It is hard to imagine all the fun these young artists had, Jennifer (1968-) and Kevin McCoy (1967-), watching every episode of the buddy-cop series Starsky and Hutch countless times, snipping, editing, brief clips onto 277 video disks which line three gray
shelves inside a protective plastic case in the contemporary art alcove of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Kevin asking Jennifer, “Hey, did you see that guy wearing sunglasses?” or Jennifer waking at night, trying to remember how many times
fried eggs were served in diners. Each title, printed in black on white DVD liners, begins with Every. Every trash, every wounded, every ringing phone, rescue, ceiling fan, secretary, sunglasses, hat, evil laugh, victim, hostage, alcoholic, shooting, cry
for help, every establishing shot, tilt down, glimpse of wood paneling, magical object, etc. To the right is the custom ‘video playback unit,’ comprised of a slick metal case, two built-in speakers, four knobs for volume, all embedded in gray foam.
The unit signals ON in green. Sound escapes through tiny holes drilled into the protective cover. The five-inch screen shows Starsky bending to feel the carotid artery of a bloody woman, stretched on a sunny L.A. sidewalk and Hutch watching
a stretcher, face of the corpse covered by a sheet, as it is lifted into the ambulance. Every Dead Body is retrieved, examined and removed. Over-and-over.
Accepted for the Massachusetts Review