Written Off

  

When a character is written out of a hit TV show, the audience is generally left in a state of shock and outrage. Hurling the remote – if they still own one – at the wall into photos of grandma and grouper. That’s even if they’ve come to despise the character’s stupid catchphrases, wide mouth 16-ounce grin and ill-fitting clothes. This person, despite their intentions at the first airdate, is now a substantial part of their life. At least this is how it feels when it’s done right. What next? They could read a book, but that’s not going to happen, is it? The pages are too heavy, the font too small, and the character development much too slow. They want to be told what to think, not to tell. Interpreting something without vivid images is a nightmare. Ask Champollion if you don't believe me.

 

Critics aren’t immune from this state of unexpected confusion either. When a show they despise gets cancelled, thrown off the air by network executives playing God from their gaudy penthouse apartments, a part of them never fully recovers. They happily remember panning a show for its idiocy, but the day the curtain falls for the final time, a little piece of them falls, too. They are lost without bad programming. Anyone can dole a five star rave review, lecturing the little people on what makes Daniel Day-Lewis a master. But is that interesting? The guy working the graveyard shift at my corner bodega spilling Vitamin water and feeding cheese doodles to the store cat knows that DDL has something special. I don’t need some lettered doofus telling me that. But when I see someone doing a terrible job I need confirmation. “Was that bad acting?” I can’t go on instinct alone. I never went to school for it. I must defer to the experts.

 

We can’t let things go. We’ve grown accustomed to the Cousin Olivers of the world, adopting them as our own. Initially unwanted intruders, who are somehow welcomed into our homes each and every night. We’re always trying to recreate the past in some way. From the late 60s on, music journalists spoke of the Next Dylan, hoping to conjure a new character from the blue yonder. Or was it the New Dylan? The Nice Dylan? The Normal Dylan? The Notorious Dylan? The Nutty Dylan? When the real Dylan was still around, embodying all this and much more.  

 

They hate to admit all this, of course. They can’t stand admitting it. But they need these characters. They need them more than us. We don’t depend on them for our livelihoods. So who’s next?