In Praise of Endings

Narrative artists, whether they write books or make movies or produce television shows, have a fundamental responsibility to their audiences: to provide closure. One of the earliest lessons we received about writing (we're talking fifth grade here) was to know how your story would end before you started writing it. Unless the ambiguous ending is the point (see, "The Lady or the Tiger"), no writer should leave the audience hanging without having a damn good reason for doing so--like, dying before finishing the manuscript (see, The Mystery of Edwin Drood). For the most part, writers have observed this basic rule.

Television writers, though, have a problem. Unlike novelists, who pretty much have sole control over their means of production, or filmmakers who, while dependent on others to finance their projects, still have the ability to create and release only self-contained stories, television producers--show-runners--are at the mercy of networks and sponsors. Thus, while long-form television dramas have arguably become the primary vehicles for narrative artistry ("The Sopranos," "The Wire," "Mad Men," etc., etc., etc.), viewers of these shows run a constant risk of being heartbroken when they reach the shows' (non-)ending.

You may recall our lament upon reaching the end of season two of the Danish supernatural-horror series "The Kingdom." Director Lars von Trier hooked us utterly on these characters and their story and then, at the end of season two, left us hanging. We don't know whether the decision to stop after two seasons was his or his backers', but either way, we felt cheated (which is why we informed our brethren in the international Jewish conspiracy to mess with von Trier, thus explaining his recent antisemitic outbursts--which, if you read them, don't even sound that anti-semitic--but we digress. Where were we?).

We recently checked out "Flash Forward" on Netflix. In this "Lost"-style show, the entire world blacks out for about 90 seconds, during which everyone has visions of their future. An FBI agent (Joseph Fiennes) and others race to figure out the meaning of the blackout and the visions. The first and only season ends in a cliffhanger, and the network (thank you, ABC) declined to pick up the show for another season. Another recent show, "Reaper," is a black-comedy about a young man, Sam, whose parents sold his soul to the Devil. Satan, who dresses and acts like a Rat-Pack lounge lizard, employs Sam in capturing escaped souls. After two seasons, the show went off the air, leaving unresolved the question of whether Sam would ever escape eternal damnation. It makes us reluctant to invest our time in what may be a worthwhile aesthetic experience, the fact that we may grow attached only to be left in limbo.

It's one thing for people's real lives to end suddenly and unexpectedly. We hardly need to suffer through that sort of thing in fiction.

Which brings us to "Life on Mars." In this show, NYPD detective Sam Tyler (Jason O'Mara) is investigating a murder in 2008. He is hit by a car and knocked unconscious. When he awakens, he is still an NYPD detective, but a glance across the East River, where he sees the Twin Towers, tells him that something has changed: He has traveled back to the year 1973.


On one level, the show is a straightforward police drama. While Sam adjusts to the social norms of police work in 1973 New York--the casual police brutality, male chauvinism, and general slovenliness--he and his partners investigate the same sorts of murders and mayhem you would find in any episode of "Law and Order." But the show works on other levels, too. There is, of course, the science-fiction time-traveling mystery: Why was Sam transported back in time, and can he get back to 2008? One potential reason for his adventures may be his need to grapple with traumas from his past, particularly his relationship with his absent (and, we soon find, criminal) father. Each episode nicely interweaves these different aspects. And Harvey Keitel, who plays Sam's lieutenant, is by himself worth the price of admission.

We watched this show, which ran for one season, with growing trepidation as we neared the 17th and final episode. We feared that Sam would remain trapped in 1973, with no answers and only tantalizing hints about a way back--hints that would, because of penny-pinching network executives, never lead to a solution.

You can imagine our relief, then, when the final episode actually, get this, concluded the story. The ending was thorough and satisfactory (if not wholly satisfying). All the major questions were answered. And what we found truly gratifying was the sense that the show's creators fully intended for the show to end this way from the beginning: The plot points that made the ending reasonable and understandable were there throughout the series.

So, if you're looking for something to watch over the course of a rainy weekend, check out "Life on Mars" with the full assurance that the show will satisfy your need for closure.