Let's Talk About Netflix

 

For me, it was the cancellation of Glow.

The show about women wrestlers in the 1980's was a fan favorite, an acclaimed piece of television that had been named the Best of the Year by Entertainment Weekly, and the kind of niche content that proved the necessity of streamers.

And Netflix unceremoniously yanked it after a mere three seasons.

Part of the reason was the pandemic, but let's not kid ourselves--

Netflix has billions of dollars at its disposal. They could have greenlit another season (or at least a wrap-up movie) fifty years after the pandemic and CGI-aged all the characters down if they wanted to. That's essentially what they did for Martin Scorsese and The Irishman.

That termination was the beginning of many red flags that streamers may not be the cultural salvation we were all hoping they would be.

Further concern was given to us by the streamers themselves, when they let loose such undeniably corporate flexes such as "We don't need to tell you how popular our programs are" and "We figured out that it makes more sense financially to cancel shows right before the renegotiation period that usually happens before a show's fourth season." This was always true for networks too. It's just that networks weren't going to cancel something like Friends after three years at peak popularity when they could rake in the dough with things like syndication and ad dollars for future seasons. With streamers, that...doesn't apply. Yes, it might be nice to have more episodes of a hit show on your platform, but you could always just...make more shows.

And that's not just what Netflix does.

It's who they are.

While "newer is better" is not a recent phenomenon, with the onslaught of content we receive every week on multiple platforms, things seem to age faster than ever. When Stranger Things put out a strong third season after a lackluster second one, the word "comeback" was used, as if Stranger Things had been irrelevant for decades and then came roaring back. It was great, then it was not great, then it was great again in the span of a few years. Before streamers, that kind of ping-pong-ing was considered normal, but lately, it's become a rarity.

So why does this matter?

Because television, like movies and music and--unfortunately--social media, help shape the culture, and Netflix and other streamers have become the new standard for television. I suspect it won't be long before network television is reserved strictly for awards shows and Oprah interviews.

If you're wondering why people are freaking out over the Friends reunion (ironically, not on NBC, but on HBO Max), it's because audiences had a decade to get to know and love (or hate) those characters. There was an investment there unlike very few things we've had on television since. The closest I can think of in a streaming capacity would be Orange is the New Black, which lasted a few less seasons, but also banked far fewer episodes due to the advent of thirteen-episode seasons as opposed to the now-unthinkable twenty-to-twenty-four.

That reduced investment in characters and the programs they're on affects the kind of shared cultural conversations we can have about these shows. The warhorses that are still hanging in there like Law & Order: SVU and Grey's Anatomy almost seem to be running on their own indignant fumes. They stick around precisely because there are so few long-running network shows these days. It's why talk show hosts would always rank higher in popularity than movie stars, because of course people you see five times a week in your living room versus once a year in a cinema are going to place differently in your affection.

I would also argue that having a platform like television in which we get to tell long-form stories is a necessity for American culture. Ironically, that mantle seems to be taken up by the movies with shared universes and franchises. But movies will never be able to take over that job completely (or effectively) and they shouldn't have to. As someone who grew up on television, I learned way more about writing, acting, and overall storytelling from that medium than any other. 

Sustaining a character arc over two hours in a play?

Tricky.

Sustaining a character arc over two decades on a show where you're one of the only original cast members?

Impossible.

(Give Ellen Pompeo her flowers.)

If any of this sounds like nostalgia, you're not wrong.

I loved having those shared conversations that used to be time-specific. I sort of miss having to rush home to catch a television show I loved (Those of you who never want to be at a party for very long, we used to have the flimsiest/best excuses to take off). I miss shipping characters as if they were real people, because I knew nothing about the celebrities who played them, and so I could easily pretend they weren't characters, but real people, not Instagram personalities who act every so often.

And I love going all in on a show as it passes the five-year mark and has to continually reinvent itself to stay relevant. Yes, many of them failed, but some managed to pull off some truly brilliant maneuvers to keep things going.

I'm not saying every show should go on for ten years, but three?

Three is nothing.

Three, in televisionland, used to be like opening weekend of a theater production. You don't even really find your footing until the end of the matinee.

These artists are being told that streamers are their golden ticket, because they can have all the freedom and artistic license they want, but what they're not being given is the unique opportunity to tell a long-form story with a capital "L." Some of these stories deserve seven or eight years to unfurl, and instead, now that creators have figured out what Netflix's hidden motives are, you get the sense that they're shoving as much plot as they can into their first two seasons in case their boss pulls the plug so they can greenlight two more Adam Sandler movies and a reality dating show that revolves around dog groomers.

I won't go too far into this, but would it kill Netflix to put more thought into curation? Same with Hulu. If the algorithms are really as creepy as we all know they are, why can't they figure out that I never want to watch Firefly Lane?

Most of these platforms have become like the menu at Guy Fieri's Times Square restaurant. There's way too much going on and I don't like any of it. The reason HBO Max has become the secret favorite amongst most viewers is because, while they might not be actively curating what's on the streamer, it does feel like a more cohesive brand. Same with Disney+.

Netflix seems almost proud of throwing as much spaghetti against the wall as possible. They seem to love not having a brand or a style or be looked at as anything other than a content factory.

It worries me that those are the people we're putting in charge of the next generation of storytelling.

As I've often said about Netflix darling Ryan Murphy--

Even when you've got the ideas, you still need to nail the execution.

Netflix is very good at figuring out what people want, but how they deliver on it has proved less than binge-worthy.