Stepping away from the cinema and turning an eye towards television, I wanted to take a moment to talk about a problem that is both rampant in and (almost) unique to the medium. Unlike movies, putting aside such behemoths as the MCU, television series require a much greater investment of time to fully enjoy. Narrative arcs can span years and characters are able to undergo much slower (and sometimes more satisfying) narrative arcs. This long term investment by the audience* is undertaken with the understanding that it will be rewarded with a finale – a culmination of all that has come before it (or at least some form of resolution). Unfortunately, more and more often in today’s television landscape, that trust is being broken as networks rip underperforming shows off the airwaves with little regard for existing audiences. It is my contention that this practice is likely leading to less audience engagement and, thus, even more cancellations. At the very least, it feels to the viewers as if the networks are acting in bad faith each and every time they launch a show.
*[NOTE: I am, in this circumstance, referring for to the American television model and not that – of much shorter series and lower episode counts – of British TV.]
“Welcome to Primetime, Bitch!” – Freddy Kruger
While the problem of audience investment and ensuing cancellation is not unique to network television primetime series, they are perhaps the best examples of it in action. As such, to see where this all began, it is necessary to do a brief primer of on the history of television – specifically the development and promotion of television shows.
In many ways, the early days of television (at least through the 1960’s) was based almost wholesale on the model of radio. In addition to news and advertisements, there were basically only three types of shows: lightly serialized drama, situation comedy, and variety. While there was some overlap in these categories (particularly between comedy and variety), they were all relatively distinct. Variety, by its very nature, did not require any sort of long-term investment by the audience – guests or acts often appeared, performed, and interacted with a host. Each act, never mind episode, was wholly disconnected from one another and did not require any prior knowledge to enjoy. The only constant factor week-to-week was, usually, the host – and that in and of itself was rarely a reason to tune in. Situation comedy, in turn, was also largely devoid of the types of on-going plot threads that necessitated religious viewing. While it could be helpful to know the general character relationships and architypes, most episodes did not require any sort of background to follow (plus, most did a good job of setting any of that forth at the beginning if it was required). There are the occasional exceptions, of course, such as Lucy’s pregnancy in I Love Lucy, but they were rare and still did not usually prohibit the enjoyment of any individual episode.
The odd duck out in this ecosystem, to the degree to which it was different, was that of lightly serialized drama. Note my use of the word ‘lightly’ here. While, in the vein of the old radio serials, many episodes ended on some sort of cliffhanger to entice the viewer to return next week (“Same BAT time, Same BAT station.”), said cliffhanger was typically resolved in the opening minutes of the following episode. The new episode would then go about telling a usually unrelated (or only tangentially related) story for the majority of its runtime. In doing this, the show’s creators were able to give the series a sense of continuity (and thus, importance) without mandating that audience members never miss a single showing. It also allowed them to avoid dealing with any sort of meaningful character change – after all, viewers who missed an episode and then tuned in to an entirely different dynamic might be put off and switch channels.
Most of this was done in service of circumventing the creative limitations of the time – mainly, that the concept of “re-running” an old episode had not yet caught on. Therefore, if a viewer did not see some important event, they would be left perpetually in the dark with no way (other than hearing about it from a friend or learning it from a character on the show) of knowing what had transpired. Of course, even when the tactic of re-airing previous broadcasts did catch on, serialization was still viewed as a bit of a hindrance – after all, it would require networks to air the episodes in a particular sequence in order for the narrative to make sense. One benefit of this distaste of true serialization was that, once networks tired of airing a particular show, it could be removed from the airwaves will little negative consequence to the audience. Since no one really expected these shows to be building to any larger plot or payoff, their snapping out of existence was no more than a temporary disappointment to be forgotten as the next set of entertainment was rolled out.
This time was not to last, however. As television evolved, and along with it viewer’s tastes, the era of long-term investment and serialization was on the horizon.
*Viewer Investment Required
Fast forward to the modern television landscape: most shows, regardless of category, tend to involve some type of long-form storytelling. Perhaps it is an ongoing romantic relationship, a continuing spat between friends, or a new business venture – whatever the case, viewers are generally expected to have a firm grasp on the show and it’s recently transpired events. This trend is further exacerbated by the blurring of lines between comedy and drama. Even situation comedies, once the bastion of an almost explicit stand-alone mentality, now have narrative beats than span not just episodes but sometimes seasons. The reason for this shift towards serialization has two very specific underlying causes: the ease of re-watch-ability and a desire on the part of the networks to ‘hook’ viewers. While there were no doubt other factors at work, this duo seems most likely to be at the heart of the change we are discussing.
Working backwards, it makes perfect sense that one glaring hole in the old model of avoiding ongoing plot threads – that viewers felt perfectly comfortable missing one or more episodes – was one that networks would want to resolve. When your business model is predicated on selling AD space to companies based on expected viewership, it helps to have a level of consistency in the supporting ratings data. What better way to ensure such consistency than to find ways to ‘hook’ viewers into feeling that missing even one episode would put them behind? As a result, networks began greenlighting shows that took a more long-term approach in their writing. An audience member who is concerned about missing an important event is less likely to skip an episode and is thus better for business – a guaranteed pair of eyeballs for the advertisers. Of course, all of this was true even in the old days of television. The reason that it was never exploited back then happens to be the next reason that such serialization took off: The ease of re-watching, or in the case of a missed episode, watching, individual episodes.
With the advent of VHS recorders – and later DVD-Rs, DVRs, and streaming –, audience members were able to quickly catch up on their favorite series. People were now free to invest their time in ongoing storylines without a fear that they could be left behind. That benefit allowed shows to invest in crafting more complex narratives and types of sweeping character changes that were previously disfavored in the medium. As these forms of lengthy storytelling exploded, the viewing public become even more enamored with them. Suddenly, television transformed from a form of more fleeting amusement to one that could hold real weight. Viewers began to invest large swaths of their time in watching, or catching up on, any series they wished. As a result, the more of their time they invested, the more invested they were in the inevitable outcome of the story. Far from an afterthought, the finale (and the journey towards it) became a focus. Sadly, and almost paradoxically, this was also a time when networks began becoming even more ruthless in their culling tactics.
Time to Grow – A Lesson from Seinfeld
Seinfeld is one of – if not the – greatest sitcom of all time. The characters, the situations, the dialogue – all have managed to become inseparable from the fabric of popular culture. The ratings and audience size that it was able to attract are still legendary. It is often held up as the golden example of how to make a television show that both comments on, and influences, the world in which we live. It was also, by most all accounts, a failure out of the gate.
Now, Seinfeld didn’t fail in the sense that it wasn’t funny (though it lacked some of the speed of comedy that would eventually become its hallmark). Seinfeld failed in that not only did it not inspire confidence in the network leadership (it’s tiny first season was launched in the summer – a dead zone for TV in the era), but it also didn’t draw very impressive ratings (partly due, no doubt, to the summer premiere). Rather than cast the show aside as a flop, the network instead opted to give it another shot. A much larger season two released to higher numbers (and increased creativity of plotlines) but was still not performing as well as was hoped. Again, the higher ups were faced with the choice of cancellation and, again, they chose to renew. By the time the third season ended and the fourth began, Seinfeld had become an unmitigated hit (eclipsing many more established shows on the network). From that point on, the only question regarding the show’s popularity or renewal was one of how long it could be kept on the air – to the point that the network eventually offered Jerry Seinfeld the sum of one million per episode for a potential tenth season. Jerry said no and television history was written – Seinfeld went out on the top of its game.
Compare that situation to the one of today – networks are constantly launching new series (in the fall and as mid-season replacements) for whom success is measured in episodes. It is not uncommon for a show to launch, air a portion of its season, and be cancelled, all within the span of a couple of months. If audiences don’t immediately flock to a show that has no established history or widespread word of mouth, it is near-instantaneously relegated to the dustbin of history. This is bad enough for sitcoms, which often take some time in finding both the character’s voices and the performer’s strong suits, but it is downright damning for serialized dramas. A genre predicated on long-form storytelling – particularly if that story has a slow build – can often have difficulty gaining initial viewers. Breaking Bad is a great example of a show whose rise to becoming one of the greatest of all time was a long time coming. In fact, despite only lasting 5 seasons (with the last split in two so that the network could milk it), it really only became a breakout success near the beginning of the fourth. This was less a case of the series needing to find its voice (it was amazing out of the gate) and more one of the grander picture having the time to reveal itself.
Unfortunately, the patience shown by AMC and NBC with Breaking Bad and Seinfeld, respectively, is something that is all but unheard of today. The culture of wanting an immediate breakout of success mirrors that of the importance put on the opening weekends of theatrical releases. However, unlike movies, the story on display within television series is not set in stone, but changes from week-to-week (or episode to episode, as the case may be). Shows can evolve and improve based on feedback from audiences and their own innate sense of where they should be going. Shows are, in many ways, living organisms – babies that need to be treated with patience as they learn to walk (whether that means creatively or from a viewership perspective). The benefits of doing so can be great and have sometimes led to a selection of the greatest shows to have ever existed. Look no further than Joss Whedon’s Firefly to see an example of the dangers of cancelling a beloved classic before it even has a chance to gain a foothold. What could have been a long-running series filled with talented actors and written by the man who would be instrumental in crafting the early days of Marvel’s wildly popular MCU was instead dropped after only half a season. The quality was there, the critical reception was there – the only thing that was missing was the network’s ability to let audiences find the show. Much like baking, certain things can’t be rushed.
All of this leads to yet another paradoxical situation – why would potential viewers waste their time watching a new show early in its run when it might just be cancelled weeks later? Best wait until it is more established before giving it a chance. This type of attitude, in turn, leads to lower initial viewership numbers – the very low numbers that precipitate such early cancellations.
The Looming Threat of Cancellation – aka. Community Syndrome
Perhaps worse than the series not given enough time to find its audience is the series pulled unceremoniously off the air after many seasons. In the first case there might be a lot of wasted potential, but people rarely miss what they never had. In the second, however, lies a great deal of time and expectation dashed in a single instant. Whether viewers have invested years watching a show or just the hours necessary to binge their way to catching up, they have put a large amount of their life and trust into that relationship. While a great journey is enjoyable, the disappointment of never reaching your destination can retroactively destroy the good will of the viewer.
A wonderful example, though far from the only, of a show being pulled off the air after having become beloved by the audience is that of My Name is Earl. After running for four seasons, the show about a man attempting to correct his life by completing a list of items related to the bad things he has done over the course his life was cancelled. Despite being told by the network that the show was in no danger of being pulled off the air, the creators (and thus the fans) were blindsided when word came down that it had gotten the axe. Not only was the titular Earl’s list never to be completed, the final episode of the fourth season ended on a literal “To Be Continued…” (text and everything). Viewer’s investment and support of the show was met with a resounding “Who Cares?” from the network. Rather than afford the show a chance at a dignified end, they relegated it to the selection of shows which, while amazing, must always be recommended with an asterisk. “It’s an amazing show but be forewarned: the ending (or lack thereof) is going to suck.” The entire situation was, for lack of a more tactful term, a slap in the face. Not only did it leave viewers with a terrible taste in their mouths creatively, it actively discouraged them from getting so invested in another show again. Why spend the time if you’re just going to be left high and dry?
Of course, it is not just the possibility of an unexpected cancellation that looms over television landscape. Just as prevalent is the not-so-subtle specter of possible cancellation that hovers over any show unlucky enough not to be a smash success. There was a time, not so long ago, that Nielsen ratings were as foreign to average audiences as to be relatively unknown. People watched what they enjoyed and paid no mind to how it was performing nationally – that was the business of the networks. Sure, the ratings ultimately impacted whether or not a show would be renewed, but knowing about them (or even attempting to skew them) was not the responsibility of the fans. In today’s world, however, ratings data is not just available to the general public, it’s actively touted. If a show is overachieving or underperforming, we know about it. Viewers whose favorite shows trend toward the wrong end of that spectrum live in constant fear that they will lose said shows without a proper resolution.
Fans feel that it is their responsibility to keep their favorites on the air: tweeting about it, convincing their friends to watch, writing heartfelt pleas on Reddit, creating and sharing online petitions, and so much more. Rather than an enjoyable distraction from the rigors of everyday life, keeping an eye on (and attempting to fix) the ratings of their favorite shows becomes another job. Each episode, instead of being enjoyed on its own merits, becomes a new barometer as to whether or not they will get another season. In no other case was this insane backwards attitude more apparent than in the show Community.
Before his meteoric success with Rick and Morty, creator Dan Harmon’s previous critical darling was an NBC sitcom by the name of Community. The show had a stellar cast, a quick wit, and pushed the boundaries of what a sitcom could be by playing with (and often breaking) the rules of the genre. While beloved by critics and audiences alike, Community was a bit ahead of its time. The general public had not yet found the love of quirky and self-referential humor in the way that it has today. As such, almost from the outset, fans of the show were always glued to internet in the days after airing – waiting to see if the demo needle had moved from the previous week. After many near-misses, NBC finally axed the show at the end of season five. That was not to be end of Community, however, as fan outcry along with its popularity allowed it to rise again for a sixth and final season on Yahoo Screen (Don’t google it, it wasn’t around long enough to matter).
This type of resurrection is not unique to Community: from Jericho’s nut-mailing campaign to Brooklyn 99’s switching of networks, the idea of viewers having a necessary and active hand in keeping shows on the air in now commonplace. Now don’t get me wrong – I think it is absolutely wonderful that these artistic works mean so much to their fans that they fight to keep them going – I just don’t think that they should HAVE to. They shouldn’t feel as it is their duty as watchers of a show to keep one eye on the ratings or petition for a proper finale. The fact that the fear of being left high and dry is so real in their minds is a testament to the prevalence of the horrible business practice of ending shows without resolution. While not always perfect, it is always preferable to allow a show some modicum of forewarning (or a shortened final season) to provide some sort of finale for the fans. Not only is this the decent thing to do for viewers and creators alike, it is just good business. Instilling confidence that you will at least attempt to live up to your promises is a good way to encourage viewers to continue to support your work. Unfortunately, while some networks have learned this lesson, too often the fans’ worst fears come to pass and we are left with one more unfinished work on which to dwell.
Streaming is NOT the Savior
One notion I hear floated a lot is that all these issues are results of a broken and outmoded system. The theory states that, as the ways in which we watch television evolve, traditional broadcast and cable networks have failed to keep up. Proponents point to the revival of beloved shows such as Arrested Development or The Expanse by the likes of Netflix and Amazon as proof of the new world order – don’t worry if your favorites can’t hack on the old guard, they can always be revived by the streaming giants. Better yet, just watch the shows created exclusively for these services. Freed from the types of constraints that accompany the traditional advertising-fueled system of television entertainment, these giants only have to answer to their subscribers. Sadly, this line of thinking isn’t just wrong – it is in direct opposition to the truth.
While it is true that these new services do indeed play by their own set of rules, those rules mirror the old in a multitude of ways. Moreover, the black-box approach to data regarding viewership adopted by most of the platforms prevents anyone outside the company from being privy to the specifics of their decision-making process. While Netflix was once known as the king of creating new original shows, it has more recently become known for its ending of them. Sure, some just aged out: House of Cards, Orange is the New Black, and the soon-to-be-complete Grace & Frankie all reached their natural conclusions. Nothing can last forever, after all. But there have also been a string of high-profile cancellations of well-received shows: from the Disney+ related decisions to end ALL FIVE of their Marvel Defenders universe shows to the abrupt abandonment of Santa Clarita Diet and One Day at a Time, Netflix has been discreetly axing a good deal of their original content. No doubt they would say that this is related to low viewership or the like, but as subscribers have no access to such information (and Netflix keeps those numbers close to their chest), there is no way for fans to have any indication that such cancellations might happen.
The problem is, most streaming platforms release all of their shows in large season-long chunks. These season drops are meant to create immediate and, hopefully, long-term engagement as you barrel your way through episode after episode. That said, at the end of the day, these tech companies don’t care WHAT you’re watching so long as you ARE watching. If they can transfer your eyeballs from one property to the next with a seamless transition of suggestion – great! Also, as their breadth of content is so large, it is unlikely that a given subscriber will terminate their subscription based on a single show. This results in even less care and attention given to ending their shows with any sort of resolution – the end goal isn’t the result of creating good content but MORE content. And, since they feel there are no real repercussions to jumping ship on a property once it ceases to grab headlines, they are even more apt to cancel a beloved property than their broadcast counterparts.
At the end of the day, while there may be significant differences in their business models, the effect is the same: both traditional television networks and streaming platforms feel no real responsibility to their audience to wrap-up their existing stories. Imagine going to movie after movie in theaters only to find that most just abruptly end before the climax. No warning, no resolution. This is identical to the type of bait-and-switch practiced by television producers on a regular basis – the difference is, at least with movies you have only invested at most a few hours. With television shows, literal DAYS of your life could be spent following along with a narrative that has no conclusion. If we wouldn’t accept it with shorter stories, why would we accept it with longer ones?
The Finale
Despite all of the above, and unlike many things in life, the problem of TV shows being cancelled too early and/or without resolution has an easy solution: don’t do it. While no network should be required to keep a faltering show on the air for seasons on end in the hopes that it might eventually find an audience, they should make every effort to give new shows the time required to find their footing. Networks should also realize that, given the quantity of time that they ask viewers to devote to series, it is their responsibility to ensure that the creative team behind said shows are given a chance to provide some sort of resolution to the story. While it is true that doing so might result in a less-than-optimal contraction of the plot, it still beats the alternative. Both of these moves would serve to give audiences the confidence that beginning (or trying out) a new show will not be in vain. This confidence, in turn, will likely lead to an increase in viewership – a symbiotic relationship that inevitably leads to fewer early cancellations. Of course, none of this is meant to address shows for whom the creative aspect is lacking, but rather to bolster those with either existing fan bases or those looking to build them.
In the end, television – whether found on Network, Cable, Premium, or Streaming – is a wonderful and unique medium capable to telling stories that would be ill-suited for the big screen. It is also capable exploring the types of long-form growth and plotlines that would not be feasible within a more limited runtime. Audiences living in fear of unresolved plotlines and abandoned stories is a concern found far less often in any other medium and should be consigned as a thing of the past. Just as all stories have some form of beginning, so too they require some sort of end. I don’t think it is too much to ask to expect the purveyors of this art form to support this basic tenant of entertainment. As audiences, and as artists, I think we all deserve at least that much.