I’ve been thinking about this research topic since the beginning of the semester so I’ve accumulated quite a lot of ideas, and this is why it hurts me terribly that all these amazing ideas that I was so excited about are basically completely unfeasible because of the lack of scholarship in the field. I am mostly interested in television, so I wanted to investigate the narrative of certain television series or even television genres, because I think that there is a lot more to talk about when you are analyzing a TV show than when you are analyzing a certain movie alone. Specifically, I find it very interesting how in the case of television, just like we read in Prof. Mittell’s article in the Cambridge Companion a while ago, there are all these industry-specific factors (like scheduling choices, commercial breaks, the weekly character of series, and so on) that are external to the show itself, but nevertheless impact its narrative structure and its storytelling mode.

In terms of the series I wanted to look at, my first choice was Trapped in the Closet, R Kelly’s famous “hip-hopera”, which is not a TV show per se, but nevertheless follows the same serial pattern. Trapped in the Closet was, in my opinion, a groundbreaking production, both in terms of format and style, and I am sad to say that its immense ingenuity and resourcefulness has been terribly overlooked: rather, amidst pedophile charges and R Kelly’s superficial achievements in the music industry up to that point, Trapped in the Closet has been regarded as merely an epitome of “campy”-ness (which, I think, it consciously is) and a favorite youtube clip watched by college students when they’re stoned. I think it’s much more than that, I think that the narrative style and the series format were completely original and efficient, and that R Kelly knows very well what he is doing and he does it well. Tongue-in-cheek and all, the series is an amazing and unique achievement from an unlikely auteur. However, I cannot find any, and I mean any, scholarly sources that could back up my essay and since this is a research paper, I think this is a big problem. There definitely are newspaper and magazine reviews of the show, but I definitely don’t consider that to be enough to embark on this research topic.

Then I looked at another highly significant but overlooked milestone in pop culture history: the great, marvelous, astonishing MacGyver!!! I think it would be very interesting to analyze narration in MacGyver because the protagonist himself provides the voice-over narration (and his discourse as a narrator touches everything from bomb recipes to wanting to have a pony when he grows up!), the episodes set up a clear “reading pattern” (they teach you how to watch them, just like we talked about in class), and the series, by virtue of having been aired on television for seven entire seasons, has to obey the programming and scheduling rules that condition its narrative structure. And oh well, to make the story short, a half day’s search for MacGyver materials on Google Books, Google Scholar, ProQuest, WorldCat etc returned exactly 1 result, which was actually about the MacGyver book.

I mean, of course, I could try to research a more well-known or older TV show (for which finding scholarly sources would not be a problem) like Bonanza or Charlie’s Angels or I Love Lucy, to name just a few examples, but these shows do no exhibit, as far as I know, such an interesting application of narrative techniques and, moreover, I am not personally drawn to them in any special way – and I think that for an extensive research paper such as this one, it is important to be personally passionate about your subject of choice. Can anybody help me out and think of a TV show, old or new that can spark an original investigation of narration but that has been sufficiently already analyzed by the media scholars? (And in general, as I look at more and more research topics for this semester and for future academic work, I think that this conundrum is especially frustrating in the case of contemporary television, because naturally you want to do something original, but in the same time it must be “unoriginal” enough – if you will – in order to be able to find enough sources to sustain your research.)

Then I tried a wider approach to researching television topics, and thought of analyzing so-called “stunt episodes” : uncharacteristic, atypical episodes within a certain series, where writers take extreme liberties with the format and even the “feel” or genre of the show once audiences are familiar enough with its usual narrative structure. Examples of this are, for instance, the Scrubs episode that emulated a sitcom, the backwards Seinfeld episode, the live ER episode, and an impressive number of X Files episodes. Jeffrey Sconce, in his article “What If: Charting Television’s New Boundaries”, calls this type of experimentation “conjectural” episodes, and identifies it as an emerging trend in contemporary television. It would be really interesting to try to look at as many such instances as I can and come up with an argument about the generic and stylistic features of such narrative diversions in modern television, how they can afford to depart from the conventional narrative structure of the series, and how that impacts the medium’s current and future development. My only problem here relates to nomenclature. I just don’t know how to search for scholarly sources on this topic, because I don’t know what to call these experiments as a blanket term. I tried “stunt episodes”, “stunt television”, “spectacle episodes”, “experimental/ atypical/ unconventional episodes” and some others, but I haven’t come across much and I’m sure this is because I don’t know exactly what to search for. One useful article I found was actually written by Prof. Mittell (Narrative Complexity in Contemporary American Television) and it is very useful but he talks about narrative experimentation in television in general, and I think my topic should be less broad (or should it?). Sconce uses the term “metareflexive” to talk about new shows that comment on the process of narration itself, and this could also be interesting to explore, but again I don’t know how to limit my research scope, and if I should write about just about stunt episodes or about metareflexive television in general.

And, if none of these topics focusing on the realm of television prove to be feasible, I was also thinking of another possible option that is applicable to cinema as well: the narrative presentation of dreams on film. This idea came to me because I am currently reading Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams (which is an absolutely fascinating book, by the way) and it amazed me to realize that dream sequences in movies actually do follow the mechanics of dreaming, that is, they often evidence a well-grounded scientific understanding of the phenomenon of dreaming – and the unconscious repression, substitution, combination and reinterpretation of real elements in dreams – while simultaneously crafting a dream sequence that works well within the established narrative parameters of the film. Therefore, I think it would be really interesting to explore the representation of dreams on celluloid, as they are necessarily conditioned both by the psychosomatic characteristics of dreaming, and by the practical and effective integration of these dream sequences within the larger narrative.

Our discussion in class about first and second viewings made me think about the different experiences that we get from watching movies for the first time as compared to rewatching a movie you have already seen. Of course, the topic gets a little bit trickier when we consider twist movies, like the ones we have seen for the past two weeks for this course, but I think that this conundrum can also be applied to cinema in general.

An important variable in this respect is how much time has passed since you’ve last seen the film. For instance, I had seen The Sixth Sense a very long time ago (I think, if I remember correctly, that I saw it as soon as it came out on DVD, so this means more than 5 or 6 years ago) and this undoubtedly contributed to my enjoyment of the film when I saw it again two weeks ago. Therefore, even though I knew the key twist – since that is the aspect of The Sixth Sense viewers are most likely to remember – I still took pleasure in reanalyzing how all the pieces of the puzzle fit together and, knowing the big secret of the fabula, I was also able to be more critical in my consumption of the syuzhet.

Memento, on the other hand, proved to be a less enjoyable experience when I saw it again last week because I had seen it very recently and, moreover, I thought that being familiar with the twist ending destroyed the viewing pleasure much more so than in the case of The Sixth Sense. I am wondering if this is because of the reverse chronology of Memento – could it be that the main appeal of the film resides in the narrative ingenuity of its plot and once that novelty wears off, the fabula just doesn’t offer enough to keep your attention? I think this is definitely a big part of the problem. To be completely frank, as much as I appreciate the fantastic originality of Memento, once you take away that little narrative trick of the reverse chronology, I don’t think the story in itself is strong enough to qualify it as a memorable movie (pun totally intended). Following our discussion in class, it seems that several people share my opinion, and I especially value Nick’s input, who has said that he watched it in normal chronology and it didn’t really sustain his attention or elicit his appreciation very much.

Of course, other important factors have to do with how many times you have seen a movie before seeing it again (it matters if you have just seen it once or 8 times) and how long ago you have last watched it (if it was last weekend or 7 years ago), so I don’t want to imply that my feelings were strictly based on the films themselves; it would be foolish to disregard these important logistical variables. Nevertheless, I must say that, once you strip it off its narrative ingenuity, Memento remains a pretty conventional “vengeance flick” hinging on a highly problematic and increasingly implausible psychological disorder that just seems to work too well in the context of the story. The Sixth Sense, on the other hand, seems to have much more to offer even upon repeated viewings, although it is clear that its fabula is not problem-free either. And perhaps that in the end, it literally all comes down to the twist: and I am much more intrigued to find out if a character I’ve been seeing onscreen for the past 2 hours is dead or alive (Malcolm), rather than if he is honest or deceitful (Teddy, Lenny, Natalie).

I had been trying to delay writing about The Singing Detective for a while now, because I really can’t make my mind up about this show – it’s a rollercoaster ride with ups and downs, moments of television brilliance and moments of extreme monotony. I was very much impressed by the first episode, I thought it intertwined the three storylines in a very clever fashion and I liked the fact that it required the viewer’s active participation in order to make sense of its narrative style. It certainly felt like an innovative format, especially for a television program (and – no offence – especially for a British television program, because BBC shows, at least in my experience, tend to be on the dull side).

Once that novelty wore off, however, and once the thrill of deciphering its narrative strategy faded, I must confess I was rather bored. The second episode, as Leslie observed as well, did not offer anything new (perhaps with the exception of Marlow’s ex-wife visiting him in the hospital) and the writing seemed much worse than in the first episode. The third and fourth episodes managed to spark my interest again, but they didn’t seem as brilliant as the pilot.

One reason I’ve been enjoying these last couple of episodes is, no doubt, the increasing role of the storyline centered on Marlow as a child. First of all, the young boy who plays him offers a remarkable performance – seeing The Singing Detective in the same screening with The Sixth Sense really made me think about the performances of this kid and, respectively, Haley Joel Osment, and they are indeed two of the most outstanding child actors I have ever seen!

Second, the storyline of Marlow’s childhood seems to me as the most interesting, poignant and well-made of the three parallel storylines that are being narrated to us. The fictional detective story that he is writing in his head is impressive due to its visual style and classy mise-en-scene, but somehow I feel that it lacks substance and moves way too slow, especially for a mystery story. The fact that it is regularly interrupted by the other two storylines, plus the fact that it is meant to be seen one episode at a time, on a weekly basis, negatively affects its continuity – at least in my opinion – and dampens my investment in the mystery. It is just not exciting enough, and continuous enough, to sustain my interest from week to week.

The storyline centered on Marlow’s life in the hospital is, just like the fictional detective story, exquisitely well made yet somehow also falls short of the expectations that the first episode set forth for me. On the plus side, these scenes are embedded with a remarkable sense of realism and the performances are, again, outstanding (and here I’m referring both to Marlow himself and to the supporting cast of doctors, nurses and patients). Moreover, the way the musical numbers are integrated into the plot is highly original and efficient; undoubtedly, these are the scenes I have enjoyed and appreciated the most (the “Bones” song from the first episode has been stuck in my head for almost a month now, and I’ve been making my friends watch it on youtube, but nobody seems to think it’s as funny as I do!). However, on the down side, I must say that these hospital scenes are uncomfortable to watch – which is not always a bad thing when it comes to film and media, but in this case they are too uncomfortable to watch. The greasing procedure?!? Marlow watching that adorable old man dying in front of him and waiting until he’s dead to call the nurse?!? His skin in extreme close ups?!? These are all very poignant scenes, and they are indeed efficient in jolting the viewers, but I would have kept such scenes for strategic moments in the series, and not have them as the main setting and principal storyline of the show because ultimately they do take their toll on the audience.

The childhood storyline, and its increasing prominence within the narrative structure of the series, has therefore been like a breath of fresh air for me – I think the characters are very well portrayed and the intrigue is interesting. I also really appreciate the Freudian connotations of his relationship with his mother; the psychological motivations of the characters are intelligently crafted and it is obvious that their interactions have a sound theoretical basis in psychoanalysis and Freudian dream theory (especially the way in which, based on Marlow’s mental trauma and memory tricks, identities are displaced and interchanged between characters: the ex-wife appearing as the mother, the evil man as her lover, etc). These childhood scenes are brilliantly filmed and acted – just think of the classroom scene! – and they do a wonderful job of recreating the atmosphere of England at the end of the war, without falling into stereotypical imagery. Moreover, the childhood storyline has captured my interest more than the other two, because there is that thrill of understanding what happened in Marlow’s early life that led to his present condition, his obvious psychological traumas, and his caustic and cynical nature. And to return to my initial point, I do think it is a problem that I am more invested in the mystery of Marlow’s childhood in rural England than in the mystery of who killed Sonia and who are those dark trench-coat-clad men sneaking through dark alleys.

It struck me as rather strange to see Lavik categorizing The Sixth Sense as a detective film, because I really don’t think that this film – twist ending or no twist ending – satisfies the requirements of the detective genre. Yes, it involves a mystery, but that doesn’t seem enough to include it in this category. I happened to write my research essay on the detective film genre for my American Film Genres class with Prof. Grindon – an essay that was dependent on Bordwell’s discussion of the detective film in his Narration in the Fiction Film – and I remember that the scholarly categorization of detective films depended on two conditions: for a movie to be classified as a detective film, 1. its plot had to follow an investigation, and 2. its protagonist must function as a detective. While it is true that the protagonist need not necessarily be a detective by profession – so either a private eye or a police detective – I still do not think that Malcolm, in his role as a child psychologist, comes close enough to fulfilling the function of a detective in this film. Moreover, the plot does not really center on an investigation, but rather on the relationship between Malcolm and Cole, which, although it does have certain mysterious aspects, has nothing to do with the structure of a traditional or non-traditional whodunit.

Furthermore, if we are to apply the rule of “fair play” – stipulating that the syuzhet must contain enough information for the viewer to be able to piece together the information by himself, in parallel to the sleuth protagonist – then it means that The Sixth Sense is not a very successful film, because the solution to the “mystery” is so outlandish that I don’t think any viewer would have been able to come up with it independently. And I don’t think that it can be denied that The Sixth Sense was indeed a successful movie; I can only contend that it is not a successful detective film, and therefore I don’t think that including it in this category is the best taxonomical choice.

Also, from a screenwriting perspective – I cannot escape the legacy of Don Mitchell’s screenwriting workshops! – I tend to resist the final-montage-ties-it-all-together strategy, and I do think it is quite a “cheap” storytelling device, but it makes me wonder if it is not in fact necessary for such a complex and unusual premise like that of The Sixth Sense. Lavik frames the retrospective piecing together of events from a temporal point of view, i.e. how much time has passed between the dissemination of the clues and the revelation of the solution, and I think that is a good approach. That is to say, in a 2-hour movie, a montage “reminding” the spectator of the relevant information that has already been revealed and that is necessary in order to understand the solution might seem contrived and therefore “cheap”, but it might also be extremely necessary, and might actually make the difference between the audience understanding the fabula… or not.

After watching the Sixth Sense for the second time and reading Lavik’s article on it, what struck me as an interesting point of discussion was the relationship between the syuzhet plausibility and fabula plausibility. Specifically, the conclusion that emerges upon retrospective analysis of The Sixth Sense is that a fully plausible syuzhet does not necessarily produce a fully plausible fabula, or rather, the verisimilitude of the plot does not automatically engender a verisimilar storyworld. This is particularly true of supernatural thrillers, of course, but I think it can also be applied to other genres in general.

As Lavik points out, once the major twist is revealed towards the end of the film, all the syuzhet details fit well, retrospectively with the newly-discovered fabula, but what doesn’t really make sense is the new fabula as a whole. First and foremost, “it is very hard indeed to accept that an intelligent child psychologist does not sense that something is wrong when no one—except Cole Sear, the boy who can see and communicate with ghosts—has said one word to him since the shooting” – this is an undeniable and insurmountable (at least from a screenwriting perspective) weakness of the fabula, and although it seems to be the major one, it is by no means the only logical pitfall of Shyamalan’s script.

In my opinion, all these tricky plausibility issues could have largely been avoided if Malcolm in fact knew he was a ghost, but the audience didn’t. True, this would change certain plot developments, as well as his relationship with Cole, but the final twist would still work well and the desired effect would be achieved, I think, with fewer logical stretches. That is why I think that, in comparison, a twist ending such as that of The Usual Suspects is much more efficient, because it is based on the cleverness of a character (Keyser Soze/Kevin Spacey) inside the storyworld, rather than on the custom rules of the storyworld itself (dead people don’t know they’re dead, they only see what they want to see, etc), as it is in The Sixth Sense.

P.S. And if we think of M. Night Shyamalan’s other films, I think we can safely conclude that this syuzhet/fabula plausibility problem is certainly not unique to The Sixth Sense. In fact, I just remembered reading a review of his later movie, Signs, a while ago and being very amused by the reviewer’s sharp observation about the aliens lethal adversity to water: [ and I’m paraphrasing because I can’t find the artcile on the web:] “Shyamalan expects us to believe that these super intelligent beings would choose to visit the exact planet that is 80% made of the one thing that could kill them?!?”. Touche’.