Penn and Teller once predicted -- with a lot more accuracy than your average psychic -- that, soon after the September 11th attacks, someone, somewhere, would hold a séance on national TV to contact the victims. When someone did indeed try to do this (take a bow, John Edward) network executives balked at the idea as being too tacky and exploitative even for modern TV audiences.
British TV, apparently, works a little differently.
Sky One, one of the leading UK satellite channels, has decided that whilst exploiting the recent deaths of thousands for viewing figures mightn't be terribly sensitive, exploiting the recent death of one extremely famous person for viewing figures is a-okay.
So we arrive at last Friday night's televised séance, in which spiritual medium Derek Acorah attempted to contact the ghost of the Michael Jackson. Why he chose November 6th as a date for this endeavour is unclear; it was not Jackson's birthday, nor, obviously, his date of death, so we're left to wonder why the more obvious idea of a Halloween séance wasn't used. (Perhaps a holiday associated with giving candy to children and wearing scary rubber faces was a little too close to the bone when dealing with The King of Pop.)
Derek Acorah, for those unfamiliar with his dubious talents, was formerly the in-house psychic for a British cable TV series entitled Most Haunted. The basic premise of the show was to have a camera crew accompany Acorah and former children's' TV presenter Yvette Fielding around a series of allegedly haunted locations and see what happened. Typically, what happened was a lot of grainy night-vision footage, a lot of people saying "What was that?!" at the slightest sound and Ms. Fielding screaming a lot.
Acorah, meanwhile, was the show's breakout star until he came something of a cropper; the program's resident parapsychologist began deliberately feeding him bad information to see if Acorah would use it.
In a rare example of a parapsychologist applying some skepticism, Dr. Ciaran O'Keefe arranged for Acorah to find out about the "spirit" of one "Kreed Kafer", a South African jailer who haunted Bodmin Prison in Cornwall. Sure enough, during the filming of the programme, Acorah was possessed by the spirit of Kreed Kafer. This was all the more impressive once it was revealed that there was never any such person, and that Kreed Kafer was simply an anagram of "Derek Faker."
Shortly thereafter, Acorah was tricked again into contacting the spirit of non-existent highwayman Rik Eedles. ("Derek Lies.")
Following these little slip-ups, Acorah was allegedly offered the opportunity to resign from the program, and has since been spending his time in the TV wilderness. Would Friday night's programme prove a way to re-ignite his fortunes? After all, it's pretty well documented that there really was a "Michael Jackson," and a cursory search of Jackson's name with some anagram software only turns up "manacle his jock", which sounds painful but doesn't imply anything bad about Acorah.
The program was liberally sprinkled with adverts for Acorah's new TV series, so with or without Michael Jackson it's obvious he's back in the pink. The séance and surrounding hubbub, however, left a lot to be desired.
Starting at 9 p.m., Michael Jackson: The Search For His Spirit, was a preamble to the séance and a show of such head-banging stupidity that it functioned largely as a comedy. In this hour long special, B-List TV presenter June Sarpong toured L.A. with a group of psychics, astrologers and ghost-hunters, trying to track down Jackson's ghost. Sarpong, undoubtedly unfamiliar to American audiences, proved her journalistic caliber with sentences such as this: "Could it be that Michael's spirit lives on? And if it does, I aim to find him." [sic]
Traipsing around various L.A. landmarks, no comment or belief is too laughable to keep Sarpong from nodding along credulously. The highlight of the program was an attempt by psychic Bobby Marchesso to contact Jackson's spirit in the theatre where portions of "Thriller" were filmed. Joined by ghost hunters 3am Paranormal, a Marchesso used a Frank's Box to talk with the spirits present.
If you‘re unsure, a Frank's Box is a device used to scan very quickly through a number of radio stations in the hopes of pick up spirit messages in the static. What it tends to pick up, of course, is fragments of radio broadcasts which are then taken as supernatural messages.
Nothing is quite as diverting as watching a group of supposedly rational adults crouching in a darkened room, shouting questions at a broken radio.
"HOW DID YOU DIE IN THE THEATRE?!" yells Sarpong at the box. "Don't ask me!" comes a cheerfully noncommittal, probably-a-snippet-of-an-infomercial voice. Marchesso immediately seizes on this as a dire and terrible warning. "He doesn't want us to ask him that!" Marchesso hisses, rather ignoring the chirpy tone the "spirit" used.
"HOW MANY FINGERS AM I HOLDING UP?!" yells Joe the ghost hunter. A mariachi band comes over the speakers along with a brief "oo" sound, and all agree that this was the correct answer of "two."
This is as close as Sarpong and co. come to contacting the dead, famous or otherwise. The only other "success" involves another attempt at the site of Jackson's infamous Pepsi commercial from 1984. Asking questions of thin air once again, a recorder picks up a squeaking sound in two syllables that may or may not be a voice. Marchesso immediately jumps on this as being a child-like voice saying "Michael."
It's diverting viewing, but for all the wrong reasons. Michael Jackson: The Search For His Spirit contains such a dearth of common sense it could easily be a "What not to do" guide for spirit hunters. Failing that, it makes a damn fine comedy for anyone with a skeptical bent, or even anyone who's more than 40% awake.
To the séance. Sarpong hosts once again, admitting that in her previous program Michael "didn't quite come through," and hoping that Acorah can have more success.
Holding the whole event in Ireland, where Jackson wrote parts of his final album, things start to go downhill almost immediately with the introduction of a spectacularly hair-dyed David Gest. He tells a few Jackson anecdotes and then admits that the Jackson family were not on board with the séance idea, but explains that he's totally supportive of the idea because he's "crazy anyway."
At least Gest is aware, however jokingly, of his own mental problems. Assisting Acorah at the table are three Michael Jackson fans. The scary, obsessive kind of Michael Jackson fans. Of all the assembled four, two are Michael Jackson impersonators, one of them is not an impersonator but is still dressed as Michael Jackson, and only one of them ever actually met Jackson in person. (He grabbed Jackson's hand in a crowd as Jackson left a hotel, once.)
The assembled fans are awed by the introduction of a hat that once belonged to Jackson. Acorah immediately begins with hat-related Barnum statements, saying that Jackson often had headaches which he could feel from the hat, but that the hat was also connected with happy memories, too. "I just can't believe that's his hat!" says Darren Hughes, a white, English Michael Jackson impersonator.
All of those assembled are clearly cherry-picked for suggestibility and emotional response; a decent cold-reader could play the group like a harp inside of five minutes.
Acorah, meanwhile, is not a decent cold-reader. He makes contact with Jackson effortlessly, but every message that he passes on is either predictable, badly executed or both. Not once does Acorah manage to sound remotely like he is passing on messages from an American; his speech is ponderous and pseudo-intellectual, and wouldn't be recognisable to anyone who had ever seen Jackson speak. Acorah just sounds all wrong for the part he is attempting to play.
Jackson himself, meanwhile, doesn't have anything too interesting to say. He is grateful to those assembled for coming. He is now with his paternal grandparents, who came and "collected" him. He would like someone to say hello to Quincy Jones for him. "You," says Acorah, picking on Glenn Fielding (aka Glenn Jackson), the impersonator who bares closest resemblance to Jackson. "You'll see Quincy. Say hello, please."
"...Hello...?" says Glenn, confused.
Acorah ignores this and continues, now claiming that Jackson is confused and annoyed that his "request wasn't granted." This, it turns out, was the request to be buried "next to Marilyn." He's also unhappy that the press are still printing unpleasant things about him. At this point, "Dr. Matthew", a parapsychologist on hand to keep order, steps in and asks Acorah if Michael will answer questions. Acorah says that Jackson will be willing, and turns to Michael Lewis, the only fan present who ever actually met Jackson. Lewis immediately breaks down in tears, and Acorah moves in for the kill, telling Lewis that Michael loves him and will always appreciate his friendship, and will always look out for him. Lewis is inconsolable and clearly incapable of doing anything except sobbing and telling Michael how much he loves him. It would be laughable were it not for the sobering reality that we as an audience are watching a phoney psychic pretending to channel the spirit of a dead guy to a mentally ill man for TV ratings.
After a commercial break that seemed, as much as anything, to be put in for reasons of taste, we re-join the seance and Acorah has moved on to Darren Lee Hughes, the other impersonator present. Darren now has his once-in-a-lifetime chance to contact the afterlife, not to mention speak one-to-one with his departed idol. He decides to use it to ask: "What's his most favourite performance what I've performed?" [Sic]
Acorah starts to warn that Jackson has "backed off" a little, clearly stalling for time. He then begins to talk vaguely about "the race course", saying that this was significant. He seems to be describing a performance that Jackson gave, rather than Darren, but then attempts to salvage this by telling Darren that Michael wants him to go to that race course; Michael will be watching.
Following this, "Dr. Matthew" steps in once again and says that time is drawing to a close, asking if Michael has any final messages. According to Acorah, Jackson's last message is that his children should be looked after. With a desperate chorus of "We love you, Michael!" from the various fans, Acorah ends the seance.
The fans are all sated. Michael Lewis has recovered from his earlier breakdown and is happy. Rachel, a young Irish girl, is tearful and beaming and convinced she felt Jackson hug her. Darren Lee Hughes claims that nobody except himself and Glenn could have known about "the race course," although exactly what this means is never explained.
Then, just like that, it's all over. Credits roll and an advert for Acorah's new show plays afterwards. Nobody thinks to comment that, as a Jehovah's Witness, Jackson would not have believed that his spirit would live on after death. (Jehovah's Witnesses believe that when people die, they remain totally dead and will stay that way until God resurrects the righteous at the end of the world.) Nobody mentions any of Acorah's previous failures, and nobody thought to ask any telling questions of Michael, like "What was your childhood phone number?" or the more useful "Was your death a homicide?" And of course Jackson apparently doesn't feel like imparting any crucial information about the afterlife.
Overall, Michael Jackson: The Live Seance was every bit the standard fare we've come to expect from psychics. Mentally vulnerable people, a cold-reader, and, depressingly, a wide-reaching TV audience. We can only hope that those who tuned in were savvy enough to see Acorah for what he and his ilk are; Bad, Dangerous and more than a little Off the Wall.