What you (don't) see is what you (don't) get

There's been something of a hullabaloo among media types surrounding the CW Network's decision to not send out preview screeners of its ultra-hyped redux of Fox's 90s teen television paragon Beverly Hills 90210, whose title is now shortened to the sleeker, more dynamic, and much more numeral-centric 90210. (Although to be fair, the zeroes are being read as "ohs", so perhaps there is an additional phonetic artistry on display as well, at least title-wise.)

The network and the production studio -- CBS-Paramount Television -- are defiant in their defense of their methods, of course; this was all part of the plan, they say, a strategy designed from the beginning to ensure that the purity of the concept wouldn't be tainted. And who among us can doubt the sincerity of a major studio's marketing and promotions department?

They don't want the show's freshness to be fouled by those blue-haired meanies and gray-bearded killjoys in the media -- people who "just don't get it." No, they want their treasured audiences (particularly those among the "girls 12 to 17" and "women 18 to 34" crowds) to luxuriate themselves in the healing balm that is this reimagining of the classic yarn, likely involving rich and sexy teens being transported into a rich and sexy environment amongst other rich and sexy teens, and finding themselves all kinds of mixed-up in wacky shenanigans -- which, I can only imagine, are of the rich and sexy kind.

Unfortunately, we won't know this for sure until the show premieres on Sept. 2, and all because the CW didn't send out screeners. But tragically, I already find that I may be disqualified from being among those who "get it" -- partially because I am a male, partially because I am in my mid-30s, and more than partially because I use words like "hullabaloo" in my sentences. While my use of "wacky" isn't necessarily a disqualifier, its proximity to the dreaded "shenanigans" means that I must accept a called third strike against my aged vocabulary, shrug my shoulders, and drag myself away from the party. It's long past time that I accept my fate as not being hip enough to pass among the youngsters and bask in their reflected glories. Oops, just let a "hip" slip out. That'll cost me. (Dagnabbit.)

But maybe it's for the best. Since the show won't be dealing with the ins-and-outs of the postal service's zip code system -- a missed opportunity since the original series, really -- I likely wouldn't have taken much from it, except to learn the social and cultural implications of being a rich and sexy teen in a sun-soaked 21st century playground, immersed in a world occupied by both the ne'er-do-well and the well-to-do.

Perhaps if I'd watched the pilot of what is likely a pale retread of a nearly 20 year-old concept that is currently being done to death by reality soaps like MTV's wretched "The Hills"...well, maybe then I'd know if I could potentially "get it" or not. I can't say for sure.

What I can say for sure is that the marketing and promotions people at the CW and CBS-Paramount have earned their paychecks this month. After all, when you promote something by flatly refusing to let anyone see it ahead of time -- and people like me who "just don't get it" actually take time out of their busy schedule to hem and haw, thus contributing to the hype, instead of reducing it...

...aw, fiddlesticks.