People Got the Power

Since I was a teenager, I’ve enjoyed reading reviews and analysis of books, films, albums that I hadn’t actually read, watched or listened to. I read manuals for appliances I didn’t own or obituaries of people I had never heard of. I wasn’t trying to hoard information in order to bullshit my way through conversations, it was just something I liked to do. Even now, as a subscriber to the BFI’s Sight & Sound Magazine, I read the full reviews (they come with plot summaries) of films that haven’t opened yet. Using what you know of the cast, director, the storyline and so on, you can usually play your own version of the film in your head prior to seeing it. The interesting part comes when you compare what you had predicted with what actually was made; sometimes you can discover something about the filmmaker’s style or the tendencies of the film critic who wrote the review. It might sounds unfair to knowingly deprive the filmmakers of the chance to hit you with something unexpected. But many people like read the last pages of a book first or rewatch certain films or reread classics over and over again. With adaptations of famous stories too, we know every beat in advance. The thrill of the unforeseen is undeniable but it has to contend with the satisfaction of getting what we want.

One development in television over the last twenty years has been a strengthening of the idea that viewers should have some way of shaping the product that they are consuming. I suppose this idea has been around in some form or other from the beginnings of mass produced popular culture (Charles Dickens’ second ending to Great Expectations may have been caused by fan pressure.) In order to get us to ‘buy’ into a story, we are more and more encouraged to see ourselves not as passive spectators but as empowered members of a democratic community that is constructing art and entertainment together. The image of the passive image-consumer (staring at the television set with mouth agape) that so alarmed theorists of the 60s, 70s and 80s may be a perpetual trope but I would argue a new form ‘the interactive spectator’ is on the ascendancy: the viewer who wants exert some power over what happens on the screen, the one who imagines endings for herself and writes her own hypothetical versions where her preferences are fulfilled.

At the same time, it is clear from the language we use to speak about this ‘democracy’ that we are speaking from a market-economy point of view. In a market that competes for both immediate attention and long-term ‘brand loyalty’, paying-customers are not just the lifeblood of any project but also must be considered shareholders, collaborators and co-conspirators. In extreme cases, this empowering of the spectator re-positions writers and performers as interpreters of the dreams of those that have invested themselves in their work. We no longer expect simply to be entertained; we want our entertainment to take on a specific form. This rejigging of our expectations has no doubt been influenced by videogames where we can guide the narrative in many directions – then hit reset and start again. Many news reports now feature tweets and comments sections, even on breaking stories. Of course, this spirit of collaboration can be constructive if it is well managed; there is nothing wrong with creators thinking of their audience as colleagues, especially if they wish to nurture a long-term relationship with them (in an abstract sense, one could argue that audiences have always been co-creators to the extent that all creative work presupposes the involvement of somebody to experience it.)

At any rate, audience members are no longer necessarily perceived as meddling outsiders but are increasingly considered experts on the material. What I am driving at is whether audience input necessarily means valuing the pleasure of the expected over the thrill of the unforeseen. As I’ve said, I’m guilty of favouring the expected myself. Not knowing ‘what happens next’ is rarely central to my enjoyment. But this does not mean that I don’t care about the quality of the plot. A sophisticated story, which low on clichés and sentimentality, will work just as well whether or not I know what is coming next. On the other hand, the feeling that the plot and its mechanism are propelled by a consistent logic conceived by the writers is, I think, still essential to fiction. The realization that the next event has happened only because I (or a fellow audience member) wants it to, strips the story of its independent reality whether or not any audience members have actually petitioned the writers or not. The closing of the gap between creators, interpreters and consumers has meant a blending of roles – writers try to think like fans and fans like authors.

When it comes to the audience having a little too much say, however, one can point to clear examples that can be read about online. In one case, the showrunners of a popular sitcom tried to respond to the fact that it had committed itself to ending with two characters in a relationship despite the growing realization that, over many years, its audience had become assertive in their support of a different coupling. The writers reacted in the worst possible way: it finished the series in the way that it had originally intended but added an epilogue where the wife of the lead dies and he is therefore free to shack up with the more popular alternative (supposedly this entire denouement took place in under an hour.) Yet, the writers found that the audience were less than impressed; their dissatisfaction showed that getting what they wanted felt empty or, possibly, that they did not entirely want what they thought they did. The writers made it obviously that they had caved to expectations and viewers were suddenly forced to realize that they were simply watching yet another mediocre sitcom, crammed with beautiful people who were pretending to fall in love. The best shows of this type manage to hide this illusion long enough for the curtain to fall.

In another case, a dramatic series cultivated mystery and suspense. It played up the idea that there would be a tightly resolved climax that would provide a huge payoff. Unfortunately, the popularity of the show during this build-up grew to the point where the network, listening to fans, decided to extend its run by several years, forcing the writers to add complications, replace characters and constantly tinker with their premise. The result was that the ending of the show could no longer work and ultimately provoked derision not vindication. There are times when we want to surrender to someone else’s imagination. The power to delay or deny gratification can be used to heighten the emotional experience of the audience in ways that they might appreciate. In reality, however, there are artists that develop projects (series of books, comics, bands etc.) over lifetimes and it is understandable for them to try to live up to expectations at certain points. It would be romantic to frame people-pleasing in a wholly negative light but, equally, it is futile to try and imagine how things might’ve been done differently; once the work exists it has to be taken for what it is, its successes and failures are fundamental to it. The investment of oneself as a creative partner in another person’s invention is, at best, a regrettable redirection of our own creativity, living out our own dreams by trying, as part of a mass of people, to exert influence. At worst, it is complacency at the expense of new flavours, places we’ve never been.