Your Favorite Show Is Not That Deep, and That’s Fine
The internet has decided that liking something requires proving it’s secretly profound. It doesn’t. Some great television is great precisely because it isn’t trying to be a thesis.
The internet has decided that liking something requires proving it’s secretly profound. It doesn’t. Some great television is great precisely because it isn’t trying to be a thesis.
Somewhere in the last decade we collectively decided that enjoying a show wasn’t enough — you also had to defend its importance. Every fandom now comes with a video essay industrial complex insisting the comfort sitcom is actually a searing meditation on late capitalism, the popcorn thriller is secretly Shakespearean, the cartoon is really about grief. And I want to lovingly call time on it.
Because a lot of the shows getting this treatment are wonderful, and none of it depends on them being deep.
The impulse is understandable. We’re a little embarrassed to just like things, so we launder our pleasure through analysis to make it respectable. But dress a fun show up as a profound one and you set it up to fail on a test it never asked to take — and you miss the actual thing it’s brilliant at.
Not everything you love has to be important for the love to be valid. “It’s a joy to watch” is a complete sentence.
Making something that is purely, reliably delightful — that lands the joke, times the beat, gives you exactly the comfort it promised — is genuinely hard, and genuinely valuable, and does not need a hidden layer to justify the hours you’ve given it. Craft is not a consolation prize for depth. Sometimes it’s the whole point.
So relax. Your favorite show is not a secret masterpiece of political allegory, and it doesn’t have to be. It’s just really good at being itself — and that was always enough.
— Theo Marsh, for Reelist