Cheer up, emo television.
I've been talking a lot with people lately about how incredibly tired I am of angst in entertainment. So I think I'll expand upon that.
I feel like the trend right now is to make the characters as miserable as possible in lieu of actual characterization.
-The new series of Doctor Who is made almost entirely of angst, with angsty glue sticking it together angstily.
-House, which I don't even watch now. I think the writers have a list of unfortunate events on the wall, and their series-planning process is to throw darts.
-Anything connected to Joss "Let's Kill 'Em For Some Drama!" Whedon.
I strongly suspect Joss responsible for a lot of this trend, because he has been so enormously influential. Russel T. Davies openly fanboys Joss; others will at least have noticed how incredibly successful his shows have been, if not always with the networks, at least with fans.
I remember that Joss had this theory that fans may want (for example) two characters to get together, but once they are, no one actually wants to watch a functional relationship in action. In other words, fans don't want to watch characters who are happy, or who are growing to be better people, or whatever; they want to watch characters who hurt and have fucked up lives. That sounds intelligent and deep. It also, at this point in my life, sounds like bullshit.
Bullshit, Mr. Whedon. Bull. Shit.
Look. Some angst has value. When a character is in pain and it comes across as genuine, we care for the character, we feel for the character, and yes, it's fascinating to watch the character in this situation. But this unending assault of angst after angst after angst is not only getting old. It's like entertainment is caught up in this peculiar glorification of pain and misery, which is at best kind of pathetic and emo (don't we make fun of teenagers who whine and moan and write tragic poetry?), at worst pretty damn unhealthy.
But it's like they won't stop, either, because while some viewers (or readers) may watch just for escapism, the intelligent ones understand that true art is angsty and that life is pain (anyone who says differently is selling something) and, after all, happy endings are the realm of the weak-minded. Or something.
At this point, I am going to refer to Jennifer Crusie's essay "Glee and Sympathy." And I quote:
But the most annoying comment is always that sneer at the happily-ever-after ending. An intelligent and critically acclaimed author I admire greatly wrote, “Uplifting endings and resolutely cheery world views are appropriate to television commercials but insulting elsewhere. It is not only wicked to pretend otherwise, it is futile.” I use this in my classes to show that even the very intelligent can make absolute fools of themselves in print because, obviously, it’s as unrealistic to pretend that life is all tragedy as it is to imply that life is all happy endings. I believe in happy endings, not because I’m a sap, but because I’m happy. I don’t think I’m going to be happy forever, but when I’m miserable again, I won’t think I’m going to be miserable forever, either. The important thing is that, while my life so far has not been one sweet song (there was all that literature, for one thing), it has been worth the trip: every dark moment I’ve experienced has brought with it its own reward, has made me a stronger, smarter person.
Angst is no more authentic than happiness or contentment, so why is it considered "deeper" or more significant? Why is the idea of someone struggling with an obstacle or a dark point in her life and then either overcoming it or learning to accept it not an authentic representation of humanity? YES, sometimes there is despair, and yes, people frequently give into it or let it rule their lives and, sometimes, it just does rule their lives without any choice. But why the hell does TV right now act like that's the ideal?
This is one of the reasons I've fallen so hard for Warehouse 13, as well as why I'm afraid for the upcoming season finale. (NEXT WEEK GUYS OMG.) The characters all--all--have regrets, and pain, and darkness, and flaws, and some species of angsty backstory. All characters also have learned to deal with it in some way, and they actually genuinely enjoy life instead of wallowing in the misery. Conflicts are born, and then they are resolved in fairly healthy manners. And the writers let the characters have good days.
I mean, I watch Doctor Who and I come away with a heartache. I watch Warehouse 13 and I come away feeling like my day is a little better for having seen it. And you know what? That's really, really nice.
So, naturally, I'm terrified that they will kill . . . someone. (I'd specify, but I am not naming who for fear of jinxing it, as I've discussed elsewhere.) And it's disturbing in a way that I am so conditioned that I almost assume that for this to be a real season finale, someone is going to have to die, have their memory wiped, get stuck in an alternate universe forever, lose their best friend because they kinda killed his girlfriend, blah blah blah, something.
So. Yeah. Um. I just abruptly ran out of steam just now. Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Insults?
I feel like the trend right now is to make the characters as miserable as possible in lieu of actual characterization.
-The new series of Doctor Who is made almost entirely of angst, with angsty glue sticking it together angstily.
-House, which I don't even watch now. I think the writers have a list of unfortunate events on the wall, and their series-planning process is to throw darts.
-Anything connected to Joss "Let's Kill 'Em For Some Drama!" Whedon.
I strongly suspect Joss responsible for a lot of this trend, because he has been so enormously influential. Russel T. Davies openly fanboys Joss; others will at least have noticed how incredibly successful his shows have been, if not always with the networks, at least with fans.
I remember that Joss had this theory that fans may want (for example) two characters to get together, but once they are, no one actually wants to watch a functional relationship in action. In other words, fans don't want to watch characters who are happy, or who are growing to be better people, or whatever; they want to watch characters who hurt and have fucked up lives. That sounds intelligent and deep. It also, at this point in my life, sounds like bullshit.
Bullshit, Mr. Whedon. Bull. Shit.
Look. Some angst has value. When a character is in pain and it comes across as genuine, we care for the character, we feel for the character, and yes, it's fascinating to watch the character in this situation. But this unending assault of angst after angst after angst is not only getting old. It's like entertainment is caught up in this peculiar glorification of pain and misery, which is at best kind of pathetic and emo (don't we make fun of teenagers who whine and moan and write tragic poetry?), at worst pretty damn unhealthy.
But it's like they won't stop, either, because while some viewers (or readers) may watch just for escapism, the intelligent ones understand that true art is angsty and that life is pain (anyone who says differently is selling something) and, after all, happy endings are the realm of the weak-minded. Or something.
At this point, I am going to refer to Jennifer Crusie's essay "Glee and Sympathy." And I quote:
But the most annoying comment is always that sneer at the happily-ever-after ending. An intelligent and critically acclaimed author I admire greatly wrote, “Uplifting endings and resolutely cheery world views are appropriate to television commercials but insulting elsewhere. It is not only wicked to pretend otherwise, it is futile.” I use this in my classes to show that even the very intelligent can make absolute fools of themselves in print because, obviously, it’s as unrealistic to pretend that life is all tragedy as it is to imply that life is all happy endings. I believe in happy endings, not because I’m a sap, but because I’m happy. I don’t think I’m going to be happy forever, but when I’m miserable again, I won’t think I’m going to be miserable forever, either. The important thing is that, while my life so far has not been one sweet song (there was all that literature, for one thing), it has been worth the trip: every dark moment I’ve experienced has brought with it its own reward, has made me a stronger, smarter person.
Angst is no more authentic than happiness or contentment, so why is it considered "deeper" or more significant? Why is the idea of someone struggling with an obstacle or a dark point in her life and then either overcoming it or learning to accept it not an authentic representation of humanity? YES, sometimes there is despair, and yes, people frequently give into it or let it rule their lives and, sometimes, it just does rule their lives without any choice. But why the hell does TV right now act like that's the ideal?
This is one of the reasons I've fallen so hard for Warehouse 13, as well as why I'm afraid for the upcoming season finale. (NEXT WEEK GUYS OMG.) The characters all--all--have regrets, and pain, and darkness, and flaws, and some species of angsty backstory. All characters also have learned to deal with it in some way, and they actually genuinely enjoy life instead of wallowing in the misery. Conflicts are born, and then they are resolved in fairly healthy manners. And the writers let the characters have good days.
I mean, I watch Doctor Who and I come away with a heartache. I watch Warehouse 13 and I come away feeling like my day is a little better for having seen it. And you know what? That's really, really nice.
So, naturally, I'm terrified that they will kill . . . someone. (I'd specify, but I am not naming who for fear of jinxing it, as I've discussed elsewhere.) And it's disturbing in a way that I am so conditioned that I almost assume that for this to be a real season finale, someone is going to have to die, have their memory wiped, get stuck in an alternate universe forever, lose their best friend because they kinda killed his girlfriend, blah blah blah, something.
So. Yeah. Um. I just abruptly ran out of steam just now. Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Insults?