Posts
May is the month
when somebody dies.
I'm talking about
television series, particularly the long-running ensemble shows with large
casts, so you can imagine eliminating one cast member without the whole
structure falling apart. Think the CSI
family, NCIS, The Mentalist, Criminal Minds, and so on, where death and
destruction lurk around every corner. In May, the usual end of most series'
season, something has to go seriously wrong in the last episode, leaving
somebody's life hanging in the balance.
I understand the
value of a cliffhanger, really, I do. We
as writers want to leave our readers (or in the case of
broadcast/cable/whatever people use these days, the viewers) with a burning
question that absolutely must be resolved in the next book or coming
episode. We want them to groan at the
end of the season and make a mental bookmark to tune in as soon as the series
returns, usually in the fall, to find out who survived and who didn't. In case that bookmark isn't enough, networks
will start bombarding us with teasers months in advance.
We've been
watching some of these casts for years now, and we've come to care for the
characters, some more, some less. That's
what keeps a series coming back year after year, and keeps people watching it
in endless reruns on cable stations.
Viewers like the people in the show.
That's a good thing.
But don't you
feel just a bit manipulated when the scriptwriters sit down to create that
season-ender and pull out the hackneyed devastating crisis, leaving you wondering
just who is going to walk out of the smoke and debris in September? Admit
it: you find yourself making mental
bets, and running down the list, thinking, "isn't he making a movie this
year? Bet he wanted time off," or "they've pretty much gone through
every possible plot twist for her (i.e., she's been romantically involved with
every male castmate)—maybe she'd better get bumped upstairs about now" (or
die now—anything that removes her from sight, permanently).
Seeing this plot
device once in a while is fine. It's a
powerful ending; otherwise it wouldn't be used so often. However, when every series of the
crime-solving ilk uses it at the same time, it becomes almost comic. You can surf from network to network and see
the same promo for The Last Episode of the Year: The Explosion. Doesn't matter which show or
which cast, but you know the building will blow up. Or some thug will spray the
bar where the cast is celebrating their latest victory with automatic gunfire. Or a terrorist will spread a lethal plague in
the subway system. Or (fill in your own choice of cliffhanger). And some cast member will walk into the
sunset.
And then in the
fall someone new will walk in—the silver-haired team leader, the sexy blonde,
the brash youngster, the geeky techie—and soon we won't even remember who it
was that was vaporized the year before. Series life will go on.
We've got another
week or two of explosions to get through.
And then blessed silence—until September.
