I Hate TV Now

Dallas. The Wire. Parks & Recreation. X-Files.

I used to love television. Not “it’s on in the background while I scroll through my phone” love. I mean real love. 

Appointment viewing. Microwave your food during commercials so you don’t miss a scene. Debate the episode the next day like it was a Supreme Court case. It was a huge deal!

Now? TV feels like it was designed by an algorithm that hates me personally.

Streaming was supposed to save us. 

• Freedom from commercials. 
• Entire seasons at our fingertips. 
• Prestige television. 

What we got instead is eight-episode “seasons” that feel like extended trailers. Just when you’re settling in, learning the characters, getting emotionally invested… boom. Season over. See you in 18-to-24 months.

Two years? For eight episodes?

By the time the next season drops, I need a "previously-on" recap, a YouTube explainer, and a support group just to remember who betrayed who. And let’s be honest, sometimes I’ve moved on. There’s a new show, a new app, a new mystery with moody lighting and a troubled detective staring out a rainy window.

Speaking of mysteries… when did every new show become a "whodunnit?"

There was a time when TV trends had range. Not these days. We survived the detective era. We endured the hospital drama invasion. Even the missing person(s) trend. Now, every trailer is ominous music, a dead body, and a cast of suspects who all look like they own at least three turtlenecks. I promise you, not every town in America is hiding a ritualistic murder conspiracy where everyone thinks the other person did it.

And can we talk about cancellations? I know that I'm jumping around a bit, but that's what you do in a rant. And I didn't want to forget this one.

Streamers and networks alike have the patience of a toddler in a checkout line. If a show doesn’t explode in the ratings or trend for 48 straight hours, it’s gone. No time to find its footing. No slow burn. No growth.

You fall in love with a show and the next thing you know, the network/streaming service gives you the old "It's not you. It's me." And just like a failed a relationship, you've wasted months of your life on something that was never seriously going to be seen through to the end.

That’s why I’ve developed trust issues with new shows. I sometimes won’t even commit until season two or three. I need proof of life. I’m not getting attached to characters who might disappear mid-cliffhanger because some network exec decided they weren’t profitable enough.

That’s not how great TV used to work.

Some of the best shows in history had rocky starts. They were allowed to breathe. Writers had time to get into a groove. Characters evolved. Stakes built gradually. Now plotlines sprint from twist to twist like they’re trying to impress someone in a pitch meeting.

And maybe that’s the real problem. Shows feel written for distraction instead of immersion.

You can tell when a series expects you to be half-paying attention. Dialogue gets repetitive. Plot points get spoon-fed. Scenes stretch just long enough for you to glance down at your phone and still know what’s happening when you look back up.

Here’s a wild idea: what if you created something compelling enough to make me put the phone down?

What if you gave a reason for your audience to focus? 

Okay, one more thing and then I'll stop rambling... (for today)

Sitcoms are another casualty. Network TV used to deliver jokes every 20-to-30 seconds. Rapid fire. Setup. Punchline. Tag. Repeat. The 70s and 80s sitcoms had timing like a metronome. Today, many so-called comedies are dramedies with one polite chuckle and a meaningful stare into the distance. Are comedians even writing sitcoms anymore?

Abbott Elementary is the exception though! That show understands the assignment. It’s funny on purpose. It respects rhythm. It remembers that comedy should actually make you laugh and continue to chuckle as you anticipate the next bit of humor.

Most others? If I laugh more than twice in 22 minutes, it’s a miracle. The bar has been lowered (almost to the floor).

Somewhere along the line, the focus shifted. It’s less about crafting the best possible show and more about maximizing subscriber growth, engagement metrics, and shareholder happiness. Profit first. Art second.

And listen, I get it. Television is a business. It always has been. But the golden eras happened when the people making the shows were obsessed with making something great, not just something that would spike a quarterly earnings call.

Now we have shorter seasons, longer waits, quicker cancellations, repetitive trends, and background-friendly storytelling. TV isn’t an experience anymore. It’s content. It fills silence. It autoplays.

I don’t hate television because I’ve outgrown it. I hate it because I know how good it once was.

We’ve seen better. We deserve better.