TV is often turned on as an aid in drifting off to sleep. But that technique is flawed for several reasons. Let's take a look at the three types of late-night TV most popularly chosen to render the viewer dormant, and analyze their faults:
1. Movies: "good" films engage viewers and hold them spellbound until the credits roll, resulting in a loss of sleeping time; "bad" films fail to interest viewers, creating a restlessness that leads to more channel-surfing or streaming-service-scrolling.
2. Show marathons/binge-watching: viewers are powerless to drowse or even change the channel, so invested are they in the shows' characters and story arcs.
3. Shopping channels/infomercials: bright colors, spinning displays, markdowns, and breathless announcements instill feelings of desire in viewers, leaving them unable to doze (a phenomenon related to our storied inability to fall asleep on an empty stomach).
But now, with CRABNOX's new streaming service Soporivision™, falling asleep to the TV is easy.
The narrative structure of most shows and movies follows a time-tested formula: hook viewers, keep them intrigued with plot movement and character development, and finally climax with one of a variety of emotional manipulations (a big come-from-behind win, the eventual union of lovers previously considered star-crossed, the stunning revelation of the real killer, etc.).
Soporivision™ offerings subvert this classical structure by first ensnaring viewers with powerful, suspenseful, or hilarious opening scenes but then becoming increasingly boring. Each will enchant viewers long enough for them to become fully engrossed and decide not to change the channel. However, after this initial baiting phase, the programming becomes so dull that few will be able to watch it without being lulled into a state of deep slumber.
Soporivision™ features hundreds of exclusive shows and movies that can be streamed on any device at any time, enabling viewers to select exactly how and when the hypnosis will begin.
Unsure where to start? Here are the top selections in the US this week:
A black ops agent. A top-secret document worth millions. A decades-old thirst for revenge. These are the elements leading to an explosive, pulse-pounding showdown that quickly restores everything to status quo. As the film continues, reports are written, proofread, and submitted; government furniture damaged in the crossfire is inspected, replaced if necessary, and, in some cases, earmarked for the next surplus property auction; and at last, the hero is taken out of the field and moved to an office-based managerial position where he receives and must finally handle vacation requests from four different employees.
Dr. Frankenstein’s monster has been locked away in Thistlecleave Asylum for over 20 years. After the arrival of a new mad scientist leads to a gripping, edge-of-your-seat battle of brains versus braun, the fearsome beast escapes. Once on his own, the abomination begins shopping for a home, finally settling upon and signing a mortgage agreement for a split-level ranch in suburban Minneapolis. But now he can't decide on a style in which to decorate his newfound dwelling. Victorian? Colonial Revival? Hollywood Regency? If you can somehow stay awake through the subsequent 70-minute consignment boutique browsing scene, a single take filmed in slow-motion and set to a repeating reduced-tempo instrumental cover of Neil Sedaka's "Laughter in the Rain", the terrifying creature's ultimate choice may not surprise you.
This 4-hour documentary opens with exciting, never-before-seen footage that gives the viewer an intoxicating inside look at some of New York City’s most iconic clubs—Studio 54, Pyramid, Danceteria—during their dazzling, cocaine-fueled heyday. The thrilling music, the outrageous fashion, the legendary stars—everything's here in its hedonistic ‘70s & ‘80s glory. But what happens after the party’s over? A sequence of undramatic reenactments illustrates how, once the patrons leave the disco and the lights go up, the janitorial staff prepares the venue for the next night’s festivities by collecting glasses, picking up cigarette butts, mopping the floor, and wiping down tables. Famously monotone narrator Ben Stein describes each cleaning act in granular detail and then, for the film’s lengthy conclusion, reads a 96-stanza poem entitled “Ode to a Dustpan”. Stein’s somnolent recitation of the opus is played over a slideshow of sepia photographs depicting vintage corn husk brooms.
