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385 pages, Kindle Edition
Published November 7, 2023
I learned about this one from James Meek’s terrific review essay in the London Review of Books. Every now and then the LRB will run a review of a book that is superior to the book itself, and this is one of those instances. Anyone looking for a thoughtful meditation on peak TV ought to read Meek’s review; Biskind’s book itself is gossipy and lighter than air.
There’s no particularly developed argument to Biskind’s book; instead the reader is treated to a succession of anecdotes interspersed with catty quips. Illustrative of the quality of the latter, we are treated to this assessment of the DC Extended Universe:
…the only hive of superheroes that could conceivably challenge the MCU, is no treat, either: see 2016’s embarrassing Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Boredom (oops, that’s Justice) (270)
Wowza - zing!
The quality of the jokes aside, this book perhaps would have benefitted from more extensive fact-checking. At times, it is easy to infer the correction. For example we learn that “In October of 2012, Jeff Bezos surprised everyone by praising Netflix for its hit Squid Game. (241)” Squid Game came out in 2021, so it’s an easy error to spot, and to correct. Simple mistake. But a more substantial error occurs earlier in the book, as Biskind related the development of HBO’s memoryholed Vinyl from 2016:
The Wolf of Wall Street, written by Terry Winter, had been Scorsese’s biggest grosser, so the director called him in 2008 and asked if he’d be interested in helping him with Vinyl. (170)
The Wolf of Wall Street came out in 2013. So maybe this is just another example of a simple mistaken date. But in the following paragraph we learn: “But the stock market crashed in 2008, and it was not the time for a $100 million Scorsese movie.” (171) Wait - what? An odd assertion, given that The Wolf of Wall Street’s budget was - you guessed it - $100 million.
Much earlier on, we encounter perhaps the most egregious example of Biskind’s penchant for confused chronology. Discussing the prehistory of HBO’s Oz, we learn that writer Tom Fontana developed a show for NBC called The Philanthropist. After Iron Man was released, NBC wanted The Philanthropist to be more like the debut MCU film. So they fired Fontana from The Philanthropist, then rehired him later. The show, we learn, was never picked up because NBC decided to give Jay Leno a ten o’clock time slot instead (19). Apparently freed up to do something more creatively fulfilling, Fontana is contacted while shooting Homicide - HBO CEO Chris Albrecht is interested in Fontana’s show about life in prison, Oz (20).
What is trivially wrong in this telling is that Iron Man was released in 2008, a full five years after Oz was off the air. The entire anecdote about The Philanthropist - which aired eight episodes in the summer of 2009 - had to have taken place well after Oz’s development. The immediately following paragraph notes that Fontana was shooting Homicide when Oz began production. Is this just sloppy editing? Biskind would seem to be trying to shoehorn Fontana’s treatment by networks into the creation myth of HBO, but this particular story happened after the series finales not just of Oz, but of Sex and the City, The Sopranos, The Wire, Deadwood, The Shield, and after the premieres of Mad Men and Breaking Bad. Whatever it is Biskind is trying to relate here, it is chronologically out of place and, moreover, misleading.
There are other errors in the book I won’t detail, and I’m certain there are many more errors I didn’t catch (full disclosure, I have not watched more than a few minutes of most of these shows, and I did not watch any of them as they originally aired - I just have access to Wikipedia). The density of errors presumably is an artifact of the way the book was composed - there doesn’t appear to be much in the way of a central guiding thesis, and Biskind’s knowledge of the world appears to extend no further than Hollywood itself as an industry. But he does like interviewing disgruntled former employees and cast members! So the book takes the shape of a series of gossipy anecdotes that do not always appear to advance the book’s argument. Accordingly, I found it very difficult to follow the truly colossal number of “characters” in the book. Since the first names are typically dropped after the first mention, I found myself repeatedly making Google searches like “Albrecht HBO” or “Fuchs HBO” and so on.
Is this book a profound meditation on the cultural impact of “prestige TV”? No. Is it reliable a history of the emergence of prestige TV within the broader entertainment industry? Also no. Does it paint a vivid picture of the conflict between commerce and art? No, not really - Biskind doesn’t seem particularly committed to artistry, so much as he is interested in the whole milieu of money and gossip and awards and so on. We know The Sopranos is good because the critics and award shows say it is good; but what exactly makes The Shield “good”? And, for that matter, aside from the quantum leap in violence and graphic depictions of sex, what is it that makes prestige TV a quantum leap in quality over, say, The Simpsons or Seinfeld (or, for that matter, Homicide or Twin Peaks or an even more defiantly middle brow blockbuster like Law and Order)? (Meek makes this suggestion in his LRB review.)
Anyhow, this book was bad and you’ll save time reading James Meek’s LRB review instead. If you still have a hankering to read it after reading Meek’s piece, go for it - the only significant flaw of Meek’s otherwise admirable review is he does not give the full impression of just how bad the experience of opening Pandora’s Box truly is.
When a streamer known for originals remakes itself in the image of a studio or a network, it is indeed on its way to becoming a studio or network, producing studio and network content: bland, bloated, and inoffensive. All in all, there are too many streamers making too many shows, a lot of them of questionable quality, leaving consumers oversubscribed and underwhelmed.
These are the vigilantes and revenge figures whose appeal lies in doing the wrong thing, refusing to play by the rules because their bullshit detectors tell them the American Dream is a fraud, constructed by the powerful to benefit themselves.
the curse of eighties cinema. . . . was that the complex and complicated lead characters of the seventies were the characters that eighties cinema avoided completely. Complex characters aren't necessarily sympathetic. Interesting people aren't always likeable. But in the Hollywood of the eighties likeability was everything. A novel could have a low-down son of a bitch at its center, as long as that low-down son of a bitch was an interesting character.