Television

It occurred to me last night, while my television was turned off, how much the medium has changed in recent years. I don’t mean reality TV (which I avoid like Wal-Marts in December, and lump into one great, gory spectacle called Viva la Beauty and the Amazing Next Idol of Love), but rather the 21st-century serial: high-concept, intricately plotted shows such as Lost, 24 and Heroes. These American-made series (who else could afford to produce them?) take entire seasons to reveal their mysteries — or not, speaking of Lost — and punish viewers who dare to miss a single episode along the way. Hurley explained what about the Numbers? Jack Bauer extracted a confession how? Ali Larter’s bad self whomped whose ass with her stilettos? There’s almost never a rearview mirror for this type of show, so pity the sap who misses significant events as they happen.

Season six of 24 begins Jan. 14, which leads me towards big questions for you: how has serialized storytelling affected the primetime viewing experience? Or, said another way, has your boob tube become better or harder to watch?

I’m glad you ask. The rise of these serial shows is interesting, because their complexity and demand on audiences totally defies TV’s established format and business model.

Think about the basic sitcom, or hit hour-long drama franchises like CSI and their superior Law & Order counterparts. These traditional programs are comforting and digestible (and their predictability and ubiquity make them perfect for watching while sick, hungover or plagued by insomnia). Their self-contained episodes are particularly conducive to eternal life in syndication. They don’t need to unfold in any order and there’s nothing difficult to figure out. (CSI/L&O cheat sheet: the second person questioned is the one who dunit.) TV studios make most of their cash through syndication. The Wall Street Journal ran a story last year that explained that halfway through the decade-long run of Friends, Warner Bros. sold new episodes to NBC for about $4 million US each, and then sold reruns of the same episodes to hundreds of local stations for another $4 million US per episode (!). No wonder studios are willing to spin off so many versions of CSI and Law & Order.

But to get back to your question, I think that this new trend of serial shows like Lost, 24, Heroes, etc. (which, in fact, are not so new – they’re really a throwback to serial radio programs from the pre-TV stone age) heralds a really exciting time for U.S. television. They’ve made watching TV an active rather than passive experience. At their best, these shows push viewers to keep up with complicated plot lines that unfold over several episodes or an entire season; it’s delayed gratification versus an instant rush.

So, tell me, what shows have you hooked?

Well, certainly not CSI. I don’t care if it’s the Las Vegas original or the Miami or New York City spin-offs: I cringe every time a lab tech details the process of fingerprinting, or any other task that her co-workers must know like the backs of their hands. It’s akin to my saying, “OK, Giese, you’ll reply to this message with sentences that employ nouns and verbs. And check the FBI database for semi-colons. We might not store them locally.” Oh, please.

Before treading any further, though, I should admit to not having cable at home since the late ’90s, which leaves me at the mercy of whatever signals my rabbit ears can catch in downtown Toronto. Reruns of Law & Order: Criminal Intent and Law & Order: Special Victims Unit air back-to-back on a local channel every weekday evening; I like watching one or the other while eating dinner. Both series’ rigid storytelling styles bore me, but each has one great detective — Criminal Intent’s Robert Goren (Vincent D’Onofrio) and SVU’s Elliot Stabler (Chris Meloni) — and that fact alone compels me to tune in. Neither show, though, offers many surprises, so I often find myself — hungover or sober — watching with divided attention.

At 8, when SVU ends, I tend to check out of scheduled programming until midnight, when CTV picks up The Daily Show and Colbert Report. (Having cable installed would let me see those shows an hour earlier on Comedy Central. That and not missing the NBA playoffs every year are my two temptations to upgrade from antenna TV.) And, neatly enough, your comments about syndication lead me towards the reason why: DVDs, which are how new-fangled serials like 24 and Lost earn their financial killings — and how people like me prefer to watch them. I’m the type to rent or download entire seasons of the shows I enjoy, and then ingest them in marathon sprees. This is how I’ve seen (and been smitten by) The Sopranos, Six Feet Under, Lost and several other series that I’ve either since returned to the video store or deleted from my hard drive.

Sure, I often wind up a season or more behind the water-cooler conversation, but my viewing habits mean no more clock-watching of network schedules, no commercials and, best of all, the ability to keep all the clues fresh in mind for the complicated mysteries of the shows I like best.

Aw, antenna TV. That’s so cute. Me, I have a tacky satellite dish attached to the side of my house beaming in a gazillion channels and — confession time — I’m not the slightest bit ashamed. In fact, the only thing stopping me from buying a La-Z-Boy lounger with a cooler in the armrest is that I’m not sure girls are allowed to own one. (I think the company has some kind of penis clause.)

That said, having watched the first few seasons of Six Feet Under in one big, compulsive gulp on DVD and the latter seasons parceled out each week on The Movie Network, I am, like you, a fan of the former style of viewing. (While Six Feet Under isn’t strictly a serial show like Heroes or Lost, it certainly shares some of their qualities.) Beyond the practical merits you mentioned, when the storytelling is that good, I love being sucked right in for hours at a time. I left some marathon viewing sessions feeling as though I was a member of the Fisher family on Six Feet Under — albeit (I hope) just the eeniest bit less dysfunctional. It’s rare that TV viewed in the more traditional way is that affecting, especially when it’s broken up by commercials. I watch my current passion, Heroes, the old-fashioned way. If I weren’t so afraid of stumbling upon a spoiler, I’d rather download it, or wait for the DVD.

As for the issue of the quality of TV at the moment: well, there’s always going to be garbage on the tube, but I’d venture that American television is better now than it ever has been. And I make that claim with the deepest respect for TV pioneers Norman Lear and Aaron Spelling, who brought the steak and sizzle, respectively, to TV in the 1970s and 1980s. (I’d even go so far as to make the claim that at the moment, American TV is better written, better acted and more subversive than American film. But that’s the subject for another discussion.)

We’ve both mentioned some great current shows. I’d add the consistently funny Ugly Betty and The Office — one inspired by a Colombian telenovella, the other a remake of a British comedy — as well as Weeds, Battlestar Galactica and Big Love. There’s even some terrific reality programming (though I suspect you’d consider that an oxymoron) like Project Runway (I heart Tim Gunn!) and TLC’s compelling Little People, Big World.

Obviously, HBO is owed a huge amount of credit for championing a risky, intelligent brand of programming. It’s been much imitated by other cable networks like Showtime and Bravo, and even by the main nets — Fox’s late, lamented Arrested Development comes to mind.

I’m not sure if we’ve answered your original question about whether TV has become better or harder to watch, so I’d like to get your take on that. And I’ll also throw a chicken-or-egg at you: is technology (TV on DVD, downloading, high-definition television, a multi-channel universe, etc.) forcing TV to get better? Or is better TV inspiring those advances in technology?

Oh yes, the marathon effect. It was just recently that I raced through several seasons of The Wire, and then caught myself muttering “shitbird” (the show’s preferred synonym for asshole) under my breath for weeks afterwards. Awesome.

Your chicken-or-egg question is intriguing, by which I mean I might not be tech-savvy enough to answer it well. But here goes: if TV producers stick to time-honoured formats — e.g. one-camera shows with formulaic story arcs — it doesn’t matter how much the technology changes. A tired idea becomes no peppier by being broadcast in HD (unless, I suppose, you’re the type who enjoys counting actors’ pores). Sure, more channels means increased competition — and also smaller, more niche audiences — and that should mean increased pressure to tell more engaging stories. Some series reflect this new climate, but others don’t, which is why I won’t mind seeing still-born dinosaurs like Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip — created by Aaron Sorkin, who masterminded The West Wing’s early, brilliant seasons, but has failed to evolve since — die by the axe of studio bean counters.

It’s with DVDs, personal video recorders and their ability to avoid commercials where I see real changes happening to the viewing experience. Prepare yourself for a lot more product placement in the coming years. During my mega-viewing sessions of HBO’s The Wire, I began noticing a lesser-known athletic company’s logo on many of the actors’ clothes. At first it seemed like nothing, but then became distracting, and ultimately annoying. I expect that phenomenon is something we’ll all have to get used to, because it’s not like quality television is becoming any cheaper to make. (I remind you that reality TV is dead to me.)

Here’s something else, though, that’s having almost as great an influence as advancing tech: celebrity journalism. There’s no mystery left to the personal or financial workings of the entertainment industry, so we learn every last detail of our stars’ lives. The premiere of 24’s sixth season is approaching fast, but I doubt I’ll tune in: I used to adore the show, but it lost all suspense for me as soon as I read about Kiefer Sutherland, who stars as Jack Bauer, signing an $40 million US contract to keep playing the character (and producing the series) through its eighth season.

It’s not like I used to worry about Bauer being killed — Sutherland acts like he’s a football player, and Bauer is certainly 24’s quarterback — but now I know beyond any and all doubt that he will not, cannot, die. There’s simply too much money at stake, and my knowledge of that stifles the suspense that is the show’s lifeblood.

Here, I’ll guess at this season’s finale: a bad guy points a gun in Bauer’s face and pulls the trigger … but Jack exhales at just the right moment, and the amazing power of his nostrils reverses the bullet back towards the shooter, killing him instead.

Yawn.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? No matter how great the show, when the producers or actors get too greedy, they forget when to quit. What was once original, fresh and timely becomes played out.

Think about Prison Break – a brilliant premise (and one with the conclusion built right into its title), but the stakes would have been much higher and the show much tauter if it had ended once the jailbirds broke free. Even the rightfully acclaimed Sopranos, which will swim with the fishes at the end of this season, should have called it quits a while back.

American TV execs and writers should take a lesson from the Brits, who are particularly good at the eight- or 12-episode series. It must have taken a lot of restraint for Ricky Gervais to walk away from The Office – his career-making masterpiece – after a mere 14 episodes. But the series and Gervais are far better off for not having overstayed their welcome. The gripping Prime Suspect, which starred the extraordinary Helen Mirren, is another example. It only aired seven installments over 15 years, but each of them is memorable.

More than with a sitcom or traditional drama, the artistic — rather than financial — fortunes of shows like Lost depend on how and when they end. Jack Bauer might be fighting terrorists till retirement, but if the Lost survivors don’t find their way home soon, the show risks getting as ridiculous as Gilligan’s Island when the Harlem Globetrotters showed up.

And speaking of knowing when to quit, I do and so I will. It’s been great talking TV with you, Matt. Thanks.