When I wrote a review for Reaper a few months ago, I started with a polemic on the current line-up of horrible television. Programming appears to be divided into three categories: reality, doctors and cops. And while reality will most likely persist for the rest of my lifetime like genital warts, the other two categories are mercifully winding down.
Now that TV characters don’t jump shark tanks on motor cycles, how do I know when a series is all but over? A musical episode is a very good clue. And so is a live episode. And if it’s a live musical episode, then the series isn’t just ending, but the actors will be shot on the backlot after the broadcast.
Musical episodes are the equivalent to rock bands recording an album with a symphony orchestra: the creative period is over; now we laugh at follow-up efforts until merciful retirement. And like the occasional reunion tour, the show gets one shot at a direct-to-DVD movie. All of this will be recapped in the E! True Hollywood Story.
So why do a musical episode? If I knew what television producers were thinking, it would mean my life has descended to the bottom-feeding level of Hell where paparazzi call to upgrade your phone service. So, I can only guess why, but I’m pretty sure that, at some level, I’m right on the money.
Other than a clips episode, the musical episode is the easiest to write. Instead of using a narrative plot to speed the series to a rapid finish, the writers team up with some Broadway flunkie to create a fan service. It answers one sole question: can my favorite TV vampire sing? At the end of the episode, the overarching storyline has been left untouched, except for a dance-numbered monologue in which Dr. John Dorian figures out whether or not he’s a good doctor.
Really, that’s the problem with all musicals. The rule for “good” musicals is that the characters launch into song when the emotion of the scene can no longer be expressed with words. So instead of hitting someone like we do in the real world, they retreat into a self-directed song and dance about their feelings. In short, musicals are like emo kids: instead of responding quickly and meaningfully to a situation, they hold onto it for years, pretending to strike back with horrible rhyming poetry.
Musical episodes are indicative of a show’s imminent end because of the combined factors of its uselessness (see previous paragraphs) and that it’s an audition. Think about it: whenever an actor has been typecast, where do they look for work? Broadway, or Disney/Pixar voiceover work.
Live episodes work along the same audition theory. Because shows frequently show outtakes of flubbed lines during the credits, people believe that television work is the easiest form of acting. If you’re a stand-up comedian, you get multiple takes to perfect a punchline someone else wrote for your character with the same first name.
Speaking of which: do they give stand-up leading men the same first name because they can’t remember their cues? My guess is yes, and transcripts from the original pilots look like when Homer Simpson entered the Witness Relocation Program.
Everybody Loves Ernie, Original Pilot Transcript (9/1/1995)
DEBRA [Patricia Heaton]: Ernie, are you paying attention to me? I’m mad because you went golfing and your mother insulted my cooking.
Oh, for [deleted]’s sake. Ray!
ERNIE [Ray Romano]: What? Was that my line?
DIRECTOR: Cut! [Deleted]! Hey, Phil [Rosenthal, writer]! Change the character’s name to Ray! This is the third [deleted]ing day of filming and we still don’t have anything for the [deleted]ing network.
There is a flipside to live episodes, though. Actors with the giggles (see: Jimmy Fallon) are exposed as hacks. The real question is whether live episodes are last ditch stunts signaling the end of a show, or if live episodes kill shows by proving that the actors are really horrible.
The good news, though, is that a lot of bad shows are embracing these motifs.
Nip/Tuck has announced a live episode, which means a lot of M*A*S*H type banter over bloodied dummies, only about ex-wives and Botox. No word on who will lose a penis, yet.
House is considering a musical episode. Which is weird, because I didn’t think there was enough room for two angry, singing doctors since Scrubs’s final season opener. Arivadarci, House. Twenty bucks says that House discovers a rare disease that causes everyone to sing, but he will have to exploit his bad leg to get everyone to agree to be treated.
The unfortunate news is that not everyone has gotten on board yet.
Law and Order can only draw so many more stories from the headlines. Seriously, where do you go with a series after an SVU episode about neo-Nazi rape? Why, to Richard Belzer singing about dead babies. Ice-T can segue into a rap about cops being targeted for gun violence. Let’s end these depressing series on a high note (ha!), for once.
If there’s one show that needs a live episode, it’s Desperate Housewives. Imagine all the pseudo MILF porn lines, but delivered without interruption. It’ll sound like the actual web sites that the show’s writers clean up for the script. It’ll also be interesting to see Teri Hatcher ignore the other cast members “accidentally” calling her Michael Jackson.
So be on the lookout for these signs that relief from the two of the big three TV categories. Other signs to look out for are very special cancer, marriage and pregnancy/baby; however, these are no longer guaranteed since many series now start with these premises. (Yet another writing device to replace actual character development.)
Look, before we get into it, let’s just say we like The Onion. We think it’s adorable that they make up news to joke about. Very creative, boys.
As part of this summer’s blockbuster movie fest, Sex and the City promises to be a rollicking good time for the entire family. In fact, 
Somewhere, a filmmaker is already writing a screenplay about this child speaking in a British accent, ending World War II and rescuing their parents by saving the land of the living teddy bears.