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May 05, 2003
Sorkin a casualty of prime-time ratings warfare
By JOHN DOYLE
Globe and Mail
Monday, May 5, 2003 - Page R2
News of the departure of Aaron Sorkin from The West Wing got a lot of attention last week, mainly because the show really matters to media people. The coverage tended to concentrate on declining ratings and rumours of budget problems, and the speculation was that these were the main reasons for Sorkin's decision to quit.
Those aren't the reasons. Sorkin is a victim of the system, a casualty in the increasingly strange jungle warfare of the prime-time TV ratings game and, in a way, he's collateral damage in the American war on terrorism and against Iraq.
First, however, Sorkin's departure compels us to look at how series television is being made these days for the American networks. As the creator, main writer and keeper of the creative light, Sorkin was burned by a brutal system that works against enduring artistry.
Dramas and comedies made for the big broadcast networks are created in an extraordinary environment right now.
It is an environment in which a network executive can blithely admit that the people who run the networks are addicted to the crack cocaine-style ratings boost that results from one lurid, gimmicky reality-TV series.
It's also an environment in which the entertainment offered by broadcast networks is being outclassed by shows made for HBO and other pay-cable companies. The Sopranos, The Wire, Six Feet Under, The Shield and Monk are shows that have startled viewers by being so clearly aimed at adults. These shows have an often-merciless clarity about the contemporary United States.
They present a challenge to the over-the-air networks, but the networks cannot rise to the challenge. Network TV itself, so dependent on advertisers and using the fossilized creative procedures that quench invention and originality, makes it outright impossible to suddenly raise the standards. It's the economics of the system but it's also indecision and it is fear.
In this TV world, fraught with doubts about change and full of shameless addiction to sameness, Sorkin's core creative assets make him an alien force. Those assets are: an ear for the rhythm of talk, a gift for writing intricate dialogue and devotion to an often solemn, Democratic Party view of the United States.
In the past year, the intricacies of The West Wing drama (so smoothly directed by Thomas Schlamme, who also departs along with Sorkin) began to look highly complex when compared with the moronic talk and activities on Joe Millionaire, The Bachelor and The Bachelorette. A show that often seemed smart suddenly looked enormously complex. Next, American politics shifted seismically. Sorkin has always said that the White House on The West Wing existed in a universe parallel to the real White House. After Sept. 11 and under an inflexible George W. Bush administration, the fictional Democratic administration of Josiah Bartlet on TV looked less like a parallel world and more absurdly out of synch with the overpoweringly raw reality.
The problem of connecting the fictional drama on The West Wing to the all-too-authentic real drama of the current Bush White House might have been dealt with eventually by Sorkin, but I suspect that after writing the majority of the scripts for four seasons, he was simply tired of the pressure. American network TV is about endurance -- keeping the show going for as long as possible, even after its relevance and value have long since diminished.
The voodoo economics of TV production mean that every last episode has to be squeezed out. But for a creative writer like Sorkin, the solace of endurance is clearly not enough. The problem of enduring with any integrity and spark is not just a problem for Sorkin and The West Wing. It is evident in so many long-running TV series. It is glaringly obvious in the case of the traditional sitcom.
Everybody Loves Raymond (CBS, Global 9 p.m.) was available for review in advance this week because it is Sweeps period. Naturally, at this time of the year, even long-established, hit sitcoms try to do something special.
Tonight's Raymond episode is built around one joke. Robert asks Ray if he can borrow a suitcase. Ray tells him that he and Debra recently went on a weekend trip and since then, they have been locked in a strange, absurd battle of wills over who is responsible for putting the suitcase away. Robert thinks Ray and Debra are being idiotic, but Ray's parents Frank and Marie relate to the petty battle of wills and offer their advice.
Things work out in the end, of course. Ray backs down, to some extent, and says to Debra, "I'm sorry things got so nuts."
At that point you can hear the studio audience sigh with audible pleasure. Some people might gag at the obviousness of it all and at the tired jokes that are dusted off and paraded out for the audience. But Everybody Loves Raymond is merely adhering to the standard American network format. It is precision-made predictable. The show doesn't have to change much in order to survive. It just keeps chugging along with hoary old marriage and in-law jokes.
Everybody Loves Raymond is a nice, sweet show.
It's what attracts some people to work in television. But it also represents a system that drives others away from it.
And I suspect that one of those people driven away by the system is Aaron Sorkin.
Posted by Jo at May 5, 2003 04:18 PM