When normal people don’t enjoy a TV show, after a while they switch over. They try something else. They’re not normally wondering what went wrong, or why they weren’t enjoying it.
In this regard, at least, I am not normal. That’s because I’m a script guy. I’ve written or co-written over a hundred broadcast narrative scripts for the BBC, I mentor for the BBC Writersroom and I co-present a podcast called Sitcom Geeks.
Ted Lasso
Take Ted Lasso. It’s on Apple TV (which is probably why you’ve heard of it but can’t seem to find it). It’s a show about an immensely likeable American Football coach brought over to manage a Premiership soccer team in South West London – with no previous experience of soccer. Ted Lasso barely even knows the rules. He’s an interesting character because he exudes positive energy – and butts up against all kinds of hard-nosed or narcissistic football types, and slowly he helps them to change.
And there’s a problem right there. It’s a sitcom. It’s a genre in which characters don’t change. Basil Fawlty is the same highly-strung snob trying to run a classy hotel in the first and the last episode. There’s no set-up, no beginning and no finale that wraps things up. (It’s not clear whether this was intentional in Fawlty Towers. The abrupt end may be because Basil Fawlty divorced his wife/writing partner Connie Booth between Series 1 and 2, and the prospect of writing a third series together was simply too horrifying. Writing a sitcom with your ex-wife sounds the most stressful thing imaginable).
All Set Up
The pilot of Ted Lasso was also a real example of all exposition and no plot. No-one’s actually trying to achieve anything or make a decision. Ted’s been hired. He travels. He arrives. He meets the team. And the press. Done. All we learn is that the club owner has intentionally hired a football know-nothing because she wants to destroy the club. Why? Because her husband loves the club with a passion and now she wants to destroy his one true love (if it’s not going to be her). You could have summarised the whole episode in ninety seconds and added it to Episode 2, or even better, just woven it in.
There I go again, being a script guy. I quite like Ted Lasso, but I can’t just watch it. I have to analyse why I only quite like it. And why I’m not loving it. But it’s a tricky job, because we often react emotionally to what we are seeing. And these reactions are often visceral, and based on taste and preference as much as theology or the quality of the work of art itself.
Ugly Violence
I’m turned off by violence, but initially, what turned me off Game of Thrones was the dialogue, which seemed rather pompous and self-important. It felt like between takes, they were laughing themselves silly at the faux seriousness of it all. I abandoned the show half way through the first season.
But when Season 2 came out, and some were suggesting it was worth sticking with, I caught up and got into the idiom of the show, and was soon hooked on the incredible power of the story itself, not least in how the show disposed of characters that we had assumed were indispensable. But the method of disposal was the next roadblock for me: the violence. Next time I’ll go into this a bit more, but I got through this, to point of watching all eight seasons. I even defended the show in my book The Sacred Art of Joking against highly respected Christian leaders like Kevin De Young who said that Christians should not watch it. I disagree. I’m not saying they should. But I am saying it’s not for you to say so dogmatically that Christians shouldn’t watch this particular show when you yourself clearly say you’ve not seen any of it.
There is plenty of nasty sadistic violence in Game of Thrones that caused me to look away or remove my glasses. But the show held me because of the jaw-dropping story-telling, along with some surprisingly funny moments, mostly involving Tyrion (Peter Dinklage) who was clearly the heart and soul of the show. He was a character who was weary of the world, its depressing cycle of violence and his own marginalisation because of his short stature. But in his heart, Tyrion knew that cycle could be broken. He had an ally in Samwell Tarly (John Bradley) who was another sympathetic character in the world of pitiless power politics.
George RR Martin is clearly interested in spirituality, and his representations of religion and gods (the old and the new) in Game of Thrones are fascinating. All that notwithstanding, Martin is writing about human characters. And humans are image bearers of God. As such, we long for peace, productivity and plenty. These have all been promised by God and we live in a world created and sustained by Him.
And Finale
This meant that I was happy with the season finale of Game of Thrones, which brought some resolution and peace to Westeros. Lots of fans were incensed, hilariously demanding the entire series be rewritten and reshot.
Which makes me feel a little better. I may be sitting on the sofa nit-picking at the plot of Ted Lasso, but I’m not screaming at the whole production team, insisting they go back and do it again, but better – and to my own preferences. So there’s that.
Figuring out the problems with shows is one thing. Working out what you like about shows or books is quite another. Next time, we’ll look at why I didn’t like The Sopranos and did loved House MD and Elementaryamong other things. If you want that emailed to you on publication, please do subscribe. It’s free.
And if you’d like to support this Substack, you could buy a signed copy of that book I mentioned, The Sacred Art of Joking, from me. I’ll sign one and send it. It’s about how comedy works, how it goes wrong, especially in the realm of religion. And while you’re there, get a copy of The Gospel According To A Sitcom Writer too. Might make a good gift.
Or you could buy books from me in person in Cambridge on Saturday 29th January, when I’ll be performing my one-man stand-up theology show, Water into Wine. Do book you ticket and come along.