — it’s both virtual sensory satisfaction and emotionally soothing.

When Ina says at the end of every task, “How easy is that?” she’s talking about cooking, but I know she’s also transmitting a life philosophy that I can get behind. Despite all our problems, life is ultimately easy, as long as you don’t try to complicate it too much. Just put faith and integrity into what you do, and you’ll yield perfect cupcakes every time. Ina isn’t just a celebrity chef for me. She’s a second mother.

And now the television industry is trying to ruin that for me. Case in point: “Last Cake Standing.” Here’s how the Food Network’s website describes its new show:

“Eight talented pastry chefs face off in a cake competition unlike any other. With crazy twists and eliminations looming each week, only one will prevail and take home $100,000.”

Competition unlike any other? Crazy twists? Eliminations? Only one prevails? When did my beloved Food Network become so apocalyptic? I’m pretty sure Ina wouldn’t approve of a world where anything “looms,” except maybe the scent of freshly baked lemon squares.

Seriously, I’m upset that such chaos and ferocity is coming to the Food Network, my one oasis of peace while flipping channels. Guy Fieri’s enthusiasm over every single cheesesteak he eats is enough excitement for me, thank you very much. I can’t bear the thought that reruns of “Last Cake Standing” might cut into my time with the Neelys or Paula Deen. But although I’m saddened, I can’t say I’m surprised.

After all, competition shows like “Cupcake Wars” and “Iron Chef” are already popular on the Food Network, and TLC’s “Cake Boss” takes the proverbial cake when it comes to high-octane baking. And there’s a reason all these shows are happening right now.

“Last Cake Standing” and shows like it are the perfect recession entertainment for a couple of reasons. It’s senseless escapism for sure — watching people have to walk their eight-layer cakes through swamps isn’t going to trigger real-world worries for anyone. But at the same time, the competitions to make money and earn jobs are plot lines people can understand and relate to now more than ever. It’s their lives unfolding onscreen, except fun an

d delicious.

The shows are also putting a new spin on luxury. They’re taking cake, something so banal and familiar to people of all classes, and making it the star of the show. But this ain’t your grandma’s cake, unless your grandma routinely takes Adderall. The whole point of baking in these shows is to create something so mammoth, so unusual and so stunning that it can serve as both a dessert and a conversation piece at a party. It takes cake decoration way beyond frosting and into the realm of construction. If you can dream it, there’s a way to make a cake that looks like it.

Just about everyone has had the experience of baking a cake, so the shows are accessible in that way. By combining the common task of baking with the exciting new design elements, “Last Cake Standing” and “Cake Boss” can be exotic without being arrogant, unpredictable but not condescending. In these tough times, nothing beats entertainment that is both glamorous and universal.

So although I prefer the comfortable Hamptons home on “Barefoot Contessa” to the crazy competition of “Last Cake Standing,” I understand the latter’s necessity at this time.

We’re a nation of consumers, and TV is where people go to both see their own lives and live out their fantasies. We’ll have our cake, and we’ll watch it, too.

Illustration by Muriel Gordon.

Some friends and I have been watching “Sarah Palin’s Alaska” lately, because — well, what else is there to do on Sunday nights during the off-season of “Mad Men”? The show is hilarious, ridiculous, infuriating and repetitive — basically any word you can think of to describe Palin also works for her reality program. But there are a few moments of each episode that I can enjoy in a completely un-ironic fashion, and those are the panoramic shots of the snowy mindfuck that is the state of Alaska. All I have to do is shut out Sarah’s grating voice-over explaining for the umpteenth time how nice it is to get the heck away from evil bloggers and enjoy some quality time in the great outdoors with her family and her rifles, to remember what really matters in life, and I can appreciate the unfathomably huge and beautiful mountains and glaciers.

Alaska is a cool place, and I should be able to acknowledge that without the implication that I also admire its former governor. But that’s impossible, because what Palin is attempting to do with her show is associate herself inextricably with Alaska — the title even suggests ownership, as if the state wouldn’t be the same without her — and that worries me. TLC constantly shows the Palin family camping, hunting, dog sledding, rafting and climbing all over the expansive and dangerous terrain, as well as humbly interacting with everyday folks, and the message is clear: Sarah Palin embodies Alaska, and therefore is independent, extraordinary and unique. Never mind her obvious ineptitude and divisiveness — she’s just misunderstood by the lower 48, much like her beloved home state.

The idea of letting origins define politicians is certainly nothing new, and in recent memory the GOP specifically has excelled in this endeavor. “Sarah Palin’s Alaska” is basically one long, extended sequel to the clip of former President George W. Bush clearing brush on his Crawford, Texas ranch, which made the rounds during his presidency. And that video was probably inspired by pictures of President Ronald Reagan relaxing on his own ranch, leaning against a white picket fence and wearing a cowboy hat. Reagan and Bush both played at the image of the independent, strong, American cowboy, and it worked well enough to get them each elected for two terms. Palin has a lot going against her for her inevitable 2012 run, but she definitely has the same down-home persona that could help her defeat sterile competition such as fellow Republican Mitt Romney. Her reality show is helping to solidify that image.

While Palin’s show is helping her, politicians can also use a location as a negative issue to poison their enemies. The remarkably low approval ratings of Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi probably have something to do with Republican rhetoric constantly linking her to her district in San Francisco. Since we all know the City by the Bay is full of nothing but unscrupulous queers, homeless people and potheads, it isn’t any surprise that Nancy Pelosi and San Francisco were negatively featured in ads for Republican House candidates all across the country during the past midterm elections.

President Barack Obama’s election was historic for racial reasons — and also because he was the first urbanite to be elected president since President John F. Kennedy from Boston took office. As the backlash against Obama grows, led by Republicans and especially the Tea Party, the biggest binary divide in America might turn out to be not black versus white, religious versus secular, or straight versus gay, but urban versus rural. Palin’s Alaska signifies integrity and strength, while Pelosi’s San Francisco means arrogance and strangeness. And often it isn’t even genuine rural values that are being put forth by conservatives. The Tea Party is a facade of excitable citizens being manipulated behind the scenes by businessmen such as the Koch brothers, who want nothing but money, money and more money, as well as politicians seeking personal gain. This concerns me as a liberal city-lover, but it also concerns me as an American, because people with good ideas should be respected in Washington, no matter how many crevasses they’ve climbed over or lattes they’ve sipped.

When choosing whom to vote for, the question shouldn’t be where a person comes from but the direction he or she is looking toward, and despite the incredible landscapes, Sarah Palin isn’t looking toward anywhere I’d like to be.