THE TELEVISION MOMENT by Steven Peacock
The recently published collection Film Moments: Criticism, History, Theory (2010) reminds us of the potential critical value inherent in the fact that 'Film endures as a medium made of moments: the brief, temporary and transitory combining to create the whole' (p xi). The book provides a series of sustained readings of individual film moments - from works as diverse as The Night of the Hunter to Kill Bill Vol. 2 - all of which develop our understanding of the various constituents of the momentary on screen, and, in turn, of the status and structure of film form. Arguably, the project becomes more complex when applied to television, to the television moment, because of the medium's different relationship to time.
Television is as capable as film of creating expressive richness in moments that are at once fleeting, demonstrative and dramatically declamatory, climactic, or seemingly inconsequential. As with narrative film, and especially genre pieces, TV drama consists of clusters of expected, conventional happenings, such as the moment when characters finally meet, or face-off, or the penny drops, and so on. The subversion or recasting of these moments is equally well-trod ground on the small screen, exemplified by a growing trend in TV drama to 'unexpectedly' kill off a main character (see 24, American Horror Story, and Spooks - spoiler in linked clip below).
In broad terms, the distinction between film and television is twofold. First, the expansive structure of television fictions - stretching across episodes, seasons, in series capable of running for years and decades - complicates the place of the moment in the whole. A series alert to the possibilities of significant patterning in forms of narrative and narration may rhyme or counterpoint moments from different seasons. To name but a few recent examples, Breaking Bad, Mad Men, Sons of Anarchy, Misfits and Community are all consummately skilled in this strategy. The series may allude to very early moments in its final stages, even if the mood and tone of the drama has transformed fundamentally from within (I'm thinking here of The West Wing).
At the same time, the fluid consistency of a TV drama with the ability to run on forever makes mischief with the criterion of coherence. How do we judge a television work's unity if it is open-ended, changing and building across episodes, still in flux? How can we make decisive discriminations of a particular moment if its relationship to the (incomplete) whole is as yet undeclared or undecided?
Secondly, the contemporary place of television in the world informs our standing towards its moments. Historically, in Western culture, television has been perceived as a throwaway medium, a provider of information and entertainment, the latter easily devoured and dispensed with by the channel-hopping consumer. This scenario leads to thoughts on traditional forms of television broadcasting, of the image's live-ness, of a fixed schedule of air-dates and times, of groups within nations watching the same drama unfold at the same time. In turn, the ephemeral nature of the TV transmission is ever-present, the moment always disappearing even as it is shown, potentially lost the minute it ends. Of course, the advent of the VCR, DVD, and PVR has changed this relationship, allowing repeat viewings of individual series, episodes, and moments. So too have the online viewing platforms of (myriad incarnations of )the i-Player and YouTube services. In format, the latter encourages the breakdown and appraisal of television fictions into fragments ('Part 1 of 12', for example, and in the above two links to clips for this blog) or, in other words, into series of moments.
Yet as the world of social media expands, currently favoured forms of networking show signs of returning us to the 'live' broadcasts of TV drama, to an appreciation of sharing the viewing experience as a collective community. One good recent example comes from the widespread use of Twitter to discuss Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss's Sherlock episode 'The Hounds of Baskerville'. Thousands of tweets accompanied the programme during its UK broadcast on the evening of Sunday 8th January, 2012 commenting on its achievements and failings (as well as the 'hotness' of guest star Russell Tovey), as it unfolded. At one point in the episode, Sherlock (Benedict Cumberbatch) retreats to his 'mind-palace'; the programme-makers express this act of mental gymnastics as flutters of words and images superimposed on the screen, to be conjured with and wiped away by the detective's hands. As the scene aired, #minorityreport starting trending worldwide on Twitter, as viewers and tweeters recognised the similarity of visual techniques in Spielberg's film. This fact was then instantaneously picked up and propagated in other tweets, feeding the attention being given to one television moment, just at that moment.
There have been many television moments that have struck me, over the last twelve months, as compelling, extraordinary, haunting, or distinctive. All provoked both an instantaneous response and have lingered in the mind, all prompting me to consider what is 'at stake' in the individual moment, and in the individual television fiction. Some of the moments were explicitly designed within and by the TV drama to be appreciated, as high points of an episode or season. Others passed by more quietly or quickly, their expression of meaning - necessarily subtle in the unfolding of that sequence - appreciated through repeat viewing. One example to conclude with comes from In Treatment . Dealing with the intricacies and properties of psychiatric conversations between therapist and patient, the series is attuned to the potential significance of individual passing instances, thoughts, gestures, and words.
In its third (and final) season, In Treatment presents the beguilingly cryptic case of reluctant migrant Sunil (Irrfan Khan). During his weekly sessions with Dr. Paul Weston (Gabriel Byrne), Sunil's behaviour and phrasing hint at hostile lusty intentions towards his daughter-in-law. Across episodes, the series builds to the moment when Paul must confront Sunil, articulating his concerns. In 3: 9, the dramatically charged instant is met and made eerily complex by the unexpected nature of Sunil's reaction. He finds the idea hysterically funny, tittering and hiccoughing words in fits of giggles. The fact that this is the first time Sunil has demonstratively expressed emotion in any of his sessions heightens the atypical sense of this inappropriate response. That such an unnatural reaction comes out so naturally upsets the usual, formal, and cautiously watchful dynamic of the session. A moment of relaxed abandon causes Dr. Weston to recoil, uncharacteristically at a loss of what to say or do. His intuitive response is to withdraw, even at the point of revelation. The tensions of the instant play out on his face, as shock, concern, and the desire to reaffirm control slide together in a performance of professional composure suddenly and silently unsettled. In the world of the drama, the carefully negotiated roles of these two men's performances in front of one another, developed over weeks, have now become troublingly undefined. Sunil has not acted 'as expected' by therapist and viewer alike, and our gradually advanced understanding of the man is called into question. A few seconds of silence and mumbled words bring the session to a close without satisfactory reconciliation. The effects of Sunil's brief burst of laughter hang in the air and across subsequent episodes.
The intrinsically theatrical (or perhaps tele-visual) nature of the therapeutic set-up - two chairs, primed handkerchiefs, the tea-service - is in place to draw out hidden truths in a safely self-contained environment. However, Sunil's turn tips the balance, highlighting instead the risky fraudulence of such a circumscribed scenario. (This is particularly adroit when one considers the character's own veiled intentions and false enactments during his time with Paul.) Without recourse to point-making, this moment explores the relationship between artifice and reality in the filmed drama. In Treatment's handling of even the most minute emotional, physical and psychological adjustments of its characters, through exact, effortlessly achieved movements of camera, faces, and bodies, is without equal on current UK and US television. The moment, to In Treatment, can be simultaneously momentary and momentous, as a point in which information is contained, revealed, and absorbed in precise measures. Without appearing forced or contrived, the series' investment in and engagement with the processes of psychotherapy - in which a casual or accidental comment or gesture, caught and gone in an instant, may hold great significance - points up inherent expressive possibilities of the filmed medium. There is perhaps no better example on the small screen of 'the brief, temporary and transitory combining to create the whole'.
Steven Peacock is Senior Lecturer in Film at the University of Hertfordshire. He is the editor/author ofReading 24: TV against the Clock (2007), and the co-editor of The Television Series for Manchester University Press. He is also the author of Colour: Cinema Aesthetics (Manchester University Press, 2010) and Hollywood and Intimacy: Style, Moments, Magnificence (Palgrave Macmillan, 2011). He is currently writing Swedish Crime Fiction: Adaptations from Novel to Global Film and Television(Manchester University Press), and is co-editor with Jason Jacobs of the forthcoming collection Global Television: Aesthetics and Style (Continuum).
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Post a commentJames Walters
2012-01-25 09:32:36
I wonder if that strategic relating of moments across seasons you mention might be seen as a way of laying down patterns that in turn create the coherence and unity you rightly describe as being problematic in 'incomplete' TV dramas. Perhaps we don't need an ending for something to be complete. I thought I'd also mention Matt Hills' excellent article 'The dispersible television text: theorising moments of the new Doctor Who' in relation to all of this.
Steven Peacock
2012-01-22 16:11:04
Thanks for your comment, Paul. I'm struggling, though, with your claims that the moments you give as examples are 'truer' forms of television than those of TV drama (which you place as another form of film moment). Instances from, say, 'In Treatment' and 'Spooks' could easily be described as cinematic (for want of more precise and useful discriminations) but - as set out above - differ through the television series' relationship to time (and, in turn, structure)? This is not to close off the processes of critical appreciation and sustained scrutiny to other forms of television moments - the more examples and interpretations the better!
christine geraghty
2012-01-22 11:45:59
With regard to Sherlock and the tweeting around Minority Report, I suspect that in the process of getting to that insight a good deal more might have been missed. Mark Gatiss remarked recently on twitter users who were commenting in the moment on the final Sherlock episode. In response to exclamations that the plot was too complicated, he suggested that they could put down their phones and actually watch television.
Paul Tucker
2012-01-20 15:44:02
That's very interesting. However, I can't help but think that, in choosing only TV drama that you're just talking about another form of 'film moment'. Susan Boyle on Britain's Got Talent, The Stone Roses on The Late Show (available on Youtube) and, most recently, sex scenes from 'Shameless' back-of-shot of an stv Politics Show - I'd argue that they are true TV moments