Dramatists -- whether they write screenplays or plays or novels or, in this instance, teleplays -- have a responsibility to their audience and to their creations.
Take, for example, the final episode of the television series THE SOPRANOS. I didn't watch the whole show but I did see the ending where the family sits munching on onion rings and absolutely nothing happens.
It's just plain wrong. Viewers were cheated. The series itself was cheated. Tony Soprano, the protagonist, was cheated.
Why? Because there are certain elements to a drama that make it a drama. These elements aren't there because Aristotle or some literary theorist said they should be. These elements are there because they please the audience -- the listeners, the viewers, the readers -- and have pleased us for thousands of years. Drama is created for us, and when it fails to satisfy us, it fails, period.
So what satisfies us?
Let's talk plot. There are two levels to it: the external plot, which consists of actions the protagonist and others in the story take, and the internal plot, which consists of the protagonist's emotional crisis and inner growth as a result of those external actions. The two should dovetail nicely.
THE SOPRANOS had a lot of external action. I didn't follow the show closely this season, so I can't comment on what specific choreography might have produced a satisfying ending. But I remember, most vividly, the internal conflict: Tony's guilt about being a murderer and criminal was eating him alive. He was afraid it was going to destroy his family -- so afraid, and so tormented, that he went to see a psychiatrist, the one thing a mobster never does.
That was the raison d’etre of the entire series. The purpose of all the physical action was to highlight this internal conflict, and to push Tony closer and closer to the moment of resolution: Get out of the business and put your loved ones’ lives at risk, Ton, or stay in the business and see your soul and sanity destroyed, your family shattered, your children tainted. First kill this friend, then the other: How does that feel, Ton? Still want to stay in the business, buddy? Still feeling sane? The bodies kept mounting, and so did the tension.
A good novel, a good movie, a good television episode and, in the long run, a good television series use the outward action to gradually escalate the inward conflict until the protagonist reaches the breaking point -- and is forced to make that critical decision. Then comes the resolution, when we get to find out whether the protagonist survives his choice and its aftermath.
A talking head on MSNBC said the other day, "David Chase is never going to do what anyone expects him to. That's why he didn't give the viewers what they expected."
Do what the viewers expect? Yes. And no.
David Chase signed on to write a drama. Once you start the ball of conflict rolling, you’ve entered into a tacit agreement with your audience. You can’t then just walk away from that ball without breaking that pact. Yes, Chase needs to give his audience the essence of what a drama requires -- that is, a decision by Tony Soprano which leads to resolution of the internal conflict, preferably by external action. But no, don’t give us that external action the way we expect it – instead, serve it up in a completely new, surprising way. Give us a twist. Avoid the obvious. That's what's hard to do, but exhilarates and satisfies an audience, and best fulfills the promise of a story.
Tony deserved to reach that critical make-or-break moment. Many years of a fine drama, well-told, deserved to see a satisfying conclusion; so did its faithful viewers. It's what we all hungered for. Lord knows, I wasn't in the mood for onion rings.
