In the past decade, television shows have become increasingly serialized. This shift from episodic formats has lent an air of epic storytelling to many television shows.
In 2004, ABC took a huge risk when it decided to air “Lost,” but to many network executives’ surprise, the show drew huge numbers and went on to run for a full six seasons.
At that point, serialized shows were almost unheard of on most networks aside from premium cable channels, like HBO or Showtime. Shows were designed to be instantly watchable, easily digestible and, in some cases, utterly forgettable. Overarching stories were few and far between, with studios opting instead for self-contained stories within each episode.
However, thanks to the success of shows like “Lost” and the ever-increasing availability of television shows on demand, networks have been able to produce a growing number of cinematic shows, eschewing the episodic format in favor of season-long storylines and characterizations the likes of which had rarely been seen on television. Once shows were freed from the constraints of having to fit an entire story into a 45-minute episode, they began to tackle increasingly difficult stories. Many shows today have mastered showing the audience instead of shoving loads of exposition into 10 minutes of dialogue. Characters grow over the course of a season, and thanks to the relatively new ability to binge-watch an entire television show, individual seasons have begun to feel like 12-hour films.
With this paradigm shift, show creators have been given the freedom to tell stories without compromise, pulling inspiration from cinema in both terms of emotional intimacy and epic scope. Shows can now take the time to devote an entire episode to developing a character, using around 45 minutes to show what made a character the way they are. This is a luxury that is generally reserved for film, but as evidenced by shows like “Mad Men,” a slow-burning serialized drama that is no longer a fantasy for television writers.
Aside from the storytelling leaps made by television shows in recent years, the technical advancements of production have also brought the world of TV closer to the world of cinema. HBO’s “True Detective” is a wonderful showcase for the aesthetic influence that the movie industry has had on television. The color palette is strikingly similar to David Fincher’s films, and the show’s cinematography would be right at home on the silver screen. The camera regularly lingers on characters and scenery past the point of comfort, forcing the audience to contend with the demons bubbling just beneath the surface. Filming techniques like this are becoming increasingly common among serialized television shows, and it is enthralling to see television shows pay more attention to the framing and blocking of scenes.
“Breaking Bad” is another fantastic example of the influence that cinema has had on television stories. It is rather difficult to recall another show where the central character had an arc as powerful and dramatic as Walter White’s. Episodes regularly opened immediately after the conclusion of the previous episode, and while many television shows were concerned with pacing in regard to commercial breaks, “Breaking Bad” feels like it was designed to be watched in one sitting.
The ups and downs of the show are spread out over an entire season, and the show never gets repetitive. Where episodic shows generally rely on a formula, like the police-procedural formula of shows like “CSI” or “Law and Order,” modern television shows no longer adhere to a comfortable formula for an episode. I understand the appeal of a show that offers a familiar experience every episode, but as with cinema, I prefer being surprised by a story.
In many aspects, I believe the quality of modern television is certainly on par with that of film. In some cases, I even prefer television over film. The home theater experience is becoming more common, and the advent of Video on Demand films is causing yet another dramatic shift within the media landscape, though that’s a topic for another column.