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Nov. 20th, 2009 09:16 amMy mother has a theory, which is genius I think, that the worse the economy is at Christmas, the more lights and decorations people put up. My own anecdotal evidence gathered since the age of ten suggests this is mainly correct. It's some kind of reaction formation thing. "We have no money, so this is going to be the BEST, BRIGHTEST CHRISTMAS EVER!"
Seriously, look around yourselves on December 18th. You'll see what I mean.
I have a new theory that is related to this: when the economy tanks, television writers start KILLING EVERYONE. I suspect it has something to do with desperation to retain viewers as the ad money dries up and things get more competitive, making use of the link between profundity and death. Which does exist, but not nearly as intensely as most professional writers think it does (see: modernist theatre's relationship to the end-of-show suicide. Just because it worked for Chekhov* doesn't mean it works for everyone).
At the end of the day, if one is searching for meaning in modern life -- meaning and ratings -- then death's not a bad way to go. That's crass to say aloud, but it's also true. And there's nothing inherently wrong with an examination of death, self-sacrifice, and our place in the world.
But seriously now.
The debate goes back and forth endlessly about the meaning or lack thereof in a given death on a given show, and if someone does find beauty and meaning in death, that's okay. I understand, better than I used to, why people do; if not emotionally, then at least intellectually. My theory isn't about whether a given character's death is profound or stupid.
It's just that there's been so much death on so many of my shows that I'm afraid to turn on the television. Meaningful or not, I'm tired of it. I'm scared next Tuesday Abby's going to get shot. I feel like I can't watch TV until unemployment drops back below 8%.
So until then I'll just be over here with my Stranger Than Fiction DVD.
* At the end of The Sea Gull, which culminates in an offstage suicide, the audience in Moscow was silent for a full minute. Chekhov thought he was ruined; he thought the play had tanked. It turned out, nobody could gather their wits enough to applaud, at first. This is an epic legend, in theatrical circles.
Seriously, look around yourselves on December 18th. You'll see what I mean.
I have a new theory that is related to this: when the economy tanks, television writers start KILLING EVERYONE. I suspect it has something to do with desperation to retain viewers as the ad money dries up and things get more competitive, making use of the link between profundity and death. Which does exist, but not nearly as intensely as most professional writers think it does (see: modernist theatre's relationship to the end-of-show suicide. Just because it worked for Chekhov* doesn't mean it works for everyone).
At the end of the day, if one is searching for meaning in modern life -- meaning and ratings -- then death's not a bad way to go. That's crass to say aloud, but it's also true. And there's nothing inherently wrong with an examination of death, self-sacrifice, and our place in the world.
But seriously now.
The debate goes back and forth endlessly about the meaning or lack thereof in a given death on a given show, and if someone does find beauty and meaning in death, that's okay. I understand, better than I used to, why people do; if not emotionally, then at least intellectually. My theory isn't about whether a given character's death is profound or stupid.
It's just that there's been so much death on so many of my shows that I'm afraid to turn on the television. Meaningful or not, I'm tired of it. I'm scared next Tuesday Abby's going to get shot. I feel like I can't watch TV until unemployment drops back below 8%.
So until then I'll just be over here with my Stranger Than Fiction DVD.
* At the end of The Sea Gull, which culminates in an offstage suicide, the audience in Moscow was silent for a full minute. Chekhov thought he was ruined; he thought the play had tanked. It turned out, nobody could gather their wits enough to applaud, at first. This is an epic legend, in theatrical circles.
