A Feature Film Is Not the Equivalent of a Novel

The other day, I finished watching the second season of Sons of Anarchy, and I was yet again reminded of something, which I have often thought during the last decade (and in all honesty, other minds have presented the same idea or similar ones): the cinematic equivalent to a novel is not a feature-length film, but a TV-series. The aforementioned Sons of Anarchy is a clear example of this, as is the absolutely superb series The Wire. But how? And what do I mean when I write this? Perhaps even more importantly, what does this imply for the visual medium of moving pictures?

Relax. I will explain myself.

Let us first remember the distinction between series and serial (which I have discussed earlier) and remember the fact (as also mentioned) that the TV-series format has slowly moved from a more series structured thinking to a more serial structured one. As in most cases, there is not a sharp dividing line; there is room for series with some serial elements, to be sure. However, that is not to say that clearly distinguished specimens of both categories cannot be found without any problems. For all the shades of grey, there are still black and white on the spectrum too, and the distinctions are therefore useful both in b/w terms and on a shaded scale (where the shades can still be judged in the present ratio of either category in any given case).

Given that the format has moved in this direction, it is perhaps not strange that full-blown TV-"serials" (outside of the already existing mini-series format) have proven themselves successful. But how does this relate to my claim? A novel tends to use a different pacing than a feature film. It is (usually) divided into an unset number of chapters, a feature which shapes the narrative, both in practical terms of how readers tend to interact with the text (chapter breaks often being preferred points of pauses in the reading for many readers) and in terms of dramaturgy. By the latter, I mean that chapters as a general rule are structural devices on the writer's part to create narrative units of drama that in some sense almost hologrammatically* mirror the whole. At least on a general level. Chapters often have an internal build-up, not rarely ending with a cliffhanger of sorts, which drives the reading ever onwards.

Now, feature films clearly do not lack dramaturgy and they are often, dramaturgically speaking, divided into acts (which at least on some level can be compared to chapters; this being something of a simplification of a much more complex relation, of course). Nevertheless, feature films are relatively short and definitely meant for single sitting consumption. Novels can be, but certainly need not (and in more cases than not pushes the possibility for such consumption for most readers).

In a TV-series (or -"serial" if you will), each episode serves as a dramaturgically structured unit in a larger dramaturgical structure. That is to say, each episodes functions like a chapter in a novel. Now, a feature film cannot go on hours and hours and hours on end. And yes, I am aware that some films do, but they really raise the question as to how viewable they actually are, and if, in fact, they actually resort to a somewhat episodic structure anyway, and in some sense then mimic novel/TV-"serial" structure. Still, as a general rule films over the three-hour mark are fairly rare on the whole, and many if not most tend to find them rather bothersome to watch for obvious reasons. TV-"serials" on the other hand can easily go on for hours and hours and hours and... simply because they, unlike feature films, do not go on on end. They come with ready-made pauses, where we can catch our breaths and stop for a bit to digest what has been going on. As with a novel, we can read/view one chapter/episode at a time, or as many as we happen to have time for at any given time.

Even more importantly, this less temporally compact structure allows for slower pacing, additional subplots and greater complexities on the whole. I have discussed adaptation in here before, and this certainly has bearing on it. The medium of film has always enjoyed adapting literature, but it is worthwhile noting that slimmer novels, novellas or even short fiction often make for better films. Or at least better adaptations. Simply because the ratio between story content/plot and narrative length is more even and requires less chopping off, cutting or slimming down. Naturally the line is neither singular nor sharp, at least not in terms of page count vs. playing time. After all, a thick tome spending most of its pages on visual descriptions which a camera can capture with a single image stands a much better chance of remaining intact and on time than an equally thick tome where the bulk of the pages is spent to delineate and develop a heavily complex intrigue.

Differently put, TV-"serials" not only have more time in which to tell the story, more space in which to include more story content, but also the opportunity to pace the storytelling differently, to allow for more characters and character voices to be heard, to be (in some sense at least) in focus. There is time and room for a narrative to breathe, to develop over time, and to consequently (at least potentially) hit you even harder with its moments of emotional impact.

There is no doubt in my mind that Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons' Watchmen would have made a much better TV-"serial" than a feature film. I have my reservations towards certain things in the film adaptation (some of which I may well discuss in here at some point), but my main complaint is still that even the good bits did not get time enough to breathe, were not allowed to develop and expand, but rather ended up feeling rushed (and consequently less than satisfactory). Consider the time Rorschach spends with the shrink and the slow revelation that one issue (or chapter, if you will) builds up towards, its heavy impact, and compare to the swift rush job of the film. In a TV-"serial" that would easily have been an episode in its own right. And a mighty fine one at that, if we would have had Jackie Earl Haley still doing the role.

As I write this, I have not yet had a chance to watch the TV-"serial" adaptation of George R. R. Martin's A Game of Thrones (I have watched and enjoyed the 15 minutes preview available on the HBO website), but it certainly looks promising. And it bodes well, if we are seeing the beginning of a trend that will see more adaptations from novels into moving pictures that are not feature films but TV-"serials".


* Holograms are among other things known for the fact that each piece contains the whole.

Series and Serial: Some Useful Terminology

In my February post "Epic Proportions or Losing Sight of the Scales", I said that I would return to the terms "series" and "serial", and I think it is high time for that discussion now.

I first encountered these distinguishing terms (as such) during my second semester of film studies, almost a decade ago, and I immediately fell in love with their usefulness. It was in a course on television and the discussion was about a shift in the nature of regular sitcoms and crime shows. Traditionally, these types of shows had been series proper, as it were. What I mean by that, or perhaps more adequately what I was taught that term could be used to distinguish, is a collection of stories involving the same character/s and (mostly) the same basic setting, as well. I use the word "collection" here to avoid the word "sequence"; because "sequence" implies a strict chronological order and a (pardon the repetition) sequence of events. A series requires neither.

Don't get me wrong, a series can include some of these elements and some may well have been present already in earlier sitcoms and crime shows (boundaries between different things like these are rarely, if ever, watertight), but the definition itself does not require it. In fact, one of the charms of most series (be they on television, in the cinema or in the worlds of literature and comics) is that you can start anywhere in the collection and then move on to whichever part you happen to fancy next. This is all because the notion of a series – at least in its purest form – also involves an inherent need to maintain a status quo. The illusion of change is promoted over any sense of actual change and characters are not really developing; they are what they are.

The reason for this is, at least partly, that we should easily be able to recognise these characters and never be confused about where they are in their lives or what has happened to them. Each episode or part of the series tells a separate story using the same recognisable characters, and while the stories should in some sense be character-based (or, at the very least, the characters should be made for the specific types of plots the series are telling), they should not be telling an ongoing character story. Because in the strictest sense, a series is not about character development at all. If you want to understand it better, consider TV shows like M*A*S*H or Kojak, or a film series like James Bond. These examples are not really building a sequence of event, nor (generally speaking) do they change much in the character set up.

A serial, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. Its entire purpose is to build a chronological sequence of events (although not necessarily narrated in chronological order, I hasten to add), to create a continuing sequence in which a sense of cause and effect is almost inherent. Needless to say (perhaps), this approach welcomes character development. It is by no means an altogether necessary component (one could have a serial in which ongoing plot development is the key), such development would work well and thrive in this type of framework.

Returning to the discussion of my film class, the argument was that while regular sitcoms and crime shows (like M*A*S*H and Kojak) in their very nature had been series, by the 90s these types of shows started to include more and more elements of serialisation. Friends would be a clear example of a sitcom which did this (it was one that was brought up in our class discussion at the time). Interestingly enough, that particular example also showcases very well why television makers wanted these elements included: it was done to add a sense of ongoing drama.

As a result, (more or less) every episode of Friends (to stick with our example) is viewable on its own terms. Every episode tells its own little funny story (or set of storylines, as it usually is) and is a narrative capsule unto itself – in true series fashion. Yet most episodes also include references and sometimes even sub-plots that build up a bigger story (or perhaps even bigger stories) throughout the show's many seasons. While staying true to the encapsulated narrative formula on one level (always given the viewer a full story, as it were), this show and others like it also gave those viewers who followed them something extra – the added dimension of dramatic continuation and development.

The approach was clearly a success, and when handled well, it is very enjoyable. However, today the pendulum has, in many cases, swung very far indeed towards total serialisation. Don't get me wrong, serialisation is not a thing of evil... but let's just say that I am not quite so sure about ongoing serialisation or (for want of a better word) "everlasting" serialisation.

So what do I mean by this new distinction? Well, consider these examples: Tolkien wrote The Lord of the Rings as a single novel which was then subsequently serialised by his publisher as three books (later giving rise to an ever-expanding wave of serialised writing within the fantasy genre); BBC's (classic) Doctor Who was made as serialised story arcs (in fact, this show could be described as a series of serials, where each serial is more or less functioning as an episode of a series, whereas each episode within an arc is 100% serial in nature – down to cliffhanger endings, etc); Mike W. Barr and Brian Bolland wrote and drew the 12 issues limited maxi series (yes, I know that the term series might seem confusing in this particular context) Camelot 3000, just as the team of Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons gave us their 12 issues limited maxi series Watchmen around the same time. All of these four cases are clearly serials (all of them represent serialised publication or airing), but they are also limited.

A series can be ongoing, perhaps even "everlasting" (and yes, I am fully aware of the inherent hyperbole here), but it allows readers or viewers to leave with a full story (or several for that matter) finished. The serial, however, strictly speaking gives us one story. Yet again, don't get me wrong. I am neither stupid nor naive enough to think that serials cannot include some sub-plots or contain smaller stories within the story (some of which may well be finished before the main story is), but these stories are never the main event. There is a difference between a set of stories (all enjoyable separately) which adds up to a grand epic history when viewed or read together and an ongoing story which includes smaller stories and sub-plots along the way. The difference (at least in my view) lies in the fact that main story in the latter always is the overall story, the ongoing narrative event; whereas in the former, the main story is (always and ever) the story at hand, or the little story, if you will. And that difference is huge.

Because of this difference, a serial more or less needs to be limited. Although the act of serialisation itself necessitates some sense of ongoing storytelling, it cannot be "everlasting". Without a limitation, the story never ends. And while it could be argued that, in life, no story ever truly ends, there is a strong difference between an open-ended narrative and one that is never brought to its conclusion. The latter (to me) suggests to me either laziness on the part of the storyteller or a great fear of losing the audience. So, in the case of "everlasting" serialisation, we are either to accept being treated with laziness (perhaps even indifference) or to be taken hostages (figuratively speaking) by the storyteller/s – without any knowledge of when we will reach the end... or in some cases even if.

Epic Proportions or Losing Sight of the Scales

Recently having finished watching the fourth season of (the new) Doctor Who, I was reminded of a tendency in a lot of contemporary fiction (be it in literature, comics or film) to aim for a "bigger" sense of storytelling — epic storytelling, if you will. Now, I would like to say that I am a fan of the epic; both in its original (and also academic) sense of "narrative" and its more popular sense of "grandiose storytelling". That having been said, however, I would say that I am not a fan of this tendency.

Once more, don't get me wrong. When successful grandiose storytelling occurs, I love it. But there seems to be a mistaken sense of proportion afoot in the field. Because the tendency reveals that that aim for the grandiose and epic more often than not ends up in something smaller.

What am I talking about? I am talking about the tendency in fantasy to write never-ending stories — serials, really — or the tendency in superhero comics to write huge crossover events. One could also mention the move in television, where Doctor Who undeniably fits in, from series to serial (two terms which I will return to in an upcoming post); not always in the purest sense, but more or less.

So, what is the problem then? Quite simply put, size (as so many things) turns out to be relative on many levels. For instance, one of my favourite fantasy writers is Michael Moorcock. His concept of the Multiverse and the many incarnations of the Eternal Champion inhabiting these many realities provide true grandeur to Moorcock's fiction. There is a sense of nigh endlessness in the cosmic scale of things, but at the same time that scale is most often in the background (the weave that binds everything together) whereas the stories equally often are short (or at the very least not overly long). Compare this to all the Jordans, Goodkinds and Martins who never seem to want to finish that one story in pursuit of the grandiose. Tolkien, who somehow is as grandiose in his storytelling as they get, remains more or less unequalled by his imitators; and quite frankly, adding more and more pages simply doesn't seem to be the way to beat his grandeur.

Grandeur is perhaps best felt in that Moorcockian moment of several tales interconnecting, revealing the "world" (as it were) on a large scale – too large, perchance, to be encompassed in a single story.

The same can be said about the event craze of contemporary superhero comics. In the olden days (if you'll pardon the expression), the Marvel universe, for instance, was a big place and there was a lot of big things happening in any given year; alien invasions, evil genii attempting world domination, and life and death situations (all side by side with the smaller street scale adventures of other heroes). All of this worked well, until the notion of telling crossover stories started to spread like wildfire.

Now, there is nothing inherently wrong with crossovers every now and again (or guest appearances), but when at least six months every year seem to be ruled by an Event taking place, first and foremost, in a limited series, which then in crossover fashion involves more or less every single title from the company in this grandiose saga or Event, the world or universe doesn't get bigger; it gets smaller.

How do I mean? Well, before we had a multitude of events in a year, now we more or less have one. It sure brings just about every hero into the story, true. But that only makes the universes these heroes inhabit smaller; simply because less happens.

So, what does this have to do with Doctor Who? And am I saying I didn't like the fourth season?

Let me answer the second question first: I loved the fourth season of Doctor Who. It does, I think, balance its components and its sense of grandeur fairly well. I brought it up, partly because it manages this, but also because I could see the tendency at work towards the end. Comparing it to the old classic Doctor Who shows (which ironically were serials proper, of course), I was struck by the fact that the entire Eccleston and Tennant runs leave fairly little time for extracurricular adventures. In short, in many ways, what we see is what we get. Nothing more, nothing less... but yet again, nothing more!

We seem to want more and more interconnectedness in our storytelling, quite simply put, but it also seems as if many of the people telling us stories misses the point that interconnectedness neither equates a single ongoing story or tying every story together with all the others. Often true grandeur lies in a grander weave of tales — tales in the plural — which interconnect with each other both through the slightest of touch points here and there, and more direct links.