Streaming's Pacing Problem
With the rise of the streaming wars, the large platforms have been investing in original programming for some while now, hoping to lure consumers over in an increasingly crowded market. On the whole, I enjoy the glut of new streaming content filling our devices, though I can’t say too many programs have driven me to subscribe for them alone. But as the years have worn on and I’ve gotten a larger sample size, I’ve begun to realize there are some issues popping up consistently among this new breed of content, one of which has grown increasingly apparent: poor pacing.
Today, I wanted to take a look at the streaming model of content creation, why the pacing feels so off, and how it can relate to controlling the speed in our own books. First, of course, I have to establish what I mean by “pacing”. Wikipedia refers to it as “The speed at which the story is told – not necessarily the speed at which the story takes place” and that’s actually a pretty darn good encapsulation.
To work with something more specific: I can tell a story of a man being chased by a serial killer, and with pacing make it feel very different. If our protagonist is constantly running, fleeing, avoiding near-misses at every turn, your tension will be spiking high by the time the end finally arrives. I could also tell the same story with lots of breaks in the action, time for the protagonist to think he’s found safety and interact with others before the chase starts anew. Same essential story being told, but the feeling of reading it would be very different.
Pacing is about predicting what reactions an audience will most likely have to a certain scene, and balancing those reactions across the work to create a cohesive experience. Some books focus on consistently escalating tension, such as a Dresden Files novel, while others have peaks and valleys, such as longform tales like Super Powereds. Yet even in Dresden, a series known for it’s high-action speed, the pace is not on a constant upward climb. There are breaks to meet other characters, time for Harry to play D&D or grab a meal, space for readers to catch their breath.
In story-telling, tension is an essential tool. It helps you set stakes, get readers invested, and plays a vital role in creating an eventual sense of catharsis when things are resolved. But story tension, like tensing a real muscle, isn’t something meant to be sustained indefinitely. Go for too long, the experience of reading starts to become draining, and returning to the tale can turn into a chore rather than a joy.
For some real life examples that many folks would be familiar with, we can dig into modern streaming content. Why do shows on streaming services often feel different than versions that came before? So many reasons, but a great deal of them stem from a shift in format: the shows aren’t built as TV shows anymore. They’re built as 8 hour movies.
To pull from some of the hits out of recent years: Stranger Things, The Marvel shows, Umbrella Academy, Altered Carbon. All shows that were highly rated and enjoyable, but only one on that list has made it past 2 seasons so far. Some factors, like the Disney-Marvel purchase, were out of their hands, but that’s just a small sampling of the many shows that have petered out, most not nearly so well-received as the ones I selected. And for the most part, these were good shows. Solid casts, nice writing, people liked them.
Yet they could still be hard to watch, because the plot and pacing in many of them was designed on the scale of cinema. Movies have a different speed than TV shows, they have to do so much more in such little time. Somehow, in the creation of new streaming content, the people in charge decided the term “bingable” meant something we would have to power through in a single sitting, and that the best way to cultivate that experience would be with one giant continuous story. I’m not saying that can’t work, I listed a few hits already, however it misses the point of what made so many older programs bingable in the first place.
Part of why we love shows is that they offer a sense of catharsis in easily digestible blocks. I don’t watch ten episodes of 30 Rock in a row because I have to see how the plot line about a new cast member plays out. I watch them because each episode is a self-contained story with rise, fall, and space to breathe in between. That binge is possible because at the end of each one, I have the satisfaction of consuming an entire story and the promise of what’s to come seems inviting, rather than daunting.
Compare that with my latest streaming viewing, Season 2 of Umbrella Academy. A nice story, great cast, so much going for it, but by the end I really felt like the stress of the format was starting to show. In trying to keep things constantly moving, they worked in some extra stakes and confrontations that were… superfluous, to say the least. Instead of letting the main plot lead them and taking time for more slow, character moments akin to the first seasons house-dancing scene, sub-plots were stuffed in to make sure everything kept moving and the tension stayed high. Even the finale, when some sense of slowing down is all but mandatory to a rise and fall, runs right through potentially powerful moments to hustle things along.
On the good news front, this is far from a uniform problem, and it seems like some of the other companies out there have learned from Netflix’s early work. The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel adopted a more episodic format and has been enjoying great success, and Doom Patrol does a shockingly good job with pacing, to say nothing of tone and humor, but that’s a blog for another day.
Being aware of how your reader is likely feeling, and how you want them to feel, is a large part of making a story as good as possible. Depending on the type of story you’re telling, it might call for high amounts of tension or lots of space for characters to mess around. Just remember to use everything in balance, create a series of highs and lows for the audience to enjoy before it all comes together in a final thrill at the end followed by the denouement.