Dear TV execs:
I have a bone to pick with you. Each year, I am drawn into one, two, or twelve new shows. Some get renewed, others don’t. But when shows are canceled unexpectedly—sometimes in mid-season—there’s no chance of resolution. These permanent cliff-hangers keep me on edge and, like the Kennedy assassination and Jimmy Hoffa’s disappearance, drive me cuckoo crazy with unanswered questions.
Twin Peaks ended before we found out what led up to Laura Palmer winding up in a body bag at the base of Snoqualmie Falls. At least David Lynch had the courtesy to give us the prequel Twin Peaks: Fire, Walk with Me. But fuck me if it clarified shit: it made about as much sense as a dwarf in a velvet suit dancing in slow motion and talking about the White Lodge. It was as clear as Agent Cooper's cup of black coffee. But you get points for trying, Dave.
My teenage years were permanently scarred when Paper Dolls went off the air. The show was about models, Morgan Fairchild was in it, and it ended with a giant department store fire. In other words, it was pretty much perfect. I’ll never know if Nicollette Sheridan and those rad Nolan Miller dresses survived or if Terry Farrell’s modeling career was cut down in its prime due to her first-degree burns. ABC, choke on my remote.
Millenium never made it to the year 2000 so I have no goddamn idea if the world ended or Lance Henricksen finally showed some emotion and stopped looking like that preternaturally calm android he played in Aliens.
Could you cut us a break? We suffer through bad plot lines, long-winded expository dialogue, and enough beer commercials to make us pissed-ass drunk just by watching them. The least you could do is to clean up after yourselves. Tie up loose storylines somehow: Act out Angel’s fate on youtube, post the final script for Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip online (don’t tell me Aaron Sorkin doesn’t have one), send up some smoke signals to resolve Carnivàle… Do something, anything to take care of business, take care of your viewers.
If you don’t, I’m going to sic Bob, Laura Palmer’s freaky killer-in-her-dad’s-body, on you. I’ll pour some black coffee, cut a slice of pie, and pull up a chair. I can’t wait to see what happens next.
What prematurely canceled shows caused you to die a little on the inside?