Out With a Bang

The Tub of Damocles before...

(Note: Yes, this is another message-in-a-bottle dragged from the crypt and polished up a bit. I haven’t decided if it’ll make the cut for the book … we’ll see.)

Broadcast network television shows, whether drama or comedy, traditionally wrap up their seasonal run in early Spring, thus clearing the decks for the ritual of renewal that is pilot season. Meanwhile, the more nimble cable networks run rings around those lumbering broadcast dinosaurs, shooting and airing cheaper, shorter, and usually better shows whenever they feel like it. Given that the season finale of every show — broadcast or cable — is the last memory fans hold on to until the following season's premiere, the writers try to go out with a bang: something splashy that will stick in the minds of viewers in a television landscape littered with trash.*

The usual ways of doing this include a dramatic cliffhanger, the consummation of a long-simmering relationship in a “very special” episode, or some kind of physical/ emotional pratfall that resonates with the ongoing theme of the show. The latter path was chosen by the writer/producers of my current show, who employed a leaking tub on the second floor that — like Chekov's famous gun — was established in the first act of the season finale. Two veteran special effects men were brought in to rig the tub high over the living room set, complete with a big chunk of flooring, insulation, and leaking pipes. At the precise moment, explosive bolts would be triggerd, releasing the entire rig to drop through the supposedly water-logged second floor and crush a brand-new living room couch that had just been delivered.

Such special-effects shots are seldom done in front of a live audience — too much can go wrong, and even if everything works out exactly as planned, rigging these shots is very time-consuming, which is why we did this one during the blocking/pre-shoot day, with all four cameras running and the entire crew (including the office staff) gathered around to watch.

It was absolutely perfect: the bolts blew with a crack like a rifle shot, dropping the tub and destroying the couch. Once the applause died, the director conferred with the producers, then ordered the special effects crew to do it again. The second time was just as good, and that was that. Once the mess was cleaned up, we resumed the blocking and pre-shoots.

When the audience saw the playback at the end of the live show, they went wild. Needless to say, the producers had reason to feel giddy with the response: it was a hell of a way to bring the curtain down on Season One.

That's what happens when you find a good way to send a show — and the season — out with a bang.

And after.


* By which I mean so-called Reality Shows, especially anything featuring the odious Douchebaggian clan.