The Severance page on Apple TV+ contains various trailers and other promotional fare. But is there a substantial clip labeled “What happened in Sever
The Severance page on Apple TV+ contains various trailers and other promotional fare. But is there a substantial clip labeled “What happened in Severance season one”? No, there is not. Say what you will about the necessity or lack thereof of a second season of Squid Game: At least a three-minute summary of the first round of deadly games can be found on the show’s Netflix home page.
But most of the time, streaming platforms — which are often spending huge amounts on these shows — don’t supply useful, high-quality, easily located refreshers. I avoid trailers because I’m anti-spoiler. And I will scream if you say the “previously” that kicks off the first episode of a novel season is sufficient. Nope. Maybe for a featherlight comedy without much serialization. But much of the time, a brief, bolted-on “previously” doesn’t cut it, mostly because too much time has passed. If the writers and innovative team went to the trouble of crafting an intricate, stimulating or thoughtful plot last season, remind me of that. Don’t just fling out a drive-by of the biggest twists and turns: Tell me the story again in an elegant, involving and concise way!
We make time for these shows in the first place because we want to go on an emotional ride with their characters. What were their relationships like last season? What was going on in their minds, hearts, souls? Who wanted to stab/sleep with/kidnap whom, and why? Re-invest me psychologically in all of that, not just the plot! Remind me why I gave a shit about the people to whom the plot happened, and in doing so, assist me begin to give a shit again.
This is not something that, in the history of TV, has ever happened automatically. It takes work to make audiences engage in a novel series, and then re-engage in subsequent seasons. I can’t say this emphatically enough: Especially in an era where programs feel more slight, tame and disposable overall, and in which long breaks have become the norm, a 30-second “previously” is not going make me care about the characters, their desires, their world or the stakes all over again. And I want to care!
The lack of clearly labeled “What Happened Before Because Who the Hell Can Remember All That” clips — those very basic sales tools — are too rarely spotted in the wild. Which tends to confirm a sneaking suspicion many of us have: that many of the programs the huge conglomerates drop semi-randomly are, to the corporate mind, an afterthought. Content. Something to have on in the background while people do other things.
There’s still a lot of excellent TV being made, of course. Some of it is indeed demanding to forget. But generally, shorter runs mean any given show will often have less meaningful world-building or compelling momentum. Programs with shorter seasons end up driven by plot plot plot, with character development getting crammed in around the edges (if at all). These trends — beloved by algorithms and some executives, not so much by viewers and creators — more or less guarantee that people don’t invest in many shows the way they did when seasons were 13 or 16 or 22 episodes long. I don’t think I’m alone in feeling more ambivalence about a lot more TV programs these days—which, if they don’t get canceled too soon, return whenever they feel like it. None of this inspires loyalty.
Given the additional demands on our attention, viewers today need to be even more skillfully and energetically lured back in. Not ignored, not taken for granted, not expected to do homework on our own time. So, for the love of all that is holy, if your megacorp spent a kajillion bucks on a season of TV, spend a few pennies more to entice me to return to it. Or when it comes to paying that monthly streaming fee, I might just say, “Forget it.”
COMMENTS