The Netflix Effect: Impacts of the Streaming Model on Television Storytelling

Wesleyan University The Honors College

The Netflix Effect: Impacts of the Streaming Model on

Television Storytelling

Romil Sharma

Class of 2016

A thesis submitted to the

faculty of Wesleyan University

in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the

Degree of Bachelor of Arts

with Departmental Honors from the College of Film and the Moving

Image

Middletown, Connecticut April, 2016

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ………………………………………………….............…...... iii

INTRODUCTION: NOW STREAMING ...................................................................... 1

1. THE TRAJECTORY OF TELEVISION................................................................... 8

VIEWER CHOICE ...................................................................................................... 8

DISTRIBUTION ........................................................................................................ 15

AUDIENCE FRAGMENTATION .................................................................................. 22

CREATIVE FREEDOM .............................................................................................. 26

SURVEILLANCE AND ANALYTICS ............................................................................. 33

GLOBAL REACH ..................................................................................................... 37

2. THE AESTHETIC TOOLBOX OF NETFLIX ........................................................ 43

EPISODE ONE ....................................................................................................... 46

SEASON STRUCTURE ............................................................................................. 57

GLOBAL STORYTELLING ......................................................................................... 68

COMPLEX COMEDY ................................................................................................ 72

AUTHORSHIP AND CREATIVE CONTROL .................................................................. 81

CASE-STUDY ANALYSIS: SENSE8

3. SENSE8 AND SEASON-LEVEL STORYTELLING ............................................ 88

ACT STRUCTURE AND SEASON-LEVEL PLOTTING .................................................... 91

NARRATIVE ACCUMULATION AND VIEWER COMPREHENSION ................................. 121

4. SENSE8 AND EPISODE-LEVEL STORYTELLING ......................................... 142

CONTRASTS ........................................................................................................ 145

PARALLELS ......................................................................................................... 151

SENSATE CONNECTIONS ..................................................................................... 157

MOMENTS ........................................................................................................... 165

CONVENTIONS ..................................................................................................... 180

CONCLUSION: TV, DISRUPTED .......................................................................... 187

SELECTED FILMOGRAPHY AND BIBLIOGRAPHY ........................................... 196

iii

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Above all, thank you to my advisor Scott Higgins for helping me whittle down

my grandiose musings on the television industry into a project that I could

sink my teeth into. Your feedback and support have been invaluable

throughout this process.

Thank you to Jeanine Basinger, Steve Collins, Lisa Dombrowski, Tony Scott,

Catherine Licata, Marc Longenecker, Lea Carlson, and the entire

Wesleyan Film Studies Department.

A special thanks to Marc Longenecker and Betsy Traube for helping shape

the way I think about television storytelling.

Thank you to my parents for conceiving me and for supporting me

during this process, even if you couldn’t fathom why

I would willingly put myself through it.

Thanks to Ayesha for keeping me humble and

being my feminist voice of reason.

Thanks to Ramos, Ron, and Rowland

for your company in the struggle.

Introduction.

Now Streaming

Television is a relationship. It asks for our time, commitment, and trust

and, in return, provides certain pleasures and payoffs through its storytelling.

In many ways, this relationship is one-sided. The control largely remains in

the hands of the viewer, and the show alone carries the burden of

satisfaction. The affair begins, as many do, with a courtship. Perhaps, we

meet online or through a friend’s recommendation. As the show makes its

case for why it merits our attention, we flirt with the idea of settling down. A

high-maintenance series may require more attention on the part of the viewer,

asking that we tune in each week to remain involved. Others might take a

more laid-back approach, allowing us to occasionally drop in at our leisure.

We expect a show to know what it wants out of this relationship and to follow

through on those intentions. After setting up certain expectations, the show

risks disappointing us if they are left unmet. Some missteps may be forgiven

in light of the greater benefits, but others could be deal-breakers.

Enter: Netflix. The streaming service releases entire seasons of its

shows all at once, a strategy that arguably encourages creators to reconsider

or reallocate emphasis within this viewing relationship. If a show fails to woo

us on episode one, the next episode is a mere 15 seconds away from

starting. Why not give it the benefit of the doubt? Without a week in between

each installment, the Netflix model potentially extends the courtship period.

With each episode right at our fingertips, a relationship with a series that

requires consistent viewing no longer seems so high-maintenance. At the

same time, the level of access that comes with the streaming catalog

suggests that if this series disappoints us, moving on could prove to be

simpler than it once was.

These relationships hardly exist in a vacuum. Rather, they are subject

to external forces that guide the mass medium. Technological and industrial

shifts have continually modified the ways in which series are produced and

delivered since the birth of television. In turn, these changes have impacted

how creators tell stories and how viewers receive them. Recently, the rise of

streaming has been a prominent development in the television landscape.

Streaming technology has been around for some time, but the inciting force

that disrupted the status quo arose through industry rather than technology. A

key player came to the fore and realigned the way that people think about

television.

On February 1, 2013, Netflix premiered the political drama House of

Cards (Willimon, 2013-present) as its first exclusive original series, signaling

a watershed moment in the growth of streaming television. By no stretch was

Netflix the first service to stream original content. Instead, with House of

Cards, it ruptured the barrier between web television and traditional television.

Within the context of this project, the term “traditional television” refers to

linear platforms and particularly their scripted programming. Broadcast

networks, basic cable channels, and premium cable networks are all linear

platforms, meaning that their shows are distributed, often weekly, through

time slots on a live schedule. House of Cards, through its high production

values and a narrative format that resembles a traditional drama series,

paved the way for Netflix to earn a seat at the television table. At the 2013

Primetime Emmy Awards, Netflix became the first web television service to be

nominated in a major category, garnering 14 nominations and three wins.

After the nominations were announced, Netflix’s chief content officer Ted

Sarandos acknowledged this mark of legitimacy from the industry, praising

Emmy voters for “eliminating the line between Internet and television and

saying that television is about what’s on the screen, not what size the screen

is or how the content got there.”

This emphatic step into original

programming by Netflix established its role as the preeminent streaming

platform.

Well before the release of House of Cards, Netflix has kept an eye on

the horizon of content distribution. It was founded in 1997 as an online DVD

rental service, at a time when DVDs were still a new format. In 1999, the

company adopted a subscription model, allowing viewers to pay a single

monthly rate for unlimited rentals. Netflix began streaming licensed content in

2007, a move that the New York Times called “a radically different approach

to Internet movies.”

In a premature step to devote attention to its streaming

business, Netflix CEO Reed Hastings announced in 2011 that its DVD-by-

mail service would be spun off into a separate company called Qwikster.

Marisa Guthrie and Lacey Rose, “Networks Scramble to Boost Live Programming as DVRs Shift

Audiences,” The Hollywood Reporter, February 22, 2013, http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/live-

feed/emmys-14-nominations-netflix-earns-634244.

David Pogue, “A Stream of Movies, Sort of Free,” The New York Times, January 25, 2007,

http://nyti.ms/20j6nL2.

Following an outcry from subscribers and a 60% drop in the company’s stock

price, Hastings reversed his decision.

This rare but serious misstep reflected

the company’s desire early on to reorient around streaming for its core

business.

In recent years, the streaming service has drifted away from studio

output deals and non-exclusive content, placing emphasis instead on

originals and exclusive titles. In 2011, Netflix bought the exclusive North

America distribution rights for the Norwegian series Lilyhammer (Bjørnstad

and Skodvin, 2012-2014). The series’ release in February 2012 predates that

of House of Cards, but this project does not study it as a Netflix original series

because it was commissioned in partnership with another broadcaster. Since

then, the company has added a staggering 111 original titles, including

scripted series, children’s programming, documentaries, stand-up specials,

and original films.

This represents an average growth rate in original

programming of 185.41% per year since 2012.

Meanwhile, the size of

Netflix’s overall catalog has shrunk by 31.7% since January 2014.

The main

reason that the service is carrying fewer titles stems from its desire for

exclusive content. In the face of rising licensing costs and growing

competition, the company has shifted its spending away from non-exclusive

Stu Woo, “Under Fire, Netflix Rewinds DVD Plan,” The Wall Street Journal, October 11, 2011,

http://on.wsj.com/oLncsK.

Stephen Lovely, “Netflix’s Original Content Library Is Growing by 185% Each Year,”

Cordcutting.com, March 30, 2016, http://cordcutting.com/netflixs-original-content-library-is-growing-

by-185-each-year/.

Ibid.

Nathan McAlone, “Netflix’s US Catalog Has 32% Fewer Titles Than It Did in 2014 – Here’s Why,”

Business Insider, March 25, 2016, http://www.businessinsider.com/netflixs-us-catalog-has-2500-

fewer-titles-than-in-2014-2016-3.

licensing deals, whereby other distributors might carry the same content. It

has opted instead to pay more money in exchange for exclusivity, both

through original programming and global licensing. Variety reported, “Netflix

recently reorganized its content-acquisition group to be fully global, rather

than having teams focused on individual territories…In negotiations with

studios, Netflix is asking for global rights ‘or we’re not interested at all.’”

This

emphasis on global exclusivity and original programming suggests that the

service is positioning itself to compete within the ever-expanding ecosystem

of online streaming.

There are currently over 100 online video services based in the United

States alone.

At least 40% of these streaming services have launched in the

past two years. As with what happened during the boom of basic cable, the

growing pool of players has begun to fracture into various niche options. For

instance, CuriosityStream is a subscription-based service that streams

science and history documentaries, while another service Dramafever

specializes in Korean films and series. As the choices proliferate, each

service feels the need to define itself amidst the cornucopia of streaming.

Given its 75 million global subscribers and unparalleled pace of original

content output, Netflix remains far and away the leading streaming service.

Rather than target a specific niche demographic, the company has aimed to

create a mass-market service to assert its hegemony. Hastings announced in

Todd Spangler, “Ted Sarandos: Netflix Appetite for Originals Growing Stronger,” Variety, May 13,

2015, http://variety.com/2015/digital/news/netflix-ted-sarandos-original-series-1201494618/.

Meg James and Yvonne Villarreal, “Cord Cutters Face a Sea of Streaming Options,” Los Angeles

Times, January 1, 2016, http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/envelope/cotown/la-et-01013-ct-ott-

mania-20151229-story.html.

January 2016 that the service would be instantaneously launching in 130 new

countries, bringing its overall reach to 190 countries. In 2016, Netflix intends

to release 600 hours of original programming, compared to 450 hours in

2015.

Due to its immense capacity to spend on and commit to programming,

Netflix is able to compete with traditional television networks in a way that

other streaming services cannot. By closely examining Netflix and its role

within the television medium, we can gain valuable insight into the

relationship between streaming and storytelling.

This thesis studies the impacts of the Netflix streaming model on

creative decision-making. The Netflix model refers to the unique manner in

which the streaming service commissions and distributes original

programming—particularly, its scripted comedy and drama series. In order to

contextualize the discussion, we begin by locating the platform within the

historical trajectory of the medium. After demonstrating Netflix’s relationship

to television as we know it, we deconstruct the aesthetic toolbox that it offers

to creators, laying out the storytelling tools that the platform encourages or

enables. Finally, a case-study analysis of the Netflix original series Sense8

(The Wachowskis and Straczynski, 2015-present) illuminates some of the

formal decisions facilitated by the model. Due to its willingness to experiment

with televisual narrative form and style, Sense8 offers an excellent example of

the unconventional storytelling choices that the Netflix model emboldens

creators to make. I argue that the shift from a weekly release schedule to an

Todd Spangler, “Netflix’s Sarandos: ‘We Get Shock-and-Awe Viewing’ for Big-Budget Originals,”

Variety, January 19, 2016, http://variety.com/2016/digital/news/netflixs-sarandos-we-get-shock-and-

awe-viewing-for-big-budget-originals-1201683347/.

all-at-once release encourages creators to reassess the traditional notions of

what a season is, what an episode is, and what it means to tell a story

televisually.

Even before Netflix was a platform for original series, it was already

changing the ways that viewers access, control, and watch television. Once

just a distributor of television, it has now itself become television, offering

creators a new playground upon which to experiment. In conducting these

experiments, creators both reaffirm and redefine televisuality and the viewing

relationship. Netflix has not fundamentally altered the face of television, but it

has certainly expanded its definition, and its series have elaborated on the

aesthetics of the medium. The service has simultaneously embraced

television and posed itself as an alternative. By releasing its series all at once,

Netflix drew a distinction from the weekly model, which had hitherto defined

the viewing experience. Ushering in a new world order of television delivery, it

announced the release of House of Cards with two simple words: Now

streaming.

CHAPTER 1

THE TRAJECTORY OF TELEVISION

Over the course of American television history, shifts in technology and

the media market structure have resulted in corresponding changes in the

ways that people view and create scripted series. Just in the past thirty years,

the industry has undergone several shifts, whose effects have manifested

onscreen. From the rise of basic cable in the 1980s to the increased

prominence of premium cable in the 1990s to the popularization of the digital

video recorder (DVR) in the 2000s, changes to the platform have routinely

translated into adaptive shifts in scripted television storytelling. This chapter

incorporates these and other historical patterns into a discussion of Netflix’s

impact on the television landscape in order to contextualize its role within the

broader trends facing audiences, creators, and networks today.

VIEWER CHOICE

The degree to which viewers are able to access programs and control

the manner in which they watch them has evolved over the years, especially

in response to recent technological shifts. However, viewers had been

exercising control over their TV viewing long before the advent of digital

platforms. For instance, the prevalence of remote controls in the American

television marketplace grew from 9.5 percent in 1976 to 90 percent in 1990, a

shift that carried with it significant implications for the televisual experience.

Anne Friedberg, “The End of Cinema: Multimedia and Technological Change,” in Reinventing Film

Studies, ed. Christine Gledhill and Linda Williams (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2000), 447.

Even before the technology developed for them to rewind, pause, and fast-

forward, remote controls made it simpler for viewers to switch between

channels. Program listings in newspapers and TV Guide, which had already

previously been in circulation, became increasingly useful. These resources

informed viewers’ decision-making, making them aware of the programming

options available to them. Perhaps most notably, the remote control facilitated

viewers’ ability to avoid commercials. In the 1950s, an early version of the

remote called “Blab-Off” touted that a viewer could “select the advertising he

wants to hear, and he can get away from the commercials he dislikes.”

Similar to the industry sentiment surrounding streaming today, broadcasters

were ambivalent toward remotes, as they represented an uncertain future for

the medium. In actuality, this device signaled an early shift in the balance of

control from the networks to the viewer.

By the early 1980s, the videocassette recorder (VCR) became a

common fixture in the American household. The machine offered viewers the

opportunity to record and play back episodes on videocassettes. Not only did

this new technology allow viewers to fast-forward through commercials, but it

also emancipated them from the rigid schedule of time slots and weekly

viewing. In a way, the advent of the VCR represents one of the first steps

toward the type of schedule-free viewing later popularized by Netflix and other

streaming services. Lotz explains, “Viewers first gained the convenience of

defying networks’ schedules with the VCR, which established a modest

James Bennett and Niki Strange, Television as Digital Media (Durham: Duke University Press,

2011), 58.

beginning that since has been expanded by DVRs and digital devices that

integrate Internet and television to vastly expand consumer control.”

The arrival of the DVR in 1999 represented a continuation of the

viewing practices established by the VCR before it, allowing viewers to record

and store episodes with unprecedented ease. While viewers often would use

VCRs to record a few select programs, the added convenience of digital

technology encouraged them to make time-shifting their default mode of

watching television, essentially promoting a “non-linear programming

experience.”

The sudden rise of DVR usage, largely led by TiVo, prompted

companies to revise their tactics for advertising and ratings measurement,

seeing as the device altered how and when viewers would watch television.

Additionally, the popularization of DVR viewing has had ramifications for the

ways in which creators make television series. By allowing a large portion of

viewers to keep up with a series without having to watch each episode live

and to control their manner of viewing, this advance in technology has

permitted greater degrees of narrative complexity. Granted, DVRs did not

affect all viewers equally. While some avid viewers took full advantage of the

device’s capabilities to rewatch episodes and parse out details, others settled

into time-shifted routines, consistently watching episodes just as they would

on live television but at a more convenient time. Other viewers simply could

not afford a DVR or felt no desire to purchase one. Essentially, the growth in

Amanda D. Lotz, The Television Will be Revolutionized (New York: New York University Press,

2007), 64.

Ibid., 58.

time-shifting technology partially untethered the viewing experience from the

programming schedule and expanded the methods of viewing that each show

had to consider.

Alongside this steady evolution in viewer control, other technological

advances have simultaneously generated an increase in viewer access. In

the 2000s, as DVDs overtook VHS in popularity, viewers became increasingly

inclined to purchase and own DVD sets of television seasons and series.

While home video releases for television series had already previously been

done through VHS and even Laserdisc before it, the DVD format encouraged

new heights of collection. Lotz explains:

DVDs conveniently aggregate multiple episodes—unlike VCR tapes

that can include only two or three episodes—and are commonly sold in

complete seasons that require limited shelf space, making them

attractive to fans who want to create libraries, to new viewers who seek

to catch up on previous episodes, and to anyone who wishes to avoid

television conventions such as commercials and one-week gaps

between episodes.

Mittell argues that this growth in TV-on-DVD shifted television consumption

away from the broadcasting model and closer to a publishing model, as it

encouraged continuous viewing and promoted narrative values of unity and

complexity across seasons and series.

Furthermore, he contends that DVD

sets helped raise the cultural value of television, presenting programs as

tangible objects with staying power rather than fleeting broadcasts.

Lotz

adds that they emboldened viewers to seek out programs rather than to rely

Ibid., 128-129.

Jason Mittell, Complex TV: The Poetics of Contemporary Television Storytelling, (New York: New

York University Press, 2015), 37.

Ibid.

on scheduled airings, fostering a more active viewing public.

The rise of

DVD sets enabled more viewers to watch a series from the beginning,

allowing for more complex narratives and seriality.

The trend toward higher levels of viewer access and control continued

with the proliferation of video-on-demand (VOD) services. Even before Netflix

and other such streaming services gained prominence, networks would make

their programs available to stream on-demand through television providers

after they aired. Beginning around the mid-2000s, they would also offer

episodes for purchase (i.e. transactional VOD) through online services such

as the Apple iTunes Store. The growth of VOD accelerated the ongoing

progression of viewer access. Offering similar effects on viewing practices,

VOD built on the impacts of DVR and DVD, providing more immediate access

to content while operating distinctly from the linear programming stream.

Chamberlain reflects on this progressive accumulation of access and control:

As the distribution of television is increasingly governed by digital

delivery and playback, television interfaces have become gateways to

the content we desire, enabling individualized viewing patterns and

subtly reformatting our televisual experiences along vectors of

customization and control.

Fittingly, Netflix was a DVD delivery and subscription VOD (SVOD) service

before it led the surge of streamed original content. Beginning in 2007, it

offered its subscribers a digital library of licensed content from which they

could select series and films to watch at their discretion. Even before that,

Lotz, Television Will be Revolutionized, 59.

Daniel Chamberlain, “Television Interfaces,” Journal of Popular Film and Television 38, no. 2

(2010), 85.

Amazon Instant Video launched in 2006, providing both free and purchasable

content to its paying subscribers. Along similar lines, Hulu, a joint venture

between networks NBC, Fox, and ABC, initially offered streaming VOD for

free starting in 2008 before shifting to a primarily subscription-based model in

2010. Given its network affiliation, Hulu maintained the practice of including

commercial breaks, essentially providing greater access than DVR but less

viewer control. The rise of these stand-alone SVOD services, which house

content from a variety of networks without necessitating a cable subscription,

represents a step away from the scheduled flow of linear television,

prioritizing viewer choice over appointment viewing. In fact, the emergence of

the term “appointment viewing” in our lexicon is itself proof of this shift.

This tension between traditional viewing and SVOD laid the foundation

for streamed original content. Netflix, the largest of the SVOD services, faced

the greatest amount of pressure from the existing television system. While

Hulu was network-owned and Amazon had a more diversified business

model, Netflix became increasingly vulnerable to rising licensing costs from

studios, who were experiencing falling ratings and began to see the streaming

service as a threat. In the face of these mounting pressures, Netflix invested

heavily in original programming to curb its reliance on content licensed from

traditional networks and channels. Still, other factors, including competitive

differentiation and the finite amount of licensable content, drove SVOD

services to begin commissioning original series.

Between 2011 and 2013, Hulu, Amazon, and Netflix, to varying

degrees, began to make substantial investments in original scripted content.

Hulu, whose owners’ core business relied heavily on linear television,

maintained the weekly release schedule for its original series. Interestingly,

the SVOD service, whose primary appeal is viewer access, retained some of

the limitations of linear programming, allowing viewers access to past

episodes but restricting access to future ones. On the other hand, Netflix,

beginning in 2013, released seasons of its original series all at once, granting

unprecedented access and control for newly released content. Amazon,

meanwhile, has experimented with a variety of release strategies, including

both the full season release and the weekly model.

From 2009 to 2015, the number of online original scripted series grew

from two to 44 (i.e. 1% to 11% of total programming), indicating a dramatic

shift in the ways television is created and consumed.

In recent years, steep

drops in viewership for broadcast and cable have been accompanied by

substantial rises in SVOD subscriptions. While a causal relationship has not

been established, linear television networks have come under pressure to

increase their online offerings. According to Variety, “The motivation behind

all of the upheaval in TV content distribution boils down to the industry

adjusting to the new world order of viewer choice.”

In 2014, CBS launched

the broadband-only service CBS All Access, its aptly named answer to

Cynthia Littleton, “Peak TV: Surge From Streaming Services, Cable Pushes 2015 Scripted Series

Tally to 409,” Variety, December 16, 2015, http://variety.com/2015/tv/news/peak-tv-409-original-

series-streaming-cable-1201663212/.

Cynthia Littleton, “How CBS, HBO, and NBC Are Braving the Digital Waters,” Variety, November

11, 2015, http://variety.com/2015/tv/news/cbs-hbo-nbc-digital-1201637526/.

streaming competitors. In 2015, HBO and Showtime released their own

stand-alone over-the-top (OTT) services. In 2016, NBC unveiled a streaming

comedy channel called Seeso with five original series immediately available

at launch. Notably, episodes of Seeso originals will be released on a weekly

basis, in keeping with the vested interests of NBC.

These recent moves by traditional networks reflect a desire to adapt to

the trend toward greater viewer choice without cannibalizing their existing

decades-long business. That is not to say that appointment viewing no longer

holds any value. Broadcast television still commands the highest ratings per

episode among all outlets. However, the television experience has steadily

gravitated toward increasing levels of viewer control over the course of its

existence. Earlier innovations, such as the remote control and the VCR,

gradually took hold over the viewing public. Later shifts, such as DVR and

VOD, aided by the ease of digital delivery, took comparatively less time.

Correspondingly, established networks, faced with the stickiness of industry

and a dependence on aging business models, have taken longer to adapt to

shifts in the viewing paradigm. Meanwhile, Netflix and other SVOD services

have been able to expeditiously take advantage of this growing demand for

access and control.

DISTRIBUTION

Several factors figure into the way a series is released and the manner

in which it is received. From color to widescreen to commercial-free

television, industrial and technological forces have guided the steady

transformation of television distribution ever since the birth of the medium.

From its inception, television has undergone a variety of shifts that have

repeatedly redefined the medium. In recent years, these changes have

resulted in a broadening of this definition, multiplying the amount of

distribution types that fall under the umbrella of television. That is, while

earlier advancements in television distribution generally followed a linear

progression of the new replacing the old, later developments have been more

additive in nature, augmenting the number of opportunities for viewing and

creation.

By the 1960s, color television became commonplace in American

households. The networks engaged in a ratings war, competing to broadcast

color programming and capitalize on the new innovation. By the 1966-1967

season, the primetime schedules for all three networks were being broadcast

in color. The sudden shift in the distribution format had considerable

consequences for the production of shows. As networks pushed for color

programming in order to remain competitive, creators encountered a host of

new creative possibilities but also faced their share of challenges. For

instance, some shows had previously exploited the black-and-white mode of

distribution to artfully conceal special effects; with the advent of color,

creators had to revise their methods. Still, given that filmmakers had already

experimented with color in cinema, television creators were not working from

scratch, so to speak. Such is the pattern for many of the technological

advances in television distribution over the years. With the arrival of

widescreen, high-fidelity sound, and high-definition picture, broadcasters and

creators adapted accordingly, and the medium moved forward in a slightly

modified form. These improvements to picture and sound quality allowed

television to gain more legitimacy and followed a progression of approaching

a more theatrical home viewing experience.

However, in the case of some other industrial and technological shifts,

the effects have not been apportioned so evenly. Since the rise of cable

channels and digital delivery, changes to content delivery have had more

localized impacts. For instance, premium cable gained momentum in the

1990s as an alternative outlet for narrative televisual storytelling. Due to their

unique subscription-based business model, these channels were able to

broadcast series devoid of advertisements. Without the inclusion of

commercial breaks, creators became free to vary pacing over the course of

an episode, as opposed to timing act breaks around commercials. The

creator of the HBO series Oz Tom Fontana contends, “When you don’t have

to bring people back from a commercial, you don’t have to manufacture an

‘out.’ You can make your episode at a length and with a rhythm that’s true to

the story you want to tell.”

Moreover, the lack of commercials allowed for

unconventional approaches to beat construction. In network television, there

exists a commercial imperative for each episode to keep the narrative moving

forward in order to maintain a hold over the audience’s attention. In other

words, the narrative is often designed in such a way as to encourage viewers

Lotz, Television Will be Revolutionized, 194.

to keep watching across the commercial break. Premium cable series were

able to include more drawn-out beats, unencumbered by a commitment to

forward progress. Inevitably, there are exceptions on either side, but the

distribution schemes for broadcast and premium both encourage certain

narrative choices over others. This loosening of narrative structure is one of

many alternative storytelling opportunities that premium cable offered, others

of which will be discussed in later sections. Netflix and other subscription-

based streaming services later embraced the ad-free distribution model

established during this period.

In the mid-2000s, Internet distribution became increasingly viable as a

streamlined, cost-effective approach to releasing televisual narrative content.

The emergence of this type of release strategy also brought into question

what it means to be called television in a “post-network era.”

In 2005, MTV

and Comedy Central unveiled Overdrive and Motherload, respectively, which

were broadband video channels that streamed short-form content. During this

time, several other online networks were created to take advantage of this

new form of distribution. Freed from the constraints of linear programming

and time slots, web series distributed on these outlets were able to deviate

from the traditional thirty- or sixty-minute program run times and weekly

release schedules. However, many of these web services still contained

advertising, whether in video form or embedded within the webpage.

According to Lotz, “Outlets that possessed an existing television branding like

Deborah Jaramillo, “AMC: Stumbling toward a New Television Canon,” Television and New Media

14, no. 2 (2012), 179.

MTV and CNN were the first to dominate the Internet distribution of video.”

Though Internet distribution involved far fewer barriers to entry than

traditionally televised fare, these established brands had the luxury of name

recognition and built-in viewing audiences. Still, there was some anxiety

among broadcasters at this time that online companies, such as Google,

Yahoo!, and AOL, would usurp the dominant positions once held by CBS,

NBC, and ABC, a fear not unlike the industry’s current attitude toward

streaming services, such as Netflix and Amazon.

While Internet distribution gained some traction during the 2000s, web

series were hardly mentioned in the same breath as traditionally televised

programs, lacking the cultural legitimacy to be taken seriously as a form of

televisual storytelling. Nonetheless, the experimentation with distribution and

release strategy during this period set the stage for the streaming services of

today. While present-day streaming platforms utilize a range of distribution

methods, Netflix popularized the all-at-once release, which represents a clear

departure from the weekly programming found on traditional television outlets.

As mentioned in the previous section, Netflix’s approach to distribution is

consistent with the steady evolution across the medium toward greater viewer

access and control. Traditional channels and networks, along with the

network-owned Hulu, have largely retained the weekly distribution schedule

for scripted programming, owing to their reliance on the old business model.

Ibid., 133.

Even so, perhaps due to Netflix’s influence on viewing practices and

preferences, some cable companies and streaming services have since

experimented with the all-at-once release model. After Netflix released the full

first seasons of House of Cards and Orange Is the New Black (Kohan, 2013-

present), Amazon began releasing some of its series’ seasons all at once,

beginning with Transparent (Soloway, 2014-present). Around the time of

Transparent’s release in 2014, Amazon Studios executive Roy Prince said,

“There is definitely a lot of enthusiasm for the whole binge-release idea.

We’re going to do whatever people respond to,” acknowledging that the

studio was following rather than setting a distribution trend.

Even some

traditional networks and channels have attempted to incorporate the all-at-

once release into a linear programming model. In 2015, NBC released the full

first season of Aquarius (McNamara, 2015-present) via various video-on-

demand platforms immediately after airing the series premiere. The remaining

episodes continued to air weekly, though they were already available online.

By making deals with select advertisers and airing the same commercials in

linear and VOD, NBC was able to execute this unusual distribution tactic,

which was essentially guaranteed to cannibalize linear viewership. Soon after,

Starz implemented a similar distribution strategy for the third season of Da

Vinci’s Demons (Goyer, 2013-2015) and for the miniseries Flesh and Bone

(Walley-Beckett, 2015), but, being a premium channel, it did not include

commercials in either the linear or the VOD release.

Natalie Jarvey, “Amazon Studios Head Roy Price on Competing with Netflix, Xbox Studios’

Demise (Q&A),” The Hollywood Reporter, July 30, 2014,

http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/amazon-studios-head-roy-price-721867.

In 2016, TBS debuted its series Angie Tribeca (Carell and Carell,

2016-present) with a commercial-free marathon. The show’s release, dubbed

a “binge-a-thon,” featured its ten-episode season being broadcast

continuously for 25 hours on linear television. An online all-at-once release

accompanied this linear marathon broadcast. Since TBS is partially

dependent on advertising revenue, the otherwise commercial-free marathon

incorporated ad-sponsored video vignettes between episodes. These

sponsored vignettes represented a deliberate attempt by the basic cable

channel “to appeal to viewers who might dig into a video favorite via Netflix or

Amazon” while still satisfying its revenue model.

The distribution strategy for

Angie Tribeca reflects the growing popularity of the all-at-once release among

viewers and the increased desire by networks to take advantage of this

viewing behavior. These unconventional hybrid tactics also point to the

transitional nature of the television industry at this time. Furthermore, as the

number of binge-released programs grows, producers increasingly recognize

the creative potential that the new distribution style has to offer. The

showrunner of Angie Tribeca, Ira Ungerleider, when speaking on the release

strategy, commented, “We were all surprised and had never heard of such a

thing before. We tossed it around and thought it was a cool way to introduce a

show…Certainly, the way we view TV today is binging…The show really

Brian Steinberg, “TBS Finds A Way To Link Ads To Commercial-Free ‘Angie Tribeca’ Debut,”

Variety, January 15, 2016, http://variety.com/2016/tv/news/angie-tribeca-tv-advertising-binge-

viewing-1201680786/.

lends itself to that kind of watching.”

These recent moves by Amazon, NBC,

Starz, and TBS exemplify the influence of the all-at-once release across all

sectors of the current television landscape. While Netflix was the first to

pioneer this distribution method, it is indicative of a greater trend in viewership

that has since manifested itself further and will likely continue to do so.

As traditional television has started to look more like Netflix, the

reverse has also been happening. With the rise of streaming services, new

forms of distribution have emerged and adapted to bring Internet-based

television into the family room. A host of devices, including smart TVs, game

consoles, and set-top boxes such as Apple TV and Roku, now let viewers

watch streamed programming on their television sets, effectively integrating

the interface of streaming with the traditional TV-watching experience. By

allowing streaming distribution to transcend computers and mobile devices,

these technologies contribute to the broader acceptance and greater

legitimacy of services like Netflix within the world of television.

AUDIENCE FRAGMENTATION

For decades, the Big Three broadcast networks (i.e. ABC, CBS, and

NBC) dominated American television due to prohibitive entry costs and FCC

support. As barriers to entry eroded and programming options proliferated,

the household reach of each individual network declined, resulting in an

increasingly fragmented viewing audience. This steady transformation of how

television audiences are allocated has translated into shifts in how scripted

Lesley Goldberg, “Why TBS Is Premiering 'Angie Tribeca' With a 25-Hour Marathon,” The

Hollywood Reporter, January 7, 2016, http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/live-feed/why-tbs-is-

premiering-angie-852947.

series are created, distributed, and received. Accordingly, the way that Netflix

commissions and delivers its scripted series falls squarely in line with this

ongoing trend.

The fragmenting of audiences has not been a consistent trend over the

course of television history. Rather, due to tight regulations from the Federal

Communications Commission effectively barring new entrants, television was

essentially synonymous with the Big Three until the 1980s. Even in 1980,

over 90% of Americans’ prime-time viewing was broadcast by either NBC,

ABC, or CBS.

During these first few decades, television was truly a mass

medium, as most programs aimed to appeal broadly to the entire television

viewing audience. However, in the 1970s, some early cracks in the oligarchy

began to show. A string of court decisions dismantled the FCC’s restrictions

on pay television and cable and satellite distribution, paving the way for

alternative programming channels.

As basic cable and premium cable channels gained traction alongside

new technologies such as the VCR, the typical television viewer faced more

choices than ever before. Cable and satellite options required some form of

additional payment, but any television-owning household could still access

the broadcast networks virtually free of charge. That is to say, pay television

supplemented rather than supplanted the existing broadcast model. Still, in

the 25 years following 1980, the prime-time shares of the Big Three declined

year after year, while the viewing audience for cable television steadily grew.

Douglas Blanks Hindman and Kenneth Wiegand, "The Big Three's Prime-time Decline: A

Technological and Social Context," Journal of Broadcasting and Electronic Media 52, no. 1 (2008),

119.

By 2005, 80% of homes had access to more than just broadcast, whether

through cable, satellite, or alternative systems.

Several implications have stemmed from this rapid rise in cable

viewership. Along with audience fragmentation came a degree of polarization,

whereby cable networks began catering to select segments of the television

viewing population, creating more specialized programming for “small-but-

loyal” audiences.

In the 1990s, HBO used the slogan, “It’s not TV. It’s HBO,”

to position itself as providing a high-quality alternative to network content.

Later, basic cable channels such as AMC similarly sought to stand out by

offering the type of slow-burn narratives and complex storytelling that made

HBO famous. Other channels, such as MTV and BET, targeted specific

demographic groups and commissioned narrative series specifically for those

niche audiences. Advertisers for basic cable channels would accordingly

deploy specialized commercials based on these target demographics,

prioritizing quality of viewer over quantity. In a sea of choices, cable channels

have felt the need to differentiate themselves to attract viewers and

advertisers.

As touched on earlier, at the same time as audiences are becoming

fragmented along various divergent preferences and interests, fragmentation

has also been occurring across time and space. Time-shifting and on-demand

technology have further exacerbated the phenomenon of fragmentation,

James G. Webster, "Beneath the Veneer of Fragmentation: Television Audience Polarization in a

Multichannel World," Journal of Communication 55, no. 2 (2005), 367.

Ibid., 371.

splintering television viewership in more ways than one. The way that Netflix

commissions and distributes its shows incorporates both forms of audience

fragmentation. The company deliberately targets specific niche audiences

through its programming. Netflix’s head of original content Cindy Holland

stated, “I don’t think any genres are off-limits to us. We have a large

subscriber base that consumes a wide variety of content…We hope to reach

the entire subscriber base with at least one original series.”

Cable channels

tend to craft a unique brand identity around their programming, and broadcast

networks largely aim for broad appeal to the general viewing public.

Meanwhile, Netflix strives to design a mass-market service by compiling

multiple niche programs with distinct target demographics. Ted Sarandos

insisted, “I’m not looking to find a single show to define Netflix. That’s almost

the opposite of what we’re trying to do. Our brand is all about

personalization.”

In a sense, Netflix’s brand identity is characterized by

having no brand at all. Without reliance on advertising or a linear schedule, it

feels no need to restrict its target audience or content volume. Furthermore,

on-demand control over the program library allows for each subscriber to

have his or her own unique Netflix viewing relationship. This viewer control

also creates an audience that is watching various programs at countless

different times simultaneously. Netflix not only contributes to the

fragmentation that has been steadily occurring across the different channels

Lacey Rose, “Netflix's Original Content VP on Development Plans, Pilots, Late-Night and Rival

HBO (Q&A),” The Hollywood Reporter, June 18, 2014,

http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/netflixs-original-content-vp-development-712293.

Josef Adalian, “Streaming Scorecard: Can Netflix Prevent an Emmys Hangover?” Vulture, July 26,

2013, http://www.vulture.com/2013/07/streaming-scorecard-netflix.html.

and networks, but it also essentially fosters a fragmented audience within the

confines of its own service.

CREATIVE FREEDOM

Creators of television programs have always encountered certain

restrictions or guidelines for what they are able to present on screen. As the

number of avenues for programming has grown, creators have become faced

with several distribution options offering various degrees of creative freedom

and autonomy. These variations can be attributed to industrial, organizational,

and commercial factors. By studying the historical progression of creative

freedom in television, we can get a sense of the influences and motivations

behind the creative environment that Netflix provides the creators of its

scripted series.

Censorship and content restrictions have a substantial impact on

creative freedom. The FCC has long regulated broadcast television,

censoring what it determines to be obscene, indecent, and profane content.

However, beyond these concerns, the government has little involvement in

restricting television content. This is partly because in the 1950s, as television

became popular in American households, political pressure drove the industry

to create its own regulatory code, akin to the circumstances that brought

about the Motion Picture Production Code in 1930. Known as the Television

Code of the National Association of Broadcasters, this set of regulations was

enacted in order to avoid government censorship. The code prohibited

profanity, drunkenness, irreverent portrayal of God and religion, and indecent

movements, among many other things, asserting that broadcasters had a

responsibility to serve the public interest.

In 1983, legal pressures over

concerns such as advertising limits led to the code’s dissolution. Nonetheless,

many of the ideals of the code continued to persist within the networks’

individual standards and practices departments, limiting to this day what can

and cannot be shown on broadcast television.

In 1996, government pressures resulted in the establishment of a

content rating system, which grouped programs into categories that ranged

from TV-Y (appropriate for all children) to TV-MA (mature audiences only).

This rating system continues today and applies to practically all television

channels, including both broadcast and cable. Fearing backlash from

advertisers and still facing regulation from the FCC, broadcasters avoid

assigning TV-MA ratings, meaning that network series often cannot include

graphic violence, explicit sexual content, or excessively crude language.

However, as of late, networks have faced greater competition from less tightly

regulated cable channels, motivating them to stretch the limits of these self-

determined ratings categories. Since the FCC typically imposes sanctions

only for indecency and profanity, networks have recently allowed their series

to include more intense and frequent acts of violence, while also testing the

boundaries on sexuality and swearing, in an effort to compete with cable.

Even so, while standards have evolved over the years, broadcast television

The Television Code (Washington, DC: The National Association of Broadcasters, 1959),

http://www.tv-signoffs.com/1959_NAB_Television_Code.pdf.

still presents the greatest degree of content regulation and restriction to

creators.

Meanwhile, basic cable, which does not face regulation from the FCC

but does rely on advertisers, toes the line on content restrictions, allowing

more instances of nudity and profanity than network television but stopping

short of what is allowed on premium cable. Premium cable, devoid of

commercials and regulation, allows and even encourages nudity, profanity,

and violence, often using these attributes as a way of differentiating itself from

broadcast and basic cable. In a sense, though premium cable channels

impose little to no upper bound on explicit content, creators are often implicitly

expected to take advantage of the license they are given. One component of

these channels’ branding is their tendency to push boundaries in ways that

other networks cannot, and the vast majority of their programming is rated

TV-MA.

In 2013, Netflix’s Ted Sarandos famously declared, “The goal is to

become HBO faster than HBO can become us.”

Netflix positioned itself

early on as being the Internet’s answer to premium cable, similarly permitting

explicit content in its series. However, recent programming choices, such as

the TV-14-rated Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt (Fey and Carlock, 2015-

present) and the TV-G-rated Fuller House (Franklin, 2016-present), suggest

that Netflix is not as closely wedded to the TV-MA rating as its premium cable

counterparts. In fact, one could argue that premium cable somewhat limits

Nancy Hass, “And the Award for the Next HBO Goes to…,” GQ, January 29, 2013,

http://www.gq.com/story/netflix-founder-reed-hastings-house-of-cards-arrested-development.

creative freedom by almost necessitating that shows cater to mature

audiences. This issue is one that comes down to brand discipline and quality

control. Netflix’s approach to quality programming is to give virtually free reign

to capable creators. In the case of broadcast, networks generally seek out

content that appeals to a mass audience and does so within its commercially

imposed restrictions. Meanwhile, premium channels tend to attract series that

represent a marked departure from ad-driven television. Across broadcast,

cable, and streaming, each network approaches the production of a series in

a way that is unique to the preferences and priorities of that individual service.

These methods and practices can have varying implications on the creative

freedoms of their respective programs.

Broadcast television is in the unique position of being a profit-driven

business that provides a public good. Rather than receive revenue directly

from viewers, networks earn money by selling advertisements. Networks care

about viewer preferences because higher viewership translates to more ad

dollars, so, in actuality, advertisers’ preferences tend to play a more dominant

role in programming decisions, though the two are certainly connected. This

influence often comes in the form of network notes, whereby the network

gives producers input on scripts, casting, and other facets of the creative

process, forming a relationship that can range from collaborative to

adversarial in nature. On the topic of network notes, television writer Alan Ball

argued:

The reason why network executives always tell you to make the story

softer, to iron out the edge, is that network TV exists as a vehicle for

marketing…After a while, you realize that all network notes can be

reduced to: one, make everybody nicer, remove all the conflict; and,

two, articulate the subtext, have somebody state what’s going on.

Ball’s perspective reflects the type of combative relationship that can

sometimes arise between highly involved broadcasters and creative

individuals. In some rare instances, a showrunner’s reputation and political

clout can afford him or her the opportunity to refuse network notes. Such is

the case for Shonda Rimes, who began ignoring notes from ABC after the

first season of Scandal (Rhimes, 2012-present). Still, broadcast networks

have a financial imperative to produce series with wide appeal that can

hopefully produce high ratings and attract advertisers. Therefore, while the

creator’s vision plays an important role, networks often employ a heavy hand

in guiding the creative process.

Though cable channels tend to be less involved in the creation of a

series than broadcasters, many cable series still frequently receive notes and

guidance. While broadcast networks often attempt to differentiate themselves

through branding, this act of specialization is even more noticeable and

deliberate in cable, where channels feel the need to stand out amidst an

abundance of programming. Many basic cable channels take this concept of

brand identity into account when developing and overseeing projects.

Furthermore, these channels make money partly through advertising and also

from operators who pay carriage fees for the right to include them in their

cable packages. With less reliance on advertising, some channels can take a

Keith Brown and Roberto Cavazos, "Why Is This Show so Dumb? Advertising Revenue and

Program Content of Network Television," Review of Industrial Organization 27, no. 1 (2005), 31-32.

more hands-off approach to the creative process. For instance, Louis C.K.

has not received any network notes for FX’s Louie (C.K., 2010-present) but

had to take a pay cut in order to achieve this level of autonomy. Other

channels still reserve and exercise their right to influence the creative

process. The realm of basic cable is much more varied than broadcast when

it comes to creative guidance and restrictions, as each channel has its own

specific policies and often varies them based on the program.

Premium cable channels and Netflix both follow a subscription-based

business model; however, they take somewhat different approaches to the

creative process. Broadly speaking, premium cable offers itself as an

alternative to commercial television, with each channel loosely defining its

respective brand around a reputation for narrative experimentation,

provocative content, and general risk-taking. The former president of NBC

West Coast, Scott Sassa, stated, “A pay-cable network like HBO is trying to

fill a need for people who feel underserved by network television.”

Because

premium cable channels are deliberately counter-programming against other

networks and striving for a certain benchmark of “quality,” they often do not

hand over complete creative autonomy, opting rather to guide and contribute

to the process. Casting director Gayle Keller argued, “HBO is a little bit more

involved, just like any other network I’ve worked for—ABC, CBS, NBC—and

everyone’s just more involved in the scripts and casting.”

Certainly, the

Ibid., 32.

Aly Weisman, “Why FX Gives Louis CK Way More Freedom Than HBO Ever Would,” Business

Insider, July 20, 2014, http://www.businessinsider.com/how-louie-ended-up-at-fx-not-hbo-2014-7.

degree of network involvement varies from series to series, but premium

cable channels generally play a role in the creative process, encouraging

shows to take risks, break conventions, and also to exude “quality.”

Ironically, this modus operandi, initially established by HBO, has bled

into basic cable and even broadcast. What was originally meant to be an

alternative to television now helps comprise the general definition of “quality

television.” Netflix similarly follows in the footsteps of premium cable, often

hearing pitches from the same projects as HBO and Showtime. However, the

streaming service differs in that it chooses to largely cede creative control to

the program’s producers. Sarandos claimed, “We try to guide with a light

touch. We’re not looking to impose our view,” adding that if Netflix and the

producer disagree over a creative decision, the producer’s view prevails.

light of this approach, Netflix also requires that programs come to them

“better developed” than if they were pitched to another network.

Conversely,

HBO is notorious for being a “development-rich network,” maintaining over

100 projects in its pipeline with very few actually moving on to production.

Because Netflix hopes to maximize output, it has streamlined the process

from pitch to series, eliminating pilots and a lengthy development process.

Ramin Setoodeh, “Cannes: Netflix’s Ted Sarandos on Upending the Movie Business,” Variety, May

15, 2015, http://variety.com/2015/film/news/cannes-ted-sarandos-on-how-netflix-will-revolutionize-

the-movie-business-1201497272/.

Daniel B. Kline, “5 Things Netflix Shareholders Should Know,” The Motley Fool, December 16,

2014, http://www.fool.com/investing/general/2014/12/16/5-things-netflix-shareholders-should-

know.aspx.

Kim Masters, “HBO at Crossroads: About Those Chilly 'Vinyl' Ratings, 'Westworld' Delays &

David Fincher's Exit,” Billboard, February 24, 2016,

http://www.billboard.com/articles/business/6889433/hbo-vinyl-ratings-debut-costs-westworld-delays-

david-fincher.

Meanwhile, a traditionally televised network must be more selective about the

projects it airs because there are limited time slots in a programming

schedule. Furthermore, if a Netflix series fails to attract a large enough

audience, there is no need to cancel it mid-season and pull it off the air.

Netflix can simply choose not to order another season, and the first season

can remain accessible to those who did enjoy it. Finally, because Netflix is not

tied to a brand identity, it faces less pressure to guide or tailor the creative

process for any particular show.

SURVEILLANCE AND ANALYTICS

While the aforementioned points certainly contribute to Netflix’s

commitment to risk-taking and creative freedom, another factor figures into its

decision-making: big data. One characteristic that separates Netflix and other

streaming services from traditional television outlets is that their series are

delivered exclusively over the Internet. This attribute gives streaming

networks access to vast amounts of data on viewing behaviors and trends

that can be used to inform programming decisions. Because other networks

rely on third-party platforms, including cable, satellite, digital terrestrial

signals, and telecommunications, for mass distribution, they do not encounter

the same level of easy access to data collection. While the degree and depth

of data gathering by streaming services is unprecedented, data collection has

long been a factor in the television industry, often informing programming,

advertising, and business decisions.

Since 1950, The Nielsen Company, a marketing research firm, has

been measuring television audiences and tracking progressions in viewership

over time. Programmers and advertisers have been using Nielsen ratings for

decades to evaluate their successes and failures, as well as to observe

important trends and phenomena. Often, traditional television networks will

use ratings in order to decide whether to cancel, renew, or change the time

slot for a program. Perhaps most importantly, ratings control advertising

costs, which helps explain why they influence decision-making on broadcast

and basic cable to a higher degree than on premium cable.

As new technologies have emerged and viewing behavior has evolved,

Nielsen has adapted its measurement strategies accordingly, incorporating

time-shifted and mobile viewing. As TiVo gained in popularity, it started selling

aggregate viewing data to advertisers and worked in conjunction with Nielsen

along with other market-research firms to develop more sophisticated metrics

on viewership. In response to the changes in viewing patterns, networks such

as HBO and FX have recently stopped delivering over-night ratings for their

shows, choosing instead to release figures that incorporate time-shifted

viewing. HBO justified this decision by arguing, “HBO subscribers have

available to them an array of entry points to watch our programming – HBO

linear feeds, DVR, HBO On Demand and HBO GO –and a single airing is no

longer representative of an HBO show’s true audience size.”

In the current

James Hibberd, “HBO: We’re Not Releasing Overnight Ratings Anymore,” Entertainment Weekly,

December 17, 2014, http://www.ew.com/article/2014/12/17/hbo-ratings.

television landscape, these types of decisions are emblematic of an ongoing

shift in television distribution and access.

Netflix has notoriously abstained from releasing the viewing numbers

for its series. Because the streaming service does not include advertising, it

has no business obligation to reveal this information. Ted Sarandos claimed

that premium cable companies were wrong to set a precedent for themselves

by releasing ratings for their series, saying, “It has been a mistake for [pay-

TV] companies to talk about ratings; it creates performance pressure around

these shows which is very unnecessary.”

While the reporting of ratings does

run counter to Netflix’s niche programming strategy, it is also important to

note that this practice of non-disclosure increases its bargaining power in

licensing and budget negotiations. This refusal has frustrated competing

networks as well as the press. NBC even went so far as to conduct an

independent study through a third-party research firm in order to collect

broadband data on Netflix viewing activity. The network’s president of

research and development reported the lukewarm results of this study,

insisting, “The notion that the broadcast model is broken or dying—it really

Mark Sweney, “We See an Incredible Appetite for TV,” The Guardian, May 26, 2016,

http://www.theguardian.com/media/2013/may/26/netflix-ted-sarandos-arrested-development.

isn’t.”

Sarandos later countered that NBC’s data was “remarkably

inaccurate” but that Netflix would continue to keep its ratings secret.

While Netflix does not publicize its viewing data, it certainly collects it.

Leading up to the 2013 release of House of Cards, Netflix famously

rationalized its $100 million upfront investment by claiming its data analytics

indicated that the series would find a sizeable audience. The service collects

detailed information on viewing behavior, tracking when a viewer pauses or

rewinds content and organizing content into thousands of micro-genres. This

approach to programming has attracted some criticism, as many have argued

that choosing the right series comes down to more than data interpretation.

FX president John Landgraf maintained, “Data can only tell you what people

have liked before, not what they don’t know they are going to like in the

future. A good high-end programmer’s job is to find the white spaces in our

collective psyche that aren’t filled by an existing television show.”

In his

counter-argument, Ted Sarandos claimed, “Big data is a very important

resource to allow us to see how much to invest in a project but we don’t try to

Anthony D’Alessandro, “NBC Reveals Viewership For ‘Jessica Jones’, ‘Master Of None’, ‘Narcos’,

Says It Poses No Threat To Broadcast TV – TCA,” Deadline.com, January 13, 2016,

http://deadline.com/2016/01/netflix-viewers-jessica-jones-master-of-none-orange-is-the-new-black-

broadcast-erosion-1201682311/.

Nellie Andreeva, “Ted Sarandos Defends Netflix Policy of Not Providing Ratings, Calls Released

Data ‘Remarkably Inaccurate’ – TCA,” Deadline.com, January 17, 2016,

http://deadline.com/2016/01/netflix-ratings-ted-sarandos-1201684776/.

David Carr, “Giving Viewers What They Want,” The New York Times, February 24, 2013,

http://nyti.ms/1DVP8ZK.

reverse-engineer,” adding that 30% of the decision-making process comes

from human judgment.

Ultimately, discerning how large a role data plays in Netflix’s

programming is a difficult task. Given that the company does not release

ratings, its confidence in big data serves as an assurance to stockholders and

competitors that it is making informed decisions. Meanwhile, Amazon has

turned over the pilot process to the people. Periodically, the streaming service

releases a group of series pilots for its subscribers to watch, rate, and critique

before using that information to determine which shows to pick up for a full

season. By having the viewer play executive, Amazon is similarly hedging its

bets by greenlighting shows that are virtually pre-approved by their intended

audience. Amazon and Netflix wield their status as Internet-based companies

to expand on the types of information gathering utilized by traditional

television networks before them. These methods augment the volume of the

audience’s voice in making programming decisions, placing greater emphasis

on the audience’s habits, tastes, and opinions after having wider access to

them. Therefore, while creators of Netflix shows certainly possess a great

deal of freedom, the choice to give them that freedom originates from the

viewing audience.

GLOBAL REACH

Since the 1960s, international distribution has had a role in US

television syndication (i.e. reselling shows), and in the late 1980s, with the

Jane Martinson, “Netflix’s Ted Sarandos: ‘We Like Giving Great Storytellers Big Canvases,” The

Guardian, March 15, 2015, http://www.theguardian.com/media/2015/mar/15/netflix-ted-sarandos-

house-of-cards.

dismantling of global broadcasting regulations and rising domestic production

costs, international sales ballooned. It has now become commonplace for

studios to sell programs that were initially broadcast domestically to

international “distribution windows.” Lotz asserts, “As the economics of the

industry change, the potential viability of a show in international sales has

come to be an important consideration in whether it is produced for the U.S.

market in the first place.”

While many studios do keep international markets

in mind when producing their series, this does not necessarily mean that they

take into account the preferences of global viewers. Ultimately, assumptions

regarding a series’ viability in international markets are “based on seller’s

perceptions of buyers’ preferences, and buyers’ perceptions of their target

audiences.”

With so many degrees of separation between domestic sellers and

international viewers, misconceptions regarding international appeal can be

quite common. For instance, there has long been a general perception that

shows featuring African-American casts have less syndication value abroad.

In 2014, Fox screened Empire (Daniels and Strong, 2015-present) for

international buyers, but most passed on the project. However, once the show

premiered to blockbuster ratings in the U.S., buyers revisited their positions,

and Empire ultimately sold out in practically every major global market. Other

African-American-centered shows, including Black-ish (Barris, 2014-present)

Lotz, Television Will be Revolutionized, 96.

Timothy Havens, “’It’s Still a White World Out There’: The Interplay of Culture and Economics in

International Television Trade,” Critical Studies in Media Communication 19, no. 4 (2002), 378.

and Power (Agboh, 2014-present) have encountered similar stance reversals

in the international market. These dramatic shifts in perception illustrate that

shows bred for international syndication do not necessarily reflect the

preferences of the audiences they are targeting.

Traditional television networks primarily serve the domestic market,

which is often where they initially release their programs before sometimes

recouping production costs through international sales. On the other hand,

Netflix is a global Internet television company. Though approximately 60% of

its subscribers are based in the United States, its scripted series are

simultaneously released across all territories, and it has been aggressively

expanding overseas.

At the beginning of 2016, CEO Reed Hastings

announced that the service had added 130 new countries, bringing its overall

reach to 190 countries. However, Netflix has faced some challenges with

licensing content for its global subscriber base. Ted Sarandos explained, “All

of the studios and networks have situated themselves to be regional

sellers…Now we are global buyers, and buying global rights to shows and

movies, and there is some resistance to it.”

Due in part to these licensing hurdles, Netflix has accelerated its efforts

to create original scripted content for specific international markets. Sarandos

continued, “We are working with great local talent, local producers, local casts

Todd Spangler, “Netflix Hits 75 Million Streaming Subscribers on Strong Overseas Growth,”

Variety, January 19, 2016, http://variety.com/2016/digital/news/netflix-hits-75-million-streaming-

subscribers-stock-jumps-1201683114/.

Brian Steinberg, “Netflix’s Big Challenge: Securing Global Rights For Content,” Variety, December

7, 2015, http://variety.com/2015/digital/news/netflix-ted-sarandos-global-licensing-rights-

1201655380/.

and in local languages. I hope that we will have an original-language

production in all of our markets in the next year or so.”

This approach to

international distribution foregrounds viewer preferences much more than that

of traditional television networks, which are commercially tied to domestic

audiences. Some networks, such as HBO, have region-specific channels in

several countries that operate as discrete entities. HBO’s international

channels, such as HBO Asia, HBO Europe, and HBO Brazil, blend HBO

original programming, locally produced original series, and licensed content.

Due to global licensing restrictions, HBO must license its third-party content

on a territory-by-territory basis. In a sense, this type of international presence

shares many overlapping qualities with Netflix’s global network. As with

Netflix, licensing restrictions inhibit uniformity across regions, but original

programming (save for censorship issues) remains consistently offered.

However, while a network like HBO aims to unite its international

audience under the umbrella of its brand, Netflix strives to build a “global

community” of viewership that leverages data from around the world to unite

viewers with niche preferences and tastes.

In a statement announcing its

global recommendation system, Netflix explained that viewers may be more

alike than they expect:

Rather than looking at audiences through the lens of a single country

and catalog…tapping into global insights makes our personalized

recommendations even better because now our members benefit from

like-minded viewers no matter where they are in the world. While this is

Ibid.

Carlos Gomez-Uribe, “A Global Approach to Recommendations,” Netflix Media Center, February

17, 2016, https://media.netflix.com/en/company-blog/a-global-approach-to-recommendations.

especially helpful if a member is in a new or smaller market, we’re also

able to better serve members in larger, more established markets who

have highly specific or niche tastes.

This approach to recommendations sheds some light on how Netflix views its

audience and, in turn, its series. While creating region-specific content is

certainly important to the service, it is also keen on serving overlapping

interests that transcend borders. While announcing an upcoming Anime

series Perfect Bones, Erik Barmack, the vice-president of international

originals, added, “In an era where the Internet knows no bounds, we are

proud to deliver high quality original Anime to fans all over the world, at the

exact same time, no matter where they live whether it be Japan, France,

Mexico, the US, and beyond,” underscoring Netflix’s commitment to this

global mentality.

FINAL THOUGHTS

When dealing with the advent of a new media phenomenon that seems

to disrupt the status quo, the public discourse has a tendency to veer toward

hyperbole, seemingly disregarding important contextual elements. Certainly,

some of Netflix’s contributions and practices can be heralded as

“unprecedented” or “revolutionary,” but a decent amount of its actions are

grounded in prior precedent or represent the culmination of decades-long

trends. Many of its developments in viewer control, distribution, audience

fragmentation, creative freedom, data analytics, and international

Ibid.

Anne Wallin, “Netflix Brings New Original Anima Series, Perfect Bones, to Members Worldwide,”

Netflix Media Center, February 24, 2016, https://media.netflix.com/en/press-releases/netflix-brings-

new-original-anime-series-perfect-bones-to-members-worldwide.

programming can claim some spine of influence within the history of the

medium. Through thorough examination of the relevant past progressions and

events, we deepen our understanding of Netflix’s impact on the television

industry. A recognition of the platform’s role within the medium puts us on a

much better footing to investigate its influence over creative decision-making

and television storytelling.

CHAPTER 2

THE AESTHETIC TOOLBOX OF NETFLIX

In the creation of any television program, producers are met with a set

of tools by which to tell their stories. These tools represent the aesthetic

possibilities offered by the medium and the premise. A given series’ aesthetic

toolbox can be defined and limited through any number of forces, and

oftentimes, a producer may be unaware that certain possibilities even exist

until a precedent has been set. Furthermore, the degree to which certain tools

are optimally suited for particular series, platforms, or audiences can be a

point of contention. For instance, many argue that the approach to character

development in AMC’s Breaking Bad (Gilligan, 2008-2013) necessitates that

viewers watch the series from the very beginning. Given protagonist Walter

White’s gradual transformation from boring school teacher to drug kingpin

over the span of the show, the reasoning is that viewers who enter partway

through the series are not optimally engaging with the character, having not

been familiar with the man he once was. Accordingly, one could argue that

this type of multi-season character transformation is not ideally suited for

traditional television, where new viewers can tune in at any point during the

series’ run. Creator Vince Gilligan may be (at least partially) in agreement, as

he once admitted, “I think Netflix kept us on the air.”

Jon Weisman, “Emmys: Vince Gilligan Credits Netflix for AMC’s ‘Breaking Bad’ Surviving,

Thriving,” Variety, September 22, 2013, http://variety.com/2013/tv/awards/breaking-bad-amc-vince-

gilligan-credits-netflix-1200660762/.

This chapter explores some of the ways in which the Netflix model

modifies or elaborates on the tools offered to producers of traditional

television. In order to delineate the formal implications specific to Netflix, one

must first understand the normative aesthetics that characterize the traditional

television space. Among the observed literature, Jason Mittell’s book

Complex TV: The Poetics of Contemporary Television Storytelling provides

the most comprehensive discussion on the formal qualities of contemporary

television programs. A key offering by this source is its focus on what Mittell

calls “poetics,” or the ways in which texts create meaning, as opposed to

broader anthropological or cultural issues surrounding television.

The study

of television poetics provides valuable insight into the creative decision-

making that manifests on-screen.

In his book, Mittell deliberates on the formal aspects of complex

television, which he defines as television storytelling that “redefines episodic

forms under the influence of serial narration.”

Complex television programs,

in contrast to conventional narrative form, balance episodic and serial forms

in order to sustain a narrative that builds over time. According to this

definition, most, if not all, Netflix original scripted series demonstrate qualities

characteristic of complex television. In fact, Mittell incorporates some early

Netflix series, such as Orange Is the New Black, into his discussion on

narrative complexity. However, given the relative novelty of streamed original

programming, the book’s predominant focus is traditional television.

Mittell, Complex TV, 4-5.

Ibid., 18.

Still, the fact that Netflix series figure into the larger conversation on

complex television is an indication that the move to a streaming model does

not represent a clean break from traditional television. Rather, it implies that

there actually exists significant overlap. In the 1990s and 2000s, shifts in

technology (DVDs, DVRs, the Internet, etc.) may not have directly brought

about the rise of complex television, but they did act as enabling conditions

that facilitated the increased prevalence of these types of series. Certain

aesthetic possibilities that may have once been considered ill-suited for the

medium became more attractive in the face of rapid changes transforming the

viewer relationship. Mittell argues, “Expectations for how viewers watch

television, how producers create stories, and how series are distributed have

all shifted.”

Similarly, Netflix original series do not reject the norms of traditional

television storytelling. Instead, the platform’s offerings seem to fall in line with

broader ongoing shifts toward increasing narrative complexity. The Netflix

model elaborates on these shifts, adapting and reshaping existing notions of

televisual narrative complexity in accordance with the unique nature of the

platform. This chapter highlights the specific aesthetic possibilities

encouraged by the Netflix streaming model, as compared to traditionally

distributed complex television. Evidence drawn from existing Netflix shows

helps illuminate specific aesthetic tools that the platform offers producers.

This is not to say that every Netflix series does or should take advantage of

Ibid., 3.

these possibilities, or that traditional television must necessarily rule them out.

This so-called toolbox continues to expand and mutate, as more producers

create for the new platform and experiment with its limits and capabilities.

EPISODE ONE

In traditional television, the pilot episode holds an integral role in series

creation, distribution, and reception. This inaugural episode of the series,

produced independently of the rest of the season, functions to sell both

networks and viewers on the program. Networks watch pilots to determine the

commercial viability of a potential series, and viewers watch them to decide if

they want to return next week for more. For traditional networks, which

operate within the live broadcast schedule, these episodes help determine

which projects are worth fitting into a time slot and which must be abandoned

at the pilot stage (usually quite a few).

In the case of some traditionally distributed programs, networks

occasionally decide to forego the pilot stage and commit to an entire season.

These “straight-to-series” pick-ups are usually reserved for high-profile

projects, which typically have top-level talent already attached and are

generally considered safer bets. Even in the case of these straight-to-series

orders, traditional programs are tied to the weekly broadcast schedule, which

keeps the onus on episode one to hook viewers into watching the show.

Therefore, even though producers of straight-to-series shows likely feel less

pressure to sell the network on the first episode, its relationship to viewers

remains similar to that of the pilot. Perhaps in part because of this, Mittell

broadly refers to all traditional series openers as pilots (as many tend to do).

He claims that the primary role of the pilot is to “teach us how to watch the

series and, in doing so, make us want to keep watching.”

Netflix, which operates outside of the programming schedules of

traditional television, is by far the most prominent example of a “network” that

consistently forgoes the pilot process. Even its fellow streaming service

Amazon Instant Video has doubled down on pilots. Amazon places pilot

orders for multiple potential projects and releases them to its subscribers.

Ostensibly subbing out network executives for subscribers, Amazon Studios

uses viewer feedback on these episodes to decide which ones to order to

series. Though many of these shows are ultimately released in the same all-

at-once manner as Netflix series, the preservation of the pilot process (albeit,

in a modified form) still promotes the traditional role of the first episode as

being representative of the rest of the series.

Meanwhile, Netflix tends to deemphasize the role of the introductory

episode, as it is traditionally defined. This point is supported by the way it

commissions shows (i.e. no pilots, only straight-to-series) and informs the

way it distributes them. In a press release, chief content officer Ted Sarandos

explained:

Given the precious nature of primetime slots on traditional TV, a series

pilot is arguably the most important point in the life of the show.

However, in our research…we found that no one was ever hooked on

Ibid., 56.

the pilot. This gives us confidence that giving our members all

episodes at once is more aligned with how fans are made.”

Though Sarandos undoubtedly stands to benefit from subscribers embracing

the all-at-once release model, indicating a considerable bias, his comments

help to explain the transformed role of the first episode in Netflix original

series.

In order to explore the ways in which Netflix series may treat their

opening episodes differently from traditional programs, I will first outline

Mittell’s analysis of the goals and norms of pilot episodes, contrasting it with

moments from Netflix shows, before performing a more thorough case study

analysis of the first episode of the Netflix series Narcos (Brancato, Bernard,

and Miro, 2015-present), entitled “Descenso.” Because the concept of the

pilot has long played a crucial role in television storytelling, not every

introductory episode of a Netflix series deviates significantly from the norms

set by traditional television. Not all producers faced with a novel platform

decide to utilize every unique tool it offers. The decision to study the inaugural

episode of Narcos stems from the observation that it represents a noteworthy

departure from the tools typically used to introduce series and seasons of

traditional television.

A key facet of Mittell’s analysis of the pilot episode in complex

television is the expectation that it must teach the viewer how to watch the

series, presenting its narrative strategies in order to create a template for the

Todd Spangler, “Netflix Data Reveals Exactly When TV Shows Hook Viewers — And It’s Not the

Pilot,” Variety, September 23, 2015, http://variety.com/2015/digital/news/netflix-tv-show-data-viewer-

episode-study-1201600746/.

rest of the season’s storytelling. He writes, “For a television series, a pilot is

the primary site for establishing intrinsic norms for the ongoing series and

making clear connections to the relevant extrinsic norms of genre, narrative

mode, and style.”

Even in cases of shows employing unconventional

strategies, Mittell argues that programs should announce the series’ tone,

style, and structure as a “promissory note for what is to come.”

The first

episode is typically designed as the primary argument for a series’ viability

(for networks) and appeal (for viewers).

Netflix encourages its original series to reevaluate this basic

assumption. The first episode of Orange Is the New Black, “I Wasn’t Ready,”

introduces Piper Chapman and tells the story virtually entirely through her

perspective. Its primary goals are to use Piper as a means of entering the

prison world, as well as to explain her back-story and how she came to be in

this position. The episode devotes comparatively less time to exploring the

prison space and developing the supporting cast of inmates, elements that

end up becoming a primary focus of the season. A review by the A.V. Club

acknowledged this decision, stating, “It’s this task that takes a back seat here:

we meet various other inmates, get a quick glimpse of the guards…but we

don’t really get to know them because Piper doesn’t have time to interact with

them.”

This episode effectively throws the viewer into the world alongside

Piper, aligning us with her personal struggle while providing a cursory glimpse

Mittell, Complex TV, 74.

Ibid., 67.

Myles McNutt, “Orange Is The New Black: ‘I Wasn’t Ready’/’Tit Punch,’” A.V. Club, July 11,

2013, http://www.avclub.com/tvclub/orange-is-the-new-black-orange-is-the-new-black-100003.

at the wide expanse of narrative possibilities that will later be explored. The

episode opens in medias res, showing Piper struggle to navigate the prison

showers, before rewinding back to her life of privilege leading up to

incarceration and following her arrival to prison. This narrative structure

serves Piper’s choices, goals, and experiences over much else, aligning us

with a character that helps ground us in this unfamiliar environment.

Ultimately, the season favors the ensemble over the individual, highlighting

personal stories through character-centric storylines and flashbacks, while still

lending an eye to the broader system at play. Piper’s storyline still remains

relatively more visible than the rest, but it rarely commands a perspective as

narrow as this episode exhibits. Creator Jenji Kohan articulated her intention:

“In a lot of ways Piper was my Trojan Horse…[I]f you take this white girl, this

sort of fish out of water, and you follow her in, you can then expand your

world to tell all of those other stories.”

According to Mittell, the pilot

traditionally establishes a series’ approach to balancing multiple characters

and storylines, but this episode defies that role.

The first episode of season four of Arrested Development (Hurwitz,

2003-06, 2013-present) provides further insight into introductory episodes on

Netflix. Though this episode, titled “Flight of the Phoenix,” is technically a

season opener and not the first episode of the series, this was the program’s

first episode in seven years and the first to be released on Netflix. Mittell

“’Orange’ Creator Jenji Kohan: ‘Piper Was My Trojan Horse,’” Narrated by Terry Gross, Fresh Air,

NPR, August 13, 2013.

Mittell, Complex TV, 82.

describes season openers as “microbeginnings to reorient old viewers and

welcome in new ones.”

This point is particularly true for “Flight of the

Phoenix,” which represents a continuation in story but a departure in narrative

style from previous seasons. Each episode of season four focuses on a

different character and covers interlocking stories that occur over the same

span of time. The first episode, which focuses on the character of Michael,

does very little to establish this new storytelling form. Aside from a slight nod

in the opening credits (“It’s Michael’s Arrested Development”), the episode

does not acknowledge or prepare the viewer for the new style of narrative. A

Grantland review of “Flight of the Phoenix” points to the effect of this withheld

explanation on viewers: “You know you’re missing something but it’s not clear

what.”

Mittell explains that one of the goals of the pilot is to provide an

“encapsulation of what a series might be like on an ongoing basis.”

The

opening episode of Netflix’s Arrested Development reevaluates this notion

and expects viewers to piece together the puzzle, as the series progresses

beyond episode one. This creative decision points to a potential flaw in the

storytelling, leading to unmet or misdirected viewer expectations. After the

release of the season, creator Mitch Hurwitz confessed, “I felt in many ways, I

did not prepare the audience for this...That first episode became much more

like chapter one of a novel than episode one of a series. And I didn’t prep you

Ibid., 55.

Ana Marie Cox, “Arrested Development Recap: A Slow-Binge on Season 4, Episode 1: ‘Flight of

the Phoenix,’” Grantland, May 28, 2013. http://grantland.com/hollywood-prospectus/arrested-

development-recap-a-slow-binge-on-season-4-episode-1-flight-of-the-phoenix/.

Mittell, Complex TV, 56.

guys—I’m really sorry about that.”

For a show that is reintroducing itself to

viewers through this new season and platform, the episode does little to

establish its new narrative direction. In other words, viewers who are

accustomed to watching this series in a traditional format are not cued to

recalibrate their expectations for this more experimental approach.

“Descenso,” the introductory episode of Narcos, exemplifies some of

the unique qualities in the aesthetic toolbox offered to producers of Netflix

shows, as it relates to the first episode of a program. Rather than display

narrative strategies indicative of the rest of the season, this episode differs

markedly in its storytelling form. Furthermore, its goals and scope are

noticeably different from other episodes. Voice-over narration guides the

viewer through a fast-paced documentary-style rundown of historical events,

pertinent characters, and institutional forces that contextualizes and sets the

stage for the central conflicts of the season. The episode provides occasional

glimpses at the sort of character-based drama that gains more prominence in

future episodes, but the overall anthropology of the world is the dominant

focus, affording the viewer a degree of critical distancing that prioritizes

comprehension over emotion.

The narrator of Narcos, DEA Agent Murphy, is also a character within

the story world. However, his voice-over is delivered from the point of view of

an older present-day Murphy whose narration seems almost omniscient in

Ashley Lee, “NYTVF: 'Arrested Development's' Mitch Hurwitz Wants a Bluth Movie and Season 5

at Netflix,” The Hollywood Reporter, October 22, 2013,

http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/nytvf-arrested-developments-mitch-hurwitz-650002.

scope. “Descenso” concludes with the character Murphy arriving in Bogotá

with his wife, and the rest of the season picks up from there. It is easy to

imagine a more traditional version of this episode that leads with this inciting

moment, seeing as this is where the central narrative, as we come to know it,

truly begins. Instead, the bulk of the episode is led by Murphy the narrator,

who expeditiously guides the viewer through various points in time and space

in order to provide a bird’s-eye view of the moving parts involved in the story.

Occasionally, the episode deliberately silences the narration and slows the

pacing to yield the floor to key character moments, such as our introduction to

Pablo Escobar. The first time we see Escobar, he is pulled over by a group of

police officers. Over the course of the scene, he reverses the power dynamic

as it was initially defined, demonstrating his extensive knowledge about the

officers’ families. While Murphy’s voice-over controls the pacing for the

majority of the episode, Escobar takes command here, as long-take handheld

tracking shots follow him from one officer to the next. Soon after this scene,

the narrative snaps back into its previously established rhythm. Such

moments represent brief teasers for the rest of the season, when emotional

engagement becomes a more significant goal within the narrative. For now,

these characters mainly serve as essential components to a grander

apparatus.

Rather than placing its central focus on character-centered exposition,

this episode functions similarly to a stylistically embellished piece of

journalism. Throughout the episode, dramatized sequences are laced with

real archival footage, as they both support the narration in explaining the

events that lead up to Pablo Escobar’s drug empire. Murphy’s voice-over

covers a wide expanse of material, explaining the political forces that brought

cocaine to Colombia, the logistics behind Escobar’s operation, and the

implications of the drug trade on American society and policy. His narration

often articulates facts and linkages that facilitate our understanding of the

complex web laid before us. Murphy narrates, “From ’79 to ’84, there were

3,245 murders in Miami,” over real archival footage of dead bodies being

collected. As the story jumps from 1989 Colombia to 1973 Chile to 1979

Miami, title cards help orient the viewer but also call attention to the episode’s

construction. Camera movement repeatedly functions to highlight, document,

and observe various processes and actions. In a scene where Cockroach

leads Pablo and Gustavo through their first visit to a cocaine-processing lab,

a handheld camera continually wanders away from the characters to observe

the various steps of the process. Moments like these reflect the episode’s

documentary-esque focus on how the sausage gets made, so to speak.

These devices encourage comprehension and allow the viewer to absorb a

great deal of expository information. By keeping the viewer at a distance, the

episode aims to elicit engagement from a fascination with following the

process and making sense of the world.

While the expository goals of this episode favor the wider scope of its

narration, the relationship between story action and voice-over is more evenly

balanced in future episodes. Though Murphy’s voice-over and the journalistic

framework continue to play a role in viewer engagement, the rest of the

season prioritizes character and emotion to a much greater degree.

“Descenso” tells its story from a bird’s-eye vantage point, occasionally

swooping down to focus on character. Inversely, subsequent episodes spend

most their time on the character level and periodically zoom outward to

contextualize the drama within the broader network. As a result, the primary

source of viewer engagement during the rest of the season stems from the

emotions and actions of the characters. Given the paucity of character drama

in “Descenso,” the episode aims to captivate the viewer through its engaging

delivery of background information. In the voice-over narration, Murphy’s

manner of speech is characterized by stylized quips and personability that

inject humor and sarcasm into the expositional rundown. The episode

establishes this narrative voice from the very beginning when Murphy

discusses present-day government surveillance: “Trust me; they know who

you’re fuckin’.” The tone of the narration remains relatively consistent

throughout the season. However, later episodes utilize voice-over to facilitate

the progression of specific plotlines within the story. In other words, the rest of

the season uses voice-over to guide the storytelling rather than to assume

that role for itself.

To a certain extent, Narcos’ approach to exposition in its first episode

is less comparable to television as it is to cinema and documentary film. In

fact, the series was originally conceived as a movie project, according to

executive producer Eric Newman.

Moreover, an executive producer of the

series and director of “Descenso” is José Padilha, who is best known for his

work in documentary and narrative feature films. Padilha’s handling of the

exposition for Narcos was also influenced by cinema, as he admittedly drew

from Goodfellas (Scorsese, 1990):

There’s no reason for me to shy away from it. [In Goodfellas], Henry

takes the audience into the world of the mafia and tells the audience

the complexities of that world. We have two characters that are DEA

agents, taking the audience into the world of cocaine and into the world

of Columbia. It actually suits the Goodfellas model perfectly.

A mark of Netflix’s impact, the comparisons he makes to cinema indicate that

the creators approach Narcos as a season-long story rather than as a string

of episodes.

“Descenso” serves to set the tone of the series’ narration as well as to

provide a great deal of narrative exposition to help orient viewers. Mittell

names both of these functions as being traditional goals for the pilot

episode.

However, the episode does not establish narrative strategies and

norms intrinsic to the rest of the series. Rather, it functions more as a

foreword that supplies viewers with the necessary tools to watch the program.

One review by the A.V. Club reacted to the voice-over in a way that supports

this interpretation of Narcos’ first episode: “In the season premiere especially,

Gabrielle Pantera, “Netflix Narcos Dark Crime Drama, One Crime, Two Stories,” Hollywood Daily

Star, August 31, 2015, http://www.hollywooddailystar.com/netflix-narcos-dark-crime-drama-one-

crime-two-stories/.

Christina Radish, “Narcos: 14 Things to Know about Netflix’s New Pablo Escobar Crime Saga,”

Collider, August 4, 2015, http://collider.com/narcos-netflix-pablo-escobar-crime-saga-14-things-to-

know/.

Mittell, Complex TV, 56.

[the voice-over] is intrusive, messy, and irritating. As the season rolls on, the

voice-over not only becomes less prominent, but also serves as one of the

more compelling ways the show adds depth and complexity to the

narrative.”

Subjective critique aside, this reviewer points to an observable

break between “Descenso” and the rest of season one with regard to the

same narrative device. The episode functions in a distinct way, utilizing the

tools offered by the platform to introduce the season in a way that is not

necessarily representative of it.

SEASON STRUCTURE

The fact that Netflix only makes straight-to-series orders and releases

its seasons all at once also has an effect on the aesthetic possibilities for

season structure. As discussed earlier, no other major television channel

exclusively makes full season orders, usually opting instead to order a

specific number of episodes. This practice implies that the basic default unit

of television storytelling is the episode. Mittell writes:

The typical model of television consumption, divided into weekly

episodes and annual seasons, constrains producers interested in

telling stories that transcend individual installments, as any viewer’s

memory of previous episodes is quite variable, with a significant

number of viewers having missed numerous episodes altogether.

Netflix’s release model compresses the gaps between installments, allowing

for producers to reevaluate traditional poetics to tell longer-form stories.

Therefore, the way that Netflix orders shows and the way it releases them

Kyle Fowle, “Narcos Uses Voice-over to Subvert the Antihero Narrative,” A.V. Club, September 10,

2015, http://www.avclub.com/article/narcos-uses-voice-over-subvert-antihero-narrative-224812.

Mittell, Complex TV, 180.

both contribute to changes in how producers craft seasons, as well as how

viewers receive them.

For traditional television networks, the straight-to-series model of

commissioning series is generally seen as being more risky than the pilot

model because an entire season demands a much larger monetary bet than a

single pilot. For this reason, the season order remains the exception rather

than the rule. Netflix, on the other hand, models its series development and

distribution around the season. In some cases, it has doubled down on this

model, occasionally committing beyond the first season. These advance

commitments put more time and power in the hands of creators, allowing for

them to plan and structure a program’s storytelling over a longer span of time.

By looking at examples of particularly ambitious commitments, the type of

which are virtually absent from traditional television, we can study the

aesthetic implications of advance commitment on season storytelling.

Netflix’s lengthiest series plan involves its five-series deal with Marvel

Television. Reminiscent of the Marvel Avengers film franchise, the plan

includes four character-centric series (Daredevil, Jessica Jones, Luke Cage,

and Iron Fist) along with a fifth crossover series The Defenders that will unite

the characters. The scope of this commitment places an emphasis on the role

of the season, rather than the episode, as the basic unit of a series. Each

season not only represents an installment within an individual series but also

serves a narrative purpose within the overall franchise. The first two releases

of the franchise, Daredevil (Goddard, 2015-present) and Jessica Jones

(Rosenberg, 2015-present), are currently streaming. Two seasons of

Daredevil have been released, and Netflix has commissioned a second

season for Jessica Jones. The first seasons of these two series function as

standalone hero’s journeys that shy away from self-contained, episodic plots

in favor of long-term storylines and conflicts that span the season.

In the case of Daredevil, season one is an origin story that culminates

in the hero finally donning his red suit before defeating his season-long

adversary. A Forbes review of season one read, “In Daredevil, Marvel

delivers one of the greatest live-action superhero origin stories ever made. It

is in the same top-tier category of true superhero origin films along with

Batman Begins, Iron Man, and Superman: The Movie.”

By comparing this

season to feature films, the critic’s commentary illuminates the non-traditional

poetics that govern the season. According to Mittell, cinematic narratives

differ from televisual narratives in that they manage viewer comprehension

within the “controlled unfolding” of a film, while series must balance short-term

memories of episodic events and serialized recall across the season.

compressing the serial gaps between episodes and releasing the season as a

unit, Netflix allows for a more controlled, continuous viewing experience

across the season. Daredevil takes this opportunity to tell an origin story that

follows Matt Murdock, as he grapples with his sense of right and wrong,

develops his strengths, and faces a powerful villain who tests his

Mark Hughes, “Review – ‘Daredevil’ Is One of Marvel’s Greatest Achievements,” Forbes, April 3,

2015, http://www.forbes.com/sites/markhughes/2015/04/03/review-daredevil-is-one-of-marvels-

greatest-achievements/#17c322f2126c.

Mittell, Complex TV, 180.

preconceptions about morality. These events build across the season to

eventually transform him into Daredevil, the superhero. Not until the final

moments of the final episode does he even put on the costume or receive the

eponymous alias. The season ends with a shot of Daredevil looking out over

Hell’s Kitchen in search of his next mission, signaling that the season’s work

is done.

By adapting a feature film narrative strategy to a season of television,

Daredevil commits to a relatively lengthy span of time over which to tell its

story. While each episode of television similarly faces an obligation to fill its

runtime, a season-long story poses an even greater challenge. Though its

filmic narrative allows for greater comprehension and cohesion over the first

season, Daredevil encounters a length issue that potentially threatens its

engagement with the viewer. Superhero origin films typically place plot at the

forefront of the narrative and engineer character development through the

action. Meanwhile, a more conventional television series featuring an action

hero can maintain an emphasis on plot by repeating exposition and telling

discrete episodic stories. By stretching its narrative over 13 episodes,

Daredevil must space out its action and fill the gaps with dramatic dialogue-

heavy scenes. For this reason, the show is just as much a character-based

crime drama as it is a superhero action series. Though the first season of

Daredevil was generally well-received, a common source of critique (and

praise) was its methodical pace, which may reflect the public’s delayed

adjustment to the type of long-form storytelling encouraged by the Netflix

model. A New York Times review read:

To a greater degree than in previous Netflix series, Mr. Goddard and

Mr. DeKnight have taken account of binge viewing in structuring their

narrative…Where traditional television comic-book adaptations feel the

need to account for their hero’s powers and introduce his central

adversary quickly, “Marvel’s Daredevil” takes its time…This willingness

to delay our narrative gratification is a pleasant change from the norm,

but it reflects a pace that could be charitably described as leisurely.

The reviewer lumps Netflix viewing behavior together under the banner of

binge viewership, essentially making the assumption that people who watch

Daredevil will watch all episodes in quick succession. While Netflix certainly

encourages binge-viewing patterns by allowing subscribers to watch at their

own chosen pace, an all-at-once release does not equate to immediate

consumption. In acquiring the near-guarantee that viewers watch a season

from the beginning, Netflix series surrender their ability to have any say in the

pace at which they watch. This trade-off leads to certain platform-specific

challenges faced by creators. The creators of some Netflix series, such as

Daredevil and Jessica Jones, aim to take advantage of our comprehensive

viewership by extending their stories over a full season. In doing so, they

implicitly accept the possibility that some viewers will watch them too slowly

and lose comprehension or patience.

Jessica Jones, even moreso than Daredevil, closely follows its single

central conflict over the course of season one. The eponymous protagonist

Mike Hale, “Review: In ‘Daredevil,’ a Superhero Is Sightless but Not Blind to Crime,” The New

York Times, April 8, 2015, http://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/09/arts/television/review-in-daredevil-a-

superhero-is-sightless-but-not-blind-to-crime.html.

has a dark, traumatic history with the season’s villain, Kilgrave, and the

unfolding of the conflict parallels Jessica’s own personal recovery and

reclamation. A review in Variety notes that the show “takes its time revealing

just how canny and malevolent the detective’s main opponent is…[H]e takes

up a lot of space in the drama’s narrative and inside Jessica’s head.”

Though Jessica is a private eye, the series rejects episodic case-of-the-week

plots in favor of a slow-burn story that simultaneously provides insight into the

character and tracks her journey to defeat the man who broke her.

The Netflix model allows the program to rely heavily on long-term

recall, treating the season as a cohesive whole. Episode one first finds

Jessica arguing with a man, obscured behind the glass of her office door. The

camera slowly tracks in before she throws the man out through the glass. A

jazzy saxophone score plays beneath her noir-tinged voice-over, in which she

explains that she keeps to herself because “people do bad shit.” In the first

episode, she unwittingly faces the resurfaced threat of Kilgrave, who we later

learn had mind-controlled her and raped her at a time when she was trying to

be a superhero. Across the season, the fight against Kilgrave forces Jessica

to reclaim the hero position and face her past traumas. In the final scene after

defeating Kilgrave, Jessica sits in her office deleting voicemails from citizens

asking for her help. The camera tracks outward into the hallway, framing her

through the newly re-smashed window of the door. Over a similar saxophone

score, Jessica wonders through voice-over if she can fool herself into being a

Maureen Ryan, “TV Review: ‘Marvel’s Jessica Jones.’” Variety, November 17, 2015,

http://variety.com/2015/tv/reviews/jessica-jones-review-krysten-ritter-netflix-1201636528/.

hero. Through narration, music, camera movement, and composition, the

bookends of the season evoke a sense of symmetry that cues viewers to

consider what, if anything, has changed. This example of narrative

construction points to the broader season-level storytelling that governs

Jessica Jones. The choice to audiovisually bracket the season through

various stylistic devices indicates an expectation that a decent amount of

viewers will watch at a quick enough pace that episode one remains in their

memory when they watch the final episode. For a traditional series, this

decision would make less sense creatively, as several weeks would

unquestionably pass between the airings of the first and last episodes.

Besides, traditional television does not typically allow for the degree of

advance commitment that would permit creators to make such a decision in

the first place.

In another example of advance commitment, Netflix invested $100

million in two seasons of House of Cards, its first original scripted series,

without seeing a single frame in advance. This degree of commitment is

virtually absent from traditional television and has significant implications for

the aesthetic possibilities offered to producers. Creator Beau Willimon stated,

“Because we had a two-season order, I thought of seasons one and two as a

combined entity—a 26-hour movie.”

Though the film medium undoubtedly

encourages different poetics from streamed television, this comparison

Andrew Romano, “Beau Willimon on Most Shocking Twists in ‘House of Cards’ Season 2,” The

Daily Beast, February 15, 2014, http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/02/15/beau-willimon-on-

most-shocking-twists-in-house-of-cards-season-2.html.

implies an approach to narrative form that emphasizes serialized storytelling

across a set period of time. Seasons one and two of House of Cards feature a

methodical progression tracking protagonist Frank Underwood’s ascendency

to power. Willimon insisted, “We always knew Francis should be president by

the end of season two, and we knew that Zoe would meet her demise at the

end of episode one in season two before we even started watching [sic]

season one.”

According to producer Modi Wiczyk, “There’s not a cliffhanger

at the end of every episode. The episodes really build in a very different

way.”

The program plans and structures these seasons in such a way that

each episode and plot point functions as part of the broader narrative, which

culminates in Frank becoming president.

Perhaps for this reason, season three of House of Cards received

mixed reviews from critics and audiences. One review for the Hollywood

Reporter attributed the season’s problems to “story fatigue.”

Willimon

acknowledged the break and called it a “narrative departure,” stating, “The

first two seasons were about an ascent; now they’re at the top of the

mountain. There’s no mountain left to climb. That’s gonna change things.”

Ben Travers, “'House of Cards' Creator Beau Willimon Breaks Down Every Big Scene from Season

2 From That Death to That Threesome,” Indiewire, June 18, 2014,

http://www.indiewire.com/article/television/house-of-cards-creator-beau-willimon-on-how-he-

constructs-his-seasons-and-not-needing-number-from-netflix.

Dorothy Pomerantz, “The Producer Behind ‘House of Cards’ on How Netflix Offered Creative

Freedom,” Forbes, July 18, 2013, http://www.forbes.com/sites/dorothypomerantz/2013/07/18/the-

producer-behind-house-of-cards-on-how-netflix-offered-creative-freedom/#61173720a63b.

Tim Goodman, “’House of Cards’: TV Review,” The Hollywood Reporter, February 18, 2015,

http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/review/house-cards-season-3-review-775215.

Tim Stack, “House of Cards Creator Beau Willimon Knows Season 3 Is Polarizing: 'That’s a Good

Thing,’” Entertainment Weekly, March 6, 2015, http://www.ew.com/article/2015/03/06/house-cards-

creator-beau-willimon-season-3-it%E2%80%99s-little-polarizing-this-season-i.

seasons one and two, an upward trajectory takes Frank to increasingly higher

echelons of power, ending with the presidency. The conflicts that arise along

the way represent obstacles on this central path. Once the ultimate goal has

finally been reached, the narrative in season three must then set up a new

story with a different set of expectations.

At its core, the break in the storytelling between seasons two and three

is a manifestation of the uncertainty that clouds the creative process. In

traditional television, when a series receives an episode order, creators

operate under a certain set of assumptions. Realizing that the network may

pull the show off the air if it underperforms, creators will encapsulate in each

episode its primary argument to the viewers, especially when producing for a

broadcast network. Also, in preparation for possibly getting picked up for

more episodes, the series will often leave the story open-ended. In the case

of a full season order, creators may write an ending that doubles as a series

finale so that viewers are satisfied if the network decides to cancel the show.

House of Cards faces a similar set of constraints from uncertainty but on a

larger scale. Netflix’s $100 million commitment to House of Cards practically

represents the utmost level of confidence in a show’s quality. Even in this

most extreme case, uncertainty still affects the creative process. By

committing to two seasons before a single scene has been shot, Netflix

guaranteed the creators a vast expanse of story time, but they could not sign

off on another season before at least gauging the show’s reception upon its

release. Even if the first two seasons were well received, other factors such

as contract negotiations or budgetary concerns, could raise question marks.

In the face of this uncertainty, the creators of the show faced a important

trade-off. They could either take advantage of the two-season commitment

and carefully plan out a self-contained story over the allotted time, or they

could keep the story open ended and risk leaving it unfinished. Ultimately,

they chose the former, opting for unity across its first two seasons and

essentially setting the series up for a divergent third season.

According to Mittell, traditional series that aspire to this type of

serialized storytelling tend to rely on “diegetic retelling,” often utilizing

dialogue and visual cues to activate viewers’ long-term recall within individual

episodes.

Similarly, these series oftentimes include recaps at the start of

each episode in order to remind viewers of the events “previously on” the

program. Mittell claims, “Industry lore has long asserted that fans only watch

one-third of new episodes, suggesting that creators must write for a spectrum

of potential viewers.”

Narrative redundancies serve to facilitate the existence

of heavily serialized storytelling on platforms that, in many ways, inhibit it

through weekly release schedules. The creator of Netflix series BoJack

Horseman (Bob-Waksberg, 2014-present) contended that the streaming

model provides an alternative:

The coolest thing about [Netflix’s] model to me, moreso even than the

idea of people watching all the episodes together, is the idea that

people are going to watch all the episodes in order. This is something

we as audiences take for granted, but you can’t take it for granted

when you’re working on a show for a more traditional network.

Mittell, Complex TV, 181.

Ibid., 165.

Traditionally, every episode needs to work as an entrance to the series

even if you’ve never seen the show before…We didn’t have to

constantly reintroduce the characters and the premise, and we could

have the characters and the premise change. This influenced

everything we did.

House of Cards, along with all other Netflix original series, forgoes the

“previously on” segment, seeing as the previous episode is immediately

accessible for viewers to watch or re-watch. Furthermore, the series lacks

much of the diegetic retelling found on traditional television, as Willimon

asserted, “We always assume that we’ve got a smart audience that have a

good memory, that we don’t have to repeat a lot.”

Because the platform lets

viewers control the pace of their watching and allows them to repeat episodes

if necessary, the series generally operates under the assumption that the

viewer has watched and retained the previous episodes.

This approach to storytelling can potentially hinder viewer

comprehension as well. In the absence of weekly appointment viewing, the

platform makes it just as easy for viewers to let several days or weeks pass

before returning to a series. For a show like House of Cards, the barrier to

restarting is probably greater than it would be for a traditional show. Without a

recap segment preceding each episode, the series necessitates that a

returning viewer sacrifice a degree of comprehension or take the time to

repeat earlier episodes. House of Cards, like several other Netflix series,

Gus Lubin, “'BoJack Horseman' Creators Explain Why Netflix Is So Much Better Than TV,”

Business Insider, October 3, 2014, http://www.businessinsider.com/why-bojack-horseman-went-to-

netflix-2014-9.

Sarah Jane Griffiths, “House of Cards: ‘We’ve Got a Smart Audience,” BBC News, July 15, 2015,

http://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-33524912.

accepts this as a possibility but still maintains some reminders and dialogue

cues within the narrative to jog the viewer’s memory. As with traditional

television shows, Netflix series must write for a spectrum of viewers. But

rather than accounting for differences in the amount that viewers have seen,

creators must consider different viewing paces.

GLOBAL STORYTELLING

“You are witnessing the birth of a global TV network,” declared Reed

Hastings, upon adding 130 more countries to the streaming service.

While

more than half of all total subscribers are in the United States, Netflix is the

only service that distributes its series with such global scope. As of January

2016, Netflix has 45 million domestic subscribers and 75 million total global

subscribers.

Most networks release their programs within their home

countries and then separately license out content to regional channels for

international distribution. The fact that Netflix serves such a diverse

subscriber base has serious implications on the creative possibilities for its

original series. While traditional television networks’ content decisions are

based on domestic viewership or subscriptions, Netflix’s business model

allows for its programming to cater both to broad swathes of its global

subscriber base and to niche audiences within specific countries and

language communities.

Emily Steel, “At CES, Netflix Adds Over 130 Countries to Streaming Service,” The New York

Times, January 6, 2016, http://nyti.ms/1OORFFq.

Spangler, “Netflix Hits 75 Million.”

Though not all Netflix scripted series choose to take advantage of the

platform’s multinational presence, some programs tap into the unique

aesthetic opportunities that it offers. Club de Cuervos (Alazraki and Lam,

2015-present) is a Spanish-language comedy-drama series created for Netflix

by U.S.-based producers. Co-creator Gaz Alazraki, who was born and raised

in Mexico, set out to tell this story using American comedy writers who were

experienced in Hollywood scripted television.

According to showrunner Jay

Dyer, the writing process was carried out in English, and Alazraki, who also

comprised the writer’s room, would translate scripts into Spanish.

This

writing approach has repercussions on the show’s comedic style, as writer

Alessia Costantini explained:

We quickly learned that we couldn’t rely on clever wordplay, or turns of

phrase, because those would be lost in translation. It forced us to dig

deeper and write character-driven humor that resonated from a story

perspective, more than the classical set-up/punchline construction.”

Constantini’s comments attribute the series’ international appeal to its writing,

which is not tied to any one culture’s sensibility or language. Though her

remarks during this promotional interview carry some bias, they help describe

the influence of the Netflix model, which in this case encourages universal

over regional appeal. Due to the unique offerings of the platform, Club de

Cuervos represents a deviation from traditional television, combining Hispanic

Xaque Gruber, “Club De Cuervos Is Netflix’s Freshest New Series of the Year,” Huffington Post,

August 10, 2015, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/xaque-gruber/club-de-cuervos-is-

netfli_b_7966254.html.

Jenna Milly, “Club de Cuervos Writer and Showrunner Jay Dyer on the New Netflix Comedy,”

ScreenwritingU, August 18, 2015, http://www.screenwritingu.com/blog/club-de-cuervos-writer-and-

showrunner-jay-dyer-new-netflix-comedy.

Gruber, “Club De Cuervos.”

actors, subject matter, and settings with Hollywood television comedy writing

and thus catering to a global audience.

Narcos utilizes Netflix’s global presence to authentically tell a story that

takes place primarily in Colombia. Shot on location, the series’ documentary-

style approach to the story of Pablo Escobar’s Medellín cartel calls for a

certain degree of realism. The series aims to give viewers access to the

multidimensionality of Escobar and his world without obstruction or distraction

from historically implausible English dialogue or being tied to an American

point of view. Because Netflix services several Spanish-speaking countries in

addition to the United States, which itself contains a sizable Latino population,

Narcos is afforded the opportunity to portray characters as speaking their

native languages.

According to industry lore, American audiences are notoriously averse

to subtitled dialogue.

Netflix’s unique subscriber make-up helps explain the

program’s break from traditional American television, where foreign

characters often speak accented English or lack substantial screen time.

One anomalous example from traditional television is The Bridge (Stiehm and

Reid, 2013-2014), which takes place on the U.S.-Mexico border and contains

both English and Spanish dialogue. However, the series, which aired on FX,

does not approach the level of bilingualism found in Narcos and was

cancelled after two seasons due to very low ratings. Traditional television

Jeremy Egner, “Netflix Looks to ‘Narcos’ for a New Audience,” The New York Times, August 26,

2015, http://nyti.ms/1KN7WJh.

Stephanie Merry, “How Netflix Is Tricking American Audiences into Embracing Subtitles,” The

Washington Post, September 1, 2015, http://wpo.st/cbCT1.

networks are not in the same position as Netflix to produce multilingual

content (especially with a sizable budget), seeing as they depend solely on

domestic viewership or subscriptions to rule on a show’s success. According

to Netflix executive Cindy Holland, the company, which collects data on

subscriber viewing behavior, inferred that an American audience existed for

this type of series based on the popularity of foreign films among its

subscribers.

Not only does Narcos contain Spanish dialogue, but it also frequently

prioritizes the Colombian narco storyline over the American drug-enforcement

one. The inclusion of an English-speaking narrator likely allays American

viewers’ sense of foreignness regarding the program. An article by The

Washington Post claimed, “The subtitles are stealthily delivered,” adding that

the show’s marketing was strategically centered on American character Steve

Murphy, whose presence onscreen is hardly its primary focus.

Furthermore,

the proportion of Spanish-dialogue scenes within each episode seems to

increase once the season progresses past the first few episodes. As

mentioned earlier, the Netflix model enables narrative techniques to evolve

over the course of the season, allowing for later episodes that notably differ

from earlier ones. For instance, episode two of Narcos, which features the

official conception of the Medellín cartel, contains approximately 15 minutes

and 47 seconds of Spanish dialogue, representing 34% of the episode’s

Lacey Rose, “Netflix's Original Content VP on Development Plans, Pilots, Late-Night and Rival

HBO (Q&A),” The Hollywood Reporter, June 18, 2014,

http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/netflixs-original-content-vp-development-712293.

Merry, “Tricking American Audiences.”

running time. Meanwhile, episode seven, which represents a major turning

point in the war against the narcos and finds Escobar on the defensive,

spends 30 minutes and 33 seconds, or 60% of the episode, showing

characters speaking Spanish. From episode two to episode seven, the

proportion of Spanish dialogue nearly doubles. Admittedly, other narrative

factors likely figure into the inclusion of Spanish-dialogue scenes. However,

these specific examples fit in line with a broader development observed

across the season. The season begins by initially using heavy narration and

scenes of English dialogue to familiarize viewers with the world, its

characters, and the relevant plotlines. In this way, the program effectively

eases English-speaking viewers into following a story that ultimately is told

primarily in Spanish.

COMPLEX COMEDY

Television comedies are traditionally characterized by lower degrees of

seriality than dramas. Even in the realm of complex television, comedic

programs generally tend to veer more toward the episodic than their

counterparts in drama, which rely more heavily on serial plotting to achieve

their narrative goals. According to screenwriting instructor Robert McKee,

“Comedy allows the writer to halt narrative drive, the forward projecting mind

of the audience, and interpolate into the telling a scene with no story

purpose.”

Still, comedy series implement seriality to varying degrees and to

achieve various ends. However, because comedy has an inherently different

Robert McKee, Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting (New York:

ReganBooks, 1997), 361.

relationship with seriality from drama, the Netflix all-at-once release model

offers some unique aesthetic opportunities to comedy series in particular.

Many complex comedies invoke the “operational aesthetic,” whereby

viewers receive pleasure and laughs not only through the story world, but also

through an appreciation for the narrative mechanics used to achieve complex

plot structures.

Some traditionally televised series, such as Curb Your

Enthusiasm (David, 2000-2011), How I Met Your Mother (Bays and Thomas,

2005-2014), and Arrested Development, utilize explicitly reflexive mechanics

and innovative plotting to call attention to their artful construction and play

with viewers’ anticipation of the unfolding narrative. In its fourth season, which

was created for Netflix instead of Fox, Arrested Development continues to

employ strategies aimed at operational pleasures but adapts them to the

streaming model.

Arrested Development, during its original run on Fox, experiments with

the conventions of the sitcom genre, drawing on its well-established rules to

subvert viewer’s expectations and create self-reflexive comedy. The manner

in which the show plays with its construction and designs its narrative takes

root in the audience’s own experiences with television sitcoms. The fourth

season of Arrested Development attempts to apply this same experimental

comedic approach to Netflix’s all-at-once release model. This season

presents what is essentially the same story over and over again, and the

various episodes cover the action from different perspectives and time

Mittell, Complex TV, 42.

frames, creating gaps in the narrative. With each subsequent episode,

viewers are meant to receive pleasure, often with a comedic punch, through

interactions with previous installments. Each episode presents new narrative

threads that cue viewers to anticipate future collisions or coincidences,

serving as set-ups for impending punchlines and comedic sequences. The

operational aesthetic becomes reliant on the viewer’s ability to keep track of

these intersections across episodes, which can often prove challenging.

While the first three seasons often feature multiple interwoven storylines that

produce twists, coincidences, and convergences within each episode, season

four stretches these storylines across the entirety of the season, using

character-centric episodic installments to serve as pieces of a greater

narrative puzzle.

Upon its release, season four of Arrested Development received an

extremely mixed response from critics and viewers alike. The wide range of

reactions may be due in part to the amount of control afforded by the Netflix

model. Given that viewers have control over the pacing and the manner in

which they watch, there is not one single way of meeting the show. Some

viewers may rewind and rewatch sections to eagerly explore the season’s

operational layers, while others may allow significant gaps of time to elapse

between viewings. This degree of variation can yield wildly different viewing

experiences. Even creator Mitch Hurwitz struggled to figure out the best way

to watch the season. Hurwitz initially claimed that viewers should watch

season four in any order they please.

Upon further reflection, he redacted

that statement, urging viewers to watch the season in order. The fact that

even the creator grappled with this very basic issue indicates where the main

difficulties lie for this season of the show. The first three seasons of Arrested

Development drew on rules from the sitcom, a genre of television that has

been around for decades. Hurwitz’s decision to apply this same degree of

experimentation to the all-at-once release model disregards the fact that it

has not been in place long enough for most viewers to derive pleasure from

the operational aesthetic it inspires. At the time of its conception and

production, Netflix had not yet released a single original series, and there

existed no canon against which to compare. This season of Arrested

Development represents an untethered experiment on the narrative

possibilities offered by the platform. Its missteps reveal a key challenge with

crafting a Netflix comedy that targets operational pleasures across episodes,

which is that the creator wields little control over the way that viewers will

watch a given season.

Traditional comedy series experiment with serial narratives to varying

degrees. Even highly episodic sitcoms, such as I Love Lucy (Oppenheimer,

Carroll, and Davis, 1951-1957), employ seriality in the sense that their

settings and characters remain consistent from one episode to the next.

keeping with Mittell, sometimes traditional comedy series implement

Denise Martin, “Mitch Hurwitz Explains His Arrested Development Rules: Watch New Episodes in

Order, and Not All at Once,” Vulture, May 22, 2013, http://vult.re/10LTDgE?mid=.

Mittell, Complex TV, 235.

serialized plotlines to enhance the viewer’s appreciation of the world.

100

For

instance, the will they/won’t they relationship between Ross and Rachel in

Friends (Crane and Kauffman, 1994-2004) generates several serialized story

arcs throughout the series’ run. However, these ongoing plots seldom require

significant cumulative knowledge to engage with an individual episode, rather

serving as a backdrop upon which to present comedic situations or referential

humor. Some complex comedies, such as Seinfeld (David and Seinfeld,

1989-1998) and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (McElhenney, 2005-

present), exhibit conditional seriality, using the episodic structure to subvert

conventions by selectively employing seriality.

101

These types of shows build

on the audience’s familiarity with the rules and conventions that typically

define the sitcom. Oftentimes, comedic programs that exhibit heavy seriality

are labeled as “dramedies,” suggesting a perceived tension between serial

plotting and humor. In such cases, series may foreground plot and character

development, employing humor situationally within these serial plots.

Netflix’s animated sitcom BoJack Horseman utilizes the platform’s

unique qualities to present an alternative to traditional relationships between

seriality and comedy on television. In line with the seasons of other Netflix

shows, the first half of season one of BoJack measurably differs from the

second half in terms of narrative, tone, and seriality. In fact, the website

Indiewire changed its review policy in direct response to the first season of

BoJack Horseman, deciding thereafter to watch all episodes of the season

100

Ibid., 20-21.

101

Ibid., 21.

before filing a review for any Netflix series.

102

For the first six episodes of the

season, BoJack follows a fairly episodic narrative structure centered on a

washed-up actor (who also happens to be a horse) living in Hollywood and in

many ways functions as a show business satire. Set in a world where animal-

people live amongst humans, the first few episodes draw comedy from the

wackiness of the world. For instance, BoJack’s agent is a cat named Princess

Carolyn, who bats at a mouse toy on her desk while she does business on

the phone. The sheer absurdity of the story world, in combination with

BoJack’s acerbic demeanor largely fuel the comedy for this opening half of

the season.

The reality of BoJack’s depression, narcissism, and alcoholism, which

is initially buried beneath the strangeness, eventually comes to the fore and

provides the basis for empathy and pathos in the season’s darker second

half. Explaining the evolution of the season, creator Raphael Bob-Waksberg

said:

I want this to be more sincere than maybe you’re expecting it to be.

You don’t even realize it’s there when you first start watching and you

gradually get sucked into it, and by the end of the season you’re

thinking, ‘Oh my god, I actually care about these characters…how did

that happen?’

103

In many ways, the absurdity of the world is what allows for this gradual

dawning of darker themes. By creating a wacky universe where animals are

102

Ben Travers, “7 New Netflix Shows to Binge Watch in July 2015 (And the Best Episodes of

Each),” Indiewire, June 27, 2015, http://www.indiewire.com/article/7-new-netflix-shows-to-binge-

watch-in-july-2015-and-the-best-episodes-of-each-20150627.

103

C. Edwards, “Behind ‘Bojack Horseman’ with its Creator and Supervising Director,” Cartoon

Brew, September 22, 2014, http://www.cartoonbrew.com/interviews/behind-bojack-horseman-with-

creator-raphael-bob-waksberg-and-director-mike-hollingsworth-103565.html.

like people, the show initially almost distracts the viewer from contemplating

the character’s sadness. At the same time, the inherent wackiness allows the

series to veer into darker territory while still maintaining the comedy. Bob-

Waksberg explained:

We’re going to darker places than you could in live-action. A lot of

things we write, if it was a live-action show, I think would feel very

indulgent or feel very saccharine…but because you have cartoon

characters saying them, it opens up your heart a little bit.

104

Had the show begun with this level of emotional depth, viewers would not

have been given the opportunity to properly engage with the absurdist humor

of the story world. The Netflix model allows the show to take its time in

exploring the sadness behind the absurdity by practically ensuring that

viewers watch the season in order from the beginning.

This progression toward deeper emotional alignment is coupled with

greater seriality. Supervising director Mike Hollingsworth, when asked about

the effect of the Netflix release model on planning and production, explained:

BoJack, unlike other cartoons that I can think of, is a linear story. It

doesn’t reset at the beginning of every episode like The Simpsons or

Family Guy; his house and all of his relationships are slowly destroyed

throughout the season.

105

While there actually do exist some examples from traditional television of

serialized animated storytelling, the degree of seriality demonstrated by

BoJack regarding relationships, emotional states, and narrative events is

virtually unparalleled among sitcoms, let alone animation. In episode six of

104

Todd VanDerWerff, “Why Is Bojack Horseman, Netflix’s Best Show, So Very Good? Let’s Ask its

Creator!” Vox, August 23, 2015, http://www.vox.com/2015/8/23/9186237/bojack-horseman-netflix-

interview.

105

Edwards, “Behind ‘Bojack Horseman.’”

the first season, BoJack drunkenly steals the “D” from the Hollywood sign in

order to impress his ghostwriter Diane, with whom he has fallen in love. From

this point forward in the series, Hollywood is referred to as “Hollywoo,” a

consistent reminder that emotional and physical repercussions persist beyond

the parameters of an episode. After BoJack steals the “D,” the remainder of

season one follows the once stagnant character on an emotional tailspin,

employing heavier narrative seriality in order to uncover the self-hatred and

misguided emotions behind his actions. By the end of season one, BoJack

realizes he needs to move forward with his life.

Season two of BoJack Horseman finds BoJack struggling to improve

himself, still grappling with depression and his past. Given that viewers have

already been primed in the previous season to expect sadness existing

alongside humor, season two doubles down on this commitment, expanding

its focus to include other members of the ensemble in its long-form character

development. Even characters that once seemed too bizarre to take seriously

evoke moments of poignancy. Bob-Waksberg explained, “I think part of the

fun of the show for me is, what’s the silliest, wackiest thing I can think of, and

then let’s take that thing really seriously, let’s hack away at it until we find the

heart beating underneath.”

106

For example, Vincent Adultman is a character that Princess Carolyn

picks up in a bar during season one to make BoJack jealous. In actuality,

106

Vikram Murthi, “Absurdist Humor, Biting Drama Groom Bojack Horseman into One of TV’s Best

Shows,” A.V. Club, July 17, 2015, http://www.avclub.com/review/absurdist-humor-biting-drama-

groom-bojack-horseman-222415.

Vincent is three young boys stacked on top of each other in a trench coat, but

BoJack is seemingly the only one aware of this. In episode four of season

two, Princess Carolyn breaks things off with him after realizing that she got

into this relationship for the wrong reasons. Still oblivious to the truth about

Vincent, she admits that “wanting to believe something isn’t the same as

something being real.” For Carolyn, this moment represents an important

realization about herself and signals a new direction for her character.

Simultaneously, the inherent silliness that Vincent brings to the scene,

combined with the irony in Carolyn’s obliviousness, maintains a thread of

humor throughout. The scene exemplifies the series’ unique blend of

poignancy and absurdity, concepts that become more closely wedded in

season two. A review for Slant observed, “The series no longer oscillates

between comedy and drama in the relatively clean either/or alternation that

defined the first season; those moods are now merged and subsumed into a

surprisingly terse satire of capitalism.”

107

Though season two fully commits to tracking the emotional

development of these characters, it does not forsake comedy. In fact, from

season one to season two, the density of joke-telling actually increases. One

review of the second season for the A.V. Club contended, “Not since the early

seasons of Arrested Development or the best years of 30 Rock has a series

committed to the joke-a-second model like BoJack Horseman does.”

108

107

Chuck Bowen, “BoJack Horseman: Season Two,” Slant Magazine, July 10, 2015,

http://www.slantmagazine.com/tv/review/bojack-horseman-season-two.

108

Murthi, “Absurdist Humor, Biting Drama.”

Furthermore, while BoJack uses serialized storytelling to follow the emotional

consequences and developments of its characters and their relationships, it

hardly abandons episodic form. In fact, most episodes feature discrete plots,

alternating between A- and B-storylines and occasionally showcasing unique

narrative structures or points of view. Meanwhile, character development

across the season does not adhere to straightforward arcs but rather takes an

open-ended approach, as the characters take steps backward and forward

trying to improve over time. BoJack Horseman is able to achieve these

narrative goals concurrently due to the unique properties of Netflix. The all-at-

once release model raises the importance of the season and allows for

greater seriality but does not render the episode insignificant. In the case of

BoJack, individual episodes have their own self-contained structures, but the

emotional weight of their consequences carry on to future episodes,

necessitating serial viewing.

AUTHORSHIP AND CREATIVE CONTROL

Discussing authorship within the context of any collaborative medium

is a difficult task because numerous individuals are involved throughout the

production process. In television specifically, series can potentially run for

hundreds of episodes and several years, rendering it challenging to ascribe

authorship to any one person without discounting the contributions of many

others. Still, authorship remains an important part of how series are

developed, promoted, and received. Mittell states, “Even though such images

of authorship as a singular entity are clearly an inaccurate reflection of

production practices, such conceptions still function in our understanding of

television narrative,” adding that “authorial branding functions as an anchor

for understanding programming, delimiting potential appeals, tone, style, and

genre.”

109

Therefore, while authorship may not accurately reflect the

collaborative production process, it nonetheless plays a valuable role in the

viewing experience.

According to Mittell, television’s serial form has an effect on the

attribution of authorship.

110

Due to the need to simultaneously oversee

multiple episodes at various stages in production, television is frequently

considered a producer’s medium. Usually, the executive producer in charge

of managing a series is the head writer, who runs a room of writers and

maintains stylistic consistency. Still, the ongoing, seemingly open-ended

quality of serial form, combined with the fragmentation of traditional episodic

form, muddles the delineation of authorial roles. The Netflix model, by altering

the nature of serial and episodic form, offers opportunities to redefine

traditional notions of authorship.

For instance, Sense8 is a Netflix show that was largely billed as the

creative vision of the Wachowskis, the writing-directing team behind such

films as The Matrix (1999) and Cloud Atlas (2012). Coming from film to

television, the Wachowskis did not adhere to many of the traditional rules of

television production, in large part due to the freedoms offered by Netflix. For

one, the Wachowskis, in collaboration with co-creator J. Michael Straczynski,

109

Mittell, Complex TV, 95-97.

110

Ibid., 110.

wrote three hour-long spec scripts before pitching the series, conceiving of

the season as a whole rather than through a pilot.

111

The three creators co-

wrote every script, and the Wachowskis directed most of the season’s

episodes. While a few basic cable and premium cable outlets will also allow

some creators to write and/or direct multiple episodes, the creators’ season-

level approach to storytelling further contributed to Sense8’s unique authorial

voice. They structured and wrote the season as three four-hour acts, a

creative decision that influenced the production process and united the

season under a singular vision.

112

Rather than assigning directors to

individual episodes, directors would be in charge of specific locations, given

that Sense8 was shot on location in nine different cities.

113

Even in locations

that they did not direct, the Wachowskis would collaborate with the attached

directors, even stepping in to direct action sequences.

114

Supervision over

these action sequences represents an essential component of the

Wachowskis’ authorship, seeing as their films are known for their innovative

action scenes. Because of the long-term storytelling techniques encouraged

by the Netflix model, the creators of Sense8 exercise a form of authorship

that is unconventional for both film and television.

111

Cynthia Littleton, “Wachowskis Shopping Their First TV Series,” Variety, October 2, 2012,

http://variety.com/2012/tv/news/wachowskis-shopping-their-first-tv-series-1118060175/.

112

Casey Rackham, “’Sense8’ Explained: Not TV, Not a Movie… It’s ‘Some Weird New Thing,’”

Zap2it, June 5, 2015, http://zap2it.com/2015/06/sense8-explained-not-tv-not-movie-some-weird-new-

thing/.

113

J. Michael Straczynski, Twitter Post, June 8, 2015, 10:13 PM,

https://twitter.com/straczynski/status/608139836961099776.

114

Nick Newman, “John Toll Talks Adjusting for the Small Screen, ‘Sense8,’ the Wachwoskis, and

More,” The Film Stage, November 24, 2015, http://thefilmstage.com/features/john-toll-talks-adjusting-

for-the-small-screen-sense8-the-wachowskis-more/.

In traditional television, the head writer, or showrunner, must often

answer to network and studio executives, who provide notes as well as

approve scripts and casting decisions. This dynamic may result in some

tension between the creator’s vision for the show and executives’

expectations for the network and its brand. Netflix, on the other hand, does

not have a brand identity in the same sense as traditional television networks.

Traditional networks tailor and shape their programming to differentiate

themselves from other channels and maintain certain relationships with

viewers, advertisers, and/or affiliate organizations. Meanwhile, Netflix’s brand,

if such a thing exists, centers on viewer access and creative control, concepts

that, by definition, span a wide range of genres, tastes, and storytelling

approaches. Ted Sarandos articulated Netflix’s role in the creative process:

[W]e built the company on this in this internal culture of freedom and

responsibility, and we really did apply that to our showrunners too. We

decided it would be our role not to coach the creatives because it really

wasn’t our wheelhouse. It was going to be our role to pick the right

projects, pick the right worlds, pick the right talent to run those shows,

and then really try to create an environment for them to do the best

work of their lives.

115

This hands-off approach to developing and producing series has certain

aesthetic implications, as it facilitates some nontraditional creative decisions.

Master of None (Ansari and Yang, 2015-present) is a Netflix series that

demonstrates some of the creative liberties that the model offers producers.

In an interview with Deadline, co-creator Aziz Ansari explained that he

115

Maureen Ryan, “Netflix, Binging And Quality Control in the Age of Peak TV,” Huffington Post,

August 28, 2015, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/netflix-binging-and-quality-

control_us_55df5816e4b029b3f1b1f625.

specifically sought out the type of creative control offered by Netflix: “We

didn’t even pitch this to any traditional networks. I kind of refused to do it.”

116

In another interview, Ansari reiterated, “Netflix is definitely the place to go if

you want that level of creative freedom.”

117

One example of this flexibility

comes in the form of episode lengths. Traditional television shows must

adhere to strict length restrictions, as the program is tied to a weekly timeslot.

Episodes of Master of None are roughly thirty minutes long, but producers do

not feel compelled to add or remove scenes to hit a certain runtime. Similarly,

the fourth season of Arrested Development, which was created for Netflix,

also varies the runtime of its episodes, which range from 28 to 37 minutes in

length.

Another area affected by Netflix’s approach to the creative process is

casting. Traditional networks usually require approval for casting decisions,

while Netflix leaves these decisions to be made by creators. In fact, one

episode of Master of None, “Indians on TV,” deals with this subject, lamenting

the existence of de facto racial quotas on traditional television: “There can be

one [Indian character], but there can’t be two.” The series’ cast of characters,

which includes Ansari’s own parents, is diverse in terms of both ethnicity and

age. While it is difficult to ascertain whether these casting decisions would

have been approved on traditional television, Netflix’s hands-off approach to

116

Anna Lisa Raya, “Aziz Ansari on His Netflix Comedy Series, New Book and the End of ‘Parks and

Recreation,’” Deadline.com, June 25, 2015, http://deadline.com/2015/06/aziz-ansari-interview-netflix-

comedy-series-modern-romance-1201454724/.

117

Sarmishta Subramanian, “Q&A with Aziz Ansari,” Maclean’s, November 20, 2015,

http://www.macleans.ca/culture/qa-aziz-ansari-on-ethnic-casting-working-with-netflix-and-how-to-

make-revolutionary-show/.

casting likely encouraged these unconventional choices. The casting director

for Orange Is the New Black corroborated this sentiment, saying, “The show

gives these people that would normally play ‘Cop No. 3’ in one episode, 10

episodes to create a character.”

118

These observations express a noteworthy

departure from traditional television norms. However, the amount to which

these unconventional decisions can be attributed to the Netflix model is

ambiguous. Delineating the effects of expanded creative freedom is an

inherently complicated task that involves some extrapolation.

More broadly speaking, defining the aesthetic effects of the Netflix

model is a similarly complex challenge. Each creative decision represents a

confluence of relevant factors, and attributing the on-screen result to any one

source can be overly simplistic. Furthermore, in this so-called second golden

age of television, the norms of traditional television are not easily definable.

Mittell notes, “[C]omplex television’s most defining characteristic might be its

unconventionality.”

119

Each new series, whether for traditional television or

Netflix, hopes to contribute original stories and innovative ideas, if at the very

least to differentiate itself amidst the sea of competing programming.

Therefore, while some creative decisions are encouraged more than others

by the Netflix model, these same decisions could still possibly manifest

themselves on traditional television.

118

Bryn Elise Sandberg, “’Orange Is the New Black’ Casting Director Reveals How She Found

Diverse Stars,” The Hollywood Reporter, August 6, 2014,

http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/orange-is-new-black-casting-723404.

119

Mittell, Complex TV, 18.

Nonetheless, the Netflix model fundamentally alters some of the

central norms traditionally associated with television. Chief among these

changes is the all-at-once release of its seasons, which has significant

repercussions for balancing serial and episodic form. Mittell, who argues that

the temporal gaps between episodes are what “define the serial experience,”

claims that by “forgoing the gap-filled serial broadcast experience altogether,”

Netflix poses the “question as to whether these multiepisode narratives can

be considered serial at all.”

120

Truly, Netflix asks creators and viewers alike to

reevaluate their preconceptions for what television storytelling entails. By

changing the ways that series are made and watched, the platform offers a

distinct toolbox of aesthetic possibilities that encourages certain creative

choices over others. Producers can do with this toolbox what they please, as

it is not a rulebook but rather, a set of opportunities.

120

Ibid., 27, 41.

CHAPTER 3

SENSE8

AND SEASON-LEVEL STORYTELLING

The Netflix series Sense8 presents a cogent opportunity to study in

depth the impacts of the streaming model on television storytelling. The series

serves as a particularly compelling example, as it exhibits creative decisions

that take maximal advantage of the aforementioned aesthetic toolbox

encouraged by the platform. That is, Sense8 crafts a narrative that treats the

season rather than the episode as the basic unit of the series, fully embracing

the unique qualities of the all-at-once release model. In combination with the

creators’ unencumbered authorship, this unconventional narrative draws a

contrast with the storytelling approaches typically encouraged by traditional

platforms. This chapter engages in a season-level analysis of Sense8, while

the subsequent chapter discusses smaller-scale, episode-level storytelling

choices. Both segments of this case study aim to illuminate the unique formal

decisions facilitated by the streaming platform.

Differentiating between season- and episode-level creative decisions

can prove troublesome, as these layers of storytelling are intrinsically linked

within a serialized narrative. Yet while their roles in the series are intertwined,

their goals can often be at odds with each other. The season narrative

encompasses the character and plot development that occurs across multiple

episodes or perhaps the entire season. Season-level storytelling can range

from highly structured plotting with thematic unity to, simply, continuity of

characters and settings. Of course, this information and action are delivered

within the context of an episode, as the season’s narrative is not continuous

in the manner of feature films. Therefore, episode-level storytelling, especially

in the case of highly serialized shows, involves balancing narrative priorities

within each episode against season-level concerns. Because there exists

much overlap between these levels of storytelling, we will differentiate them

based on their respective objectives. Episode-level storytelling aims to

engage the viewer within the boundaries of each individual installment, while

season-level storytelling involves continuous viewer engagement and creating

narrative meaning across several episodes.

Sense8 was created by filmmakers Lilly and Lana Wachowski (The

Matrix, Cloud Atlas) and television writer-producer J. Michael Straczynski

(Babylon 5). Released all at once in June 2015, the series currently includes

one 12-episode season and has been picked up for a second. Its premise

involves eight strangers, each from different parts of the world, who suddenly

discover that they are mentally, emotionally, and physically connected. These

linkages initially manifest themselves subtly but grow stronger and more

pronounced over the course of the season. Concurrently, the show gradually

unfurls the enigmatic mythology behind the phenomenon of “sensates.”

Sensates are otherwise human but have the ability to share senses,

emotions, knowledge, and skills within a “cluster” of other such beings. The

series’ eight main characters together comprise a single cluster. Through this

premise, the creators aim to tell a science-fiction story that positions

character-based drama at the forefront, in hopes of tackling themes that are

atypical of the genre. Straczynski, who is a veteran of the genre, explained

the show’s relationship with science fiction:

[Science fiction] tends to be a genre about the gimmick, and not as

strongly oriented toward character or the journey… There’s always

been this weird dance between science fiction and politics, how much

one will get into the other, and the way science fiction television has

dealt with this has been just to ignore politics, gender, and sexuality

unless they could attach it to some other race. So we have aliens that

can change gender and isn’t it amazing? That lets them explore

general themes without making it about real people. We just figured

we’d go for broke and make this about us going through these things.

To use the show to examine issues of sexuality, gender, privacy,

politics, and religion, not from some weird alien race, but from

ourselves.

121

In keeping with the genre, Sense8 does center around a gimmick, but by

infusing the character experience into the mythology, it places an emphasis

on the emotional journey and explores divergent themes from those expected

of science fiction.

Across the season, the eight main characters face conflicts in their

individual lives and within the context of their shared cluster. As their

connections grow, many of these conflicts and storylines become increasingly

intertwined and/or complementary. The characters begin to play larger roles

in each other’s lives, and their newfound abilities start to serve greater

functions as both tools and obstacles within the narrative. What results is a

season of television that progresses from a surface-level depiction of

disparate elements and stories toward a more cohesive, complex narrative

that builds and relies on the accumulated storytelling preceding it.

121

“Interview: J. Michael Straczynski,” Lightspeed, January 2016,

http://www.lightspeedmagazine.com/nonfiction/interview-j-michael-straczynski/.

ACT STRUCTURE AND SEASON-LEVEL PLOTTING

In telling this multifarious story, the creators capitalize on Netflix’s all-

at-once release model to unfurl an extended narrative that spans the entire

season. The result is a decidedly ambitious televisual experiment that heavily

prioritizes season-level storytelling. Straczynski argued, “I want people to

watch all 12 hours, straight through…From our point of view, it’s written as a

12-hour movie.”

122

Speaking on the structure of the series, Straczynski

elaborated, “The first act is setting up the mystery and what the hell’s going

on. But the deeper you go, the more everything lines up and everything gets

explained.”

123

“Each four-hour block is like an act,” he added in another

promotional interview, “This isn’t a television show, this isn’t a movie, it’s

some weird new thing.”

124

The “it’s not TV” approach is hardly unique to

Netflix, seeing as HBO practically built a brand around the concept. However,

it is worth noting that Netflix has a propensity to attract creators who do not fit

the traditional television mold. From David Fincher and Beau Willimon (House

of Cards) to José Padilha and Doug Miro (Narcos), the streaming service has

cited creative freedom as a reason many filmmakers choose Netflix for their

first foray into television.

Similarly, Sense8 is the Wachowskis’ first and only television project,

as they have built a career from filmmaking. However, Ted Sarandos

122

Christina Radish, “J. Michael Straczynski Talks Collaborating with The Wachowskis on Sense8,”

Collider, May 26, 2015, http://collider.com/sense8-j-michael-straczynski-talks-collaborating-with-the-

wachowskis/.

123

Daniel Fienberg, “J. Michael Straczynski Says Viewers Have Evolved to be Ready for ‘Sense8,’”

Hitfix, June 5, 2015, http://www.hitfix.com/the-fien-print/j-michael-straczynski-says-viewers-have-

evolved-to-be-ready-for-sense8.

124

Rackham, "'Sense8' Explained.”

suggested that longer-form storytelling may be better suited to their style,

saying:

Their film reviews have been brutal and everything after The Matrix

didn’t go well, but if you look at the earlier cuts of their films before they

had to jam them down to 120 minutes, it’s amazing. There’s a four-

hour cut of Cloud Atlas that will blow you away.

125

Meanwhile, Straczynski’s sci-fi series Babylon 5 (Straczynski, 1993-1998)

became famous for its unprecedented five-year story arc, highlighting a

common thread in the creative team.

126

Accordingly, these three storytellers

collaborate to create a 12-hour, three-act long-form narrative in Sense8.

The series follows eight protagonists who live distinct lives in different

parts of the world. Perhaps in the interest of maintaining viewer engagement,

their respective storylines do not adhere to a single plotting pattern across the

season. Rather, the series varies and organizes its prioritization of individual

character plotlines to tell these stories concurrently. The dips in certain

storylines make room for the swells in others, and vice-versa. As a result,

each episode need not cover every character’s storyline with equal weight

and can devote greater focus to a particular character or group of characters

than would otherwise be possible. This storytelling approach allows for

deeper levels of character development over the season, as the viewer

spends longer periods of time with each character. Furthermore, it creates a

125

Kevin Jagernauth, “Netflix Chief Says 4-Hour Cut of ‘Cloud Atlas’ ‘Will Blow You Away’;

Wachowskis Doubt They’ll Get Big Studio Budgets Again,” Indiewire, February 10, 2015,

http://blogs.indiewire.com/theplaylist/netflix-chief-says-4-hour-cut-of-cloud-atlas-will-blow-you-

away-wachowskis-doubt-theyll-get-big-studio-budgets-again-20150210.

126

“Interview: J. Michael Straczynski.”

multilayered design for the season, wherein individual storylines are

staggered amidst the overall act structure.

Some traditional television programs, such as Game of Thrones

(Benioff and Weiss, 2011-present) and Lost (Lieber, Abrams, and Lindelof,

2004-2010), similarly juggle multiple characters and storylines. However,

Sense8 deviates from these series by feeding these character-based stories

into a broader season arc that unites them and relies on their development.

Game of Thrones and Lost begin with relatively intimate character-centric

stories but gradually expand their narrative universes over time, adding more

characters and divergent storylines. Meanwhile, Sense8 begins by providing

a cursory glance at each of its characters, relying heavily on their contrasting

environments to offer somewhat stereotypical characterization. As the season

progresses, the characters become more rounded, and the grand narrative

gains more coherence. The individual storylines converge, and the scope of

the story contracts, creating an inverse effect from those of the

aforementioned series. The long-term storytelling decisions of Game of

Thrones and Lost reflect the season-level considerations of many traditional

television series, involving the perpetuation of an open-ended narrative. The

nature of the television medium makes it so that few series work toward a

satisfying and conclusive ending, focusing rather on continuation and

advancement.

127

The unconventional approach by Sense8 more closely

resembles the modus operandi of a feature film, albeit in an amended form.

127

Mittell, Complex TV, 321.

While the series structures its season-level narrative into three acts,

the first season of Sense8 itself functions as one act of a greater story,

tracking the assembly of a united cluster. When speaking on the long-term

narrative plan for the series, Straczynski stated, “We ended up looking at a

rough five-year structure with year one being kind of the origin story for our

characters.”

128

This line of thinking supports the view that the season is the

basic unit of a series, as he refers to season one as the first installment in a

five-part series. The season’s three-act structure reinforces this notion of an

origin story. Act one introduces the characters separately and explains their

superhuman connections. It also establishes threats facing the cluster but

clouds them in mystery. Act two finds them exploring these connections, as

they intensify and play a greater role in their lives. During this time, the threats

against them become articulated more clearly. In act three, their connections

become vital for survival, as the danger from antagonist Whispers threatens

their existence as a cluster. By the end of the final act, the sensates prove

that they can work together as a cluster to evade Whispers, but several

threats and questions still remain for next season.

The three-act structure of Sense8’s first season captures a narrative

progression taking the ensemble of characters from disparate individuals to a

dynamic cluster. While the individual storylines certainly play a role in the

broader arc of the season and the timing of the breaks, the overall narrative

structure is not tied to any one character’s journey, instead tracking

128

Fienberg, “J. Michael Straczynski.”

developments in the cluster at large. This broader “cluster-level” narrative

relates more closely to the science-fiction mythology, while the separate

personal plotlines are generally more grounded in character-based drama.

This approach to telling parallel stories resembles what Bordwell refers to as

a network narrative. This cinematic storytelling strategy, often found in art

films, incorporates multiple protagonists following separate storylines that

occasionally intersect and commingle.

129

Sense8 takes an organizational

tactic typical of art cinema and adapts it within a televisual framework. In

arranging these character storylines within the season act structure, the

series staggers the timing of their individual act breaks. This allows the show

to juggle several story arcs at once but also poses potential challenges for

viewer comprehension and engagement.

The overall act breaks for this season align with those of the series’

mythology and the cluster as a whole. The individual characters’ storylines

still interact with the mythology plot and contribute to the construction of the

acts. Some characters, including Nomi, Riley, and Will, play a larger role than

others in the overall mythology of the world due to their unique

circumstances. Will has a mysterious childhood connection to sensates. Over

the course of the season, we learn that he met a sensate girl named Sara

Patrell as a young boy, and she was captured and lobotomized by the chief

antagonist, Whispers. Combined with his innate protective spirit as a police

officer, this background motivates him to assume an unofficial role of

129

David Bordwell, Poetics of Cinema (New York: Routledge, 2007), 191.

caretaker in the cluster. Meanwhile, both Nomi and Riley become victims to

Whispers’ captures but escape before he can lobotomize them or make eye

contact (i.e. gain access to their thoughts). Therefore, the storylines of these

three characters correspond more intimately with the cluster-level narrative.

They act as ambassadors from the individual storylines through whom the

cluster’s grander story is told. Likely due to their narrative proximity to the

mythology of the show, their stories are characterized by greater degrees of

obscurity than the others. By looking at the relationship between the individual

storylines and the overarching act structure, we can better understand

Sense8’s approach to season-level narrative structure.

Act one, which consists of the first four episodes, establishes the

fundamental mystery facing the cluster. A great deal of this first act serves to

raise questions that will later be answered in the second and third acts. For

most of the characters, the primary conflict within their individual storylines is

introduced during this act, as they are also confronted by early manifestations

of their interconnectedness. The first act is prefaced by a teaser, an enigmatic

scene, in which Angelica, who is writhing in pain, is visited by her lover Jonas

in a dark abandoned church. By occasionally intercutting with shots of

Angelica sitting alone, the scene suggests that Jonas is not actually physically

present. He urges her to give birth to the cluster, noting that “they will be

hunted” regardless. She cries out in pain before saying that she can see

them. A montage depicts Angelica visiting each of the eight characters in their

various locations, with a specific emphasis on contrast. Through a series of

shot reverse shots, she appears to them individually, and they look back at

her puzzled. This sequence, which represents Angelica giving birth to the

sensates, establishes the sprawling scope of the series without providing

much detail or explanation. Suddenly, an apparition of Whispers also visits

Angelica, but their dialogue suggests that Whispers and Jonas cannot see

each other. Whispers acknowledges that she has been hiding from him.

Angelica makes Jonas leave and reaches for a gun. Whispers taunts her,

seemingly assured that she will not use it. As the real Whispers enters the

church with a group of men, she puts the gun in her mouth and shoots.

Whispers, Jonas, and Angelica each represent key figures in the mythology of

the series, but these early appearances confound rather than clarify their

roles within the story. The opening teaser raises a host of questions and

provides little exposition, keeping the viewer largely in the dark.

Such is the case for most of act one with regard to the mysterious

connections that bind the characters. Straczynski compared this first act to

the setup of a film, explaining:

“If you walk into a mystery film at a local cinema…and after the first,

say, 15 minutes of seeing all the setup, walked out of the theater of a

mystery, you wouldn’t know what was going on. But you know that if

you stay with it over the course of those two hours, eventually all those

mysterious points will be cleared. Our structure is the same thing.”

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His comments reflect that Sense8 fully embraces the season-level seriality

encouraged by the Netflix all-at-once release model, requiring us to watch

multiple episodes before receiving key payoffs and explanations. At the same

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Fienberg, “J. Michael Straczynski.”

time, by placing the viewer in a state of relative confusion for the first act, the

show aligns us with the characters, who are similarly unaware of what is

happening to them. Throughout episode one, many of the characters remark

to their friends or family about seeing visions of Angelica killing herself.

Several of them also complain of migraines and experience unexplained

sensory feelings. However, for the most part, they go about their normal lives,

offering an opportunity for the viewer to receive some character exposition.

As the sensates become increasingly cognizant of these supernatural

occurrences, we begin to receive more articulate information about the

phenomenon, namely through Jonas, who acts as a mentor to the cluster. All

the while, their connections grow stronger and more intense. The

Wachowskis, who are routinely attracted to mysterious high-concept

premises, use a similar device to aid viewer comprehension in The Matrix

(The Wachowskis, 1999), through the character of Morpheus. However,

whereas Morpheus delivers a lengthy exposition rundown all at once in The

Matrix, Jonas’ commentary occurs in a more piecemeal fashion over the

course of the first act. This drawn out form of information delivery could

represent the Wachowskis’ televisual variation on the Morpheus moment for

solving the exposition problem in Sense8. In episode two, when Nomi

becomes hospitalized and at risk of being lobotomized, Jonas finds Will in

Chicago to alert him to save her. He also succinctly imparts some facts about

being sensate, telling Will that Angelica birthed him, that connections flow

both ways, and that migraines and unexplained sensations are just the

beginning of what he will experience. Additionally, he visits Nomi to warn her

to escape because her doctor, Dr. Metzger, is planning to lobotomize her.

The characters are skeptical to trust him and assume that they are going

crazy, but since our relationship with Jonas extends back to the opening

scene with Angelica, our faith in him is stronger.

In episode four, Jonas is mysteriously detained at the police station in

Chicago. Will tries to see him to no avail, but Jonas visits him from his prison

cell. They touch hands and can feel each other, establishing that a visiting

sensate is more than just a hallucination. Here, Jonas explains the difference

between visiting and sharing, two types of superhuman interactions that can

occur between sensates. He teaches Will, and the viewer, that members of a

cluster can visit each other instinctively, but sensates outside of the cluster

(like Jonas) can only visit once they have made visual contact. Meanwhile,

sharing can only happen inside a cluster and allows sensates to access each

other’s skills, language, and knowledge. He also explains what it means to be

part of a cluster, adding that Will has “seven other selves.” Jonas’ function

within these four episodes is to explain the fundamental rules and boundaries

of these characters’ new lives and to hint at the greater existential threat

facing them. He presents a great deal of information answering some

important questions, but his mysterious fugitive status and efforts to save

Nomi suggest that there is more at play.

Throughout act one, the eight protagonists become gradually more

aware of their bizarre situation, and Jonas’ presence helps clarify and shape

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the enigma. These happenings represent developments in the broader

mythology plot that binds the sensates. That is, while each character has

unique stories and motivations within his or her location, the supernatural

elements of the show, which involve Jonas, Angelica, and Whispers, concern

them all—in most cases, indirectly. Nomi’s and Will’s individual storylines are

more directly related to the mythology but are still grounded in personal

elements.

We first see Will, a Chicago cop, waking up from a nightmare, in which

his younger self follows a girl through a forest into a dark building.

Transforming into his adult self, he finds Angelica’s body before she sits up

and shoots herself. From the beginning, Will’s story is tied to this mystery.

The girl, whose name is later revealed to be Sara Patrell, becomes a

motivating force behind Will’s efforts throughout this first act, even though the

details of her story are not discussed explicitly until later. In episode two, Will

studies security footage from outside the church where Angelica died and

finds that it has been tampered with. He mentions Sara to his retired

policeman father, who warns him that he will be taken off the force for

psychiatric reasons if he brings up her case at work. In the same episode,

Jonas tells him that Nomi needs his help, just like Sara needed it. Will, having

previously seen a report claiming Jonas to be a terrorist and perturbed by his

mention of Sara, pursues him in a car chase. In the next episode, Will has a

cryptic dream of Whispers lobotomizing Sara, motivating him to seek out

Jonas, who has been detained. He spends part of episode three reading files

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about Sara’s case, but the process reveals no further details to the viewer.

During episode four, Jonas reaches him once again to tell him to save Nomi.

Later, he wakes up from a nap to find himself shackled to a gurney. He

escapes from the restraints and, in the process, saves Nomi from her

lobotomy, effectively achieving with Nomi what he apparently could not with

Sara. These four episodes illuminate ties between Will’s past and present. He

investigates the mystery surrounding Angelica’s death and receives

information from Jonah, while also reliving his mysterious past with Sara

Patrell. Because little information is given on her case aside from brief cryptic

references by the characters, Sara Patrell likely occupies a minimal role in the

viewer’s long-term recall. However, these repeated allusions to an ambiguous

past maintain a hazy veil over Will’s storyline. On one hand, this obscurity ties

in with the enigmatic mythology plot during act one; on the other, it poses

potential problems regarding viewer comprehension. Will’s back-story serves

to explain why he, of all the sensates, becomes involved in this cluster-level

plot to save Nomi.

Meanwhile, this first act brings Nomi dangerously close to becoming

the victim of a mysterious attack. The first episode establishes her life as a

transgender woman living with her girlfriend Amanita in San Francisco. In

episode two, we learn more about her background through expositional

dialogue, as she tells Amanita about her past life as a hacker and learning to

embrace who she is. Later in the episode, Nomi falls off of a motorcycle

during the pride parade when she makes eye contact with Jonas in the crowd.

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This inciting moment lands her in the hospital, where Dr. Metzger and his

team are strangely antagonistic toward her, insisting on an aggressive

operation and refusing to release her. Her hospitalization is tied in to her

mother’s gripes about her sexuality, as she sees the operation as a cure for

her transgenderism. Through her sexuality, Nomi’s character story ties into

the mythology and the season-level themes of identity and intolerance. Jonas

visits the hospital and warns her to leave, but Nomi fears that he is a

hallucination. When Amanita calls and tells her that Jonas appears in photos

from the parade, Nomi realizes he is real, solidifying her goal of escaping.

This perceived threat intensifies in episode three. When she refuses her

medication, the nurse calls in officers to enforce her cooperation. In this dimly

lit scene, the officers’ bodies gradually fill the frame of a low-angle shot, as

they approach her with restraints. All the while, Nomi repeatedly says, “No.”

The scene evokes helplessness and entrapment, building tension for the

moment when Metzger begins to take her into surgery. Suddenly, Amanita

pulls the fire alarm, causing them to postpone the operation. This last-minute

stunt briefly relieves the tension, but the threat remains. The incident

essentially extends the action of Nomi’s plotline into the next episode. In

episode four, she comes even closer to having the procedure, and while she

is sedated in the operating room, Will shares her body to help her escape.

Both characters’ storylines break acts at the end of the fourth episode, which

also serves as the season’s overall cluster-level act break. Because of their

relevance to the broader season-long plot, these characters’ storylines

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narratively bind this first act. By the end of act one, Will’s role as the cluster’s

protector becomes solidified, and Nomi survives a brush with the cluster’s

main existential threat. Together, their storylines also pose the most

questions regarding the mythology and future fate of the cluster. Dr.

Metzger’s motivations are still largely unknown, but he represents a serious

danger, as outlined by Jonas. This source of peril eventually gains clarity in

the second act and poses a serious threat to the cluster in act three. While act

one presents an impending threat against the cluster through Nomi, the

mystery behind their connections maintains an air of confusion across the

storylines. The viewer understands more than the characters through an

omniscient perspective and Jonas’ guidance, but the details of the greater

mythology remain foggy until act two.

As Will and Nomi become entangled in the season-level mythology

plot, the other sensates’ storylines remain tied to their individual lives. For

most of the characters, the first few episodes establish a conflict or obstacle.

However, the points at which they each break into their second act vary. In

London, Riley witnesses a tumultuous and bloody showdown between her

boyfriend and his associates over drug money. She spends the next two

episodes abandoning her apartment, getting rid of the drugs, and finding

refuge at a friend’s house. In episode four, her father leaves her a voicemail

asking her to come home to Iceland. Riley faces the decision to go home, but

we are still not privy to what is holding her back. This moment signals the end

of act one for her story, as it sets up the forces pulling her toward Iceland. As

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she ends up becoming looped into the mythology plot for act three, it makes

sense that her storyline would break acts in the same episode as the overall

season act break. As with Will, her back-story is tied to the current story, and

obscure flashbacks intersperse the first act to hint at this connection.

However, these references may be lost on the viewer by the time later

episodes impart their meaning, indicating a potential comprehension issue

within the network narrative.

Wolfgang’s storyline, which takes place in Berlin, also breaks acts in

episode four, perhaps partly due to the fact that his act three climax roughly

coincides with the overall cluster-level climax. He executes a diamond heist in

episode one, showcasing his safe-cracking talents and criminal behavior. This

episode also introduces the rivalry between his cousin Steiner and him, as

Steiner was planning to rob the same museum. Furthermore, while he is

cracking the safe, he watches a singing contest on television, triggering a

flashback to a scene from his childhood when his father laughed at his stage

fright during a school recital. The following two episodes do not move his

storyline further, which may pose a problem for long-term viewer recall of plot

points. In episode four, he and his best friend Felix find a dealer to sell the

diamonds. Complications ensue later on when Steiner discovers what they

did, but these events set the stage for those later conflicts. The fourth episode

concludes with him conquering his stage fright at a karaoke bar, calling back

to the moment from episode one. While he is singing, the rest of the cluster

sings along from their various locations, fueling him with the confidence he

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needs to push past the memory of his father. This moment provides a mini-

resolution for Wolfgang, who still continues to struggle with his upbringing but

finds some solace within the cluster. However, this turning point may fail to

resonate with some viewers, due to the gap in narration between episodes

one and four.

Capheus and Lito break acts relatively early in the season, as both

characters’ storylines have shorter first and last acts and longer second acts.

Perhaps because these characters have simpler narratives, the season

extends their middle acts to suspend and delay the action while more

confounding complications ensue in other storylines. In Mexico City, episode

one introduces Lito as a charismatic actor, while withholding the information

that he is secretly gay. The second episode finds him rejecting his costar

Daniela’s aggressive advances. After he arrives home to his boyfriend

Hernando, she shows up to his apartment and discovers his secret.

Pleasantly surprised at this arrangement, Daniela climbs into bed between

them and insists on staying. This short, efficient first act sets up Lito’s

closeted sexuality and the new arrival of Daniela, laying the foundation for

future complications. In Nairobi, episode one sets up Capheus’ baseline

situation, depicting his struggling van driving business and AIDS-stricken

mother. His storyline does not feature in episode two, but the final scenes of

the third episode see him defeat the dangerous Superpower gang after they

rob his van. Act one for Capheus introduces the threat of the Superpower

gang, which returns in act three, and sets the stage for obstacles in the form

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of crime boss Silas Kabaka in act two. Both of these two-episode acts feature

fairly straightforward narratives. Wolfgang’s first act also comprises two

episodes, but the lengthy gap between them, along with a more complicated

personal thread, creates the potential for comprehension issues.

Conversely, Sun’s and Kala’s storylines feature comparatively longer

first acts. The reasons for this are likely attributed to the fact that neither

storyline reaches its third act by the end of the season. In Seoul, Sun, a

businesswoman, spends the first two episodes ignoring calls from a man

named Mr. Jeong, as the viewer collects exposition on her character. We see

that her brother acts dismissively toward her in the office and that she

releases her aggression in an underground fighting ring. In episode four, she

confronts her father and brother with the news that auditors are aware of

embezzlement in the company, which her father owns. Her brother Joong-Ki,

who is truly responsible, begs her to take the fall in order to save him and the

company. Throughout the episode, we see flashbacks of Sun’s late mother

telling her as a child to protect her family. After spending episode five

grappling with the decision to punish or protect, Sun signals her decision to

go to prison at the episode’s conclusion, which doubles as her act break.

This slow-burn pace mirrors Sun’s demeanor and provides a valuable

counterpoint to the more fast-paced narratives. Furthermore, her storyline

frequently engages in diegetic retelling to maintain viewer comprehension

across the lengthy first act. Flashbacks of her mother in episodes three and

four underscore her sense of duty, and a conversation with Capheus in

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episode five reiterates her conflict. In Mumbai, Kala reveals while praying in

episode one that she is engaged to a man whom she does not love. Her

family and friends spend the next three episodes extolling her ostensibly

perfect fiancée Rajan, establishing that, though this is not an arranged

marriage, she still feels pressured to follow through with it. Over the same

period, Kala’s connection with her fellow sensate Wolfgang grows stronger,

hinting at a possible romance. Despite still not loving Rajan, she decides to

go through with her wedding in episode five, but a fully nude Wolfgang

suddenly visits during the ceremony, causing her to faint. This final moment of

episode five signals a turning point, as the conflict between passion and

obligation rears its head. Due to the relative simplicity of Kala’s storyline and

regular reiteration of her ambivalence in each episode, the length of the first

act does not sacrifice comprehension. However, on the other side of the

same coin, her storyline has a tendency to repeatedly tread over the same

narrative beats, potentially causing some viewers to become disinterested.

Herein lies a significant challenge of Sense8’s network narrative, as the

series enlists itself in a careful balancing act between comprehension and

engagement of the viewer. It is when making these tradeoffs that the series

performs most of its perceived missteps.

Act two of the season raises additional obstacles for the cluster and

clarifies the elements that comprise the central conflict. The storylines of Will,

Riley, and Nomi progress toward the cluster-level conflict that dominates the

final act, which involves Whispers’ capture of Riley. While the first act largely

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focuses on explaining the nature of sensate connections, the second act

explores and delineates the threats posed against the cluster. Will’s and

Nomi’s stories bring to light the true nature of the threat that eventually

confronts Riley in Iceland, while Riley travels to Iceland in spite of her fears of

a curse. Despite Straczynski’s claims that the season splits evenly into three

four-hour acts, the cluster plot actually appears to break into act three at the

end of episode 10. This moment, in which Riley faints in the concert hall, sets

off the events of her capture leading up to the climax.

The second act of Will’s storyline follows his search for answers

regarding Angelica’s suicide and Nomi’s hospitalization, while also kindling

his romance with Riley and establishing his role in her rescue. In episode five,

Will and his partner Diego track down a witness he spotted near the site of

Angelica’s suicide in the second episode, but they lose him during the pursuit.

The storyline continues in episode seven when Deshawn, the boy Will saved

in episode one, leads them to a gang who agrees to cut a deal for the

information. These moments represent the delayed realization of plot points

started in the first act, a reflection of the series’ season-level storytelling.

Though it is possible that these links are lost on some viewers, the episodes

facilitate comprehension by not relying too heavily on them. The gang

member shows them pictures from outside the church, which depict Whispers

and his men loading something into a van, raising further questions for Will.

Between this episode and episode eight, Will researches the case. He

presents his findings to Diego, concluding that BPO is the company behind it

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all. At this point, Nomi has also recently discovered the organization, and they

remotely visit each other to discuss what they know. When Whispers arrives

with his agents at Nomi’s door, Will helps her escape. These interactions

solidify the interdependent relationship that Nomi and Will carry into act three.

Also in episode eight, Will and Riley finally share a kiss, solidifying their

connection in preparation for the final act. The episode ends with the captain

suspending him for circumventing authority to pursue this case, which ties his

hands going into act three but also frees him up to focus his full attention on

Riley.

Having achieved much of his expositional purpose in act one, Jonas

hardly plays a role in the first part of act two. However, in episode nine, he

visits Will to tell him he has been captured by Whispers. This revelation

suggests that the threat from BPO is growing larger and closer. Jonas urges

Will to get Riley out of Iceland, where BPO conducts a great deal of research.

Episode 10 sees Will speaking at length with Jonas about the mythology of

sensates. Jonas says that normal humans evolved from sensates, arguing

that their emotional disconnectedness allowed them to kill more easily, a point

that ties in with the season-long theme of intolerance. Jonas assumes a

larger presence in this second half of act two, as he did in act one. However,

his teachings are less related to the experience of being sensate and more on

the broader mythology of the species and the threats that face them. The

existential emphasis of his commentary fits with the larger conflicts of the

impending final act. Furthermore, by speaking on larger-scale issues, he

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addresses some of the questions raised at the beginning of the series. For

example, after Jonas explains that Whispers will use him to get to Will and his

cluster, Will realizes that Angelica committed suicide to protect the cluster

from Whispers. That the series withholds these answers until just before the

final act, when they become most relevant, is indicative of its commitment to

season-level unity and payoffs.

This second act introduces Nomi’s abilities as a hacker and

establishes what the cluster is up against with Whispers and BPO. Nomi

begins act two recovering from her attempted lobotomy, which eventually

motivates her to look into the matter further. During episodes five and six,

Nomi and Amanita find their apartment ransacked and decide to hide out at

Amanita’s mother’s house. In episode seven, Nomi procures some hacking

equipment and uses it to track Dr. Metzger’s phone. She and Amanita

discover that he has performed the lobotomy procedure on several other

patients, including a man named Niles Bolger, whom they visit and find to be

practically brain dead. They break into Metzger’s house to copy his hard

drive, but he ends up catching them. When Nomi reveals that she briefly

talked to Whispers on the phone (though she was not aware it was him),

Metzger becomes worried, and Jonas visits to urge her to escape. A fully

functioning Niles Bolger suddenly enters and starts fighting Metzger. The

women watch Niles shoot and kill Metzger before turning the gun on himself.

As he shoots, Nomi sees the reflection of another man in the mirror, who we

know to be Whispers. This scene aims to surprise and baffle, but in addition

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to raising questions, it also brings Whispers to the forefront of this central

conflict. This represents Nomi’s midpoint, as it recontextualizes her conflict

(and the cluster’s) by replacing Metzger with Whispers as their primary foe. In

episode eight, Nomi collaborates with Will to gather information on BPO,

concluding that it is a well-funded multinational organization that poses a

serious danger. Whispers arrives at the door with several men, and she

successfully escapes with help from fellow sensates. After she escapes from

Whispers, the next two episodes do not move her storyline further, serving

rather to delay her character’s action until Riley needs her help in act three.

Will’s action also slows down around this point, but his story fills the time

through interactions with Riley and Jonas that further the romance and

mythology threads, which figure into the finale. Meanwhile, episode ten

features a sex scene between Nomi and Amanita that does not have any

basis in the plot. For this reason, some viewers may find the scene gratuitous.

This potential point of criticism exemplifies one of the challenges of juggling

multiple storylines. The need to reconcile the two plotlines for the cluster’s

final act forces the creators to suspend and delay the action in Nomi’s

storyline in anticipation for Riley’s capture.

Riley’s second act tracks her decision to go back home to Iceland and

sees her revisit past traumas that later play a role in act three. She remains in

London for the first part of act two. However, in episode six, one of the men

from the first episode’s drug dispute violently ambushes her, cueing Will to

take hold of her body and save her. At the end of the episode, when Sun and

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Riley visit each other, Riley explains that she wants to go home but that an elf

convinced her when she was young that she was hexed. This conversation

provides the explanation for why Riley has hesitated so long to go back to

Iceland, as bad things have happened to her there. Ultimately, Sun convinces

her to face her fear, motivating Riley to leave London in episode seven. This

moment is Riley’s midpoint, as it sends her in an ill-fated new direction. While

she is home, comforted by her father’s company, she hears a voice telling her

she should not have returned, hinting at the imminent danger before her. At

the same time, these episodes further develop her romance with Will. After

they have a lengthy conversation in episode five, episode eight sees them

visit each other’s homes in a moment of intimacy that leads to their first kiss.

By cementing this bond between them, the second act prepares the viewer

for the substantial role that Will later plays in saving her. Riley spends

episode nine meeting Yrsa, the sensate who posed as an elf and told her she

was hexed as a girl. Yrsa warns her of BPO hunting sensates and says that a

simple hospital visit could lead to her capture, making it seem as though

danger is practically predestined for Riley in Iceland. Riley and Will visit each

other while speaking separately to Jonas and Yrsa, once again reiterating

their special bond. Riley’s break into act three at the end of episode 10

doubles at the season’s act break. In this scene, Riley and the rest of the

cluster simultaneously relive their births while she attends her father’s

symphony performance. At the end of the performance, Riley sees a brief

vision of her own child’s birth before collapsing in the concert hall. Paired with

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Yrsa’s warnings from episode nine, this moment ignites the threat that has

loomed over Riley since she arrived in Iceland. Also, the brief flash of her

tragic childbearing experience alludes to her mysterious trauma that comes to

the surface in the final episode. Will’s and Nomi’s storylines break acts slightly

after the cluster’s act break. In episode 11, Will visits Nomi to discuss how to

save Riley, resuming their partnership. Jonas visits and tells them that time is

up and that Whispers is one step ahead of them. This scene signals a break

into act three for Will and Nomi, as it sets up seemingly insurmountable

obstacles but also introduces Will’s plan to fly to Iceland.

Meanwhile, the other individual storylines break acts at various points,

while some do not reach a third act at all. Lito’s story features a lengthy act

two. In episode three, he tries to get Daniela to leave their house, but she

explains that she must stay with them to evade her abusive boyfriend

Joaquin. This and the next episode hint at the threat from Joaquin and

develop the relationship between the three new housemates. Lito’s state of

affairs reaches a midpoint in episode seven when Joaquin steals Daniela’s

phone and finds pictures of Hernando and him having sex, reorienting his

goals and desires. Daniela gets back together with Joaquin to keep him from

outing Lito and tarnishing his image as a macho actor. When Lito stands by

and lets her return to her abuser, Hernando breaks up with him, disgusted

that he would put his career over their love and her safety. In episode nine,

Lito faces a crossroads between his life as an actor and his real life, exposing

the thematic tension between fantasy and authenticity. He ends the episode

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at rock bottom, getting drunk and repeatedly leaving messages on

Hernando’s voicemail. After helping Wolfgang defeat Steiner in episode 10,

he becomes inspired to fix his problems, representing his break into act three.

Wolfgang begins his second act by meeting with Steiner’s father, who

suspects him of stealing the diamonds. Wolfgang denies any involvement, but

in episode seven, Steiner critically injures Felix in a drive-by shooting. In

episode eight, Wolfgang sits at Felix’s hospital bedside, grief-stricken.

However, over the next two episodes, his uncle and Steiner visit him

separately to deliver threats. These events help transform his sadness into

anger, as we transition into his third act in episode 10.

Capheus enters his second act in episode five with a booming van

business as a result of his victory over the Superpower gang. He catches the

eye of Silas Kabaka, a dangerous crime lord who promises him medicine for

his dying mother in exchange for work. The introduction of Kabaka

complicates Capheus’ struggle. After Kabaka determines that he is

trustworthy, he assigns him to drive his cancer-stricken daughter Amondi to

her hospital visits. Capheus and Amondi develop a kinship, but in episode

seven Kabaka cuts off a man’s hands in a gruesome display of punishment,

causing Capheus to reevaluate his involvement with the crime boss. Just as

Capheus decides he must find a way out of this arrangement in episode eight,

the Superpower gang comes to his house threatening him to kidnap Amondi

and bring her to them. This represents his break into act three, as the threats

are mounted against him in anticipation for his climax.

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In the meantime, Kala’s and Sun’s storylines conclude before reaching

their third acts. During this second act, Kala’s connection with Wolfgang

grows, as her relationship with Rajan becomes more complicated. After she

faints during the wedding, Rajan reaffirms his commitment to her in episode

six. Episode seven sees her deepen her emotional connection with Wolfgang,

as she sits with him by Felix’s bedside. In the final scene of episode eight,

Rajan’s father Manendra is stabbed at the temple while telling Kala not to

marry Rajan. This moment is her storyline’s midpoint, as she must reevaluate

her conflict in light of this new development. She spends the following

episodes dealing with the fallout from Manendra’s stabbing. Rajan remains

committed, but she becomes increasingly attracted to Wolfgang. They share

a kiss in episode eleven when she urges him not to seek revenge from his

uncle. In episode twelve, she watches him brutally kill his uncle. Wolfgang

insists that she choose Rajan because he is a monster. At the end of season

one, the deeply religious Kala finds herself in love with a violent and broken

man, exacerbating her ambivalence. Sun begins her second act turning

herself in and entering jail in episode six. In episode seven and eight, we

follow a two-episode arc within the prison, an attempt at viewer engagement

within her static situation. She becomes friends with a fellow inmate, Soo-Jin,

and observes a woman bullying her. In episode eight, Sun fights this bully in

the prison yard, landing herself in solitary confinement. Over the course of

these episodes, Sun progresses from freedom to captivity, realizing along the

way she may have made the wrong choice coming to prison. Her midpoint

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comes in episode nine when her guilty father visits to apologize. In the next

episode, a lawyer visits her saying that her father will give a testimony that will

free her and imprison her brother. In episode eleven, her brother Joong-Ki

comes to her with the story that their father committed suicide. Sun realizes

that he has actually murdered him to prevent his testimony, and she brutally

attacks him in the visitation room. It is here that Sun’s season-long story

ends, as her one chance of getting out has been violently extinguished.

Episode eleven concludes with a scene of Kala visiting Sun in solitary

confinement. The characters, whose storylines both remain unresolved by the

season’s end, discuss the hardships of life. Sun tells Kala that she channels

her pain into his fists, advising her to fight. By bringing these characters

together at the season’s end, the show acknowledges that their conflicts

remain unsettled and essentially pauses their storylines to give way to

episode twelve’s cluster-level climax.

Most of the characters’ storylines wrap up their third acts before the

climactic final episode, which devotes most of its time to the cluster’s efforts

to rescue Riley. One exception is Wolfgang’s storyline, which extends through

episode 12 and serves as a B-plot to the main action in that episode. In

episode 10, Wolfgang meets Steiner and his men to offer up the diamonds

but, with Lito’s help, turns the tables on them, ultimately taking out Steiner

with a rocket launcher. In episode 12, he turns his attention to his uncle,

eventually killing him with multiple shots point blank. Wolfgang exacts his

revenge against his family members but remains haunted by their past

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abuses, a bittersweet resolution for a tortured hero. After helping Wolfgang

defeat Steiner in episode 10, Lito becomes inspired to fix his problems. He

fights Joaquin, with Wolfgang’s reciprocal support, and rescues Daniela

before reuniting with Hernando. Ultimately, he chooses love over his career

and reality over fantasy. Capheus has a quick final act, which climaxes and

resolves in episode eleven. At the start of the episode, he drops Amondi off at

his friend’s house, leaving the viewer in the dark on his plan. He confronts the

Superpower gang with a bait-and-switch, offering himself in Amondi’s place.

The gang members reveal that they have Kabaka in custody and command

Capheus to kill him. By sharing Sun’s fighting skills, he defeats the gang

members, and with Will’s support, he escapes in his van with Kabaka in tow.

He reunites an appreciative Kabaka with his daughter, conclusively ending

the immediate threats that imperiled him during the season.

The third act for the cluster-level storyline begins with Riley’s

hospitalization, which prompts Will and Nomi to devise a plan to help her

escape. Eventually, the cluster coagulates around this mission to save one of

its own. While in the hospital during episode 11, Riley repeatedly experiences

visions of a car crash she suffered while in labor, as the doctors discover the

unusual brain activity that leads to her capture. Meanwhile, Nomi becomes

aware of Riley’s situation through their sensate connection and works to delay

her transfer to BPO by using her hacking skills to impede hospital

communication. These events serve to postpone the main action until the

finale as well as to establish Nomi’s involvement in the rescue efforts. The

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final episode, episode 12, tracks Will’s efforts to fly to Iceland and save Riley

before Whispers arrives. Will’s mission is propelled forward by a series of

sensate connections, as each cluster member takes turns sharing his body to

accomplish tasks that require specific characters’ skills. Meanwhile, Riley’s

procedure is delayed when she reaches for an officer’s gun to shoot herself.

After a full flashback to the car crash that led to the deaths of both her

husband and her newborn daughter, Yrsa visits her encouraging her to

protect the cluster. Since learning of the motivations behind Angelica’s

suicide, the viewer is familiar with this concept of sacrificing oneself for the

safety of the cluster. This knowledge raises suspense, as Riley grabs the gun

and brings it to her mouth. Suddenly, Will and the rest of the cluster appear

before her, convincing her to put the gun down. This moment prompts the

nurses to drug her into unconsciousness, effectively blocking Whispers from

telepathically accessing her and buying the cluster some time to save her.

Will eventually escapes with Riley, but he makes eye-contact with Whispers

on the way out, allowing him access to his thoughts. As Will and Riley drive

away from the research facility, they must take the same road where Riley

suffered the car crash. The resultant scene forces Riley to confront her past,

and the pain virtually incapacitates her. At the same time, Will injects himself

with a drug to block out Whispers. He uses his empathetic connection with

Riley to express his love for her and his understanding of her pain. Will slips

into unconsciousness before leaving the responsibility of saving the cluster

with Riley. After an ellipsis, the next scene finds Riley on a boat singing to

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Will, as he wakes up. The revelation that she has saved them provides a

resolution to her struggle during act three to move past the traumatic car

crash. The rest of the cluster join them, as they ride away together on the

boat. By concluding with this image of the united cluster, the third act

suggests that they not only survived but became even more connected as a

result of this ordeal.

The three-act season structure that Sense8 employs in the first season

helps organize the unfolding of the complicated mythology and track the

formation and survival of the cluster. The show sets out to accomplish several

goals over the course of these three narrative acts. It develops a plot that

follows Whispers and BPO’s efforts to hunt down the cluster. The season ties

this cluster-level story into the character storylines of Nomi, Riley, and Will,

playing on their individual strengths, weaknesses, and back-stories.

Simultaneously, the three-act structure organizes the explanation and

development of the sensate connections, relying considerably on Jonas to

facilitate comprehension. This steady growth in interconnectivity intermingles

with the cluster-level plot. Will’s sensate connections with Riley result in a

romance, justifying his commitment to saving her. These linkages also allow

Nomi and Will to utilize their combined skill set to uncover information and

engineer a rescue plan. Finally, the cluster’s combined network becomes

essential for their own survival. All the while, each character has his or her

own individual storyline, whose plot structures are staggered amongst the

season-level breaks.

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The juggling act that Sense8 must perform to deliver all of this

narrative information within its first season inevitably results in some

challenges. The season repeatedly encounters a trade-off between

comprehension and engagement with regard to the viewer, and a great deal

of the show’s criticism arises from this narrative issue. For one, there exists a

tension between the overall cluster plotline and the individual stories. For Will,

Nomi, and Riley, this strain is even more apparent, as they are pulling double

duty. For instance, Will’s storyline is tied to the cluster plot through his

mysterious history with Sara Patrell, his mentorship from Jonas, and his

relationship with Riley. However, other elements of his life, including his

dealings with gang violence and his relationship with his father, take a less

prominent role but remain a part of his character. Due to the split focus of his

storyline, the latter subjects may get lost in the shuffle for viewers, potentially

weakening both engagement and comprehension. For this reason, some of

the simpler storylines, such as Lito’s and Kala’s, likely do not face the same

comprehension problems. However, especially in the case of Kala’s story, a

lack of forward movement may sacrifice viewer engagement. The series’

problems with comprehension and engagement are par for the course, as its

ambition to tell a complex story overwhelms the season structure with

narrative ground to cover. Furthermore, by choosing to align the viewer in the

characters’ confusion and cloak the mythology with an air of enigma, the

show must withhold a degree of information while still maintaining the

viewer’s interest. A great deal of this struggle stems from the decision to

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execute a feature film strategy for a season of television. Straczynski’s

assertion that the first act of Sense8’s first season is akin to the first 15

minutes of a mystery film exposes this challenge.

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15 minutes of set up is

drastically different from four episodes, and the fact that the series attempts to

manage similar goals and expectations over a significantly wider span of time

points to a potential length issue. The series combines the feature film tactics

of network narratives and mystery thrillers, extending and apportioning them

over 12 episodes. The ambition of this season-level storytelling strategy is

decidedly influenced by the all-at-once release model, as are the challenges

that accompany it.

NARRATIVE ACCUMULATION AND VIEWER COMPREHENSION

Season-level storytelling in Sense8 features a narrative in which

connections, moments, and information aggregate to generate greater levels

of complexity and interaction over time. The series’ dependence on narrative

accumulation contributes to its prioritization of season-level storytelling over

episodic plots. This aggregation of story moments and narrative information

parallels the sensates’ gradual progression toward greater connectedness. As

these superhuman connections grow stronger, interactions between

characters deepen and vary. Each subsequent iteration of these sensate

communications builds on earlier ones, illustrating that the sensations are

augmenting and intensifying. Furthermore, by allowing the linkages to amplify

over time, the series gradually acclimates the characters, as well as the

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Fienberg, “J. Michael Straczynski.”

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viewers, to greater levels of complexity. While the narrative does not

necessarily get simpler, the accrual of causal links begins to clarify the initial

sources of confusion, resulting in a more straightforward viewing experience

over time. By affixing its narrative experimentation to the character

experience, Sense8 allows the viewer to comprehend and appreciate a

complex story world that would otherwise seem impenetrable.

What distinguishes this strategy of narrative accumulation from a

conventional linear progressive narrative is that it functions continuously

within the framework of a three-act structure to help inform and influence its

development over the course of the season. In fact, this cluster-level

accumulation occurs alongside multiple character storylines as well as the

broader mythology plot, as each of them incorporates progressively higher

degrees of interactivity. Therefore, the narrative aggregation does not tell a

story on its own but critically informs the various lines of storytelling across

the season. One significant role assumed by this narrative device involves

comprehension. Particularly, repetition and variation of sensate connections

across episodes allow the viewer to amass an understanding for how the

phenomenon operates and enables the creators to capitalize on this

knowledge to facilitate engagement and develop narrative threads. While

feature films often engage in this mode of narrative delivery, seasons of

television tend not to rely so greatly on accumulation to guide the viewer’s

understanding of the action.

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The series depends on narrative accumulation to train the viewer to

recognize, understand, and engage with the various sensate interactions that

occur across the season. As the characters progress from minimal

connectivity to becoming a network-like entity, their modes of communication

develop from rudimentary to purposeful. Early iterations of these connections

serve to confront and confound the viewer, paralleling the experiences of the

characters. However, as the characters and the viewer become more aware

and experienced with the phenomenon in the second act, the connections

supplant obscurity with clarity to perform a more substantial story function. By

the third act, the characters are fully cognizant of the connections, and the

story occasionally uses this awareness to create self-reflexive narrative

moments. The depiction of sensate communication does not follow a strictly

additive progression, whereby each subsequent connection employs

successively deeper and more complex levels of interaction. Instead, by the

series’ end, the viewer has mentally gathered a collection of possibilities from

which the narrative can pull to tell an engaging and complex story.

The series begins with the mysterious suicide of Angelica, who “gives

birth” to the cluster. This action instantaneously causes the eight characters

to become reborn as sensates, activating these connections for the very first

time. By entering the world at ground zero with the birth of the cluster, the

narrative construction parallels the experience of the viewer. The Netflix

platform enables and encourages each viewer to begin a series with episode

one, so the viewer, along with the characters, follows the sensate experience

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from its onset. The often subjective style of presentation reinforces this

relationship with the viewer. It cues us to align with the confusion and surprise

felt by the characters, as we all attempt to make sense of this phenomenon of

telepathic and empathetic connectivity.

Early on in the season, these newly formed relationships are depicted

subtly, as the characters proceed with their individual lives. Many of these

initial connections manifest through unexplained sensory experiences (i.e.

mysterious sounds, visions, tastes, etc.). For instance, in the first scene after

Angelica’s suicide, we find Will bombarded by blaring dance music in his

apartment in the middle of the night. There is no reason for he or the viewer

to suspect that these sounds are coming from anywhere other than his

physical environment in Chicago. However, once he follows the source of the

music to the neighboring apartment, he opens the unlocked door to find it

completely empty, at which point the sound abruptly subsides. A medium

close-up shot lingers on his confused countenance before a resurgence of

dance music precedes the cut to a crowded London nightclub, where fellow

sensate Riley is DJing a gig. The viewer is cued to share in Will’s surprise

when the music silences, but unlike Will, we are offered an explanation for the

source of the sound, alleviating some—but not all—confusion. In this series,

the viewer’s alignment is not with any individual character but with the cluster

as a whole. Our expanded point of view allows for somewhat greater

comprehension of the phenomenon, especially while the sensate connections

are still in their early stages.

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Several similar instances of sensory overlap occur between the main

characters over the course of the first two episodes, when the sensate

concept is still being introduced. In episode one, Capheus receives a chicken

as payment in Nairobi before we cut to a chicken landing on Sun’s desk in

Seoul. The abrupt nature of the cut, coupled with Sun’s scream, cues us to

join in her surprise. But when we cut to an over-the-shoulder shot from behind

Sun revealing a chicken-less desk, our responses diverge. While Sun

expresses confusion over her perceived hallucination, the viewer is

encouraged to relate this incident to the previously observed sensate

experiences. In this case, after having only previously witnessed sound being

carried between characters, we are prompted to expand our expectations to

include visual apparitions as possible sensory transmissions. By utilizing

conventional editing techniques for indicating subjectivity, these early

sequences introduce to the viewer the concept of a collective subjectivity.

In episode two, these sensory experiences begin to take on a more

substantial narrative role by suggesting a relationship between characters.

After a scene of Wolfgang having sex in Berlin, we cut to Kala at her

engagement party in Mumbai. She complains to her friend about suddenly

feeling hot. Back in Berlin, Wolfgang mentions to his lover that he has a

craving for Indian food. Not only does this interaction elaborate on the types

of sensory overlaps that can occur between sensates, but it also unites Kala

and Wolfgang within the narrative, laying the groundwork for their impending

romance. Even by the second episode, accumulated iterations of these

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sensory overlaps allow for the device to progress beyond merely spurring

surprise and confusion and serve a more meaningful narrative function than

the ones before it. These types of sensory interactions occur less frequently

as the season continues, likely due to the fact that the extent of the device’s

narrative capability is fairly limited. As the story moves beyond teaching the

viewer the rules of the world, sensory overlaps become increasingly rare.

Another type of connection that repeats, varies, and develops over the

course of the season is termed “sharing,” whereby a sensate takes on the

body of another cluster member. Through sharing interactions, characters

become able to utilize the knowledge and abilities of their fellow sensates.

Unlike sensory overlaps, these types of interactions can provide characters

with tools to help them carry out actions within the narrative. However, in

order to build up to this more tangible and consequential function of sharing,

the series first introduces the viewer to the rules and visual language of the

device. The season continues to incorporate sharing throughout the season,

often including at least one instance per episode. But especially in later

episodes, sharing interactions serve a particular purpose in advancing the

narrative, such as fighting an enemy. Therefore, the device’s occurrence does

not necessarily increase across the season, as the show typically only uses it

when the narrative calls for it.

In episode four, Jonas defines and explains the term to Will, but we

begin witnessing the qualities and capabilities of sharing much earlier. In

episode one, Riley, having a conversation in London at night, turns her head

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to the side, motivating a pan to the right. The shot seamlessly transitions to a

daylight setting and glides past a woman’s head in the foreground, settling on

Riley sitting across from her. She is shot with similar medium close-up

framing to the shot in London. By panning from the initial location to the next,

the sequence draws attention to the change of space. This allows the viewer

slightly more comprehension than Riley, as she experiences a more

instantaneous transition. Her facial expression denotes disorientation, and the

high-pitched score suggests tension and suspense. We cut to an extreme

wide shot of a park pavilion where two costumed men are dancing,

establishing a new location without clarifying exactly what it is. Next, a cut in

to the men dancing in slow motion is punctuated by a sudden shift in the

score to psychedelic rock music. The camera slowly pans away from the men

and rests on Riley with her seated companion positioned in the foreground.

Riley still appears confused, but the change in score, coupled with the slow

motion, imbues the tension with surreality. Through a wandering camera,

slow motion, and muted diegetic sound, the sequence places emphasis on

the experiential, encouraging the viewer to share in Riley’s dreamlike

subjectivity. The camera tracks right and pans left to reveal that the woman

opposite her is Amanita, the girlfriend of sensate Nomi who was already

introduced in a previous scene. As the shot continues to track right, Nomi

enters the frame in Riley’s place, speaking animatedly with muted dialogue.

By including Nomi and Riley in the same continuous shot, the camera elicits

intrigue and also clarifies the rules of the device. The sequence serves as a

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transition from Riley’s scene in London into Nomi’s in San Francisco. This

also represents the first time that the viewer has witnessed a sensate sharing

the body of another. Rather than serve a specific narrative purpose within the

episode, this incident briefly introduces the viewer to the season-long device

of sharing. By withholding its full capabilities, the sequence aligns us with her

confusion and plants a seed for future episodes’ interactions.

Subsequent episodes build upon the foundation set by this moment,

implementing more complex examples of sharing that demonstrate a

strengthening of the bond between the sensates and greater degrees of

control and comprehension regarding the ability. As soon as episode three,

the sensates demonstrate a capability to use sharing as a means of survival.

When the Superpower gang robs his van and steals his mother’s AIDS

medicine, Capheus must fight them to retrieve it. He channels Will’s shooting

skills and Sun’s fighting ability to successfully overcome this challenge. In

previous instances, sharing had been used to motivate confusion and suggest

connections between characters. In this moment of peril, the device, for the

first time, becomes not just useful but necessary to defeat the threat faced by

a fellow sensate. Capheus’ pursuit after the gang members is intercut with

scenes of Will entering a shooting range and Sun beginning a kickboxing

match. This use of cross-cutting visually establishes the unique skills

possessed by the other sensates, priming the viewer for the sharing that will

occur. At this point, the viewer and the characters are both unaware that skills

can be transferred in such a way between sensates. In later episodes, once

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the viewer has accumulated some familiarity with the device, sensates are

shown to be sharing their skills even when they are not utilizing them

contemporaneously in their own physical space. Additionally, Sun’s scene

also serves to reveal her secret life as an underground fighter, furthering her

character development and expanding the collective skill set of the cluster

moving forward. By tying the device to character and motivation within the

context of the narrative, the series eases the viewer into engaging with this

level of complexity.

In a moment of vulnerability when the gang members’ car approaches

in the distance, Capheus looks down at a gun on the ground. We cut to

Capheus’ black hand reaching for a gun in the shooting range. Cutting back

to Nairobi, a white hand picks up the gun, and we tilt up to see that it belongs

to Will. As Will takes in his new surroundings, we get a similarly framed

medium close-up of Capheus looking around the shooting range. By blurring

the physical boundaries between them, this series of shots introduces the

concept of sharing between Will and Capheus. The sequence proceeds

utilizing intercutting and matches on action to create the perception that Will

and Capheus are in both places at once, sharing Will’s abilities to shoot both

the shooting range targets and the gang members’ car. The frequent pace of

these editing devices, combined with slow motion, serves to encourage

viewer comprehension and establish rules regarding this novel interaction. In

further iterations of sharing, the presentation is not so deliberate, suggesting

a reliance on narrative accumulation over redundancy. In other words, once

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the visual language for this device has been already established, the series

no longer feels the need to restate it to maintain comprehension. When

Capheus later channels Sun’s fighting skills in the same scene, Sun takes the

place of his body in Nairobi for the full duration of the fight sequence, and he

does not visually replace her body in the ring. Rather, cross-cutting and

matches on action convey Sun as using the same fighting moves

simultaneously against different enemies in separate locations. An example of

small-scale accumulation, Sun and Capheus’ sharing sequence builds on the

preceding one. That is, the viewer assumably now realizes that Sun is acting

through Capheus’ body and not teleporting across the world. This point is

underscored by the gang members’ performances, as they do not seem to

acknowledge Sun’s presence. For the rest of the season, the qualities and

rules of the sharing connection are never again depicted as deliberately and

comprehensively as they are in this scene. Later episodes assume that the

viewer has already accrued this knowledge, a mark of this show’s continuous

seriality.

In episode 10, the sharing connection develops further through a self-

aware presentation that acknowledges the viewer’s (and the characters’)

accumulated familiarity with the device. Wolfgang is lying on the ground held

at gunpoint by his cousin Steiner. Steiner repeatedly yells at him to tell the

truth about the diamond robbery, which Wolfgang has already done to no

avail. After some brief cross-cutting between Lito and Wolfgang in Mexico and

Berlin, respectively, a shot of Wolfgang at ground level tilts up to reveal Lito

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standing behind him. This type of connection is what Jonas calls “visiting,”

whereby a sensate physically appears in the vicinity of another sensate

without sharing his or her body. A shot taken from below Wolfgang’s car

exposes a gun strapped underneath, just out of his reach. At this point, a slow

motion tracking shot laterally glides behind Lito’s head to reveal Wolfgang,

who appears externalized from his body, standing to his right. Steiner and

Wolfgang’s interaction is framed in the background between them, as Lito and

the second Wolfgang turn their heads to each other. Dialogue is muted, and

the image is slowed down to the extent that the action in front of them

appears to be virtually paused. After the cut, they proceed to have a

conversation in real time, analyzing the situation before them. Any audio or

visual from the real-world Wolfgang and Steiner are absent from this

exchange, giving the impression that the situation is suspended in time while

they speak. Lito suggests that Wolfgang tell Steiner something that he wants

to hear in order to buy himself some more time. Wolfgang counters by saying

that he is unable to do so, out of hatred for the man. Lito asks Wolfgang’s

permission to take over his body (“May I?”) before stepping out of frame. In

no previous episode has a sensate requested to take the body of another or

discussed the situation before doing so. This demonstration of increased

control and awareness regarding sharing is indicative of the level of

knowledge and experiences accrued by both the viewer and the characters

up until this point. The scene recognizes the viewer’s and the characters’

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experience with the device by employing a self-reflexive style of presentation

that calls attention to the characters’ participation in the process.

Signaling an end to this tête-à-tête, diegetic sound resumes, as a shot

of Wolfgang at gunpoint moves up along Steiner’s arm and rests on his face.

Steiner commands him to tell the truth, prompting the camera to track back

down his arm, finding Lito at the end of the gun in Wolfgang’s place. Here, the

sequence utilizes continuous camera movement to convey sharing in a

similar way as the initial interaction between Riley and Nomi in the park (and

others since then), an instance of repetition and variation that reinforces and

draws from our understanding of the device’s visual language. Lito, who is a

film actor, has the ability to lie convincingly. He possesses Wolfgang’s body to

tell Steiner a fabricated story that causes him to drop his guard, granting him

the opportunity to grab the gun from under the car. Wolfgang then retakes his

body to defeat Steiner and his associates. This example of sharing between

sensates differs from the previous ones, in that it involves the transfer of a

non-physical skill (i.e. acting) to accomplish a task. Assuming that the viewer

has developed a familiarity with Lito’s talents and the mechanics of sharing,

this scene can execute this complex connection with minimal explanation

while still maintaining comprehension.

Visiting connections, which allow sensates to physically appear before

one another, also evolve as the series unfolds. This device is closely tied to

the development of sensate relationships over time. Eventually, the

characters become able to utilize visiting to seek guidance, develop romantic

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relationships, and troubleshoot problems within their cluster. However, this

level of connection necessitates a certain degree of narrative accumulation.

Therefore, the different examples of visiting across the season vary

considerably based on when in the season-level narrative they occur.

Instances of visiting become more frequent as the season progresses,

reflecting the greater presence that the sensates take on in each other’s lives.

Also, this type of interaction places more emphasis on clarity and connection,

so it would make sense that these occurrences would increase across the

season.

The sensates’ preliminary experiences with visiting introduce the

viewer and the characters to the simple fact that they are capable of these

types of interactions. Furthermore, they create implicit connections within the

cluster that gain significance later in the season. Episode one concludes with

the first instance of visiting among cluster members. Riley visits Will in

Chicago at the site of Angelica’s suicide, where they briefly converse. As

opposed to early occurrences of sensory overlap or sharing, this visiting

interaction prioritizes connection and poignancy over confrontation and

confusion. In fact, their conversation helps illuminate and clarify some aspects

of the central enigma for both the viewer and the characters. Riley, who has

never been to America, marvels at the fact that she is standing in Chicago,

while Will expresses bafflement over her presence. They do not understand

what is happening, and at this point, the viewer does not fully grasp the

situation either. However, this moment unites them in their bewilderment. This

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exchange not only informs the viewer that sensates have the ability to visit

one another and that they cannot yet comprehend it, but it also establishes a

connection between the two characters that only deepens as the season

progresses. Over the course of the first season, Riley and Will gradually

develop a romance, which culminates in a tense finale revolving around Will’s

efforts to save Riley. By choosing these two characters to be the first

sensates to experience a visiting connection, the series signals that they may

share an even deeper relationship with each other than with the rest of the

cluster.

As these early visiting events accumulate, subsequent visits begin to

allow characters to interact more deeply with one another and further address

their connectivity. In episode six, Riley and Will visit each other again, and

this time, they have a proper conversation. The two sensates talk over beers,

simultaneously at bars in London and Chicago. Though they have not spoken

since their first exchange, the experiences that they (and the viewer) have

accrued since that moment allow them to move past the peculiarity of their

situation and speak more candidly. After Will sits down beside her, they raise

their glasses in Chicago and clink them in London. The cross-cutting here and

throughout the sequence aims to seamlessly bind the two bars, focusing the

viewer’s attention on the conversation rather than the disparity in locations. In

other words, the use of continuity editing serves to minimize the sense of

physical distance between the couple and maximize feelings of connection.

For a new viewer, this frequent cross-cutting would likely be a distraction,

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raising questions as to why these characters are in two places at once.

However, this scene does not spend its time clarifying this point. The

encounter is reminiscent of a first date, as they formally introduce themselves

to each other and discuss their jobs. Riley asks if they are going crazy, which

provokes Will to attempt an experiment of sorts. He asks for her phone and

calls himself from it. When it rings, he walks over to his friend Diego and tells

him to answer it. That Diego is able hear Riley’s voice convinces them that

they are not simply hallucinating, though the viewer already knows this. Will

takes back the phone and speaks into it himself, as he and Riley walk away

from Diego. Due to the fact that they are visiting each other, each line of

dialogue repeats as a time-delayed echo. The phone experiment, in addition

to furthering the bond between Riley and Will, helps restate the rules of the

world to the viewer. The moment also exploits the comprehension developed

by the viewer over the season in order to elicit satisfaction from being able to

connect the dots of this complex phenomenon.

While visiting is certainly used to develop romantic relationships

between characters and to facilitate discussions on their shared sensate

experience, the series also employs this device to allow them to discuss their

personal problems with each other. Just as sharing often allows characters to

help each other overcome obstacles in their individual storylines, visiting

capitalizes on their empathetic connectivity, allowing them to motivate,

advise, and guide fellow sensates by imparting their own stories and wisdom.

The first time this type of interaction occurs is in episode five, in which Sun

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must decide whether or not to take the fall for her brother’s embezzlement

scheme. The reason that characters do not visit each other in this way earlier

in the season relates back to Sense8’s storytelling emphasis on narrative

aggregation. These sensate conversations rely on accumulated expository

information, which allows the viewer to understand both characters’ situations

and draw parallels between them without lengthy explanation. In this case,

Capheus and Sun visit each other and compare their dilemmas. As with Riley

and Will’s bar conversation, continuity editing works to blend their respective

locations in Nairobi and Seoul to instead place the viewer’s attention on their

dialogue. Capheus explains that he made a promise to his mother to protect

her, while Sun says she promised her late mother that she would protect her

father and brother. Both must make personal sacrifices to follow through on

these vows. Capheus must surrender his safety to secure his mother’s

medicine, and Sun would need to go to prison to keep her father’s company

from crumbling. The goal of this interaction is to illuminate common truths

between both of their problems, rather than to dwell on details that have been

covered in previous episodes. Their conversation also involves both

characters briefly restating their basic conflicts, an instance of diegetic

retelling that aims to ensure viewer comprehension. Capheus narrates over a

flashback of his mother protecting him as a child. His comments emphasize

the importance of community over the individual, falling in line with the

broader thematic strokes of the series. This conversation motivates Sun to

drop off her dog at her trainer’s house at the end of the episode, a sign that

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she has decided to go to jail. By highlighting the universality of her

predicament, Sun’s exchange with Capheus underscores the thematic

significance of her decision to keep her promise and protect her family.

In this scene, Sun’s choice to go to prison draws motivation from

outside her storyline through a visiting interaction. The show engineers this

complex narrative contortion in large part by relying on narrative information

that the viewer has collected thus far. Assuming that the viewer understands

that Sun and Capheus are physically situated in different countries, the scene

moves past this point and focuses on their commonalities. The inclusion of a

flashback to accompany Capheus’ story builds on the season-long repeated

device of flashbacks for illuminating back-story. Also, the resulting character

action relies on an indirect connection that the viewer must make from earlier

in the episode. Understanding the weight of this action involves knowledge of

events leading up to this episode. For a new viewer who must sift through

these multiple layers of complexity, this scene would likely offer little narrative

meaning.

As repeated examples of visiting and sharing, along with character

exposition, collect over the course of the season, increasingly complex

sensate interactions become possible. Some of these connections, such as

the one between Wolfgang and Lito in episode 10, simultaneously incorporate

both visiting and sharing. The final episode of the season includes a fairly

complicated series of connections, in which several sensates collaborate to

save Riley. In this episode, Will has flown to Iceland to rescue Riley from the

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BPO research facility. Nomi assists him from her apartment in his efforts to

break into the building. He visits her and she him, as she instructs him on how

to create a diversion and sends him a forged ID pass. She continues to walk

alongside him inside the building, as they discuss how to find Riley’s room.

Suddenly, we hear Lito’s voice off-screen, offering his help. Lito and

Will both appear visiting Nomi’s apartment, and Will asks Lito if they know

each other. Given that their only past interaction occurred during a multi-

sensate orgy in episode six, Lito simply states, “Yes. We had sex.” Will begins

to stammer nervously, prompting Nomi to intervene and get them back on

track. Though stakes and tensions are very high in this moment, this

interaction plays to comedic effect. The humor here heavily relies on the

viewer’s long-term memory from episode six, once again evidencing the

season-level storytelling. Furthermore, this moment sets the tone for the

following sequence, in which Lito takes over Will’s body and uses his acting

chops to flirt with a nurse to figure out Riley’s room information. For this

instance of sharing, there are no stylistic signals to indicate that Lito is sharing

Will’s body, relying instead on the viewer’s prior familiarity with the

phenomenon. We simply cut to Lito walking into the break room dressed in a

lab coat. Posing as a new co-worker, he successfully wins over the nurse, at

which point we cut out to a wider shot framed on either side by the heads of

Nomi and Will looking on. Lito looks up and winks at them. This momentary

shift away from the otherwise tense and urgent tone of the scene is allowed in

part by the accumulated experiences that the viewer has amassed with Lito.

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Partially inspired by his world of telenovelas and celebrity, Lito’s storyline

consistently maintains a more playful, campy tone than the others. Therefore,

when his character enters this scene, its tone recalibrates to support his

established persona. That the scene briefly switches tones in this way reflects

an acknowledgement of the prior experiences that the viewer has carried into

the episode, as engagement with this moment is conditional on long-form

viewing.

The episode continues along this path, as other sensates take on Will’s

body to offer their unique skills to help rescue Riley. Nomi continues to visit

and guide him along the way. After Lito makes his contribution, Sun shares

Will’s body to take out the guards blocking Riley’s room. Next, Kala employs

her pharmacy skills to concoct an adrenaline shot to wake up Riley. When the

keys are missing to the getaway car, Capheus steps in to hotwire the vehicle.

Finally, Wolfgang’s fearlessness allows Will to drive straight into an opposing

helicopter, forcing it to yield the way. Like clockwork, the sensates step in and

out of Will’s body, as Nomi serves as a visiting guide. The ease with which

these transitions are executed rests heavily on accumulated narrative

information. Assuming that the viewer already understands each of the

sensates’ skill-sets and the rules for the sensate connections, the sequence

need not deviate or distract from the main action to explain these ancillary

elements. In executing this string of sharing interactions, the sequence

features a series of coincidences, whereby Will happens to only encounter

problems that align with the cluster’s collective skill-set. While a new viewer

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would likely balk at the contrived nature of these circumstances, a consistent

viewer, who derives pleasure from the activation of previously amassed

information, may be more inclined to look past the overreliance on

coincidence.

This demonstration of teamwork among the cluster represents a

significant moment for character development. Over the span of the first

season, these eight individuals struggle to understand, harness, and utilize

this newfound ability. The final episode, which sees them exercise this ability

to save one of their own, signifies a capstone in that development. The

situation itself is a fairly straightforward hostage rescue. By using a

conventional action film plot as a framework for this complex cluster-wide

collaboration, the show encourages coherence and signals a grand climactic

end to the entire season’s action. The season begins with a high level of

obscurity and confusion and continually works toward greater comprehension

and simplicity. This progression reflects the series’ central themes of

universality and oneness, as the characters ultimately become able to act as

a single sentient being. Given the highly complex mechanisms upon which

this notion rests, the series expects a great deal from the viewer as far as

comprehension. In order to experiment with complexity without sacrificing

understanding, the series relies on a feature film technique of narrative

accumulation, whereby each episode assumes that the viewer has retained a

set of experiences and information from prior viewing. This willingness to lean

on long-term recall enables the show to sustain forward movement and feed

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its various narrative strands into a three-act season plot that erupts in a single

cinematic climax. Though, possible challenges arise when the series expects

too much from the viewer. In order to account for the excessive length, the

series often engages in retelling through repetition of devices and narrative

information. A great deal of this responsibility falls on the episode level, where

the storytelling must reconcile the maintenance of season-level

comprehension with the small-scale engagement of each individual unit.

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CHAPTER 4

SENSE8

AND EPISODE-LEVEL STORYTELLING

Traditional television programs are typically commissioned, created,

and distributed at the episode level. In the case of Sense8, which was

commissioned, created, and distributed at the season level, the narrative

function of the episode comes into question. In other words, what is the

storytelling role of each individual episode in a series that heavily favors

season-level storytelling? To dismiss the distinct creative contributions of the

episode unit would be to ignore one of the basic organizing qualities of the

television medium. Even though the series’ overall narrative arcs and

developments are primarily organized on the season level, the first season of

Sense8 still consists of twelve discrete units as opposed to a single

continuous movie. These built-in breaks in the narrative have several

implications for creative decision-making. Through a thorough examination of

these episode-level storytelling decisions in Sense8, we can better discern

the influence of the all-at-once streaming model on television storytelling.

TRADITIONAL EPISODE STRUCTURE

Linear weekly television offers several variations on episode narrative

structure. Due to the ad-supported revenue model, broadcast television series

generally structure their episode narratives around the commercial breaks.

For network primetime dramas, this model typically produces a four-act

structure, in which the act breaks represent dramatic crescendos positioned

just before the commercial break. The number of acts can vary based on the

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number of commercial breaks programmed by the network. Often, these acts

are comprised of short narrative beats that build up to a mini-climax, which

ends abruptly before cutting to commercial. This rigid episode structure

reflects the mandate for forward progress imposed by a platform that relies

heavily on advertising viewership.

Basic cable shows occupy a middle ground between broadcast and

premium, as they include commercial breaks but do not impose strict

narrative restrictions on episode construction. Therefore, they offer the

potential for more prolonged beats but usually maintain the episode act

structure. Meanwhile, premium cable channels, while they do not air

commercials, do not necessarily encourage the subversion of this episode

structure. In many cases, episodes of premium cable series similarly conform

to a conventional act structure but allow for more flexibility in terms of beat

construction and transitions between acts. Hence, the commercial act

structure remains the most prevalent form of episode design across all

traditional platforms, even in the absence of ad breaks. Thompson highlights

the universal incentives of this type of template:

Such divisions of programs into acts, whether rigidly or flexibly

proportioned, are not simply arbitrary. They give an episode a sense of

structure…They provide the spectator with a sense of progress and

guarantee the introduction of dramatic new premises or obstacles at

intervals. They allow for the rising and falling action that many writers

refer to as crucial to good plots.

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Kristin Thompson, Storytelling in Film and Television (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,

2003), 54.

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Cable series, particularly on premium cable, are free to depart from the

standard episode structure and several choose to take advantage of this

freedom. However, traditional television shows are repeatedly drawn to this

template because it gives the basic installment of the series a sense of

progress and structure, helping it function as an autonomous unit.

The imperative remains for each of these traditional platforms to

construct narratives that satisfy a weekly viewer or even a new one. While

broadcast series often build episodes that require minimal prior knowledge

and conclude with fewer open-ended storylines, the borders around cable

episodes are relatively more permeable but still clearly defined. Episodes for

Netflix series need not explicitly enforce these boundaries. The all-at-once

release permits more heavily serialized season-level storytelling because it is

unlikely that a new viewer would jump into a series in the middle of the

season. While a traditional television series apportions its act breaks within

the span of an episode, Sense8 does so on the season level. In Sense8,

each episode functions much like a cross-section of several season-level

storylines, as opposed to working independently. Episode lengths range from

45 to 67 minutes, implying that while the borders between these units are not

quite as opaque as those found in traditional television, the placement of the

breaks is deliberate.

In the absence of contained episodic plots, Sense8 encounters several

challenges on the episode level with regard to structure and coherence. Each

episode must delineate its own boundaries while still shepherding and

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developing the season-level storylines. The management of narrative

priorities within each installment requires tactful manipulation of the onscreen

relationship between various threads and story events to maintain

comprehension. At the same time, each episode has an obligation to keep the

viewer engaged on the small scale, seeing as the large-scale storytelling

delivers payoffs that are spaced out across a lengthy season. In order to

generate viewer engagement in the absence of standalone plots, episodes

utilize various narrative devices to artfully design their architecture. While an

episode of traditional television may have its own independent narrative

structure, Sense8 uses an assortment of tools, including juxtapositions,

parallels, and motifs, to loosely unify its episode-level storytelling within a

season-long narrative.

CONTRASTS

For the most part, the creative process for traditional television series

is organized on the episode level. Writers and directors are usually assigned

by episode, and episodes, while not always filmed in order, are generally

produced individually. The creators of Sense8 take a divergent approach to

television creation, and these points of departure illuminate some of the

contributing factors that figure into the show’s episode construction. The three

creators, the Wachowskis and J. Michael Straczynski, co-wrote every script,

which is atypical but not unheard-of in traditional television. However, instead

of having directors in charge of individual episodes, directorial duties were

assigned by location, an unconventional method inspired by the fact that each

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character’s storyline is set in a different part of the world. In order to shoot

scenes in which the characters visit each other and trade bodies, the entire

cast of sensates physically traveled to these locations in lieu of special

effects. Certain sequences, which include performances that take place in

multiple cities at once, required that the same action be shot over and over in

different locations and by different directors before being edited together into

a single seamless scene. These sequences essentially represent the work of

multiple directors stitched together. Along these lines, each episode of

Sense8 embraces a patchwork approach to narrative that promotes a sense

of contrast while also stitching connections between seemingly disparate

storylines.

The series’ emphasis on contrast is reflected through its casting and

location choices, as well as its episode narratives. On the topic of locations,

Straczynski explained:

We were looking for the places that would kind of contrast visually with

each other and that would give us the widest range of different kinds of

people…We cut from an exterior of a Nairobi slum to a pretty house in

San Francisco, but they’re both dealing with the same problems,

suddenly it illuminates the fact that…we all want the same things for

ourselves.

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Sense8’s preoccupation with contrast is rooted in its central themes of

universality and interconnectedness. It also showcases the show’s production

values and reminds viewers of its novelty. Within each episode, this is visually

and narratively conveyed in large part through editing. Episode one, “Limbic

Resonance,” introduces these season-long priorities by first establishing the

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Fienberg, “Straczynski.”

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diversity of its characters’ stories and then varying its editing pattern to

suggest connections between them. The episode provides our first glimpse at

the main characters through a brief montage, in which their cluster mother

Angelica visits them one by one. In addition to signaling the birth of the

cluster, this montage visually evokes a sense of contrast through mise-en-

scene and character design. The shots representing each sensate are

location- or character-specific, tying each cluster member to easily identifiable

qualities or images that make him or her unique. Sun practicing tai chi in front

of the Seoul skyline is juxtaposed against Wolfgang dancing in a Berlin

nightclub. A costumed Lito encounters Angelica in an ornate Mexican church

before we cut to Nomi injecting herself with hormones in her colorfully

decorated San Francisco loft. This sequence of images distills the characters

into superficial portraits for the sake of expressing contrast. At the same time,

this serves to distinguish the ensemble of characters and orient viewers to the

show’s structure.

The subsequent series of scenes, which properly introduces each of

the characters in their various locales, continues to perform this function.

These initial scenes offer cursory characterizations of the eight protagonists,

giving relatively equal weight to each character. After cutting between

expositional sequences establishing the eight characters and their situations,

the episode revisits each locale for follow-up scenes. Nomi and Riley both

feature in a total of three introductory sequences, while the others receive

two. The additional emphasis on Riley may be attributed to her role in the

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climactic final scene of the episode, while the extra attention on Nomi could

be related to the fact that she undergoes the most pronounced character arc

during act one. Regardless, the relatively even distribution of character

scenes in this first part of episode one reflects its goal of establishing the

sprawling scope of the series’ narration.

The manner in which “Limbic Resonance” handles its multiple

storylines is indicative but not necessarily representative of future episode

narrative structuring. Character depth and development increase over the

course of the season, but on the episode level, this attention to contrast

consistently remains a priority. While later episodes do not distribute

emphasis as evenly between the characters as the first episode does, they do

often splice together contrasting vignettes of action from among the various

storylines. Sometimes these adjoining scenes are thematically related, and

other times they are unrelated. However, the mere fact that they are edited

together encourages the viewer to compare and contrast them. As the

sensates’ connections intensify on the season level, these episode-level

contrasts gradually gain more meaning. In the face of heightened

interconnectedness, the storylines’ visual and circumstantial dissimilarities

contribute to the series’ theme of universality with respect to the human

experience.

As these characters begin to develop, each storyline establishes a

unique narrative voice that figures into the tone, style, and subject matter that

the viewer comes to expect from that character. Some of these storylines are

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more rooted in genre, while others maintain a more ambiguous classification.

Regardless, the result is an episode design that expresses contrast through

visuals, as well as through genre and tone. Lito’s story resembles a campy

telenovela-inspired drama, as it incorporates a great deal of theatrics and

humor. Sun’s storyline begins as a workplace melodrama but evolves in

episode three when we discover that she uses martial arts as an outlet for her

pent-up anger. Meanwhile, Will’s storyline contains elements of a police

procedural but also incorporates psychological drama and science fiction

through its relationship with the cluster-level plot. In this respect, all of the

storylines carry some elements of science fiction, creating some continuity

between the contrasting threads. Not every line of action can be associated

with a specific genre, but they each develop a unique attitude toward the

narrative that fosters certain expectations from viewers. If a viewer is not a

fan of a particular storyline, he or she need not wait long before being

transported to another story world. Each episode of Sense8, while not

punctuated by act breaks to encourage forward movement, keeps the viewer

engaged partly through these frequent shifts in genre and tone.

Episodes often use these contrasting narrative threads to engage the

viewer by deliberately cutting to another line of action at points where it

interrupts and delays something the viewer is interested in seeing. By

managing the different storylines in this way, they effectively manufacture a

structure of suspense in the absence of commercial breaks. For example,

episode three begins with Will waking up from a nightmare in a hospital bed.

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Upon waking, Will hurries out of the room to locate Jonas, as the nurse tries

to stop him. Given that the prior episode concluded with a car chase between

Will and Jonas that ended in a crash, this tense opening scene cues the

viewer’s desire to follow Will’s search for answers. Instead, we cut to a

television screen showing a hospital scene from one of Lito’s telenovelas. The

camera tracks out to find Hernando exaggeratedly mouthing the dialogue

from the scene, accompanied by its somber score. Cutting to a reverse angle

shot, we see Lito smiling at his theatrics, establishing that this is a playful

interaction in which Hernando is poking fun at him. The contrast between the

tones of the two scenes is striking. As we move from the tense urgency of

Will’s scene to the endearing humor of Lito’s, the resultant suspense is akin to

a commercial break interrupting a cliffhanger in a traditional show. The

procedural qualities of Will’s storyline enhance this effect. In the police

procedural genre, characters typically investigate and find solutions on the

viewer’s behalf, leading to a viewing relationship that revolves around the

anticipation of their success. By delaying Will’s pursuit of Jonas, this scene

transition generates suspense in the viewer. Furthermore, the episode

constructs a transition around the shared setting of a hospital. But while the

setting and the stakes for Will are real, Lito’s emotional hospital scene is

entirely artificial and even becomes a subject for mockery. The commonalities

around this transition heighten the sense of contrast, while also exposing a

point of comparison between the two divergent scenes. While not all

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instances make use of a shared pivot point, episodes of Sense8 routinely cut

between storylines to similarly concoct forward movement through suspense.

PARALLELS

A decent amount of Sense8’s thematic and narrative goals are tied to

the concept of creating similarities out of differences. The diversity of the

cluster serves to further this point in the wake of their connection and

collaboration. While each episode derives its structure and seeks viewing

pleasures from juxtapositions and disparities within the narrative, these

devices are met with other techniques that highlight the parallels and linkages

between the contrasting storylines. In creating these associations between

different locations and storylines, editing devices, such as cross-cutting and

scene transitions, take on a significant role with regard to episode-level

storytelling.

Sense8 often maintains viewer engagement through cross-cutting

between separate stories that are not otherwise explicitly connected in the

narrative. In the latter half of episode one, the narrative aims attention at three

characters—Will, Riley, and Wolfgang. Through frequent intercutting between

Wolfgang performing a diamond robbery and Will pursuing reports of gunfire,

the episode builds tension by combining the suspense created by these two

unrelated sequences. The scene compounds the sequences’ individual

tensions by treating the two as if they were part of a single line of action,

unified by an anxious musical score. For example, after a nurse refuses to

treat Deshawn’s gunshot wound, Will insists that he will die before they get

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somewhere else, emphasizing a limited time frame. We cut from a shot of his

bleeding wound to the nurse’s face. After tensely lingering on her face, we cut

back to Wolfgang working on the safe. A timer goes off, and Felix tells him

they are out of time, building on the suspense of the deadline set up by Will’s

action. The cross-cutting of this scene operates such that the two sequences

follow a common rhythm, subject to similar stakes and time constraints. By

establishing this relationship through editing, the scene allows their separate

tensions to reverberate off of one another and amplify the whole. At one point,

we cut to Riley in London, who reacts to sounds of sirens and lock clicks. Due

to the parallel editing, we can infer that these sounds are directly subjective,

originating from Will’s cop car and Wolfgang’s diamond safe, respectively. In

addition to implying a supernatural connection, the inclusion of this moment

with Riley perpetuates the tension, as it suggests that the energy from Will’s

and Wolfgang’s storylines is audibly spilling into Riley’s.

The way that “Limbic Resonance” manipulates narrative rhythm by

varying editing across storylines continues to be a prevalent device within

later episodes. As the season goes on and connections within the cluster

strengthen, these editing patterns tend to incorporate greater degrees of

direct interaction between storylines through sharing and visiting. Still, the

fundamental function remains to manufacture dramatic beats and

progressions by manipulating the on-screen relationship between storylines.

For instance, in a scene from episode three “Smart Money’s on the Skinny

Bitch,” Will and Sun are both in their offices intently reading files, the contents

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of which are unclear to the viewer. We understand from the first two episodes

that Will is researching a mysterious missing person’s case that has some

personal significance to him and that Sun has been dodging calls from an

unknown Mr. Jeong. However, this scene does not produce any significant

revelations that further our understanding of the narrative. Instead, the

parallel editing establishes a relationship between the two actions, and they

jointly generate intrigue and build up a sense of tension.

Initially, a series of matches on action serve to bind Will and Sun within

the narrative, as each of them unlocks a safe in his or her respective office

and removes a file. The cross-cutting establishes visual fluidity between the

two sequences, cuing the viewer not only to compare the two actions but also

to view them as interconnected. Frequent cross-cutting ensues, as they

inspect these papers in their respective settings. Restless camera movement,

along with the frequent intercutting, injects energy into these static

procedures. Then, through a series of over-the-shoulder and reverse angle

shots, we see Sun and Will physically change places and occupy each other’s

spaces, an early manifestation of the sharing connection. By blurring the

physical boundaries between the sensates and implying a shared subjectivity,

the scene links the two characters emotionally and physically, but it also

creates a narrative event out of what is otherwise a non-event. This fluidity is

buttressed by the soundtrack, which binds the parts through a single brooding

score and through sound bridges. At one point, a train passes by Will’s

window in Chicago, and the sound carries over the cut to a shot of Sun in

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Seoul. This scene eventually builds to the moment when Sun’s secretary

enters to notify her that Mr. Jeong is threatening to call the police. While we

recognize Mr. Jeong’s name from the repeated cell phone calls, we remain in

the dark as to why he would be calling the police. Still, this action infuses a

sense of urgency into the nervous tension already established by the cross-

cutting between Will and Sun. We cut to Will getting up from his desk in the

precinct office, and the momentum translates over the cut to a shot that pans

and follows Sun approaching her father’s secretary’s desk. When the

secretary tells her to leave a message, Sun abruptly punches a hole in the

desk and walks away. This moment elicits surprise in the viewer, as Sun’s

demeanor has been quite reserved up until this point in the season. It also

foreshadows a scene later on in the episode that reveals that Sun is secretly

an underground fighter. In addition, Sun’s unexpected show of aggression

represents a break in the tension built up through intercutting. The scene

essentially manufactures a narrative progression by playing Will’s and Sun’s

actions off of one another, akin to the way that Wolfgang’s and Will’s scenes

build as a single rhythm in “Limbic Resonance.” However in this case, the

body swapping between Will and Sun affixes an additional layer of

connectivity to the scene, while also acclimating the viewer to the visual

language of these newfound connections, albeit in an enigmatic manner.

Along these lines, future episodes repeatedly use this intercutting device to

shape and guide the narrative, but they vary the execution to account for the

ever-deepening sensate connections.

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While episodes relate actions through cross-cutting to manipulate our

sense of progression, they also utilize loose associations between scenes in

order to bind them within the narrative. Sometimes, these structural links can

be as simple as extending sound across the cut to ease a scene transition

and punctuate a moment. In episode two, “I Am Also a We,” Lito rejects

Daniela’s brazen sexual advances, which makes her want him even more.

Daniela watches him, smoldering, as he walks away. While lingering on this

shot of her face, we begin to hear sensual moans on the soundtrack, which

continue when we cut to the reverse shot of Lito walking away. Then, we cut

to Wolfgang having sex in the next scene, explaining the source of the

sounds. By having the audio significantly precede the cut to Wolfgang’s sex

scene, the episode implicitly binds the two scenes, superimposing the sounds

of Daniela’s desires onto the image of her longing. This editing device aims to

form associations and linkages on the episode level in the absence of direct

narrative causality. Moreover, while a sound bridge typically connotes a

relationship between two scenes, in Sense8, the device has a diegetic

motivation, as its characters are literally connected. Therefore, these types of

transitions not only function as a structural device on the episode level, but

they are also steeped in narrative meaning that ties in with the overall story.

An even more overt example of this type of associative scene

transition occurs in episode eight, “We Will All Be Judged By the Courage of

Our Heart.” The episode begins with Nomi and her girlfriend Amanita trying to

grapple with having recently witnessed a murder-suicide. Nomi compares the

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situation to the “feeling when you’re sitting in a movie theater, and everyone’s

laughing at something and you just don’t get it.” After briefly discussing its

relevance to her current state of mind, the sound of roaring laughter precedes

the cut to a boisterous movie theater where Kala is sitting with her family.

Kala appears to possess the single sullen face in a sea of smiles,

exemplifying precisely the incongruity that Nomi was describing. After cutting

in to a close-up, the raucous sounds become muffled and replaced with the

beep of a heart monitor. We follow the sound across the cut to find Wolfgang

sitting solemnly at Felix’s bedside. This series of scene transitions promotes a

sense of forward progress across three separate storylines. Nomi’s dialogue

paints a picture that Kala’s scene exhibits, relying on a thematic connection

rather than a narrative one to motivate the cut. On the other hand, the

transition from Kala’s scene to Wolfgang’s implies a narrative relationship, as

the reason for Kala’s sorrow lacks an explanation within the story world but

ultimately finds one in Wolfgang’s storyline. In the absence of episode-level

plotting, Sense8 often relies on these types of scene transitions to propel the

viewer forward across contrasting stories. Here, the show uses these

techniques both for expressive commentary and for direct causal storytelling.

Throughout the season, episodes utilize paralleling techniques to

express thematic or tonal relationships, as well as narrative progressions.

However, instances in which scene transitions or cross-cutting suggests

direct causal connections are rare at first but occur more frequently as the

season progresses and the sensate linkages strengthen. Therefore, as the

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cluster becomes increasingly integrated, episodes continue to employ similar

devices to express narrative relationships and create a sense of structure, but

their motivation within the story world evolves to fit the deepening connectivity

among the characters.

SENSATE CONNECTIONS

While depictions of these sensate connections serve several narrative

functions on the season level, they often work as structural devices within

individual episodes. Episode five, “Art Is Like Religion,” uses an extended

connection between Lito and Sun to construct a self-contained narrative

thread within the episode. The episode relates to the broader story of Lito’s

identity crisis. An actor both on and off screen, Lito uses the macho bravado

of his onscreen persona to bury his true emotion and mask his

homosexuality. By utilizing the connection with Sun to create an emotional

conflict in Lito, the episode assembles a unified storyline that moves forward

through these sensate interactions.

The episode begins by cross-cutting between scenes of the two

characters. While Sun wakes up in her apartment and goes to the bathroom,

Lito sits in a trailer getting his makeup done. A Mexican song on the

soundtrack complements the editing to tie Sun’s actions to Lito. We cut from

Sun looking in her mirror to Lito leaning into his reflection in the make-up

trailer, as he complains about feeling bloated. Next, we cut to Sun inserting a

tampon before cutting to Lito asking the make-up artist for an Advil. This

series of shots establishes a connection between Sun and Lito first through

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editing and later through a shared experience of discomfort, a suggestion that

Sun’s PMS is having an effect on Lito. In the next set of shots, they

unintentionally visit each other’s locations and do a double take, orienting the

viewer to the device while also eliciting humor. This moment of physical

comedy is facilitated by the blending of Sun’s storyline with Lito’s, as Lito

brings a lighter tone to Sun’s story world. This emotional and physical

connection between Sun and Lito persists as an ongoing narrative thread

throughout this episode.

The next time we see Lito, he is shooting a movie scene, struggling to

play a sexy hero. In the middle of the scene, he begins to cry and

exaggeratedly expresses his emotional state, to comedic effect. The episode

utilizes the initially established sensate connection as a tool for comedy in a

later scene, as well as to pose an episode-level conflict threatening his

masculinity. Later in the episode, Lito sits in traffic talking to his boyfriend

Hernando on the phone. Through a performance wrought with hyperbole,

Lito’s emotions shift from worry to panic to anger to sadness, as he laments

his inexplicable discomfort. Here, we see a man, who is used to burying his

emotions, pouring them all out at once. While screaming at another car on the

road, Lito inadvertently becomes transported to Seoul, where Sun is

practicing Tai Chi and silently crying. The juxtaposition between Lito’s kinetic

performance and Sun’s restrained one creates yet another humorous

moment.

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Further on in the episode, Lito’s director tells him he needs to deliver a

gritty, real performance for the next scene. We begin cross-cutting with a

scene of Will pursuing a lead on a witness. When his witness makes a run for

it, the action picks up, as Will and his partner pursue him. During this time,

Will involuntarily visits Lito’s action film set intermittently and executes the

action sequence on his behalf. The director yells cut and lauds him for an

excellent performance. While Sense8 is undoubtedly a heavily serialized

show, Lito’s storyline in “Art Is Like Religion” represents the series’ version of

an episodic plot. The story utilizes the viewer’s prior understanding of Lito’s

personal struggle as well as the emotional and physical connections between

characters, but the narrative events largely function independently. The

episode introduces a new problem to Lito’s life through Sun’s PMS and builds

on it and develops it until a climactic resolution with Will. While the episode

certainly provides insight into his character’s struggle, it does not move

forward Lito’s season-level storyline. Instead, the initial conflict originates and

develops through a connection with Sun and becomes resolved through a

connection with Will. The episode uses sensate connections to unite its

narrative threads around a single, contained story beat.

In this same episode, sensate connections more loosely contribute to

the architecture of the episode by setting up a recurring motif that unifies the

storylines. Similar to “Limbic Resonance,” in which many of the characters

individually relive visions of Angelica and experience migraines, “Art Is Like

Religion” finds several cluster members discovering the implications of their

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connections on language comprehension. When questioned on why Sense8

does not have its characters speaking their native languages, Straczynski

responded:

What you don’t see in the first three [episodes], which we do see

coming later on, we didn’t want them to all speak English all the

time…The first time they meet each other, they’re speaking their actual

language. So for instance the scene where Capheus meets Sun for the

first time, he’s speaking to her in Swahili and we subtitle it in English.

And she’s speaking to him in Korean and we subtitle it in English. And

what made sense, you know, “Do you speak Swahili?” “No, do you

speak Korean?” He says, “No.” “Well how are we understanding each

other?” So over the course of the show we do it now as if they are

speaking their own language, it’s not English.

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As mentioned earlier in Chapter 2, the Netflix model allows for greater levels

of subtitled and multilingual storytelling due to its global audience. However,

Sense8 justifies its reluctance to take advantage of this opportunity through

the narrative. Since members of a cluster become able to share each other’s

knowledge and skills, it makes sense that the characters can understand

each other in spite of speaking different languages. Thus, the creators argue

that the characters are in fact speaking their respective mother tongues but

that the viewer receives them as a single language, English. There are

several potential reasons for this creative choice, one being that writing

dialogue for multiple different languages poses a logistical problem, especially

when a non-native speaker must share the body of a native speaker.

Furthermore, in a series so committed to the concept of interconnectedness,

discordant dialogue would create a barrier where there should otherwise be

connection. This could create one dissonance too many to absorb the

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Fienberg, “J. Michael Straczynski.”

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primarily English speaking audience. Moreover, the decision to include

multilingual dialogue would likely alienate many viewers. Not only do subtitles

often vex viewers, particularly in the United States, but this creative choice

also would not fit with the style of the show, as it generally prioritizes thematic

consistency and narrative complexity over realism.

“Art Is Like Religion” includes many of the first verbal interactions

between cluster members and takes this opportunity to explain the language

issue. In fact, this is the only episode that directly addresses this issue, and

this serves as an episode structuring tool as well as a season-level narrative

clarification device. Several sensate interactions throughout the episode call

attention to language barriers between the characters. “Art Is Like Religion”

repeats and varies the language motif within its confines to create a self-

contained pattern that benefits from the degree of familiarity afforded to the

viewer by the episode unit. The episode raises questions and proceeds to

answer them through these sensate connections, engineering a narrative pay

off within its limits.

When Sun and Lito first meet at the beginning of the episode, they

both ask each other, “Are you for real?” in Korean and Spanish, respectively.

This moment represents the second time two members of the cluster speak to

each other, the first being in “Limbic Resonance” when Riley visits Will in the

abandoned church. In that case, both characters speak English, so there is

no need to address the issue of language comprehension so early on. When

Sun and Lito have that first interaction, they do not acknowledge the fact that

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they spoke to each other in different languages. The episode introduces this

motif in its barest form, wherein the characters speak the same phrase and

refrain from commenting on it, before later developing on it further. This initial

interaction simply presents the language barrier to the viewer in order to

generate intrigue.

The next sensate connection of the episode involves Capheus and

Riley spontaneously visiting each other. Capheus begins speaking to her in

Swahili, but she cannot understand it, so they switch to English, which they

can both understand. This scene involves Riley directly commenting on the

language issue and may imply that the sharing of skill sets has not yet

reached full fidelity. Just as the characters do not begin the season uniformly

linked with every other cluster member, their levels of language

comprehension appear to be inconsistent while the connections are still

forming. This point supports the choice to tackle this issue in episode five,

which takes place early enough in the season for them to still be learning

about their abilities and late enough for these abilities to have developed.

Perhaps even more importantly, the viewer presumably has a grasp of the

rules that govern sensate connections by this point in the season.

When Sun and Lito meet again, Sun tells Lito in Korean to stop

screaming. In what we hear as English, he screams, “I’m not screaming.” His

response proves that he can understand what she is saying. He yells this

instinctively before realizing he is suddenly standing in Seoul, at which points

he starts asking where he is in Spanish. He then tells Hernando on the phone

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in English that he sees a crying Korean woman. She insists in English, “I’m

not crying.” In a humorous rebuttal, Lito shouts in English that she is not

crying in the same way that he is not screaming. This interaction blends the

characters’ native language dialogue with English dialogue to demonstrate

that they are actually one and the same. Both Sun and Lito seem to

understand each other throughout the interaction, further building on the motif

and elucidating the rules.

The next iteration of this type of connection occurs between Wolfgang

and Kala. Wolfgang enters a club bathroom in Berlin and burps. This sound

provokes Kala, standing in her own bathroom in Mumbai, to ask who is there

in Hindi. Wolfgang answers in German, believing her to be located in the next

stall. Meanwhile, Kala speaks to him as if he is positioned behind her closed

bathroom door, telling him to go away. By capitalizing on these visually

obscured portions of their respective locations, the sequence generates a

candid conversation in which Kala and Wolfgang believe they are talking to

nearby strangers. While this scene builds on the season-long romance that

develops between the characters, it also functions within the episode

structure, answering questions that have built up over the arc. This interaction

demonstrates that the characters can understand each other by perceiving

that the other person is speaking their own language. The fact that Wolfgang

does not realize she is speaking Hindi and that Kala cannot differentiate

between his voice and a native speaker illustrates the fluid nature of language

comprehension between sensates. This point justifies the choice to uniformly

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use English for dialogue in later episodes, as the perceptual borders

differentiating the languages disintegrate. At the end of the interaction,

Wolfgang speaks aloud in Hindi. Felix enters the bathroom asking him what

language he is speaking, but Wolfgang is oblivious to what he is talking

about. Felix’s comments and Wolfgang’s confused response suggest that

while Wolfgang perceives himself to be speaking German because that is his

first language, he may actually be communicating in a different language

depending on whom he is talking to within the cluster. By involving a third

party observer, this scene elaborates on previous instances of the language

motif.

The final scene to incorporate this issue deals with it head on. Sun and

Capheus visit each other and have a conversation. They begin by each

asking where the other is located. They speak their native tongues and have

no problems understanding each other. Then, Capheus exclaims something

in Korean, and Sun asks in English if he speaks Korean. He denies this and

asks in English if she speaks Swahili, to which she responds no. They both

express puzzlement at the fact that they can communicate with each other,

but they cannot explain why. After several previous versions of this type of

sensate interaction, this conversation involves the first acknowledgement of

the language issue by the speaking characters, expanding on Felix’s third-

party commentary in the earlier scene and creating a moment of closure.

The repetition and variation of these sequences, in which the

characters encounter and acknowledge the language issue, establishes a

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narrative pattern over the course of the episode that gives it a sense of unity.

Over the span of the episode, several characters interact with this motif in

various ways, allowing the viewer to develop an understanding of how they

are able to communicate within the cluster. Though recognition of this

concept certainly improves the viewer’s general comprehension of the

sensate phenomenon, it does not prepare us for any future narrative

developments in the season. It may clear up some confusion as to how the

characters can understand each other, but in the absence of this episode,

viewers would likely suspend disbelief to engage with the story. That this

concept does not directly inform future narrative comprehension underscores

the argument that the language motif functions as a structural tool on the

episode level. This episode-level unifying device allows the episode to

become the unit of narrative within a series that heavily favors season-level

storytelling.

MOMENTS

Overall, the series tends to prioritize season-level storytelling over

episode-level storytelling. Still, while its general narrative priorities remain on

the season level, the breadth of its form does not permit it to rely as heavily

on large-scale plot movements as would a feature film. The progressions and

payoffs do not occur quickly enough to independently maintain viewer

engagement. Individual episodes attempt to engage viewers through several

of the aforementioned techniques (i.e. contrast, cross-cutting, related sensate

interactions, transitions, etc.). In the absence of episode-level plots

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punctuated by act breaks, episodes of Sense8 incorporate these structural

devices and depend on them to loosely unite and shape the units that

comprise the season. However, these episode-level storytelling devices alone

do not necessarily captivate viewers. Rather, they mostly function as

organizing forces to balance and integrate the season-level storytelling with

the moment level.

Moment-level storytelling involves the relationship between the viewer

and specific scenes, sequences, or interactions within the narrative. These

small-scale pleasures play a considerable role in the viewing experience but,

unlike episodes and seasons, do not fit neatly into unitary blocks. Perhaps

due to this fact, there exists some overlap between what one could consider

moment-level and episode-level storytelling. Especially in Sense8, which

places substantial weight on the overarching season-level narrative, engaging

moments keep the viewer captivated throughout the lengthy acts. In this

series, the primary source of moment-level engagement involves interactions

within the cluster, as this is the principal innovation of the show. However,

moment-level pleasures can arise within individual storylines as well, whether

through humor, action, sexuality, or other sources. A great deal of the

episode-level storytelling in Sense8 involves tying together these moments in

a coherent, cohesive, and engaging fashion, while still capturing progressions

in the broader season-level plot. Traditional television series derive viewer

pleasure on the moment level as well, but those series also generally place

more emphasis on the episode than the season. By reallocating attention

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from the episode to the season, Sense8 puts a greater responsibility on the

moment level to provide small-scale viewer satisfaction.

The most compelling source of moment-level pleasures in Sense8

arises from the supernatural connections between the sensates. The artful

manipulation of sound and image to convey communication and collaboration

between people situated in different parts of the world is the main hook of the

show, as well as its clearest display of overt narrative innovation. However, in

order for these momentous events to take place, the series must first explain

and develop the linkages between the characters, which is a season-level

issue. As a result, some viewers may react unfavorably to the delayed

fulfillment of this primary source of attraction. One review from The Atlantic

claimed:

It’s a cool idea that pays off with some spine-tingling moments in the

three episodes screened for critics…Towards the end of one episode,

a hijacking unfolds in Africa as a kickboxing match goes down in South

Korea, resulting in a cross-continental martial-arts sequence. At

another moment, love scenes transpire in India, Germany, and Mexico,

resulting in some amusingly overlapping emotions for those involved.

But gosh-wow moments like those are rare, at least so far…It’s

frustrating, because there are flashes of fascination in here.

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These criticisms, which are hardly unique to this reviewer, reveal the potential

shortcomings of Sense8’s narrative design. By softening the narrative role of

each episode, the series places significant pressure on the moment level to

keep the viewer interested. However, when the foremost source of moment-

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Spencer Kornhaber, “Sense8: The Premise Is Not Enough,” The Atlantic, June 5, 2015,

http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2015/06/sense8-the-premise-is-not-enough/394898/.

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level engagement is tied to the gradually unfolding season-level narrative, the

show delays gratification and tests the patience of the viewer.

As mentioned above in the Atlantic review, the visual interplay between

Sun and Capheus at the end of episode three represents a momentous

payoff after a lengthy narrative build up. The scene capitalizes on the

Wachowskis’ reputation for innovative fight sequences to enthrall viewers with

the cinematic capabilities of the cluster’s connectivity. Likely for this reason,

Netflix found it was with this episode that viewers became “hooked.” That is,

70% of viewers who watched episode three went on to complete the full

season.

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While this speaks to the attraction of that particular moment, the

fact that the series waits until episode three to unveil its central hook points to

a possible inconsistency in the viewing experience.

After this moment between Capheus and Sun, later episodes

incorporate these sensate moments with greater frequency. These

sequences help lend some structure to each episode, creating high points

within the architecture of the episode that punctuate the narrative similarly to

how act breaks organize a traditional television episode. Because of this

dependence on sensate moments, episodes never quite settle into a regular

rhythm of action. In addition to the one-on-one connections that occur

throughout the season, some particularly significant moments involve

ensemble participation, uniting multiple sensates in a single experience.

Oftentimes, an episode will dwell on these ensemble moments, allowing them

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Spangler, “Netflix Data.”

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to dominate the episode narrative in a way that other scenes do not. This

willingness of an episode to give itself over to the moment level speaks to the

malleability of Sense8’s episode structure.

Episode four, “What’s Going On?” concludes with the first genuine

ensemble interaction among the cluster. The scene, which consumes over

ten minutes out of the total 50 minutes of screen time, begins with Wolfgang

getting pressured into singing karaoke at a bar in Berlin. The narrative event

builds slowly, as Wolfgang first has a flashback of his father laughing at his

stage fright as a child. He begins drunkenly yelling, “Fuck you,” into the

microphone as a response. The sense of anger aids the transition to Sun who

is passionately hitting a punching bag. She receives a text from her brother,

which angers her further. Next, we cut to Riley sitting on a ledge overlooking

London. She selects a song on her iPod: “What’s Up” by 4 Non Blondes. The

music begins playing through her headphones before we cut back to

Wolfgang at the karaoke bar. The song seamlessly continues into his scene

but adapts to the change in the diegesis. After being filtered to subjectively

convey the sound from Riley’s headphones, its timbre changes to connote

that the music is playing from the bar speakers. This transition suggests that

the song is continuously playing across their separate story worlds.

Subsequent shots show Lito lying in bed tapping his foot to the rhythm and

Capheus humming along while driving his van. We return to Wolfgang, as he

nervously prepares to sing the song. Throughout the sequence, we frequently

cut away to the various cluster members, including the previously angry Sun,

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responding positively to the song, as Wolfgang gradually gains confidence in

his performance. The ensuing effect is a cluster-wide sing-along experience

that achieves the narrative goal of helping Wolfgang conquer his stage fright.

Wolfgang’s character development here technically operates on the

season level, as he experienced the same childhood flashback while

watching a singing competition show in episode one. However, due to the

amount of time elapsed since that earlier plot point and the reiteration of the

conflict here through a repeated flashback, the sequence largely functions on

the moment level. It is also important to note that Wolfgang’s stage fright

conflict does not operate on the episode level, as previous scenes of

Wolfgang in this episode find him securing a diamond deal with Felix. Only in

this moment does the stage fright issue finally come to light. After Wolfgang

overcomes his fear, the sequence proceeds to tie into the season-level and

episode-level stories. Kala and Wolfgang visit each other and sing together,

sharing a tender moment that helps ignite their season-long romance.

Suddenly, Kala’s roommate opens the curtains, interrupting the moment and

pausing the music. In an extended break from the sing-along, we cut to Will

sleeping and softly singing a capella. He wakes up sharing Nomi’s body on

Metzger’s operating table and helps her remove her restraints. After a tense

escape sequence, Nomi rides away in a cab with Amanita. We cut to Riley

singing along to “What’s Up,” played through filtered audio from her

headphones, when she notices Nomi positioned next to her in the foreground.

Back in the cab, as the audio from Riley’s scene continues, Nomi mentions

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the song to Amanita, who is familiar with it. They begin softly singing it

together, as the soundtrack transitions from the diegetic headphone filter to

high fidelity background music for dramatic effect. We cut to Riley and Nomi

singing together in London and then back to the cab, where Nomi genuinely

speaks the question, “What’s going on?”

This sequence of events with Nomi ties together season-, episode-,

and moment-level storytelling to provide a fitting conclusion to act one. On the

season level, Nomi evades the threat that has been facing her since episode

two and that will later come back with a vengeance against Riley in act three.

In the context of the episode, the scene ties together Metzger’s decision to

immediately operate on Nomi and Jonas’ warning to Will to save her. Finally,

Nomi’s addition to the sing-along reignites and completes the cluster-wide

experience in a way that provides viewer satisfaction on the moment level.

For the first ensemble moment of the season, the show weaves in multiple

layers of narrative meaning, utilizing it as a conclusive end point for the first

act. After starting out largely focused on the moment level with Wolfgang’s

karaoke scene, it evolves to capture broader story elements to round out the

act. Various scales of storytelling converge around the act break here in a

way that similarly occurs at the break into act three when Riley attends her

father’s concert, and the sensates take turns sharing her body.

As the season advances, subsequent examples of ensemble

interactions operate more autonomously on the moment level. In episode six,

“Demons,” an orgy involving multiple sensates occupies over six minutes of a

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47-minute episode while hardly contributing any story progression on either

the episode or season level. Rather, the sequence functions as an engaging

exercise on the possibilities provided by the physical and emotional

connections between the sensates. This relatively self-contained moment

finds the creators’ experimenting with the cinematic opportunities posed by

the premise, unrestrained by a need to tie it to a specific story function. The

feature film version of this premise could not afford to include many of these

types of scenes because its form demands efficiency. In Sense8, the moment

level offers the Wachowskis a stage for experimentation that their features

could not equally provide.

The orgy sequence in “Demons” deliberately builds up to a tantric

rhythm that permeates various characters and locations before finishing with

a satisfying climax. This sequence provides an opportunity for the creators to

play with sexuality and identity in a way that relates to the central premise.

Meant to mimic the flow of a sexual encounter, the pacing for this scene

operates autonomously from the rest of the episode. The sequence begins

with Nomi lying next to Amanita before waking her up and beginning to kiss

her. During this interaction, a song (“Demons” by Fatboy Slim) begins softly

playing on the soundtrack. The music amplifies just before a cut to Will

working out at the gym with his partner Diego. The music continues, as we

cut to Hernando spotting and stroking Lito, who is bench pressing dumbbells.

We cut to Will grunting while lifting a barbell, as Diego eggs him on. Cutting

back to Lito in Mexico, we see him kissing Hernando on the forehead while he

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lifts weights. Back in Chicago, Diego compliments Will’s body while he works

out. This initial series of shots uses the sexual energy of Nomi’s scene to

preface the development of an association between Will’s and Lito’s exercise

scenes. The sequence repeatedly juxtaposes the intimate workout dynamic

between boyfriends Hernando and Lito against the platonically affectionate

interactions between partners Will and Diego, infusing the latter scene with

sexual tension and homoeroticism. The background music, which originates

in Nomi’s scene, extends forward that initial sense of eroticism to form a tonal

spine that unites the following shots. While the orgy sequence functions as a

stand-alone unit, the manner in which it deals with eroticism ties into the

show’s broader agenda to play with sexual norms. By visually and audibly

uniting two same-sex relationships and a platonic male friendship within this

shared thread of sexual tension, the show encourages the viewer to

reevaluate the social constructs surrounding sexual attraction.

Over the next few shots, the supposed “foreplay” of the sequence

continues. Diego dances and gives Hernando a lap dance, while Daniela

watches. As Will sits on a weight bench, Diego walks by and motions to a pair

of women. Meanwhile, we find a nude Wolfgang lying back in a hot tub. This

introduces his involvement in this sexually-charged montage, which has

incorporated no sensate interactions as of yet. Up to this point, the editing

pattern has drawn no motivation from the diegesis, and the separate lines of

action have remained just that. Instead, the cutting has been an invention by

the creators to make a thematic argument. By creating these associations

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through editing, they call for a blurring of the boundaries between these

various scenes before eventually doing away with the boundaries altogether.

After a shot of Will bench pressing, we cut to Lito kissing Hernando. The next

shot shows a profile of Will lying on the bench. He lowers the barbell, and it

completely obscures the frame. After he lifts it up, Lito suddenly appears

behind him, his face situated just above Will’s. This artful visual trick offers the

first instance of visiting in this sequence, teasing forthcoming interactions and

easing the viewer into Will’s sexual experimentation.

The next series of shots features the only season-level narrative event

of the sequence. While Hernando and Lito are dancing and kissing, Daniela

looks on and takes pictures of them on her phone. This action foreshadows

the events of the following episode, in which Daniela’s ex-boyfriend steals her

phone and threatens to leak the photos of Lito and Hernando. Interestingly, if

there is any moment that seems out of step with the rhythm and flow of the

sequence, this is the one. This point highlights the challenges of delivering

large-scale narrative information within a sequence that operates primarily

through visual and emotional cues on a moment level.

In order to transition into the sensates’ sexual interaction, we cut from

Nomi telling Amanita, “I am going to make love to you…,” to Lito finishing her

sentence with Hernando, “…like the first time we kissed.” We cut to Nomi

kissing Amanita before cutting to Nomi, in Lito’s place, kissing Hernando.

Another cut takes us to Lito, in Nomi’s place, kissing Amanita, before cutting

to Nomi back in her own body and Lito back in his. This sharing interaction

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gradually escalates the sexual interaction within the ensemble, beginning by

establishing a link between two characters, Lito and Nomi. The linkages grow

and multiply, as the sequence progresses. Will, doing sit-ups on a medicine

ball, leans forward and appears to react to a sudden sensation. A few shots

later, Will completes another sit up and finds Nomi crouched in front of him,

teasing his shirt as he leans backward on the ball. The next time we see Will

on the medicine ball, Lito guides his sit-up by pulling him up by his shirt. Once

he is upright, the camera reveals Nomi seated in front of him, as she leans in

to kiss him. The gradual build-up aids in enacting the creators’ critique on

straightness through Will’s character. In a sort of rhetorical structure, each

successive iteration escalates toward a gay moment for Will. This pattern of

escalation continues throughout the sequence, across the various locations.

For instance, the first time we see Wolfgang, he is alone in the tub. Later,

Nomi joins him, and the next time, Lito appears as well. Finally, Will, Nomi,

and Lito all visit Wolfgang simultaneously, touching and kissing his reclined

body. Again, the creators are gradually dissolving the borders that separate

the spaces, the characters, and their sexual identities.

Ultimately, this additive process culminates in multiple different sexual

encounters happening in different locations at once. The frequent usage of

slow-motion not only helps maintain a hypnotic sensual atmosphere that

envelops the viewer, but it also allows us to make sense of the various

tangles of flesh that fill the screen. Across the various settings, the manner

and degree of sexual interaction vary according to the environment, meaning

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that intercutting between them evokes a sense of contrast. At this point, the

story world participates in the commentary set up by the initial editing pattern.

What once were individual characters divided by sexuality, locality, and

gender now become naked pansexual bodies that seemingly transcend

physical space. In keeping with the show’s thematic concerns, this sequence

seeks out unity amidst diversity and connection amidst contrast. The

progressive accumulation of erotic tension and sexual partners is not unlike

the accumulation of narrative events and information that occurs across the

season. In a sense, this sequence seeks to accomplish what the season does

for the overarching storylines, but on a moment level. However, in this case,

the payoffs are more immediate, and the progression maintains a singular

focus, suggesting that moment-level storytelling does not entail the same

types of challenges when it comes to maintaining viewer engagement and

comprehension.

Seeing as the episode derives its title from the song played during the

orgy, it is evident that this moment constitutes the main attraction of this

episode. Accordingly, the episode attempts to adapt its narrative design to

coalesce around it. “Demons” weaves into the narrative a running thread of

intimacy and eroticism leading up to the orgy sequence. After beginning with

a conversation between Riley and Will that involves some light flirting, the

episode turns to Kala, who fainted in the last episode after a naked Wolfgang

visited during her wedding. A playful interaction between Kala and Wolfgang

ensues when she finds him naked in her bed. They flirt with each other, but

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because she cannot explain his presence, she calls him a “demon,”

referencing the episode title. Later, Lito inadvertently shares Sun’s body while

she is being questioned by the prison doctor. In a humorous scene, the doctor

asks a confused Lito (in Sun’s body) personal questions about his sexual

history and instructs him to squat over a mirror. Soon after this scene, the

orgy begins. After the sensates climax, we cut to Capheus, who was not

involved in the sex scene. While watching a Van Damme film, he readjusts

his seating, implying that he has an unexplained erection. A comedic

consequence of the orgy, this moment also alludes to the perceived

homoeroticism of the action film, extending the episode-level commentary on

sexuality and masculinity. The decision to include these loosely related

narrative events reflects a desire to tailor episode-level storytelling around a

specific moment. Because Sense8 does not follow a strict episode structure

or carry out fully formed episode-level plots, moment-level engagement often

influences the overall design of the episode. Certainly, one could argue that

“Demons” is an episode about sex and that the orgy scene is one component

of that. These observations suggest that the distinctions between the episode

and the moment are ambiguous. Especially given the inability to explicitly

define the boundaries of the moment level, this scale of storytelling remains

interwoven with the episode level.

The emphasis by Sense8 on narrative moments is reflected in the way

the creators discuss and promote the show. Upon its release, the series was

marketed and received as an auteurist work by the Wachowskis, diminishing

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the perceived role of co-creator J. Michael Straczynski. However, in addition

to the Wachowskis being a more prominent force in the industry, the main

draws of the series also carry the mark of their authorship. Straczynski stated

in an interview, “If [the Wachowskis] have their strengths, first it’s action and

character, then plot and structure…I’m a structure demon…So the good thing

is that you lay our two skills over one another, and it’s a perfect fit.”

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Straczynski’s comments indicate that the Wachowskis’ strengths are best

served on the moment level, which is where the major hooks take place for

the viewer. It is noteworthy that the “hooked” episode, as researched by

Netflix, is episode three, which includes the first fight sequence, as opposed

to episode four, which wraps up act one. In a promotional interview prior to

the series’ release, the Wachowskis devoted minimal time to speaking about

the season-long story, choosing instead to focus on the contrasting locations

and the moments, such as “crazy psychic orgies with all sorts of different

bodies” and “live births.”

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Though these statements do not prove the

significance of individual moments to the series, they do illuminate the

creative forces behind the work and how they choose to guide viewer

expectations.

On the topic of auteurism and narrative meaning, Lilly Wachowski

argued:

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Joseph McCabe, “J. Michael Straczynski and the Cast of Netflix’s Sense8 Look Ahead to Season

2,” Nerdist, August 6, 2015, http://nerdist.com/j-michael-straczynski-and-the-cast-of-netflixs-sense8-

look-ahead-to-season-2/.

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Meredith Woerner, “The Wachowskis Say They Filmed a Live Birth for Their TV Show Sense8,”

io9, February 2, 2015, http://io9.gizmodo.com/the-wachowskis-say-they-filmed-a-live-birth-for-their-t-

1683307179.

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Even when we talk about our films, it’s reductive. I mean, you’re setting

this definition—certainly film as a collaborative medium---there are

many ideas put forth into the film...Because there is meaning that has

been put in by the actors, there’s meaning that is put in by the

production designer, by the costumers. [The director defining the film]

feels sort of narrow-minded.

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Regardless of whether the Wachowskis approve of the auteur label,

audiences and critics have routinely ascribed it to them, as their films often

tread similar thematic ground and maintain some consistent strokes of form

and style. Lana Wachowski stated, “In a way all of our movies are about

interconnectivity and about truth beneath the surface...There are parts of me

and parts of Andy [as Lilly was formerly known] in all of them.”

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These

comments, which come from a promotional interview for the film Cloud Atlas

(The Wachowskis and Tykwer, 2012), can be extended to apply to Sense8,

which foregrounds this concept of interconnectivity in the premise and the

narrative. Also, the transgender character of Nomi represents an opportunity

for the siblings, who are both trans, to explore more personal themes through

character. Other concepts with which the directors repeatedly grapple include

sexuality, spirituality, oppression, and identity. In Sense8, the Wachowskis

are able to spend time experimenting with these issues in a way that the

feature film format does not easily permit. A reviewer for The Verge wrote:

[A]s [Sense8] picks up steam and begins delving into the familiar

Wachowski themes—that we are all interconnected, across lines of

race, sexuality, gender, and class—it begins to establish its own sense

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Tasha Robinson, “The Wachowskis Explain How Cloud Atlas Unplugs People from the Matrix,”

A.V. Club, October 25, 2012, http://www.avclub.com/article/the-wachowskis-explain-how-icloud-

atlasi-unplugs-p-87900.

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Charles McGrath, “Bending Time, Bending Minds,” The New York Times, October 9, 2012,

http://nyti.ms/1FTCF7M.

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of identity. By the end of the third episode, when the show finally gets

the chance to add the Wachowskis’ penchant for action choreography

to the mix, the combination had me fully on board.

141

This review points to the manner in which the Wachowskis weave their

signature themes and style into the series. As the season gradually unravels

its enigmatic premise and establishes the linkages between its characters, the

creators increasingly experiment with the thematic questions posed by these

connections. Fittingly, the reviewer, like most viewers, became hooked on the

season after episode three, which, through Capheus/Sun’s fight scene,

provides the type of moment-level engagement that audiences have come to

expect from the Wachowskis. In Sense8, the Wachowskis express their

auteurial voice through the broad thematic strokes of the season-long story as

well as through small-scale experiments with familiar concepts and the

moving image. At the episode level, the show must balance and reconcile

these scales of storytelling to convey a unified narrative voice.

CONVENTIONS

As much as has been said about Sense8’s unconventional episode-

level organization and design, the series retains many of the conventional

episodic techniques found in traditional television, modifying them to

accommodate to its unique brand of storytelling. Due to the very fact that it

tells a story over 12 installments, episode-level creative decision-making

becomes affected by some of the basic challenges of the television medium.

141

Bryan Bishop, “Sense8 Review: The Creators of The Matrix Find a New Home on TV,” The Verge,

May 28, 2015, http://www.theverge.com/2015/5/28/8673391/sense8-review-matrix-wachowskis-

netflix.

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Episodes must acknowledge issues of comprehension and organization as

they pertain to the season-long narrative. They must also set the borders for

how and where to begin and end each installment. It is in facing these

fundamental challenges that the show exposes some of the tensions between

its season-level narrative and the televisual form.

One common feature of episode-level storytelling, especially for shows

that exhibit episodic seriality, is the issue of delay. When creators stretch out

a narrative over several episodes or seasons, they must often come up with

ways to fill the time in between plot points and maintain viewer engagement

without sacrificing comprehension. Sense8, in particular, grapples with this

issue, as it must juggle eight different character storylines, along with a

cluster-level mythology plot. The series frequently utilizes episode-level

delays in order to carry out its staggered season-level narrative. For example,

in episode three, Metzger prepares Nomi for a lobotomy, but before they are

able to begin operating, Amanita pulls the fire alarm and saves her. This

episode takes her to the brink of defeat before reverting back to her baseline

situation, choosing to delay her resolution until the fourth episode when it

coincides with the act break. The series uses this delay as a method for

getting more than one episode out of a single dramatic situation. By repeating

and varying the same scenario, the show also aids viewer comprehension

while establishing a narratively satisfying pattern. In some instances,

Sense8’s narrative delays potentially pose problems for viewer engagement.

Riley’s storyline spends several episodes putting off her trip to Iceland. The

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season-level motivation for this decision is that her arrival to Iceland sets off

the events of act three, but the episode-level result is that early sightings of

Riley potentially inspire disinterest. The timing and execution of these delays,

while useful for structuring the season-long narrative, may threaten viewer

engagement at the episode level. For instance, episode three finds Riley

meeting up with old friends to seek refuge. The show spends little time

developing these characters and hardly features them within the narrative

past their initial introduction. Their primary function in her storyline is to

provide her temporary residence before she leaves for Iceland. Therefore,

this story thread likely spurs disinterest in some viewers.

Episodes of Sense8 do not have a set running time, as they range

from 45 to 67 minutes in length. This variation indicates that the series does

not arbitrarily divide its three-act season narrative into 12 equal parts, as one

may assume given Straczynski’s claim that the season is “written as a 12-

hour movie.”

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Rather, in the spirit of traditional television, the show

judiciously chooses the moment that each episode begins and, perhaps more

importantly, the event that concludes it. The episode openings do not

necessarily follow a set pattern. Some begin enigmatically (“Smart Money Is

on the Skinny Bitch”), and others begin with a straightforward continuation of

the narrative (“What’s Going On?,” “W. W. N. Double D?”). Some episodes

pick up with the same storyline that concluded the previous one (“We Will All

Be Judged by the Courage of Our Hearts”), and some start with a different

142

Radish, “J. Michael Straczynski Talks Collaborating.”

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character’s storyline (“Art Is Like Religion”). These episode openings

represent the creators experimenting with entering the world from different

angles. The lack of strict episode-level plotting allows for greater freedom

when it comes to openers, since they are not introducing a new plot each

time. Meanwhile, the episode conclusions exhibit a greater sense of

consistency. The Netflix interface encourages viewers to watch multiple

episodes in one sitting, as the end of one episode prompts the next one to

automatically queue up. The creators of Sense8 may haven taken this

experience into account when composing its episode endings, as they often

end installments with an exciting twist, thrilling sequence, or provocative

event. Many traditional shows also aim to conclude episodes in this way. But

while traditional series tend to build episodes toward a certain climactic

resolution, Sense8 does not aim for that same sense of closure within the

confines of the episode, suggesting that, in some ways, the show

manufactures endings to a greater degree. Some of these endings may

provide a compelling hook into the next episode, such as the fight sequence

shared by Sun and Capheus at the end of episode three. Others may catch

the viewer off guard. For example, episode eight ends suddenly with the

stabbing of Manendra, Kala’s soon-to-be father-in-law, by religious

extremists. Episode four includes a brief mention of Manendra’s notorious

opposition to the temple, but this narrative information could likely get buried

in the viewer’s long-term recall beneath the weight of the other storylines. If

this were a traditional television series, the earlier scene could have been

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included in a “Previously On” segment prefacing the episode to prime the

viewer for the final twist. Regardless, the abruptness of this event cues us to

feel shocked, mirroring Kala’s own reaction. The decision to end episodes on

powerful beats of surprise, closure, or enigma parallels the way in which

many traditional episodes of television manufacture strong beats, or

crescendos, before the cut to commercial. These similar but varying

approaches to beat construction reflect a shared interest in promoting forward

movement but a difference in scale. While Sense8 encourages momentum

from episode to episode through crescendos, traditional ad-driven shows use

a similar device to cue viewers to watch across the commercial break

between episode acts.

The final episode, “I Can’t Leave Her,” possibly adheres most closely

to conventional episodic form. By this point, all the character storylines, save

for Wolfgang’s, have concluded for the season, leaving the primary focus to

be on Riley’s rescue and the preservation of the cluster. Furthermore, the

season-long accumulation of sensate connections finally comes to a head in

this episode when the cluster comes together and operates as one. Without

the burden of balancing multiple storylines and perpetuating season-long

threads, this episode is able to operate similarly to a traditional television

episode. The A-plot, which follows Will and the sensates’ efforts to save Riley,

dominates the action and abides by a fully-formed structure across the

episode. Meanwhile, a B-plot runs alongside it, tracking Wolfgang’s efforts to

kill his uncle. The B-plot concludes halfway through the episode but intersects

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briefly with the A-plot later on when Will calls on Wolfgang’s fearlessness to

help him escape. This clears the path for the main action to build to a

climactic conclusion, which doubles as a resolution to the third act and the

season a whole.

In a way, “I Can’t Leave Her” provides a glimpse into how Sense8

would operate if it were a traditional television series, but one must not

discount the steps the series takes to reach this point. When compared to the

first episode “Limbic Resonance,” which contains enormous breadth but little

depth, the final episode seems to have an inverse objective. This point

speaks to the effect of season-level progression on episode design in

Sense8, as the narrative accumulation and development that occur between

these two episodes gradually alter the viewer’s relationship with the story

world. The story evolves from a fractured story about generic characters to a

unified story with deeper characters. There is real pleasure in knowing that

the characters have departed from their simplistic origins by this final episode.

This observation raises an important question: How will a season two

episode of Sense8 differ from season one, if at all? The first season

establishes certain organizational and narrative trends that come to define the

show’s episode-level storytelling. Now that the season-level progression

toward a fully integrated cluster has been completed, season two may

structure episodes more cohesively around the collective actions of the

cluster. This type of shift in the storytelling could potentially dissatisfy

returning viewers, as season one has fostered a certain set of expectations

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that a second season may struggle to meet. The first season is built on

gradually revealing a complex narrative premise and progressively building

toward greater connection between its characters. Each episode derives

engagement through contributing to this advancement. Along the same lines,

the first two seasons of House of Cards engage viewers by incrementally

advancing toward a single objective: Frank becoming president. Once that

objective is reached at the very end of season two, the relative stagnation that

characterizes season three’s narrative leaves many viewers disappointed, as

the primary source of their pleasure has been removed. The second season

of Sense8 faces a similar juncture in its storytelling, and it remains to be seen

how the story unfolds. That the future of Sense8’s narrative construction is

clouded in ambiguity signals the unconventional relationship between the

show’s season-level and episode-level storytelling.

The Netflix model encourages creators to rethink this relationship, as it

applies to their story worlds, by releasing seasons all at once and removing

the serial gaps between episodes. Sense8 is a series that takes full

advantage of this opportunity, offering its unique interpretation of televisual

storytelling. As Netflix continues to release scripted series, more and more

shows will continually offer their own takes. In just three years of Netflix

original programming, a diverse array of storytelling strategies have emerged,

to varying degrees of experimentation. Perhaps, storytellers will eventually

reach an equilibrium point on how best to create for this platform. However,

given the current trajectory, this seems unlikely.

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Conclusion.

TV, Disrupted

The prevailing discourse surrounding Netflix and future of television

raises more questions than it answers. Countless theories and predictions

have been made, and the thesaurus on “groundbreaking” has been

exhausted. This thesis cuts through the noise to bring the conversation back

to the storytelling at the heart of the matter. First, we tracked the historical

precedents that make up the evolutionary skeleton of the Netflix model. After

locating its position within the television landscape, we unpacked the

aesthetic toolbox that Netflix offers creators, drawing evidence from its

existing original series. Finally, we analyzed the specific ways that Sense8

utilizes some of these tools to tell a televisual story through its season and

episodes. By taking this incremental approach to understanding the

relationship between streaming and storytelling, we account for the

similarities and differences that Netflix shares with traditional television before

applying that knowledge to a formal analysis.

In the months since I began work on this thesis, Netflix has released

eight new original series and two new seasons of returning series. The sheer

pace at which Netflix commissions shows has only accelerated in recent

months and shows no signs of slowing down. Having just started releasing

original series in 2013, the streaming service has covered considerable

ground over the last three years, and their series have incrementally

expanded the definition of what it means to be a Netflix show. At this rate, the

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Netflix of tomorrow may look dramatically different from the Netflix of which

we speak today. For these reasons, my formal analysis of Sense8 does not

apply broadly to every original series on the platform, as I could not possibly

cast a net wide enough to encompass such a diverse array of stories.

Instead, through these discussions on season-level and episode-level

storytelling in Sense8, I develop a vocabulary for analyzing the effect of

distributional shifts on creative decision-making.

The Netflix effect does not represent a replacement of television as we

know it, but it does signal a disruption. The president of Showtime, David

Nevins, resolutely declared, “2015 will be remembered as the year that the

disruption hit everyone.”

143

Over the years, viewers, creators, and platforms

have adopted new technologies and innovations with increasing speed, and

the rise of streaming is consistent with this pattern. However, the degree of

disruption by the streaming model has more to do with traditional television’s

dependence on an aging model than with the novelty of streaming. Linear

television binds platforms to third-party affiliates (i.e. cable providers, satellite

companies, advertisers, etc.), whose business interests run counter to those

of streaming. Due to their independence from advertising, premium cable

channels are restrained to a lesser degree, but they still must answer to the

cable, satellite, and telecom providers that distribute their content. Amid these

constraints, traditional television companies are struggling (some may say

scrambling) to adapt to the new media climate.

143

Meg James and Yvonne Villarreal, “Cord Cutters Face a Sea of Streaming Options,” Los Angeles

Times, January 1, 2016, http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/envelope/cotown/la-et-01013-ct-ott-

mania-20151229-story.html.

189

Chief among their fears is the impending threat of cord-cutting. Ever

since Netflix jump-started the popularity of over-the-top content distribution,

many have speculated over a possible cord-cutting revolution, in which

viewers cancel their cable subscriptions and flock en masse toward

streaming. However, dreams (or nightmares, depending on whom you ask) of

a mass exodus from traditional pay television have yet to be realized. Still,

cord-cutting is real, but the transition has been gradual, and no one is quite

sure how the dust will settle. In December 2015, Pew Research Center

included cord-cutting statistics for the first time in its annual broadband

survey, reporting that 24% of Americans do not subscribe to cable or satellite

television.

144

Of those, 15% have cut the cord in recent years, and 9% are

considered “cord nevers,” people—often young adults—who have never

subscribed to pay TV. Two-thirds of those without cable or satellite service

cite online streaming as a reason for abstaining. Clearly, cord-cutting is not a

myth, but traditional television companies had treated it as such until recently.

Having studied the impacts of the streaming model on television

storytelling on Netflix, a valuable topic for further discussion would be the

effect of cord-cutting and new entrants on traditional television programming.

Recently, linear television platforms have made some unconventional choices

regarding business and programming, a possible indication of an industry in

transition. To a certain extent, some of these decisions appear to be part of

an effort to emulate the attractive features of Netflix and other streaming

144

Cynthia Littleton, “Cord Cutting Survey: 19% of Young Adults Have Dropped Cable or Satellite

TV Service,” Variety, December 22, 2015, http://variety.com/2015/biz/news/cord-cutting-19-young-

adults-24-pew-research-center-1201666723/.

190

services. We already covered some examples of this in Chapter 1, such as

TBS’s Angie Tribeca. “Releasing all episodes of a show for binge watching

ahead of the linear premiere has become a popular experiment for television

programmers,” reported Variety, before adding, “But such binge releases

have yielded mixed results.”

145

Perhaps, the lack-luster success of this

strategy can be attributed to the incongruity between the ad-supported model

and the all-at-once release. This may be a case of traditional television

networks attempting to have their cake and eat it too.

On the other hand, we see more and more that linear platforms—

specifically basic cable and broadcast networks—are seeking to demonstrate

to viewers the value of live appointment viewing. Networks are more often

building programming and marketing around live viewing by promoting social

media conversation and commissioning so-called water-cooler shows. The

ABC drama Scandal pioneered the practice of having stars and writers live-

tweet episodes to generate a communal viewing experience through the

Internet, and other series such as Fox’s Empire have followed in its footsteps.

AMC’s Talking Dead, a companion series to zombie drama The Walking

Dead (Darabont, 2010-present), helped popularize the concept of live recap

shows, which immediately follow airings of scripted series. These recap

shows not only aim to absorb viewership from highly-rated series, but they

also encourage real-time discourse among fans, highlighting the value of a

collective live audience. In April 2016, HBO announced that it would be

145

Daniel Holloway, “Showtime to Debut ‘Dice’ Full Season Ahead of Cable Premiere,” Variety,

March 22, 2016, http://variety.com/2016/tv/news/showtime-dice-debut-1201736365/.

191

following Game of Thrones with its own recap show After the Thrones. That

an ad-free network would employ this same strategy suggests that the

intuition behind these programs goes beyond just sopping up ratings. Event

programming, such as Scandal, Game of Thrones, and The Walking Dead,

serve as an argument against the Netflix model, contending that the

communal experience of watching TV still holds value.

Furthermore, at a time when many viewers are watching scripted

series via DVR or streaming, networks have boosted their efforts to

encourage live viewing through other avenues, such as live specials and talk

shows. The most consistent ratings bet for traditional platforms remains

sports programming, but beyond that, networks have made further attempts to

expand live options for viewers. In 2013, NBC made an ambitious bet on the

value of event programming by airing a live musical special of The Sound of

Music. The Sound of Music Live! proved to be a ratings success, motivating

the network to begin an annual tradition of airing different live musicals. Fox

followed suit in 2016, airing both Grease: Live and the partially live musical

The Passion. When NBC made the initial $9 million commitment on Sound of

Music Live!, The Hollywood Reporter called the move a “big gamble,”

paralleling the commentary surrounding Netflix’s two-season deal for House

of Cards.

146

On both sides of the equation, a TV landscape in flux encourages

platforms to make more risky decisions in hopes of striking gold. In recent

146

Marisa Guthrie and Lacey Rose, “Networks Scramble to Boost Live Programming as DVRs Shift

Audiences,” The Hollywood Reporter, February 22, 2013,

http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/networks-scramble-boost-live-programming-423121.

192

years, there has also been a proliferation of topical late-night talk shows. A

long-time staple of broadcast television, late-night talk shows have become

increasingly prevalent on basic cable channels as of late. Not only do these

types of shows encourage live viewing due to their time-sensitive nature, but

they have also proven to be dependable draws for creating viral video clips

online. In this case, traditional networks depend on streaming through outlets

such as YouTube to promote and maintain buzz around their live

programming.

As linear platforms are both emulating streaming and arguing the worth

of live TV, Netflix has taken steps toward programming that in many ways

resembles traditional television. In March 2016, Chelsea Handler announced

the format for her upcoming Netflix talk show, Chelsea, saying that the show

would be pre-taped but would air three days a week rather than all at once.

This variation on the Netflix release model reflects a desire by the streaming

network to incorporate as many types of programming as possible within its

global mass-market service. Still, Netflix has stopped short of offering sports

programming since its time-sensitive nature does not seemingly fit in line with

the company’s on-demand ethos, as it stands. Sarandos predicted:

I think what’s going to happen with linear television is it’s going to

become more linear. It’s going to become more about events and more

about award shows, live sports—all those things that, really, you can’t

replicate…When the attribute is really the on-demandness—which is

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really about scripted programming—then Netflix is a great solution for

consumers.

147

In terms of scripted series, Netflix has made clear its intention to beat linear

television at its own game, so to speak, by commissioning programs that

resemble or, in many cases, revive traditional network shows. Netflix has

gotten in the habit of resurrecting series that were previously cancelled by

traditional networks. Along with Arrested Development (originally at Fox),

Netflix has commissioned additional seasons of AMC’s The Killing (Sud,

2011-2014), A&E Network’s Longmire (Coveny and Baldwin, 2012-present),

and others. Moreover, the streaming service has also rebooted long-cancelled

shows, such as ABC’s Full House (Franklin, 1987-1995) and The WB/The

CW’s Gilmore Girls (Sherman-Palladino, 2000-2006), through its original

series Fuller House and an upcoming as-yet-untitled Gilmore Girls miniseries.

These revival efforts shed light on Netflix’s attitude toward traditional

television. The service does not apparently seek to differentiate itself from

network series in the way that HBO and other premium outlets have done,

insisting instead on absorbing that business from linear TV. In April 2016,

Netflix released The Ranch (Reo and Patterson, 2016-present), a series that

appropriates network television’s decades-long mode of televisual comedy,

the multi-camera sitcom. Slate’s TV critic Willa Paskin argued:

[The Ranch] is engineered to compete with network TV…[Netflix] can

air multi-camera sitcoms with a widely accessible comedic style without

147

Yvonne Villarreal, “Netflix’s Ted Sarandos Talk Global Licensing, Sports Market and China,” Los

Angeles Times, May 13, 2015, http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/envelope/cotown/la-et-ct-

netflixs-ted-sarandos-talks-global-licensing-sports-market-and-china-20150513-story.html.

194

worrying about attracting a large audience. As network audiences are

dwindling and more and more sitcoms are becoming single-camera,

the multi-camera sitcom is becoming a niche product…Netflix is

designed to serve niches, while niches are the bane of the networks’

existence.

148

By co-opting one of the most conventional formats of traditional television, the

series illustrates the scope of Netflix’s ambitions while also demonstrating its

unique ability to service different types of viewers simultaneously. As Paskin

put it, “Netflix doesn’t want to become HBO. Netflix wants to become every

channel on your television.”

149

As the platform continues to expand its offerings, there will be more

and more opportunities to investigate the link between distribution and

storytelling. For example, by looking at how The Ranch breaks with traditional

multi-camera sitcom conventions, we could gain some insight into the genre

and its relationship with serial form. Through this thesis, I have designed a

way of thinking about these issues, incorporating historical context, formal

analysis, and the unique offerings of the model to extract meaning from what

we see on screen. This approach to analysis is not limited to Netflix and its

scripted series, as it can be applied to any platform’s programming to study

the effects of its delivery mechanisms on the viewing relationship.

The relationship that television shares with the viewer remains very

much intact in a post-Netflix world. The main difference is that the types of

148

Willa Paskin, “The Ranch,” Slate, March 28, 2016,

http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/television/2016/03/netflix_s_the_ranch_with_ashton_kutcher_revie

wed.html.

149

Ibid.

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relationships that exist are more varied than ever before. The binge-viewer

signs up for a short-lived but intense love affair. After bingeing season one,

we may return for the next installment only to find that the show has changed,

making us forget why we fell so hard for it in the first place. Another breed of

viewer may engage in an on-again/off-again relationship, abandoning the

show for whatever reason before revisiting it weeks later, albeit with a

learning curve to get back in the swing of things. Meanwhile, the highly

regimented viewer may impose a weekly schedule on shows that do not ask

for it. With the advent of Netflix, what has changed is that the viewer’s

personality and preferences now have greater clout in dictating the terms of

the relationship. By endowing creators with this knowledge, the platform

encourages them to experiment with television’s capacity for telling stories. At

the compelling core of this medium is the opportunity to connect with

characters and follow their stories over time. Netflix provides a distinct prism

through which to view these stories, but its differences from traditional

television are illuminated by the overwhelming commonalities. Netflix flipped

the script on television, but they most certainly took a look at it first.

196

SELECTED FILMOGRAPHY

NETFLIX ORIGINALS:

Arrested Development. Creator: Mitch Hurwitz. Fox, 2003-2006. Netflix, 2013-

present.

BoJack Horseman. Creator: Raphael Bob-Waksberg. Netflix. 2014-present.

Club de Cuervos. Creators: Gary Alazraki, Michael Lam. Netflix. 2015-

present.

Daredevil. Creator: Drew Goddard. Netflix. 2015-present.

Fuller House. Creator: Jeff Franklin. Netflix. 2016-present.

House of Cards. Creator: Beau Willimon. Netflix. 2013-present.

Jessica Jones. Creator: Melissa Rosenberg. Netflix. 2015-present.

Master of None. Creators: Aziz Ansari, Alan Yang. Netflix. 2015-present.

Narcos. Creators: Chris Brancato, Carlo Bernard, Doug Miro. Netflix. 2015-

present.

Orange Is the New Black. Creator: Jenji Kohan. Netflix. 2013-present.

The Ranch. Creators: Don Reo, Jim Patterson. Netflix. 2016-present.

Sense8. Creators: The Wachowskis, J. Michael Straczynski. Netflix. 2015-

present.

Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. Creators: Tina Fey, Robert Carlock. Netflix.

2015-present.

ADDITIONAL SERIES:

Angie Tribeca. Creators: Steve Carell, Nancy Walls Carell. TBS. 2016-

present.

Breaking Bad. Creator: Vince Gilligan. AMC. 2008-2013.

The Bridge. Creators: Meredith Stiehm, Elwood Reid. FX. 2013-2014.

Curb Your Enthusiasm. Creator: Larry David. HBO. 2000-2011.

Empire. Creators: Lee Daniels, Danny Strong. Fox. 2015-present.

Friends. Creators: David Crane, Marta Kauffman. NBC. 1994-2004.

Game of Thrones. Creators: David Benioff, D. B. Weiss. HBO. 2011-present.

How I Met Your Mother. Creators: Carter Bays, Craig Thomas. CBS. 2005-

2014.

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I Love Lucy. Creators: Jess Oppenheimer, Bob Carroll, Jr., Madelyn Davis.

CBS. 1951-1957.

It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Creator: Rob McElhenney. FX, 2005-2012.

FXX, 2013-present.

Lost. Creators: Jeffrey Lieber, J.J. Abrams, Damon Lindelof. ABC. 2004-

2010.

Louie. Creator: Louis C.K. FX. 2010-present.

Scandal. Creator: Shonda Rhimes. ABC. 2012-present.

Seinfeld. Creators: Larry David, Jerry Seinfeld. NBC. 1989-1998.

FILMS:

Goodfellas. Dir: Martin Scorsese. Warner Bros. 1990.

The Matrix. Dir: The Wachowskis. Warner Bros. 1999.

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