Comments on: The Nostalgic Pleasure of Signing Off

By: Germaine Halegoua

Germaine Halegoua — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 21:13:00 +0000

I love these examples! And there’s definitely something germane about the fact that WHIT plays music from the 50s and 60s, the whole listening experience is like a time warp. I recommend it.

By: Megan Ankerson

Megan Ankerson — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 22:15:10 +0000

I love that nostalgic pleasure too. It emphasizes the liveness of broadcasting in a way that makes you feel connected, part of a local or national ritual. And the idea of signing off to hit the sack has a particular 'gee whiz' 1950s vibe that would make a cool refrigerator magnet. When I read Janet Thumim's "Small screens, big ideas" about British TV in the 50's I was struck by the notion of the "Toddlers' Truce." Early British TV halted transmission from 6-7pm (after children's television hour and before the evening news) so children could be put to bed. The practice was ended when advertising became a bigger priority... a common plot line it seems.

By: Jonathan Gray

Jonathan Gray — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 14:58:26 +0000

I was fond of a sign-off piece of animation that I think CBC, or perhaps one of the commercial Canadian channels used, that showed a bird flying across Canada, coast to coast, and then lights off. It seemed a fascinating signoff, given that they’re often more localized or domesticized (as with the notion of putting tiny little records to bed, suggesting a house going to sleep), yet here was a piece that suggested a nation united and wrapped up before sleep (all the more odd given the 4.5 timezones in the country, and hence variable bedtimes). There also seemed to be an implicit (even Canadian, dare I say, answering its call for nationalism?) humility to the idea that broadcasting could end and needn’t continue ad nauseum. Roger Silverstone writers beautifully of how television can rock us to sleep at night with a sense of ontological security, and such signoffs are kind of endearing for how they suggest that broadcasting can end now, since nothing’s going on — just go to bed now, dear. In a world with a million things happening at once, I too appreciate the nostalgic pleasure of such a suggestion.