Recycling

The Newsroom is almost entirely cannibalized from Sorkin’s previous work. Is this a problem? No and yes.

There’s a sense in which Sorkin is like commedia del’arte — it’s about riffing on established themes, types, and scenarios. The familiarity of core elements is not a weakness, but a defining characteristic. That’s the genre. If you’ve seen two or more Sorkin shows, you’ve probably noticed it.

But, that puts the onus on Sorkin to make that repetition work. He has to make each iteration feel specific, complete, and organic in its context. He has to sell it. And the acting and direction and editing all have to back him up in selling it. And in this, The Newsroom fails more often than it succeeds. What in West Wing and even Studio 60 felt charming and clever now feels stale and obligatory.

It’s strange, because when I’m watching an episode, it feels like I’m just now realizing that something I thought was funny really isn’t. But that’s not the case. It worked before, and it’s broken now. Part of that is a writing issue — Sorkin’s not putting as much polish into the execution of the bits as he did in prior shows, and he’s also not building up to them properly.

We’re seeing exchanges that should happen in mid-season happen in the first two episodes, and that’s jarring. I’m not a fan of the phrase “earning” in the context of evaluating writing, but honestly, it fits here. Sorkin’s not asking for the butter, he’s asking for the laugh, and he’s asking for it out of turn.

But part of the problem is also on the performance/production side. In terms of the performances and the visual style, The Newsroom feels too much like The Office. Too much TV, not enough theater. And as aggravating as I find the writing in The Newsroom, it’s still Sorkin writing, which is not well-served by the indoor voices and the handheld camera.

The Breakdown

One of the most worrisome iterations in The Newsroom is Will’s little hallucination-triggered rant — a variation on Casey’s speech to Dan in the Sports Night pilot and Wes’s freakout on live TV in the Studio 60 pilot. The key difference is that we know — either at the time or in later context — that both those speeches are in some degree horseshit. Casey’s real issue is his divorce, and Dan calls him on it. Wes was the architect of his own failure, and we come to understand that as we get insight into the history of Danny, Matt, and Jack. And of course he loses his job and vanishes from the show’s stage entirely.

But Will’s breakdown isn’t treated that way. Not only does nobody call him on his bullshit, but his boss and his ex-fiance actually re-arrange dozens of lives put millions of dollars on the line to enable his bullshit, and the audience is expected to stand up and clap.

This is a real step backwards in terms of the kind of story that Sorkin’s telling and most especially in terms of the moral of that story. And what’s funny, or not so funny, is that it’s actually a much dumber, simpler, more palatable story.

Women

Mackenzie MacHale (seriously?) and Maggie Jordan are possibly the worst female characters I’ve seen on a Sorkin show. (Maybe not worse than Hallie Gallaway. It’s a tough call.) I find almost everything about them annoying, but the biggest problem is how they fit in relation to the rest of the cast and especially in relation to their male counterparts.

Compare Mackenzie/Will to Dana/Casey, Josh/Mandy, or Danny/Jordan; compare Maggie/Jim (?) to Natalie/Jeremy. Both Newsroom pairs are obtained by taking their earlier counterparts and sucking most of the strength, professional acumen, assertiveness, and authority out of the female character and putting them in the male character. (Imagine what the beginning of West Wing would look like if Mandy had to essentially beg Josh for her job and serve at his pleasure. In fact, The Newsroom is almost exactly Josh’s fantasy of how that scenario should have played out.)

Sorkin has often had issues with gender in the past. There’s a lot of nerd-machismo, West Wing had a strong paternalistic streak, and there are lots of little things you could ding him on if you wanted to. But almost none of his women were weak. Dana, Natalie, Sally, CJ, Donna, Abbey, Jordan, Harriet. Those characters are all quirky, idiosyncratic, sometimes cute, often neurotic — but they’re tough and smart and they don’t back down. That’s important not only because we need as many tough, smart, indefatigable women characters as we can get but because the banter/bicker web that holds a Sorkin show together depends on characters that can stand up to each other.

Are there other ways to write good female characters? Of course. Can you write a good show with as many weak characters as strong characters? Of course. But that’s not what’s happening here. These women aren’t more nuanced than other Sorkin women, and the overall tone of this show isn’t more subtle or complex (quite the opposite). They’re just weaker, more deferential, more anxious, less useful, less powerful, less interesting. And that makes their relationships with the male characters less interesting. (And the men are also less interesting, since they wind up being the explainy/judgy daddy figures that have to be wheedled/placated/impressed.)

After watching two episodes, I have to ask: did someone break up with Sorkin right before he began writing this series?

Story

The stories are lousy. There’s no actual journalism happening. We just get told that someone had a phone call with a person they inevitably knew already (relative/friend/college boyfriend) and that becomes the pretext for a bunch of Sorkinisms and posturing.

And there’s always some of that in Sorkin, but Sports Night gave some indication that people were doing the actual work of journalism — editing, researching, writing, prepping. And Studio 60 persistently reminded us that writing and acting are jobs that take talent and effort. They weren’t Edward R. Murrow, but that baseline sense that people were doing the work was important, because that formed the basis for our ability to make sense of how much they cared about the work.

And the straw men — again, this is something that you have to expect in Sorkin, but they’ve (if possible) gotten even more straw than before, and it seems especially obnoxious given the aggravatingly high-minded stance the show insists on (notionally) assigning to itself.

More than any other Sorkin work, this feels like it could just as easily be published in the form of an op/ed screed. It’s just a big excuse for complaining about certain things combined with some golden age bullshit and some preening self-congratulatory displays of clever rhetoric.

Again — that’s always been there in Sorkin. But until now, I never thought that was what was essential in Sorkin’s storytelling. I never thought that was the point of it. Now I wonder if maybe it was all along, and it just had better packaging before.

So, here’s the thing. I’m super excited to get Sorkin back on TV. And yet, I am also rather wary. “You get your heart broken enough times, you learn your lesson.” Sorkin has done “show about a show.” He did it with Sports Night and made one of the greatest tv shows ever. He did it with Studio 60 and made an epic train wreck. Why is he going for two out of three? Why not try something else? For exmaple:

Literally anything other than a show about a tv show, even if it’s a genre that’s played out.

A Sorkin cop show? I would watch the shit out of a Sorkin cop show. Even a doctor show or a lawyer show. How about a prime time soap? Sure? Why the fuck not. Sorkin in space? Fuck yeah.

If it was Sorkin doing something everyone else already does, then it’s something new, because it’s Sorkin. The only way for Sorkin not to be doing something new is to be doing exactly the same thing over and over again.

A new — or old — format

Plot and continuity are not Sorkin’s friends. So, why keep embracing continuity-heavy comedy-dramas? Why not go to an anthology series format? Tell standalone stories that cater to Sorkin’s theatrical style. Keep a standing cast, or rotate in new actors, or a combination of the two. Audiences aren’t familiar with this format anymore, but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t adjust. People seem willing to tune into American Horror Story with a new premise on a seasonal basis; this wouldn’t be qualitatively more weird than that.

A collaboration with someone who does plot really well

Sorkin says “I kind of see plot as a necessary intrusion on what I really want to do.” And if you’ve watched a lot of his tv writing, you know that’s true. Plot is a second-class citizen in the Sorkin kingdom. It’s given token respect on an episodic basis, and less than that when it comes to multi-episode arcs, let alone season-length arcs.

So why not team up with someone who does plot really well. How about this, nerds: Sorkin and Straczynski. Just imagine it! Too crazy? Too wonderful to be? Okay, how about Sorkin and Shawn Ryan?

Yeah, I know it was books before. Now it’s things, and stuff.

Next up: Neil Simon’s The Star-Spangled Girl.

Why the book play is awesome:

Apparently it’s not. I dimly remember thinking it was great when I read it, but that was quite a long time ago, now, and the infallible oracle of Wikipedia tells me that it’s not well-received or defended by Simon. (Although here is a somewhat more detailed explanation of the play’s strengths and weaknesses that, if I’m remembering the play correctly, is pretty right on.)

However, a lot of the stuff that’s off about it could be fixed in an adaptation for a different medium, and the underlying dynamic — red state/blue state, opposites attract, idealism, arrogance, expectations, etc. — is pretty rich ground. You could work on making Sophie feel like less of a caricature, and make sundry other improvements, in the process of adapting it, and end up with something really interesting.

Why a TV show would be awesome:

In the play, Andy and Norman run an underground political publication written by Norman under a variety of pseudonyms. This aspect of the setup is not only still relevant today, it is vastly more relevant. Anonymous and pseudonymous speech operating near or across the borderline dividing legitimate discourse from illegitimate is one of the most important and visible characteristics of political struggle in the immediate present. Turning Andy and Norman’s ‘zine into something that resembles the wacky original while also referencing the world of Anonymous and Wikileaks is something that would take effort, but is eminently achievable.

I think the red state/blue state thing is maybe a slightly harder sell nowadays than it was back then, but it can’t be that far outside the domain of interest, because Hart of Dixie appears to have found a damn audience, and “fish out of water” in general certainly remains a popular trope for tv series.

The medium switch also opens up a couple of interesting possibilities — a lot of the issues that are trivialized in the play by necessity of condensation could be expanded, elaborated, and de-trivialized, for example, and — more importantly — the character of Norman and Andy’s daredevil landlady, who is alluded to in the play but never seen, could be turned into a fantastic role for any of a number of talented older actresses, and it would furnish delightful comic possibilities.

Maybe most importantly, a Star-Spangled Girl series would provide an opportunity to examine and discuss the deep cultural and political differences that divide America in a way that isn’t totally dismissive of one side or the other. (Not that Simon totally succeeded at that, but it could be done within the premise.) I’m not sure when the last time is that anyone really made a go at that — West Wing? (Not that West Wing is exactly free of bias, but it did at least sometimes present rational, honorable conservatives in conflict with rational, honorable liberals.)

Why it will never happen:

Political awareness can be perceived as (and/or can actually be) audience-limiting. It’s very hard to appeal to both sides of the spectrum simultaneously, especially in a comedic context. I imagine that would make this show a slightly hard sell. Also, you’d have to have really, really talented writers who are also — and this is key — not totally out of touch with the cultures they would wind up writing about.

Next up: John Le Carre’s Singe & Single.

Why the book is awesome:

Single & Single’s story revolves around the relationship between Tiger Single (a powerful and shady finance whatsit) and his son Oliver. At the opening of the book, Oliver is living in witness protection, having informed on his father to the authorities; but his father disappears (kidnapped by Russian criminals with whom he had been in business), and Oliver is drawn into the search for him by a customs agent who wants to use Tiger as part of his war on government corruption.

I have a hard time pinpointing why I like this book so much…but I think a big part of it has to do with how human it is. The goals, powers, and flaws of the characters — both good and bad — seldom seem grandiose or abstract, and yet, Le Carre does a good job of showing how these very specific, personal drives and character defects both shape and are shaped by events that play out on a grand scale in the worlds of diplomacy and finance. And Le Carre does an excellent job of using those grand-scale events as the backdrop for what are often very intimate tragedies and triumphs.

I especially like Brock, the customs agent running a network of what seem to be often irregular operatives against the “hydra” of government corruption. He fits a “bureaucratic hero” type that strongly appeals to me.

Why a TV show would be awesome:

Now more than maybe ever is a time when we could use a human angle on the kinds of financial and international events that play out in Single & Single. The average person today has a hard time putting the shadowy forces behind our current economic crises into any kind of a coherent, relatable context. We see the consequences for people on the ground who are suffering, and we have a vague idea of the kind of people at the top who are possibly to blame, but aside from viewing them as callous or detached greed robots, we don’t have a good basis for integrating them into this history we’re living. Tiger Single is not a good man, nor a sympathetic one, nor a charismatic antihero, but he is human, and that humanity is what makes him interesting.

In many ways, a Single & Single series could form a bridge between the kind of storytelling we saw on 24 and the kind we saw on West Wing. The intersection of conflict at the level of idea and value with conflict at the level of direct violence and personal loyalty and betrayal. If Homeland proves to be successful, I think that will demonstrate audience interest in this kind of approach.

The characters of Tiger and Oliver, and the Russian criminals (some sympathetic, some profoundly creepy) are all surprisingly substantial, and put together would provide enough material for a very nice ensemble cast — especially if Brock, his subordinates, and the network of corrupt officials he is hunting, were fleshed out — and there would be plenty of room to do so, and to allow the series to stretch over a semi-arbitrary number of seasons.

Why it will never happen:

People probably remember how tedious The Constant Gardner was.

Next up: Emma Bull’s War for the Oaks

Why the book is awesome:

War for the Oaks is one of the modern classics of fantasy, and one of the books that founded urban fantasy as a genre.

It’s a great book. It’s very 80’s, but in a good way. It’s rich in mythology. It’s got a great, atmospheric setting (Minneapolis) that isn’t played out. And it merges music with magic in a way that is elegant and charming (without being cute).

Why a TV show would be awesome:

A War for the Oaks show would be just ahead of the curve for television. Why? Consider:

• Sexy vampires in TV and movies have sort of peaked. I mean, we’re already seeing the second or third generation derivatives of the hits, and there’s a definite sense of vampire fatigue.

• Sexy fairies are totally the new sexy vampire. They’ve already got them on True Blood, right? And I think they also figure into Lost Girl, that Canadian show that’s about to come to Syfy. And certainly sexy fairies have achieved expanded popularity over the last decade (or whatever) in popular urban fantasy fiction. Seems like their star is on the rise. There’s even a perfectly good love triangle. (Team Phouka/Team Willy Silver.)

• People seem to like period shows.

• War for the Oaks culminates in a mystical, magical battle of the bands. Okay, technically it’s just one band versus a wicked fairy queen, but close enough. People have an apparently insatiable desire for the conjunction of unrealistically high stakes with musical performance on television (Glee, shitty singing competitions, etc.). War for the Oaks would have all that good drama and performance anxiety and yes, honest to god musical numbers, plus sexy fairies. Come on, people!

Why it will never happen:

• A non-ironic take on the 80’s might be a hard sell. People have pretty firm preconceptions about how we’re supposed to feel about that decade.

• The gods of TV mostly hate me.

Honestly, I can’t think of any other objections. How is this not the greatest idea ever?

So, I’ve decided to write up some expanded versions of arguments I’ve presented on twitter regarding what things would be awesome if someone adapted them for TV. First up:

Lois McMaster Bujold’s Vorkosigan novels

Why the books are awesome:

Note: If you haven’t read the books, go read them. (The Warriors Apprentice is where you should start.) Everyone I’ve gotten to read them has loved them, even people who don’t normally read anywhere near the genre. There are a lot of specific details, especially of characterization, that I don’t want to spoil, so you’ll have to either read the books or just take my word for it: they’re epic.

Imagine if the most delicious, fluffy, buttery popcorn were also highly nutritious. That’s what these books are.

It’s rather hard to explain the appeal of the series to those who haven’t read it. A rather simplistic approach might be to say that it’s a bit like Star Trek meets Game of Thrones meets West Wing. Meets John Le Carre, with a nice side of comedy of manners.

They’re space opera, but Bujold’s approach to space opera is unusual. They have plenty of awesome space travel and military SF stuff — which is great — but they also have an unusual degree of social awareness.

They explore collisions not just of military powers but also of the values, ethics, and mores of competing human civilizations. And while this is also true of, say, Star Trek, Bujold marries those values, ethics, and mores to multifaceted characters and explores their evolution over time in a way that Star Trek has seldom attempted and almost never achieved. (The closest I can think of are the best of the DS9 storylines that deal with Kira, Garak, and Odo.)

And her characters — god, they’re fantastic. And often very, very different from what we’ve come to expect in popular science fiction heroes. They’re truly heroes (not anti-heroes, not even the tortured ones), but they come in all shapes, sizes, and genders (and transgenders!), and their heroism has different roots and takes different paths than one often expects.

Why a TV show would be awesome:

We are badly in need of a good space show. Previous space shows have mostly fallen into the category of Star Trek or Star Trek-alike, or military sci-fi. I’ve enjoyed a lot of those shows, and I’d love to see more of them — but even more, I’d love to see something that stretches outside the domains established by Star Trek, Babylon 5, and Battlestar Galactica. And I think a show that pushed beyond the “ship errant” or “space border” concepts could find an audience.

There seems to be a fairly strong interest now in violent, sexy, intrigue-filled costume dramas. Mostly these are “historical” in nature, or, in the case of Game of Thrones, high fantasy. But I think that interest could be transferred to a space setting.

Bujold’s characters would also help expand our idea of what heroes look like. (Which is something we badly need, especially in the US.)

In particular, I think audiences are ready for a protagonist like Miles Vorkosigan — the small, crippled genius who lies and schemes his way to saving people, planets, and civilizations, and who is utterly obsessed with honor and with loyalty to a society that would be happy to murder him for his birth defects. Science fiction TV has had enough tough, square-jawed protagonists. (Sorry, Nathan Fillion.)

Why it will never happen

It might be expensive. It would combine the costlier aspects of a series like Battlestar Galactica (lots of ships, lots of varied high-tech environments) with the cosltier aspects of a series like Game of Thrones (different regions with significantly different costumes and locations, etc.)

And while I think that audiences are ready for Bujold’s heroes, I suspect a network might see it differently. I mean, we can all agree that Tyrion is the best character on Game of Thrones (RIGHT?), but that show would probably never have made it to production if he were the central character. And Tyrion is the closest thing to Miles that TV audiences will have seen to date.

On top of which, space shows seem to have trouble getting traction lately. Look at Defying Gravity or Stargate Universe. Both were interesting shows, each in its own way, and neither was able to either stay on the air very long, or to keep a story coherent and on point accross the series’s duration.