Television Will Never be Fully Arthouse, and That’s Okay
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
Mr. Robot.
I’ve admittedly been behind the curve when it comes to television until lately. I initially was too anxious to take on long form mediums since I am a completionist; I found it overwhelming to try and take on episode after episode with no end in sight. I have changed my tune, having played catch up with as many series as possible. I am an arthouse fan when it comes to films, and I was anticipating there would be some sort of television equivalent when I came around. I mean, there are some examples of artistic TV where abstract experiments take hold, but how often does this happen? I’ve learned that it really isn’t often. TV can definitely be artistic, but arthouse and/or experimental TV just doesn’t exist in many cases. The few examples I can think of (Twin Peaks, especially The Return, P’tit Quinquin, the works of Fassbinder, Bergman, and Kieślowski, et cetera) are miniseries short enough to be tried on a whim, or not heavily discussed with the most beloved series (if anything, these miniseries get discussed amongst film conversations, which makes sense given their creators). Outside of these examples, you have something like Chris Morris’ Jam which was on for a whopping six episodes: enough room for the creator to go all out whilst not gambling too much. The surreal series The Shivering Truth is twelve episodes. I think you get the point already. If we focus on long term series, hardly anything constitutes as arthouse or experimental, because they likely wouldn’t survive or even have been green lit if they were.
It makes sense. Making long form versions of arthouse or experimental pieces seems too risky. Think about how difficult it is for daring films to be made, and how big of an issue it is for a studio to accept something different. Hell, a number of my favourite recent films have horror stories (lest I ever forget how Annihilation’s promotional rollout got butchered, as an example). Would any network or service be willing to take a gamble with a series that has to capture the attention of viewers on a constant basis? Absolutely not. Let’s look back at The Return and what a mess that production was. Even with David Lynch’s filmography, accolades, and potential, Showtime kept reneging on promises until he threatened to walk off of the project (and all of his cast and crew swore to follow suit). Even when a project is attached to one of the most beloved auteur of all time, one of the biggest series in TV history, and guaranteed to attract much buzz for at least the first batch of episodes, Showtime was dodgy. Then there’s the other side of the story. Was The Return loved? Yes. Did viewership drop? Also yes. The Return was critically a smash hit, and even considered more successful than Showtime and its executives had considered, but we can’t deny that the same show that had millions of subscribers sign up to watch its premiere also had four fifths of these initial watchers drop off after the first week; ratings fluctuated, but even the finale never came close to those opening numbers.
Television is built on a ratings and success based system. You pitch a pilot episode. You get green lit for a first season. You get signed for more. You don’t get exactly what you want right away as a creator, and you likely never will. You have to jump through so many hoops to even land a show (pitching a pilot is far from the initial step: try finding a way to even be considered first). If studios are concerned about single films making back their budget (and change), then what about long series that take up airtime and/or space on a streaming service? If viewership is dropping and so much of a show is left to air, you can either keep going and plummeting, or you can cancel a show outright and accept your losses. Either way, money is lost, and we can’t pretend that money isn’t the primary cause for putting shows out for companies (for show-runners and creators, it’s a different story, typically). There’s also borderline no room for independent and low budget series, not like there are films, anyway, especially for all of the reasons already stated (you can look at publicly funded cases, but how far do most of those go?). It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but television has to thrive on success before expression. We love fantastic finales, but we have to even get there first.
In that same breath is the fact that television has spawned its own kind of art, and this replacement of what’s missing is what has helped make this New Golden Age of Television so fascinating. A number of popular shows like Breaking Bad, Mad Men, The Leftovers, Atlanta, and Mr. Robot have focuses on art, even with formula breaking elements. The episodic nature and tame stylings of television have been challenged for a number of years in the twenty first century, and a big reason is that TV doesn’t have to only rely on the aid of advertisement. That’s right: another major concern for networks is if a show would negatively affect the commercials that pay their bills, hence the many steps backwards that TV had us taking when Hollywood was finally growing a bit of a spine to combat the Hays Code. With subscription and/or streaming, the money goes straight to the content generating machines. However, the initial mold involved tiptoeing around advertising, which always took precedent over the shows themselves (if you think it’s the shows that keep networks afloat alone, I’m sorry to burst your bubble).
Back on track: the good news is that television is the most strong visual entertainment medium right now, and it is still (miraculously) in the prime of its most inventive age. That doesn’t mean that it will become more experimental, but rather that it will experiment more within its own universe. While that seems stifled, it isn’t. We have so many series that push the envelope again and again; Bojack Horseman and its one-off episode eccentricities; Dark challenging the fluidity of timing and structure of TV; even something like the death factor in Game of Thrones and the constant wondering of whether or not your favourite character is safe. Television continues to evolve in its own way. It doesn’t have to adhere to the standards of other mediums. If we can’t get to these high art places on a consistent basis, then who cares?
Part of me held this dilemma in the depths of my mind because of an article I’ve never forgotten. Lecturer-turned-critic Piero Scaruffi has an interesting take on The Beatles and how they have actually been detrimental to music. His take — in short — is that the focus on commercialism has rendered the band impossible to compare to artists that have bared their soul, and music no longer was about creativity but instead marketability. I don’t agree with his sharply critical approach, but he does have a point. Do I love The Beatles? Absolutely. Did the selling of albums get in the way of making music as art over profit? Sure. Music at least had a chance to have its experimental eras and hubs. Television was forced to be driven by business from the very beginning. Even now, I don’t think there will be a comfortable enough spot where arthouse can consistently be shared and adored on the small screen, but we have other avenues for this. TV provides us art in its own way, and it too is such a beautiful thing. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from X University (formerly known as Ryerson), as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.