Bambi Hunting. It sounds like the main attraction at some alternative Disneyworld or the latest video game designed to shock and titillate. In reality, it's a combination: In the desolate sand expanses of Nevada, just outside Las Vegas, male hunters reportedly pay upwards of $10,000 for the privilege of stalking women -- naked, save only their tennis shoes -- with paintball guns.

If the girls (called "Bambis") manage to elude the hunters' bullets, they are awarded $2500. If caught, their compensation dwindles to $1000. Victorious hunters then have the option of "mounting" their prey, a double entendre for the more learned marksmen. The hunters' entrance fee pays for poster-sized photographs of the women they've conquered, suitable for hanging over the mantle. According to some accounts, the "Bambis" double as prostitutes who are available after the hunt.

It gets worse. On the game's official website, www.huntingforbambi.com, Michael Burdick, CEO of Real Men Outdoor Productions, Inc., and the mastermind behind these X-rated safaris, provides a list of prominent Bambis he'd like hunted. The site challenges visitors to "submit other worthy candidates for our review." These are, for the most part, outspoken, moneyed, and powerful in their professional spheres: Oprah Winfrey, Hillary Clinton, Barbara Walters, and Martha Stewart. In other words, the targets include not only women's bodies, but also the female power, success, and stature that these wishful-thinking Bambis represent.

When the story broke on major media outlets in mid-July, public response was at once varied and deafening. Women's organizations called "Hunting for Bambi" yet another example of the dangerous social surroundings for women in the United States. National paintball associations warned of the potentially disastrous consequences of aiming paintballs -- which exit guns at approximately 200 mph -- at naked flesh. Oscar Goodman, the mayor of Las Vegas, immediately called for an investigation, less out of concern for the morality of the venture than on the grounds that "these paintballs can hurt people and take out someone's eye" ("Mayor Blasts Local Bambi Hunt Game," KLAS-TV.com, 21 July 2003).

But for all the huffing and puffing from outraged pundits, another group emerged to pledge their support for Bambi hunting. Men from all across the county, and reportedly from as far away as Germany, inquired about organizing a hunt. Unsurprisingly -- considering the sums of money at stake -- interest in the venture was not gender-specific. Burdick claims to have received scores of emails from eager would-be participants who wanted to know if he was hiring Bambis. Afraid that the hunts were getting a bad rap, women who had already received their antlers began to defend the game publicly: "We're not getting hurt that bad," one participant told Fox News. "The [paintballs] don't hurt as bad as everyone says they do. It's about as bad as getting slugged in the arm" ("Vegas 'Game' Has Men Hunting Nude Women," FoxNews.com, 16 July 2003).

And for those few days in July, Burdick was the news stations' It Guy, fielding interviews from CNN, Fox News, The O'Reilly Factor, MSNBC, and ABC's Diane Sawyer. KLAS-TV, Las Vegas' CBS affiliate, broke the story and dedicated a four-part exposé to the "sport." But these news organizations were suspiciously silent when, late during the week of 28 July, the "Hunting for Bambi" expeditions were revealed as a hoax designed to generate publicity for Michael Burdick's spoof video of the same name.

The controversy surrounding "Hunting for Bambi" is indicative of several contemporary trends: the ongoing coupling of sex with violence in American consumer culture, an economic climate that would drive some women to seek this kind of lucrative and highly degrading work, and the seeming decline of white, heterosexual male prestige (Burdick reported that the game is best suited for "the individual who's used to saying, 'I can't go out with the boys tonight' or the wimp of America. It's a chance for him to come out and vent his aggression and really take charge and have some fun" ["Bizarre Game Targets Women," KLAS-TV.com, 21 July 2003].)

No surprise, the majority of news reports generated in the early days of the "Bambi" hoopla focused on one or more of these key issues. However, in the relative media silence that followed Burdick's disclosure of fraud, a significant component of the story has been left unaddressed: how the love 'em and leave 'em news coverage of the "Hunting for Bambi" investigation has come to typify contemporary journalistic practices.

Ideally, the role of journalism in a democracy is to act as a "Fourth Estate," monitoring the behaviors of elected officials and seeking to report and interpret issues relevant to their constituency/readership. Over the last decade, lax restrictions on media ownership have allowed the same parent company to have controlling interests in a variety of media outlets, resulting in the synergistic phenomenon known as "Big Media." Consider Paramount Pictures and publishing house Simon & Schuster. Or, multinational conglomerate Viacom, best known for its association with MTV, but also controlling 38 other television stations (not counting the 200 CBS affiliates) and, through Infinity Broadcasting, 180 radio stations.

Such mergers make it difficult for alternative viewpoints to come to light. They also make it easy to manipulate the system. So, "Hunting for Bambi"'s media coverage -- all similarly sensational and "outraged" -- functioned as little more than a press release for Real Men Outdoor Productions and their products. Which is, presumably, what CEO Michael Burdick hoped would happen.

Certainly, media hoaxes are not uncommon. Prankster Joey Skaggs has been pulling them for almost a decade as a means of social commentary. As both he and the "Hunting for Bambi" crew prove, all that hoaxers require is some official-looking letterhead, access to the Internet, and/or some folks willing to pose for the cameras. In a media environment increasingly driven by ratings and profit, such deceptions are almost inevitable. The more scandalous a story, the more likely it is to draw viewers (and thus, advertising dollars). Increasing pressure to be first on the scene discourages fact-checking and background investigations. Because production teams assume consumers have short attention spans, they don't follow up on stories, or, in the case of the "Bambis," report the retraction. In a corporate climate antagonistic to the basic tenets of responsible journalism, it becomes almost impossible to distinguish the evening news from a commercial.

Although his $10,000 safaris were fake, the publicity generated by the "Hunting for Bambi" stories wasn't, and the controversy clearly boosted sales of the company's video. The hunts were, in fact, newsworthy, because the very possibility of their existence raises the issue of an increasingly violent consumer culture. But news organizations failed to get the real story: Why was it so easy for Michael Burdick to reach a captive audience for the offensive merchandise of Real Men Outdoor Productions, Inc.? And why were the media so quick to jump on the story, pillory it, and then refuse to acknowledge their own participation in producing and promoting the hoax? Now that would be a story worthy of the nightly news.

Kirsten Kidder is film and TV Critic at PopMatters.com.

American masculinity is in crisis. It's a familiar argument, recycled by politicians, feminists, and other social commentators since soldiers traded their uniforms for a post-WWII suburban life. Today, the complaint is rehearsed in the struggle to limit the admission of female cadets at the Citadel and the recent debate over the Masters Golf Tournament in Augusta. Although largely unspoken, the crux of both arguments is the same: In this age of political correctness and gender equality, many men feel that there is simply no place left in the U.S. where boys can be boys.

Enter Viacom.

In mid-April, the multi-media conglomerate announced that its identity-challenged cable network, TNN -- formerly The Nashville Network, later renamed The National Network -- was soon to be christened Spike TV, the first channel aimed specifically at men. A legal challenge from Spike Lee delayed the change, initially slated to take effect 16 June (TNN president Albie Hecht denied Lee's claim that the proposed moniker was an attempt to cash in on his name and image, maintaining, "We just liked the idea of having a guy's name. We thought that it was smart and fun and irreverent." Even without the name, TNN's programming shift went into effect as planned, with references to Spike TV blurred from station promos, and ads calling the network "The New TNN." The case was settled two weeks later, allowing Viacom to proceed with its original plans.

More interesting than its naming saga is the philosophy behind the network's programming -- broadcasting content that is, according to Hecht, "unapologetically male." While Spike TV is only one of several demographic-specific stations cropping up on cable television -- Lifetime, WE, and Oxygen are all directed towards women, and African Americans have been tuning into BET since 1980 -- the station may have to produce more than just a slick marketing campaign to justify its existence. After all, other specialty stations operate under the premise that their target audience is somehow underserved by both network and cable television.

That simply isn't the case for the viewers to whom Spike TV caters: the vast majority of television programming features actors who are white and storylines that are male-centered. In fact, during a 15-year study of U.S. media, Professor George Gerbner, Dean of the Annenburg School of Communications at the University of Pennsylvania, found that on primetime television, men outnumber women at least three to one, and that there are significantly smaller proportions of blacks, Hispanics, and other minorities than in the U.S. population at large. Hecht's assertion that TNN "is a first major step in our journey to super-serving men in a way no one has done before" simply isn't accurate.

Yet, despite the fallacy of under-representation that underlies the station's mission statement, Spike TV does conform to cable specialty station rubric in a very important way: The network's tone and content are derived from the basest stereotypes of its target audience. So, just as "women's" programming is overly maudlin and BET is criticized for playing too many gangsta rap videos, Spike TV is testosterone on overdrive.

Case in point: The majority of the programming portrays men who are trying valiantly either to stave off evil (The A-Team, Miami Vice, CSI) or conquer it with brute force (American Gladiator, World Wrestling Entertainment, Most Extreme Elimination Challenge.) Also represented is the contemporary male paragon of arrested adolescence, typified here by a resurrection of the '90s animated favorite Ren & Stimpy.

And, while Hecht insists women "will be welcome" to participate in the network's revelries, it seems that they are invited for the purpose of objectification only -- the women of Spike TV are almost exclusively positioned as objects for male sexual pleasure. Pamela Anderson's buxom blonde form seems especially desirable: She appears both in reruns of Baywatch and as the voice for the exotic dancer/superhero of Stripperella, the show spearheading Spike's original animated programming.

That is, while the network's philosophy may seem abrasive to some viewers, its content hardly deviates from standard television fare. Viacom has simply taken masculinity and super-sized it. This may be a successful strategy. Masculinity is dynamic, subject to shifting cultural zeitgeists. Recent movements for women's, gay and lesbian, and civil rights have called traditional "straight white male" paradigms into question, but popular culture tends to be more insidious and flexible. If "men" are feeling anxious, how better to cash in than to create a space where they can purchase traditional "masculinity."

The popularity of Stuff and Maxim (among other text and products), coupled with the buzz surrounding Spike TV, suggests the time is right. The definition of "men" touted by these media outlets is alarmingly narrow: The characters are almost exclusively white and heterosexual, and subscribe to the notion that violence and sexual domination equals power. So, while they purport to be concerned with the broad interests of men, Spike TV, et al, only address that section of the population most adversely affected by awareness movements.

And, of course, popular culture products marked "men's only" are never consumed exclusively by men, in much the same way that women are not the sole readers of Cosmopolitan or African Americans the only viewers of BET. Rather, the supposed restrictions on audience often act as an inducement to consumers seeking "knowledge" about some "exotic other."

And what does Spike TV have to teach? After experiencing its hefty dose of testosterone, viewers may come away with the feeling that despite apparent strides in gender and racial equality, not much has changed. For those inside the target audience of males 18-34, this might be a comforting thought; for everyone else, it might be a warning.

The impetus for the "men's only" trend is bolstered by the same corporation that holds a financial interest in its success. With Viacom, it's particularly easy to connect the dots. Each time a mainstream media outlet (for example, CBS, also owned by Viacom) runs a story pertaining to the "masculinity crisis," it is creating a consumer base for its subsidiaries, like Spike TV, which in turn serves as a temporary panacea for the problem. The challenge then -- for media producers and consumers -- comes in separating the truth from the hype. And with millions of dollars in revenue at stake, this isn't always easy to do.

Whether the desire to escape into a clubhouse clearly marked "No Girls Allowed" is manufactured by Viacom or is a result of heartfelt angst is almost irrelevant. Spike TV will prompt the men who watch it to be aggressive, materialistic, and sex-obsessed. In other words, to act like boys.

Kristen Kidder is the television critic for PopMatters.