2016 has been a bad year, in so many different ways. Regardless of your political standing, the recent U.S. election was a dumpster fire on steroids that so often brought about such ludicrous pieces of news that even on a daytime soap opera would it feel out of place. There have been, per Gun Violence Archive, 358 mass shootings in the United States in 2016 with over 3,000 under-18s injured or killed by guns in that time. We’ve had countless celebrity deaths, including Leonard Cohen, David Bowie, Gene Wilder, Kenny Baker, Anton Yelchin, Prince, Garry Shandling, Alan Rickman, and, just this week, Andrew Sachs. The list goes on and on and on. Quite why it seems that 2016 has been the year where the universe unleashes all its pent-up rage on us is a discussion for another day, but suffice it to say that it happened.
As the year has rolled on, I’ve found myself watching less and less television. A combination of factors have led to this self-realisation: starting at university, the choice of the overwhelming number of shows available ultimately consuming more of my time than actually watching them, perhaps on some level a modicum of procrastination and laziness.
Furthermore, the handful of shows I am actually watching on a weekly basis tend to frustrate me at least once a week (or, in the case of something like The Walking Dead, several dozen times). And I continue to stick with that routine because it’s simple, and requires as much time as I happen to afford myself in an effort to avoid spending all of my time either in lectures, asleep, or sitting at my desk on my laptop for one reason or another - the latter of which being the only variable I can control. The idea of binge-watching, say, Rectify is appealing to me thanks to the general critical consensus, but so too is having some form of social life.
And so I continue with the routine, only occasionally dipping my foot into the deeper water of variety - usually when it’s called for by my self-assignment to an advance piece or for the podcast.
Recently, though, my enthusiasm for all television has diminished somewhat. Perhaps it’s the overall low ceiling of quality found in the majority of the selection I’m watching, perhaps it’s real world events provoking little more than misery. Perhaps - and more likely - it’s both.
It is the former that has been the cause of much personal consideration lately. Positivity doesn’t always suit me, and when a show has a problem, I’ll call it out. But should there come a point where if my criticism of a show outweighs my praise, both in terms of strength and frequency, it becomes a question of whether to continue watching or to realise that it simply isn’t worth the time. Currently, that isn’t the case and I stick with those shows for a reason inexplicable to me.
News of Sachs’ death this week, the first to really hit me for a while this year, made me realise that reason: the bad television shows, the ones I complain about on a weekly basis, are just as important as the shows I cherish as the pinnacle of Peak TV; they may, in fact, be more important.
The best shows running in 2016 tend to hit certain beats, to operate on different plains to those at the bottom of the barrel. Shows like The Americans, The People vs. OJ Simpson: American Crime Story, Halt and Catch Fire, The Leftovers (if we want to consider continuing series that didn’t necessarily air this year), Black Mirror (if season one - all I’ve seen so far - is any indication) among others are all powerfully thought-provoking in their own ways. And, certainly, that’s a crucial tool in the writing armoury if a show wants to be considered as excellent television. It never ceases to impress me the heights the best of the best can reach, and without them, the television watching community as a whole would suffer.
But it is those weaker shows, those that churn out episodes each week that aren’t consistently strong even in and of themselves, that show us what we truly have. On one level, they remind us how lucky we are to have the great television we do. On another, however, they remind us how great it is that we have television. That we have the ability to engage with a piece of fiction for an hour and experience all the emotions and feelings that come with it, both good and bad.
Other arguments exist for the necessity for not-great-TV. One such take refers back to the intensity of the top shows - keeping yourself occupied only with those is a tough ask, and there often needs to be a break to serve as a refresher that this medium exists mainly as a form of diversion. There are plenty of theories and explanations surrounding why we watch television, but fundamentally, we watch to escape the real world. To be engaged in the lives of fabricated people as a way of distancing ourselves from the highs and lows of our own. We remain with a show because we are invested in its characters, for better or worse.
It does, however, go further than that. We remain with shows in spite of dwindling quality because of its characters, yes, but we also remain with these shows because it’s easy. Because we enjoy watching something that isn’t perfect. At face value, this logic seems flawed: why spend time, something which - in comparison to the ever-expanding television landscape - we now have less and less of, watching a series that fails to satisfy? That’s a fair criticism, but it overlooks the fact that the series probably does satisfy, just not as expected.
Narratively, it might not. In terms of characterisation, it might not. In terms of acting, it might not. Whatever the aspect may be, it might not satisfy the way the producers intended. But it does satisfy in a different way, where we get a kick out of the weekly frustrations and settle into a rhythm that makes up just as an important part of our television diet as the more outstanding series do. It’s a habit.
Here’s the thing: this habit isn’t bad. Yes, if something infuriates you beyond comprehension on even a semi-regular basis, it isn’t worth watching. (That’s a concept I’ve yet to come to terms with in my schedule.) But those shows that present a mild annoyance on any recurring or non-recurring basis aren’t a problem.
In 2017, FX President John Landgraf predicts that there will be over 500 scripted television shows airing. That’s an insane amount, more than anyone has time to watch, and so you have to pick and choose. The instinct is, rightly, to go with shows that fall into one of two categories: the best and brightest, and the flawed but familiar. It’s how it should be, but it’s easy to forget the value of the latter when time becomes tight or your enthusiasm is dampened or whatever may happen.
Notably, as the television market expands, so too does the pool of mediocre shows. There are only so many strong writing teams, and so, proportionally, the amount of high-quality shows doesn’t fluctuate particularly dramatically. Consequently, we need to embrace these middling shows.
Picture this: you’re at a restaurant, nothing too high-end, and you order a steak. It’s one of the nicest steaks you’ve had in a while, and though you’re extremely full after eating, you don’t regret having eaten the whole thing. But with the steak came a side of salad. Now, in the process of consuming this meal, did you ignore the salad (assuming you’re not entirely averse to vegetables)? You did not, because not only is it a way to make yourself feel a little healthier, but it is an essential part of the meal, whether you recognise it or not.
In this haphazardly strewn together metaphor, the great shows are the steak and the mediocre shows are the salad. Though you might not recognise the need for the lesser shows, nor why that need exists, they need to be welcomed for what they are.
That has never been more of the case than in 2016, a year that has tried to suggest a sense that living in positivity is a crime worthy of universal punishment. By watching these shows, we can remind ourselves that bad things can sometimes provoke a certain amount of enjoyment, something that has been sorely lacking in the real world lately.
