This year, we were at home and ready.
Two of the series which we most enjoy had very different
finales.
NCIS is a police
drama which differs from the others of that genre because the detectives are
“navy cops,” as their detractors sometimes call them. Their mission is to
investigate crimes that involve the U. S. Navy or its personnel. In the
finale’s last scene, we find Gibbes, the principal character, lying in a
roadway, perhaps dying, in a Middle Eastern city, shot by a preadolescent
jihadist from America. Does he survive? Does he return to fight crime another
day?
A classic cliffhanger, the intent is for the audience to
ponder these questions for the next four months and to be planted in front of
their sets in late September, eager to learn the outcome. Some of you will
recall the near hysteria that gripped American audiences in the spring, summer,
and fall of nineteen-eighty (there was a writer’s strike that year, postponing
the new season) as they waited to find out who
shot J.R.
Castle is another
police drama (we watch a number of programs which our daughter assigns to the
category of Mon’s weird cop shows).
Kate Beckett is a New York City homicide detective, married to a best-selling
author. As the last episode concludes, the mystery that plagued the characters
through the season has been resolved, Kate’s current case has been wrapped up,
and she, her team, and her friends celebrate. She has been offered a promotion
to captain. She has also been urged to run for the state senate. As one of the
other detectives says, everything is
going to change.
With a television series, the next year’s season is like the
sequel to a book, continuing the story, taking us on new adventures.
A story and its sequel relate to each other in one of three
ways.
First, the two stories may be independent. While some
characters may appear in both stories, while the sequel may reference events
from the original, each story stands alone. Either one may be read and enjoyed
without the other.
Second, the sequel may assume so much of the original story
that it makes little sense if the original has not been read. The author may
attempt to provide the back story, but there is a limit to how much of past can
be rehashed without distracting from the present.
Finally, the first story may be so incomplete that one must
read the sequel to have any idea what happens to the characters. I’ve seen this
last pattern several times recently. I think of a novelette whose story had
reached a point of tension and the story …stopped. It was as if a door had
slammed shut. Of course, there was a sequel coming soon.
I enjoy books with happy endings, but, whether it is happy,
or not, the ending must be satisfactory. In another essay, I suggest that the two are not the same. I assert that a story ends happily
when the main character gets what she wants,
and that it ends a satisfactorily when she obtains what she needs. Satisfaction is more important
than happiness.
Dr. Hannah Harvey, in her “Great Course” The Art of Storytelling, elaborates on
what it means for a story to have a satisfactory ending, suggesting at least
three characteristics: the story must be complete, its meaning must be clear,
and there must be a plan of action.
Completeness is the most basic of the three. When a story is
complete, the major issues raised by the story, the relationships between the
characters, the problems inherent in the plot, have all been addressed. There
are no loose ends. The reader is not left wondering, what was that all about.
Clarity exists when the reader understands the point that
the author was trying to make. Stories are seldom simply accounts of what the
characters do and what happens to them. The author always knows more about the
characters than he chooses to tell, and he selects those events that he wants
to include. The selection process is not a random one. Events are chosen to
reflect a theme, to make a point, or to define a character. In a satisfactory
conclusion, the reader understands the purpose of the story.
A plan of action means that the issues raised by the story
have been solved and that the characters are ready to move on to something
else. Character’s lives do not end on the final page of the book. If they did,
sequels would not even be possible! Even without a sequel, though, their lives
continue. In a satisfactory conclusion, the reader has some idea of what might
happen next. Even if all the reader knows is that they lived happily ever after, she knows in general what comes
next.
The season finales represent two of the possible
relationships between an original and a sequel and the
NCIS, as I noted,
was a cliffhanger, so, by definition, the story was incomplete. Unless I tune
in next fall, I will have no idea how the story ends. The point of the story is
unclear. Was it written as an illustration of senseless murder? Was it about a
changing of the guard? That is, does the agent die, leaving a new person in
command of the unit? Was it/ will it be a story of redemption for the teen-aged
boy who fired the shot that brought the agent down? With neither of these
issues clear, there can hardly be any kind of plan of action or path into the
future.
In Castle, there
are no lose ends. The season’s plot lines have been tied off. We understand
that Kate and her husband are the ultimate crime-solvers, and we know that she
is on her way either to the captain’s chair or to the senate.
Now, I enjoy NCIS
and I may be watching in September to see what happens, but the Castle finale had
much a more satisfactory conclusion and the sequel (next season) will certainly
get my attention.
So it is with books. The cliffhanger might catch me, or it
might not. I do not always read sequels. The good story with a satisfactory
ending, though, will stay with me. I may construct various scenarios for the characters’
futures. And if there is a sequel, I will grab it.
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