Continuum

Through much of yesterday, I found myself thinking about continuation and conclusion.

I began the day by watching THE BLUES BROTHERS (yes, you are reading the words of a man who stumbles out of bead, brushes his teeth, and puts on a movie). From time to time within the film, my thoughts drifted to its wickedly lacklustre sequel, BLUES BROTHERS 2000. I found myself wondering how anyone at Universal became convinced that film needed to be made. Here’s a clue if you’re a studio executive and happen to be reading this space: If the film you’re considering making a sequel for involves a duo in the lead, and one half of that duo has passed on? Not a good idea to greenlight the project.

And yet, BLUES BROTHERS 2000 was greenlit…and it might not even be the worst idea for a sequel Hollywood has had in the last twenty years.

Later I watched the newest episode of HBO’s Game of Thrones. What I like about the show most is the fact that it is adapted from a series of books, thus each season is culled from some  eight hundred pages of text which gives ample time for both plot progression and character development. In addition, because it’s a television series based on a pre-existing entity (correct me if I’m wrong, but this is rare) the bones for both each season and the series on the whole are in place. There’s little excuse for show runners to have the series linger through “down seasons”…or make viewers wonder if they actually have roadmap anymore.

While the show has started playing fast and loose with what has been established for them in the books, the story structure is always there for them anytime they want to return to it.

Later in the evening, while listening to the latest episode of Reel Insight, I got to thinking about the MEN IN BLACK films. Jess and Rachel used the term “sequelitis” more than once, and I couldn’t disagree with them. MEN IN BLACK feels like a jug of juice that was watered down to make two more jugs. That first film – which I’m admittedly not a fan of – left the door open to make more, and once it made a zillion dollars in the summer of 1997, nobody at Sony could resist. But can I please see a show of hands of anybody who walked away from the snooze that was MIB 2 and said “Damn, I can’t wait for part three!”. Rather that let something lay, further chapters were tacked on…until the franchise is smouldering in a crater with no hope of repair.

Why? Why is it so damned hard to let a film that was intended to be one story exist as a stand-alone entity?

Putting aside the obvious point about money, I wonder to myself if what we really want as consumers of fiction and popular culture is closure. We continually tune out of TV shows before they close up shop, we talk about our bands having “lost it” or “gone commercial”…more and more film franchises become prey to the law of diminishing returns. Those who stand to reap the most from these projects believe we crave continuation…yet those who provide their success crave conclusion.

Think about the best endings in popular culture, whatever that might be for you. Chances are, the property ended while there was still a hunger for more – thus following one of the earliest rules of show business. Why be afraid of closing the book? It’s not like you can’t get the creative talent involved to write a new book to appeal to the fans of the first book.

In a grander sense, I think the whole notion of closure comes from us never having control of such things. We never get to end a situation the way we’d like – jobs, relationships, even our own health. So in retreating to fiction, why can’t we be given something that feels intentional and complete?

Instead we’re too often given something that feels tacked on, redundant, and ultimately wanting.