Mindful television

The world of Dickinson makes sense to us because we live on the internet, a planet where genres and periods collapse into 2D memes whose power to transmit embedded meaning is matched by the low cost effort of producing them. The most sophisticated meme (or mash-up) wins the great war for attention. In Alena Smith’s show, the text references aren’t hyperlinked for further reading, they’re embedded — benefiting from prior reading, like an episode of The Simpsons or all of Twitter.

Shows that grab our attention with a promise have the hard task of delivering on that particular promise. (That’s how come sitcoms and story of the week dramas could last for 10+ seasons.) But it’s really, really hard to do that. To develop sophisticated character arcs while continually ratcheting up stakes. Shows about running a company, like Mad Men, The Sopranos, Succession, or Silicon Valley, achieve longevity by making us love the characters enough that we can forgive the same question (Will the company succeed or fail?) being asked in new ways each season. The challenge is making television for audiences who can choose to watch those shows, instead of yours, when you likely can’t fill your writers’ room with the best weavers in the world. 

Enter ambient tv.

Audiences (and by that I mean humans, i.e. me) are hungry for belonging, acceptance, and meaning. This hunger might manifest as consuming whatever’s in front of us (alcohol, food, Emily in Paris) but that doesn’t mean the desire is sated. Junk-food television is just that — not a cure for hardships endured, but a coping mechanism. Like drinking two bottles of wine, doomscrolling, or binge eating, but also like going for a run, taking a bath, or eating soup. These are all coping mechanisms, but note that some of them cause damage over time and some of them don’t. 

The popularity of ambient tv signals to networks that there is a need not being met, but it needn’t signal that ambient tv is the only thing worth manufacturing to meet the underlying need. If someone drinks too much on a Friday night we don’t offer them a glass of wine when they wake up dehydrated on Saturday. We offer them water, because we know that’s what they need. And they’ll need water every day until they die. But at some point they might tire of getting hammered on a Friday after work — and if they don’t, they’ll certainly stop appreciating (if they haven’t already) the human effort that goes into producing what they’re consuming.

So what’s an alternative coping mechanism to ambient tv, that makes the case for attention being paid in a different way? Dickinson, Underground Railroad, Fleabag, and I May Destroy You are all shows that incorporate real and non-real elements. They slow or stop time, have actors make eye-contact with the camera, or use visual effects to heighten unreality (rather than to patch up holes in a naturalistic reality). My colleague said (of Dickinson), if you get distracted by your phone, you might get the gist of a scene but you’ll miss the layers of intended meaning. Which is exactly the point — the hold your attention, against all odds. But in exchange for your attention, these creators — Alena Smith, Barry Jenkins, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, and Michaela Cole — have had to belt out YOU ARE HERE, AND SO AM I loud enough for you to hear. They’ve had to work really hard to get you to realise you’re paying attention and that you’re a thinking mammal. 

My hunch is that people don’t like the hyper-realism of their HD television taking up all the space in their living room with its unrelentingly too real version of reality, because they want to do some question asking and imagining for themselves. We like being reminded we’re watching something made by someone. We like being reminded to pay attention to something, in the present moment, because it’s a mindful act.