Our Regularly Scheduled Program Vs Binge Watching

Every now and then the little light comes on and I grasp an insight into something that previously stared me in my oblivious face.

I was watching episodes of a popular sit-com* from 35 years ago, not a huge hit but certainly a cult favorite popular enough to stay available on recorded media and now streaming.

Not having seen it in well over two decades, I plopped down and started watching episodes back to back.

I got tired by ep. three.

The problem, I realized, lay in how the material was originally presented.

It used to be we’d have to wait every week for a show to come back at its appointed time, and present us with whatever shenanigans the characters got themselves into that week.

Most episodes were standalones, there was little forward progress in the stories and the tiny bit that did exist was mostly in the backstory, not the main plot.

Every week they gave us the same thing, only slightly different.

Mind you, I can appreciate the diametrically opposed tension facing shows of that era -- I wrote and story edited for TV at that time.

The audience wants the same thing they liked the last time…

…only different.

With daily shows like G.I. Joe and Transformers and Jem, trying to come up with something new enough not to be a dull repeat but not so different to alienate the audience was a challenge.

Luckily, the Sunbow series were awash in Joes and Autobots and pop stars and Little Ponies, so we could always find some underused character to build a novel story around, or to add a fresh twist to our old standards.

But even there, I don’t think one can binge watch too many at a time without feeling a certain sense of sameness.

Modern streaming series take that into consideration, but for me that works against them:  I like my stories done in one.

Your mileage may vary, of course.

I’ll watch a 3 hour epic movie without qualm, but I start balking at 7 - 13 - 26 episode story arcs.

I loved season one of Daredevil, never watched season two.

I loved season one of Luke Cage, never watched season two.

I hear people telling me how great The Mandalorian is and I believe them 100%.

No desire to watch it, however (though this may be more the fault of seeing too many Star Wars features films).

Likewise zero interest in any new Star Trek, or for that matter any of the various Star Trek imitators out there.

One and done ripoffs / parodies excepted, of course.

I have the same problem with old movie serials, a genre and format I adore.

Nowadays I tend to watch serials by viewing the first three and last two chapters.

Everything in between tends to be padding.

The Sopranos seemed to be the exception, but then the show lost Nancy Marchand, who played Mama Soprano, and with it the entire raison d’etre of the series.

I clung with it for several seasons past that before abandoning it long before the final blackout.

The Venture Bros. still grabs my attention, but like the Sunbow shows it has a large enough cast to give it the needed flexibility to keep the stories varied yet part of the same universe as well.

It’s reportedly coming to an end with season eight, and to that I say good:  Better to go out at the top of your game than jump the shark and flounder.

. . .

Modern audiences -- at least modern audiences with cable / satellite / Internet access --  no longer have the tacit sense of an appointed time and often and appointed place to enjoy media.

Prior to the electronic age, few people could be entertained whenever they wished unless they or a family member sang or played music or read aloud or told stories.

There were kings and nobles who kept musicians on tap and theatrical companies close at hand but even they were constrained by time and space.

Today’s audience can just whip out a phone and listen / watch / read whatever they want.

As a result, the sense of being an audience seems vanish.

An audience used to be those who came to a performance of some kind, even if it meant simply showing up in their own living room on Tuesday at 8:30pm (5:30 Pacific) to listen to Fibber McGee and Molly.

Even in one’s home, it meant setting aside a time to come in and listen or watch as a production presented its entertainment.

One may or may not like what one experienced, but the audience placed itself at the disposal of the program.

Transistors started changing that.

Transistors made small cheap radios easily affordable and eminently portable.  

People could take their listening pleasure with them, and that marked the rise of recorded popular music programs instead of live scripted broadcasts.

It proved the first technological step in a long line of dominoes that completely upended the relationship of audience to entertainment.

The audience used to come and absorb patiently.

Now the entertainment needs to break through a thousand and one distractions.

It does so by escalating the sensationalism -- and by sensationalism I mean anything that’s designed to grab an audience’s immediate attention, no matter how well or thoughtfully executed.

It undercuts the lower key / slice of life popular entertainment audiences enjoyed generations ago.

(And, yes, Shakespeare & co. are filled with blood and thunder tales, but again, those were things one committed oneself to experiencing as the performers intended; audiences didn’t walk out en masse and go to a neighboring theater in mid-performance.)

. . . 

The problem with ongoing stories is this:  At any point they can be upended by fiat, negating all that’s come before.

Go ask a comic book fan how many times DC has destroyed the universe.

My reluctance to enjoy open ended fiction is that I like being able to mull over a story once it is completed, teasing out the full measure and meaning of what I’ve just experienced.

I’ll risk a program like The Queen’s Gambit because I know it’s a limited series withn a finite ending.

I wouldn’t watch an open ended series based on Walter Tevis’ book.

My career as a writer and an editor enables me to see the gears turning behind the scenes in a story.

More often than not I’m already several plot beats ahead of any movie or TV episode I’m watching.

I bailed on a highly recommended current program recently just halfway through the first episode.

I got the joke.

I knew where it was going.

Nothing about it enticed me to keep following.

The classic sit-com mentioned above wore thin because it was the same damn joke every time.

It’s a funny joke, mind you.

And when seen the way originally intended, I’d have a week to forget about the details of the previous episode, to be hungry of that particular brand of humor for a bit, and be willing to take a repeat of material a week later.

But back-to-back-to-back?

No.

Legendary writer / producer Stephen Cannel sold the first story he ever pitched to a detective series called Ironside w-a-a-a-y back in 1971.

Cannel began his pitch thusly:  “One morning Ironside wakes up with the worst toothache he’s ever had in his life…”

And instantly everyone in the pitch session paid rapt attention.

Why?

Because they knew that whatever came next, it wasn’t going to be something they’d heard a thousand times before.

I’d rather have one simple thing that grabs me than a million and one fireworks attempting to get my attention.

And I’d rather experience that one thing and be able to process it rather than see another installment that undoes everything set before.

. . .

As I’ve posted elsewhere, there’s a place for comfort food TV.

My wife and I enjoy Emily In Paris.

It reminds us of our trips to France and the stories and characters are just interesting enough to be amusing but not so demanding as to require full attention.

Nothing wrong with comfort food TV.

But the real nutrition is found elsewhere.

And for me, this applies to all modes of art and entertainment.

© Buzz Dixon

* No, I’m not going to tell you the title.The point of this post isn’t the particular show, it’s the manner in which televised stories are told now as opposed to how they were told the