It’s been noted that television has become increasingly concerned with character as it evolves away from episodic storytelling. (I would add that streaming, which makes it possible to watch characters unfold in a rapid flip-book, has placed an added onus on writers to develop characters in meaningful and credible ways.)
Of course in order to sustain this kind of arc, a clear view to the end is needed. Otherwise things come up short. The onion is peeled too quickly, as in the Dexter series, leaving us with a story line in which the character merely repeats himself or worse, drifts into a kind of self-parody; or is subject to an interminable number of arbitrary, capricious and increasingly bizarre plot twists, as in the Lost series; or buffeted about by storytelling convention like Vince in Entourage whose writers clearly read their McKee, changing things 180 degrees at the end of each scene: big movie deal, no big movie deal, bigger movie deal, no bigger movie deal, ad infinitum; or remains essentially himself, like the Hank Moody character in Californication, who manages, contrary to the classic Gleason model, to keep falling out of the arms of a good woman.
Jax Teller, despite his Machiavellian scheming, is never able to see through his mother’s treachery and despite obvious Shakespearian parallels, gives us little substance—no closet scene, no “readiness is all” speech, just a bloody denouement. And Don Draper, I am guessing (I am still waiting for free streaming of final episode!) remains caught by his past as well as his (unexamined) womanizing.
One of the more compelling characters in the last few seasons is Breaking Bad’s Heisenberg who, as he is lured further into the labyrinth of his own machinations, resorts to greater acts of calumny. But the real interesting arc is actually Heisenberg’s wife: her undeception, her gradual cooption and final rejection of her husband provide a fascinating counterpoint to Heisenberg’s flailing. Heisenberg’s character merely “jumps the shark” in the cringe-inducing “say my name” scene.
These anti-heroes (for the most part) seem rather one-dimensional, despite their obvious flaws. Their motives are simple: get laid, get paid. The only complication is when someone or something stands in their way, occasioning greater, more energetic feats of self-aggrandizement.— One extraordinary exception I would argue is Tony Soprano’s murder of Christopher, which is so stunning an act of cold-blooded calculation that it thrusts us into a whole new relationship with the character, forcing a new set of criteria upon us. But this kind of “peripety” or logical surprise is the exception that proves the rule.
The ultimately disappointing series finales are indicative of undeveloped character. Dexter’s self-exile is unrooted. In Walter White’s change of heart, too, one senses the writer’s heavy hand, rather than destiny at work.
Says series creator Vince Gilligan, “We didn’t feel an absolute need for Walt to expire at the end of the show. Our gut told us . . . that it would feel satisfying for Walt to at least begin to make amends for his life and for all the sadness and misery wrought upon his family and his friends. Walt is never going to redeem himself. He’s just too far down the road to damnation. But at least he takes a few steps along that path. . . . “
But is that really what Walter White has to say?
“Where’s *my* arc?” – Christopher Moltisanti
Thanks for the good read.
Right. Yeah, “Where’s my arc,” he says. Where’s my arc? (shouts at the ceiling)