Over winter break, I was watching the second season of 30 Rock when my father came into the living room. He was flabbergasted that I was watching a show that I had already seen. “What’s the point of watching a show if it’s not going to surprise you?” he asked.
I couldn’t disagree with him more, and I often tell him so whenever he reiterates his point. I ask him whether he only listens to an album once, or if he has ever reread a book. Even though I have used this argument a hundred times, it always succeeds in quieting him for at least a little while.
That said, I have recently begun thinking about the shows that I choose to rewatch and, more importantly, those shows that don’t make the cut. Why do some shows have me coming back again and again, whereas other shows which I love just as much only demand one or two viewings?
Why is it that I’ve seen every episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer a minimum of three times, while I’ve only watched Lost, a show that I follow with a near-religious fervor, perhaps twice at most?
Both shows are incredibly well-written and character-driven. But whereas I am able to quote “The Body” or sing any song from “Once More With Feeling” (to mention two of my favorite Buffy episodes) I would be hard-pressed to do the same with an episode of Lost or most other shows I enjoy. I mean, I love Mad Men, but I’ve yet to find myself going around quoting it to people.
While watching a first season episode of The West Wing this weekend—the one that introduced Big Block of Cheese Day, for those of you who were curious—it occurred to me that the shows I rewatch have one thing in common: they’re no longer on the air.
Once a show goes off the air, and it has finally dawned on me that I am not going to be getting any new episodes, I go digging into old box sets to recapture the magic that has been lost.
But in addition to simply being dead, the shows that I choose to rewatch have to have ended on a high note. I won’t go getting sentimental over any show that squandered its last years on the air, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth (sorry, ER).
I short, I’ve come to see my rewatchings as my own type of mourning—not necessarily for the show itself, but for where I was in my life when I saw them. It’s the equivalent of my grandparents listening to Frank Sinatra records every Sunday morning after Mass, though it’s pretty sad for a 20-year-old to already be feeling the pangs of bleary-eyed nostalgia already.
What else does Dan watch with a near-religious fervor? Find out at dnewman@staff.georgetownvoice.com.
