Customer Reviews

Storytelling in Film and Television

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I thoroughly enjoyed reading this study concerning some of the contrasts in the ways that the movies and television handles narrative, not least because for the past year or so this has been one of the topics of most interest to me. At least part of my enjoyment of the book came because Kristin Thompson confirmed many of the conclusions I have drawn in reflecting upon the changes that have taken place in television over the course of the past two decades, though in the end I believe she missed on an opportunity to recognize one of the major developments in television narrative in recent years. More of this in a second.

The four chapters in this book originated in a series of lectures that Ms. Thompson gave a few years ago at Oxford University. Her background is film, but unlike many film theorists she obviously takes television quite seriously. Quite unusually, her analysis treats individual shows as texts to be analyzed on their own, unlike many today who analyze television primarily in the role its plays in culture as a whole. I do not think that that approach is completely void of interest, but I also believe that what should be foundational-the careful reading of individual shows-has been neglected to the detriment to most television theory. Most television theory focuses on the forest to the exclusion of virtually all the individual trees. The first chapter deals with this precise issue, by analyzing the negative and limiting impact that Raymond Williams's famous concept of "flow" has had on television studies. "Flow" refers to an imagined way that television functions, taking the viewer from show to commercial back to show to another commercial and finally to the next show and so forth throughout the evening. Under such a way of conceiving TV, an individual show is merely one element among others. But as Thompson very correctly points out, viewers are far more likely to recognize commercial breaks as opportunities to dash to the restroom, check to see if the water for dinner is boiling, or chance to run to the kitchen and grab a snack. Thompson argues for a focus on individual shows. Since the lectures were given in 2001, the role of DVDs has utterly altered the landscape. Videos were unable to do this simply because of their sheer bulk. A single season of STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION could fill an entire bookshelf, whereas now one could fit the entire STAR TREK franchise, movies include, on a shelf and a half. Viewing a show on DVD makes "flow" irrelevant, since no one in their right mind would argue that somehow the show has been diminished by eliminating the commercial breaks. Ironically, there is a new kind of flow, as I recently experienced when rewatching the first season of VERONICA MARS, this time on DVD.

The second chapter focuses on analyzing television narrative through examining writing strategies for the medium by reference to screenplay writing manuals. I had never considered looking at such books for guidance in understanding television or film, but this strikes me as a good idea. I plan on looking at a few of the books she mentions in her discussion. More than any of the other chapters, this one deals with the real nature of television narrative. Although I agree with much that she says, I also differ with her, and I believe it is here that she misses turning this book into a study of the first rank. She points out that in the history of the medium, television primarily consisted of series with stand alone episodes. Each week the main characters would undergo a series of experiences that would be completely resolved by show's end. Moreover, there was a timelessness to each week's action. As she points out, one could easily shuffle the order of the episodes and not lose a single thing thereby. It was only in the seventies (with comedies like THE MARY TYLER MOORE SHOW) and the eighties (with series such as HILL STREET BLUES) that plots began to become complicated and started spilling out over more than one episode. I agree completely with her and also strongly agree that she gets precisely correct the important shows in this transformation. But I fault her account on one important point: she fails to detect the development of a third kind of television narrative. Beginning with TWIN PEAKS (which ironically is the subject of her final chapter), continuing with THE X-FILES, and fully maturing with BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER (and perhaps finding its most complete expression in LOST), a new genre of show began to appear that was not merely concerned with juggling a variety of arcs, but also with an overarching or master arc, a grand narrative that structured the show as a whole. THE X-FILES was a blend of stand alone episodes and episodes that continued the arc about the government's conspiracy to hide the truth about alien invasion. There is absolutely nothing comparable to this in HILL STREET BLUES or NYPD BLUE or CHINA BEACH or CAGNEY AND LACEY or NORTHERN EXPOSURE or ST. ELSEWHERE or the many other fine shows that develop their narrative by expanding multiple story arcs. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER had a variety of smaller arcs, but each season featured one very big arc that more or less resolved that year. But BUFFY also contained very large arcs that extended for seasons, and one, Buffy's struggle with a destiny as slayer that robbed her of everything she most desired in life, continued from the first episode until the last few seconds of the last one. The number of shows driven by master narratives remains rather small-FARSCAPE, ANGEL, DARK ANGEL, WONDERFALLS, SMALLVILLE, LOST, and VERONICA MARS are a few examples-but their numbers are growing and often comprise many of the best shows on TV. Their presence also contradicts something else that Thompson assumes. She states that one of the challenges of TV lies in its shorter format. I understand what she means. An individual movie script can run to 90 to 180 minutes. A typical hour long script, adjusting for commercials, runs 47 (according to her-I find that most of my shows run 42-44). But ultimately I think she gets it wrong. Shows with master narratives extend over a large number of episodes and involve vastly more running time than any film. For instance, the first season of LOST was essentially one story (the show as a whole, when it runs its full length in four more seasons, will tell a single story). The total run time for the year was well in excess of a thousand minutes. Now, when even a very, very long movie is only 180 minutes, how can television be considered short format except in terms of each individual script. The fact is that a television show like BUFFY or LOST has a luxury of time that no movie can compete with. The differences between a show like LOST and a show like NYPD BLUE seems to be as significant as those between HILL STREET BLUES and any earlier series that employed the stand alone format exclusively.

The third chapter dealt with the differences between film and television narrative by discussing adaptations and spin offs. She chooses to write of a television series that was a spin off from a movie and a movie that an adaptation of a television series. Interestingly, in both instances the movies were vastly less successful than the television shows. The films/series were BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER and THE AVENGERS. Although these are two of my all time favorite series, as a whole I found this the least interesting chapter in the book. The points she makes here are completely valid, but they simply were not very substantive.

The final chapter raises the question of whether there can be art-television just as there are art movies. She discusses THE SINGING DETECTIVE as one candidate before going into detail into another, David Lynch's TWIN PEAKS. I thoroughly enjoyed this chapter, but I think the approach somewhat wrongheaded. I think it ultimately futile to attempt to characterize productions as "artistic" based on specific qualities that they possess. One of my favorite books is C. S. Lewis's AN EXPERIMENT IN CRITICISM, in which Lewis argues that we ought to focus on whether books promote and sustain good reading rather than whether a book is good or bad (one could easily substitute "art"). I think both TWIN PEAKS and THE SINGING DETECTIVE can be experienced as serious television; PETTICOAT JUNCTION and HEE HAW and perhaps even LAW AND ORDER (which intentionally eliminates character development) cannot. I would hesitate to describe BUFFY as "art" television, but yet it has received vastly more academic attention than THE SINGING DETECTIVE and TWIN PEAKS combined. Perhaps I am wrong, but I am not sure that trying to locate an "art" television is a project that would ever be especially fruitful.

Despite my disagreements with the author at certain points, I regard this as a first rate book on television narrative. I urge anyone interested in the way that television narrative has evolved or in the fundamental differences between film and TV.