“I Am Not Okay With This” and The Joy of Short Shows

There was a time about five years ago when I fell in love with Mad Men. There was this intimidation, especially as it collected endless Emmy Award nominations and even higher praise. It was the definitive prestigious drama during the Peak TV era. Every episode was a cavalcade of brilliant ideas, mixing office politics with this greater commentary on how advertising can be used to impact our lives. The nuance was impeccable, managing to transport the audience because its show creator, Matthew Weiner, was so stingy about the details that even the ice cubes were shaped appropriately. 

In the time since, I have seen shows try to be Mad Men, but the only compliment that I can give them is that they were far less embarrassing than the Breaking Bad clones (remember Low Winter Sun?). To me, there is a desire to one day revisit the series, when I have matured and gained life experience. The show asks for your attention, never pandering by overstating Don Draper’s problems. It was a phenomenal show that largely remains unsurpassed, and the fact that its cast largely has gone on to successful careers confirms this. 

But… and this is a big but, it wasn’t enough to get me to watch The Romanoffs.

At this point, the people who remember that The Romanoffs existed will tell you that it is to Mad Men what John From Cincinnati is to Deadwood. One is a brilliant show. The other is a maligned follow-up that mostly frustrates anyone expecting lightning to strike twice. In both cases, I also never seen those shows and know even less about them. 

However, whereas John From Cincinnati was before my time as an avid TV viewer, The Romanoffs was in that sweet spot where I consumed every show with affection. How could I not want to see this? It had Weiner returning to the writer’s chair and the cast included such bright spots as John Slattery, Isabelle Huppert, and Elder Price himself Andrew Rannells. After all, I had made an effort to see Falsettos during its revival tour because of Rannells, so how come I was so stuck up on not watching a show that required less effort than driving to Los Angeles on an early Sunday afternoon?

It wasn’t just the reviews. It wasn’t just the feeling that Netflix floods the market so effortlessly now on a biweekly schedule with content that could be good if I didn’t want to watch a dozen shows before that. It was that I was busy the week that the first Romanoffs episode premiered. I figured, sure I’ll catch up later. The issue was that one week became two weeks became three. You get the picture. Suddenly I’m five weeks behind when I finally have time to pop on an episode and then, I look at the information…

I take a pause when I see that the first episode is 84 minutes. Even in the Peak TV era, that seems a little excessive for an untested show. Then again, Mad Men had a few longer episodes that were among some of their better moments. Next week would surely return to a more manageable time. However, Weiner got flack for the fact that episode two was even longer at 86 minutes. The third was 88 minutes. Then, in a moment of saving grace, the fourth dropped to a modest 63 minutes. 

I get that some shows warrant long running times, such as the excellent Hunters. However, The Romanoffs didn’t yet have the reputation of an Orange is the New Black or Game of Thrones. It hadn’t yet to develop itself that four episodes would equal 321 minutes (or 5.35 hours). It was insane the bargain that Weiner was trying to swindle and it’s kept me from the show. The only one who really did it worse was Nicolas Winding Refn with his slow-as-molasses Too Old to Die Young which equaled over three hours in just two episodes. 

I guess my issue is that I came from a pre-streaming world and thus still find myself occasionally taken aback by wonky running times. When I was a kid, shows were either 30 or 60 minutes, save for live events which even then tried to fit within a time frame. While I wouldn’t cut a minute of Breaking Bad or Mad Men, their legacy has left many thinking that they could go long, using dead air as the atmosphere. I often find myself growing impatient, wondering how these shows could be tightened up to fit within a more conventional structure. Even if it wanted to go long, why did it want to go that long? Do they not have empathy for the viewers who crave watching the show, but only have a limited time to do so? There’s a reason that the old adage “leave them wanting more” exists.

The End of the F***ing World

That is why I’m kind of obsessed with two Netflix shows in particular. Both come from executive producer Jonathan Entwistle and could be consumed in an afternoon. Whereas The Romanoffs and Too Old to Die Young have unconventional running times in the lengthier direction, what Entwistle is doing with The End of the F***ing World and I Am Not Okay With This could be described more like punk rock. We don’t always need to hear Pink Floyd’s “The Wall.” Sometimes we need that 22-minute burst of The Descendents’ “Milo Goes to College” to get us pumped up in between bigger parts of our day. There is perfection in brevity that can be underrated. To most, shortness is seen as lazy, lacking attention to your craft. No, dedicating close to a dozen minutes creating atmosphere is the only form of art there can be. 

With that I argue

Would you discredit haikus

Because they’re too short?

I wouldn’t. It’s an understanding of form and the power of limited space. 

To me, The End of the F***ing World and I Am Not Okay With This both debuted with an energy I haven’t felt in too many other shows. Whereas I go to the end of Hunters’ first episode and wanted to take a break, I Am Not Okay With This found the story ramping up, getting to the good stuff and then snapping right before the credits rolled. I wondered what would happen next. In fact, it was almost imperative. The first episode only clocked in at 19 minutes, the second only 20 minutes, and the third only 28 minutes. With some maneuvering, I could fit it all into a little over an hour. There was something refreshing about it. It gave me enough of a story and development to make me care. 

Pilots are often bogged down by exposition that is necessary but initially comes across as dull world-building. When you’re doing it in 84 minutes, you need to take some downers just to keep from moving on with your life. Meanwhile, The End of the F***ing World was halfway done by the time The Romanoffs thought to roll credits for the first time.

I AM okay with this

Of course, I understand the difference between more traditional dramas and what Entwistle is going for. The End of the F***ing World begins with some of the most nihilistic character beats I’ve seen. It’s a story that starts as this manifesto about killing yourself and builds to one of deeper loving and understanding, of finding someone as screwed up as you are to survive in this world. While the second season may be arguably superfluous, it only builds on the romance and makes it an offbeat tale of maturity that is sweet. If I had to spend an hour per episode with these characters, I’d want to jump ship as well. Their lives don’t have enough to sustain such stories. The understanding to cut moments short allows the discomfort to never fully settle, and it allows the viewer to visit an unpleasant environment without feeling gross about it.

In an age where TV is constantly being introduced to us, it’s hard to keep up. In my case, it’s caused me to largely give up on shows that I fall too far behind on. There is no breathing room, and it’s only getting worse. Things like Quibi are popping up and FX is doubling their level of programming thanks to a deal with Hulu with shows like Devs and Mrs. America. There’s no time to let an episode of The Handmaid’s Tale resonate because if it’s too depressing and you need time before starting the next, three shows have popped up in that time. 

Despite this personal level of burnout, I found myself eager to watch I Am Not Okay With This for a similar reason that I watched Entwistle’s previous show. Sure I’ve found Sophia Lillis to be a compelling presence, but it was more that it could be done in roughly 2.5 hours. If I had a half-hour to kill, I could start an episode without feeling guilt that I would have to pause and come back to it. There’s a pleasure of putting things into a box like that. 

It also helped that because of the shorter time, the breakneck speed by which the story occurs allows the characters to feel more on edge. As a story labeled “a John Hughes superhero story,” it comes across clearly and you buy into Lillis’ angst because her obstacles often involve the teenage tropes, but in clever and exciting ways. Anyone who has been through the school system will know that this often is a short-lived dream, and there is no need to pad it out. The show understands this and allowing enough time for the rising conflict to take hold already makes it a more engaging show than the lengthier Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, whose slow-paced set-ups can be a downside to the show. There doesn’t need to be that much of a lull before the next big action moment just to fill a running time. Just do it for the sake of better storytelling.

This isn’t to say that shows that were more traditionally half-hour are the only ones that benefit from cutting things down. In recent years, shows like Netflix's Maniac have played with form. An average episode clocked in around 40 minutes. If it was a network show, the restraint wouldn’t be seen as impressive. However, in an age where shows think bigger is better, it’s a miracle. Suddenly three episodes could be played in two hours, making the idea of binge-watching far more engrossing. The fact that the episodes dwindle at one point to only 27 minutes long shows an understanding that narrative shouldn’t be committed to one form. It should be allowed to exist as long as it needs to until the story ceases to be valuable. In that way, it makes wanting to watch another episode feel like less of a toll on viewers and makes discovering new shows a whole lot more tolerable.

Maniac

This could be seen as an exaggeration. Some people may love the slow burn that longer shows give them. I get it. I watch Andrei Tarkovsky’s Stalker and revel in that expansive emptiness. It’s just that when it comes to TV, it often feels like there are mandates placed upon new shows to be of a certain mold. You need to come out first with an 84 minute episode, or else you look weak. Who cares if you don’t have enough to say, longer looks more important. That’s in part why shows like Game of Thrones championed a lengthier final season to allow every story to play out. The big difference is that by that point, there was an audience investment. The Romanoffs didn’t have that, and Too Old to Die Young had that less. 

It’s why I love shows that exist more as quick bursts of life, making the most of their limited time on our screens. I Am Not Okay With This has very little fat on its bones and if I dislike a moment, it will soon go away. More shows could do with putting their best foot forward if not for a more entertaining story, then to relieve pressures of the audience caring to watch in the first place during this crowded time.