A few notes about two very different shows I've been watching at the same time . . .
THE STUDIO: Low Subtext, Low Withholding
The characters say everything they're thinking. Like in Curb Your Enthusiasm. We never have to guess. We know. Because they blurt it out. Sooner or later. When they just can't hold it in any longer. And of course, we foresee the blowup. And eagerly anticipate the showdown!
That's what makes The Studio funny--when it is funny: unfiltered, on-the-nose dialogue-driven storytelling. Paired with some terrific slapstick, all set on a studio lot or against pleasing modern or vintage LA interiors and exteriors.
After all, as I say in my book Visual Ef9ects, "Architecture is the stage set for the drama of life."
The comedy of life!
Seth Rogen and his co-writers don't withhold a whole lot from the audience. Basically every thought, purpose, and endgame gets aired. And the episodes pretty much follow a Law & Order-like format: beginning, middle, and end. No real overarching narrative. No true cliffhangers. The Studio runs on sitcom conventions--low subtext, low withholding--to hook and hold us.
Lights, Camera, Talk.
Still, the few times the writers do withhold--usually not a plot point but a gag line or a thematic reveal like in Episode 4, "The Missing Reel," with its hilarious, brilliant nod to T. S. Eliot and Chinatown--they nail it. Setup and payoff: fun and funny. Sharp, intelligent, inspired story design.
At least that was true at first.
The first four episodes rock. So does Episode 8. But the last two episodes don't. And I found Episode 6 unwatchable.
What started out as Hollywood-insider, movie-history-smart comedy ends as a dud.
Too bad. Because at its best--for five of the ten episodes: pretty much genius.
. . . . . . . . . . .
ANDOR: High Subtext, High Withholding
Unlike The Studio, Andor relies on a range of storytelling devices that go well beyond dialogue. And Andor's dialogue itself springs from a different mindset.
Yes, like The Studio, sometimes Andor's dialogue is on the nose: the characters say what they're thinking, how they're feeling, what they're planning. They speak the truth.
But a crucial aspect of the show's brilliance lies in the dialogue's subtext. Both in the words spoken and unspoken. What's said and what isn't.
Ambiguity. Silence. Withholding.
We're not handed everything. We have to work for it. Figure it out. Guess. Wonder.
And wait . . .
Take Syril Karn. His arc evolves into something enigmatic. The writers shape him through restraint and mystery. And shape the world of Andor through the same artistic devices: implication, not exposition. Unresolved riddles, not explicit answers.
Tony Gilroy brings the same storytelling maturity to this series as he did to his screenplays for Michael Clayton and Rogue One, the sequel to Andor. Gilroy and the other writers, including his brother Dan, apply lessons learned from Babylon Berlin, the great German series whose impact Tony Gilroy has discussed in interviews.
You can see Babylon Berlin's shaping influence at work in Gilroy's design of his complex protagonist, a reluctant hero, Cassian Andor.
Not as fully developed as Babylon Berlin's Gereon Rath. But save for a few iconic series characters like Breaking Bad's Walter White, who is?
Andor sometimes withholds effect: the outcome of an action. Which is to say, the show doesn't always reveal the result of an action right away. Instead, Andor shows the action that precedes the effect but then waits--sometimes until much later--to reveal what actually occurred but wasn't shown.
At other times, Andor shows only the effect but not the action that caused it, leaving us to wonder who did what.
Unusual, powerful techniques.
Take the Season 2, Episode 3 marriage gala scene involving Luthen, Mon, and her childhood friend Tay. Wrapped in innuendo and ambiguity. We have to guess what's going on. The writers don't tell or show, and they don't bring up the significance of the scene until episodes later. And even then, the characters never spell it out.
It's all unsaid.
In the finale of the marriage scene, Mon's dance scene, you really see Gilroy's homage to Babylon Berlin and feel the haunting power of subtext and storytelling through implication. The arena of intrigue, mystery, suspense: the stuff of sci-fi thrillers and political dramas. And in Andor, that suspense lies in what's hidden. What's between the lines.
What's withheld.
As we experience the slow-building tension toward the series's conclusion and puzzle our way through the nature of the story's characters' true intentions and DNA, we're sure of only a few things:
Cassian, along with the other characters who appear in Rogue One--including Senator Bail Organa, Princess Leia's adoptive father--will not die. We're in for a ride of grave, unforeseen twists and turns. And the writers know exactly what they're doing as they spin their subtle but vivid, multi-layered, epic yarn. Beautifully rendered by the talented Disney team.
(Note, now that I've watched it all: How about that late tonal shift? Comic relief in the spirit of the original Star Wars, 1977, thanks to droid K-2SO. Brave move. Fun. But of course, not the biggest surprise. Wow.)
Pretty much genius.
Created by an oracle.
Hint. Hint.
