30 Rock, Studio 60, And Why All The Good TV Dies Young

TV is a crapshoot. There’s no getting around it. Tell someone in 1989 that The Simpsons would produce in excess of 20 seasons and they’d tell you to ‘bust a move‘, or something like that. While The Simpsons limps on, Futurama just got cancelled. My, my, hey, hey, it’s better to burn out than fade away, and all that. But is it really?

This year, Enlightened, Go On and Happy Endings have all seen the axe; this morning, it was confirmed that Bunheads has been pulled. These were strong TV shows universally adored by critics, and they managed varying degrees of support from viewers. Nevertheless, the almighty networks exercised their powers of veto, with none of them granted even a final season or a movie (Firefly, anyone?) to tie up the oh-so-loose ends. And the list goes on. Deadwood, Mission Hill, How To Make It In America, Undeclared, Carnivale: all of them taken before their time, not even some advance warning so the writers could tack on a haphazard conclusion like the ending of Freaks And Geeks, which admittedly bears more resemblance to a spiteful wrap up than a resolution.

So what about these shows proved so terminal that network anxiety forced them to cut the cord? The success or failure of a show is ultimately determined by an uneasy confluence of network expectation, critical reception and ratings. How does a TV show traverse the murky and treacherous gantlet laid by these three harbingers of success — the network, the critics, and the people — to finally reach the hallowed pop culture zeitgeist? (You know what, screw the zeitgeist. Another season is all we’re after!)

A tale of two series

For an example, look no further than two shows that focus on TV writing as their central premise: Tina Fey’s 30 Rock, and Aaron Sorkin’s short lived Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip, which both debuted in 2006. Both shows are critiques of the production process, situated squarely behind the scenes of fictional late night comedy shows loosely based on Saturday Night Live. Both head writers boast successful and lucrative pedigrees: Sorkin from The West Wing and Fey as head writer of SNL itself. Both came with the expectation of artistic and commercial success, but here’s where the similarities end.

30 Rock not only just completed its 7^th season, but was granted that most rare of television send offs, allowed to depart on its own terms, no muzak in a soft crescendo to usher it off the stage. Alternatively, Studio 60 seems to exist only as a cautionary tale for TV critics, a veritable ‘what not to do list’ in the television canon. And there’s some serious dislike there, too. The sentinels of the TV world are still itching to shower vitriol over the show and its creator: too arrogant, too self righteous, too schmaltzy… essentially, too Sorkin. Well, in the hearts and minds of the true believers, these are exactly the qualities that made it brilliant television, and a fitting way to frame a discussion about the anxious trinity of network, critics and audience. Walk with me.

Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip

In an ironic twist, Sorkin’s broad contention foreshadowed Studio 60’s demise. The opening scene of the pilot shows Wes, the wisened producer of the show, embarking on a tirade against an industry made impotent by… well, everything. His martyrdom is recycled in Sorkin’s more recent The Newsroom, yet the original Studio 60 opening remains one of the most scintillating openings in television history, utilising deft production techniques, sharp editing and a monologue that literally steals the show.

Sorkin typically employs character as vehicles for conflicting ideologues. Amanda Peet’s charmingly ruthless but altogether green network president Jordan McDeere espouses a high budget, high quality programming vision that the public will respond to. In the real world, NBC was turning towards trashy and archetype driven television. Sorkin positions Studio 60 as not only a counter, but an examination of populist gratification, proclaiming that the market is there for commercially viable television that challenges viewers. On all accounts, the medium is the message.

In a later story arc, when Jordan attempts to lure the rights to a credible show written by a successful playwright, she claims “there’s nothing wrong with the medium, just the content. And there’s only one way to change that.” From the outset, Studio 60 was an overtly political, ambitious and verbose piece of television that it seemed the real network (NBC) was clamouring to get on the air and out into the world as soon as possible.

Sorkin’s previous program, The West Wing, found initial scepticism from NBC, concerning the sustainability of a sharply written but ultimately dry political show set in the White House. Its enduring critical and commercial success not only provided NBC with some much needed street cred, but proved that audiences could be engaged long term by charming wordsmiths like Bradley Whitford, even with a noticeable lack of sex, violence, cheap humour or the usual devices common to hook audiences. Studio 60 brashly pontificates about whether quality, class and intellectualism have any place in an industry and broader society ruled by commerce and ultimately beset by the lowest common denominator.

Of course, it’s arrogant and self righteous. But there’s only one way to get away with arrogance, and we already granted it to Sorkin: it’s being right. It’s trying to hold the intellectual high ground despite crippling personal flaws. Every Sorkin protagonist from Toby Ziegler to Matt Albie to contemporaries like Brad Pitt’s Billy Bean in Moneyball and Jeff Daniels’ gruff news man Will McAvoy in The Newroom are stubborn, self righteous, condescending arseholes. McDeere herself is a headstrong adversary that’s a thorn in the side of the big money man fighting from the corner for commerce, Jack Rudolph. And, despite his apparent lust for power, even Rudolph is gifted moments of true empathy. We’re with them all the way, because they’re right. And when they’re not right, they do everything they can to do better and make no apologies for being the smartest people in the room.

30 Rock

The sad fact of the matter is, even though 30 Rock has some clever moments and witty banter, Wes’ monologue could describe virtually any clip of Liz Lemon’s ‘zany’ antics or Tracy Jordan’s allegedly ironic (read: moronic) behaviour.

I love Tina Fey, I really do. I followed her and Amy Poehler’s work on SNL for the latter part of the decade with a zeal bordering on religious, I’ve read her book, and closely studied her hilarious Mean Girls screenplay in one of the few cultural studies classes I actually turned up to. I think she’s great. Which is why watching 30 Rock, I could never fully appreciate the humour, and shake the feeling it should be better. Was she really sending up the bland and puerile humour of modern television? Or was she repeating it, under the cloak of irony and satire? When does irony become imitation? Every funny sequence or subtle, clever narrative is tempered with a bombastic subplot led by Tracy and Jenna and backed by the ludicrously unfunny and one dimensional writing team. I’d rather ambitious and righteous than lazy and sporadic.

It seems I’m in the minority here. 30 Rock is one of the most critically acclaimed shows to ever grace the screen. Fey was recently asked whether 30 Rock’s copious awards haul helped ease the sting of the show’s ultra low ratings: “They kept us alive,” she said. Deadline Hollywood writes “to keep 30 Rock going for so many critically acclaimed seasons when its ratings barely rose above the level of abysmal is unprecedented.”

So is it the critics that rule the roost?

14 million viewers tuned into Studio 60’s highly marketed pilot. Critics point to the significant drop off by the first season finale to illustrate the early promise that fizzled. It was still pulling 7 million advertisement watching viewers by February, when critics were bullying it into submission. The LA Times published a group of comedy actors from a local troupe and television bloggers who criticized the show mercilessly. Their major beef contends that the sketches on the fictional show aren’t that funny, and that comedy writers are an altogether arrogant bunch. Well, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?

Sorkin publicly responded, implying that the sudden critical backlash had driven the ratings down, and further that the alleged comedy writers were unemployed hacks. He questioned whether Stephen Colbert (The Daily Show), Billy Crystal (all round funny guy), Seth Meyers (current head writer of SNL) or Tina Fey (!), as professional comedy writers, had the same problems with the show as those interviewed. Sometimes, the Sorkin v Critics smackdown is actually better viewing than anything on television at all.

Or the viewers (ahem, and a lack thereof)?

It seems unlikely that the critical vendetta against Sorkin and Studio 60 didn’t damage the credibility of the show, and ultimately the decline in ratings that forced the network’s hand. Time rated Studio 60 as one of the ‘Five things that went from Buzz to Bust’ in its December issue. Entertainment Weekly rated Studio 60 as the worst TV show of 2006, tellingly beating out My Super Sweet Sixteen for the top spot. The show wasn’t even halfway through the first season, and was still averaging over 7 million viewers. To put all this into perspective, in its entire seven season run, 30 Rock never averaged more than 7.5 million viewers per season and its single episode record was the first episode of season 3, totalling 8.7 million viewers. So despite a huge viewership, which translates into dollars, Studio 60 still wasn’t viewed enough of a success or to have the artistic credibility to chance a second season.

And how do networks determine which shows get a chance to shine and which shows get the chop?

Sorkin’s newest offering, The Newsroom, found more favourable reviews but if anything is a more blustery and ultimately shakier incarnation of Studio 60 without the strength of character, and can claim ratings miniscule in comparison (although, admittedly, one would expect a certain drop off due to the eradication of the traditional television viewing model). The Newsroom barely reached two million viewers throughout its first season, and yet it’s just started its second season on HBO.

Traditionally the homeland of more discerning, ‘high quality’ television, HBO made its name on shows like The Sopranos, Oz, Six Feet Under and True Blood. It also cancelled the highly acclaimed, highly rated and beautifully written Enlightened after just two seasons, and cut Carnivale and the cultishly adored Deadwood — both high quality, nuanced narratives that boasted strong premise and character development — unexpectedly and without opportunity to tie any loose ends together and allow a natural and believable resolution.

Upstart subscription network Netflix has taken a punt on two somewhat risky shows — the cult favourite Arrested Development, which hit the turf before being revived, and Kevin Spacey’s House Of Cards, a re-polished version of a fairly recent British political drama — but both rely on established audiences, so people were bound to take notice.

So far, Netflix’s only solo venture has been Orange Is The New Black. The critics are shouting it from the rooftops. Most importantly, the show cannot be judged upon traditional ratings systems. Its 13-episode run is exclusively released through Netflix, and its revenue can be directly derived from Netflix subscriptions. It’s already been renewed for a second season, suggesting that individual production companies hold the keys to a new generation of original content made with a different criterion for success in mind, and a paradigmatic shift in the creation and consumption of television.

Are these alternative campaigns the only way to instigate quality content, in a hybrid user-driven market? Is the era of the major network dead? Crapshoot, I tells ya. And now I can’t even work out who’s holding the dice.

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Brad is a writer from Melbourne who throws himself headlong into arguments about whatever people seem to be arguing about. Sometimes he writes about them.