In Treatment

Narrative construction and development is too often neglected within television. It's taken for granted and, more often, not enough attention is paid to develop or evolve the length or structure of how we watch television. On average, comedy shows stick to within 30 minutes an episode and last between 6-10 episodes a series. Drama, on the other hand, allows for more depth to achieved, which is why an episode will last up to an hour and there will be around 10-12 episodes a series. It's frustrating that writers and creators have this normality to rely on. Its reasons and motives have to be broadcasters who pay too much attention to schedules, advertisers and ratings, rather than to those who are responsible for making the programmes themselves.

In Treatment, however, not only pushes the envelope of how to watch television, but never patronises its audience and never lets go, even when it feels like it really should. This admirable trait is too rare in contemporary television and is something that is certainly lacking in British television. To give some history behind this marvellous show, it may be worth noting that its a rework of the highly successful Israeli show, BeTipul. BeTipul is very similar to In Treatment in terms of its structure and content, except for a few minor discrepancies, but is essentially the same. BeTipul won many awards throughout its course, the first season even won in most of the major categories, including Best Drama, Best Actor and Best Actress.

The basic structure of In Treatment's unusual narrative is broken down as so: we see Paul meet with four patients and then meet with his Supervisor at the end of the week to discuss his own life. Each session is approximately 20 minutes of air time in length, so each week is around 100 minutes. The structure of season 1 is spread across 9 weeks and season 2 spans 7 weeks. This equals to (minus two episodes in season 1 for unknown reasons) a staggering 78 episodes across the entire series. This structure is highly unique, incomparable to anything else, and a true feat of endurance if you can complete it all in one sitting. What is also interesting is how to watch it. I would say that it is best watching on a week-by-week basis: each week to be screened together in 100 minute viewings, but it is also tempting (but cannot be achieved for a few other narrative details, which I won't reveal) is to watch it on a patient-by-patient basis: essentially watching all of one patient's sessions in one go and then move onto the next. The flaw in this, however, is that it is not chronologically coherent and, as you will see, some patients spill into other patient's time slots.

What is also unique and truly admirable about the construction of it, is how difficult it is to watch in long periods. Watching more than a weeks worth of sessions in one go is actually quite emotionally draining, leaving you often quite cold and reflective of the events you've seen. Breaking between the weeks is needed, but often not viable because the show is just so addictive. What I really admire about this is, is the authenticity this provides for the central character, Paul: back-to-back therapy sessions for psychotherapists must be so tiring and emotionally exhaustive, that ultimately it becomes difficult to continue, but they have to, as it's the nature of the profession.

As many great TV dramas have, there is a great deal of novelistic character depth and fantastic layered acting. Because of the simple nature of the character, it is often difficult to read Paul and understand what he is thinking. It's not until he becomes truly vulnerable with his patients in season 2, that we really gain an understanding of the kind of person he is: he begins to see himself and his family in those around him, something that leads into professional and ethical issues. What I love about this is that the dimensions of this person are so compelling, that it becomes hard to watch because you start to worry about all the characters and how their lives are changing shape before you.

Character development is interesting because, like very few other shows, In Treatment's characters are shaped by themselves or other characters, not the actions that take place on screen. Somewhat paradoxically though, it is actually the dialogue that replaced the action and this is what drives it forward. So what we're left with is the decisions that the characters make in terms of what is said within the confines of Paul's office which moulds the patients he sees.

As with any other HBO drama, the depth of these characters is so novelistic, in that it takes many episodes to warm to the show; that we, as a viewer, must see more that just an episode to comprehend the complexities of the people we are watching and how they fold into each other. This is something that I have only ever seen on HBO programming and is very distinctly unique.

What separates In Treatment to other jewels in the HBO crown, however, is that In Treatment doesn't have a large network of inter-working characters. Often an episode will only contain two characters: the patient and Paul. This may sound like a very obvious analysis, but it is a very relevant one. This stripped-down nature is unlike anything I have ever seen and it is certainly one of the most compelling aspects of the programme, for it means that all is displayed on screen is dialogue between two people for 20 minutes. Again, something which is very obvious, but feels peculiar when watching. What it means from a creative perspective is a tremendous reliability on quality dialogue, because why would an audience tune in if it wasn't interesting, let alone watch a further 78 episodes.

This minimisation is not only apparent in the dialogue, but is also something that permeates to the very core of the production. There is very little in regards to camera angles – often nothing more than a shot and reverse shot method are used. This is difficult to pick up on initially, as it seems too subtle to notice, but is certainly very effective and useful because it detracts focus away from the construction and onto the dialogue, which is the entire point of the show.

Ultimately, I am in awe of In Treatment. Its subtle complexities are masterful, brilliant and, at time, utterly heart-wrenching. It shows how far we have come to rely on high-budgeted action scenes, CGI splendour and closure at the end of each episode. Television should not be like that. It should be a long, arduous journey into the unknown; it shouldn't stop us from thinking and it should always push the boundaries of how and what we consider entertainment.

Deadwood

I always consider HBO to be a mark of quality; a seal for what can may the most interesting and daring television programme you might ever see. HBO is also home to some of my favourites American shows – Curb Your Enthusiasm, The Wire, Big Love, The Sopranos and Six Feet Under all are beautifully written (Curb Your Enthusiasm may be the only exception to this as a large amount of the show is actually improvised), all are brilliantly well shot and directed and the acting is always great. Deadwood is my latest HBO discovery and it is certainly one of the best things to have ever been broadcast.

With this being a film blog, it may seem strange that I’ve chosen to write about a television programme. However, when it comes to HBO drama, I would argue that these are not television programmes, but rather they are serialised films; each season being like one film and when the film is over, there’s always the next season (or film as I like to think of them) to look forward to.

Deadwood is a fascinating show because it has all the glamour of a high-production film and all the daring of great, unpatronising writing. The show is set in the town of Deadwood, where at the tail-end of the American Civil War, a small town has been neglected and with no law or order at all, there is only a large group of thieves and countrymen, where anything can happen. With stunning mise-en-scène and some of the brashest language you will ever hear, Deadwood is one the most original televisual experiences you will embark on.

The first season shows a power-struggle between various townspeople as they try to keep the town civil. The second and third season, shows the town developing and as it develops, we see the impact of new technologies and new prospects that come to light, particularly the implements of a telegraph system and the introduction of a bank. Both of which essentially other towns have to connect themselves to other towns. The second season also shows the inevitable influx of government officials and the power this can hold on the camp. The third season is a progression of the second season and shows how things change within the camp itself. What makes it different is that this time the government has moved directly in and bought out part of the town, essentially muscling its way in to destroy the haven of Deadwood.

As with many HBO shows, it has a large amount of very unique characters, but unlike many I’ve seem, Deadwood’s characters are around 80% real, or at least based on real cowboys and many of the mentioned outside organisations, such as the Pinkertons are also real. It is this way that it links fiction and reality, that I think makes the programme such a genuine daring, and in may ways, a true HBO show.

Like The Wire, The Sopranos and, to a certain extent, Six Feet Under, Deadwood uses characters that are indecipherable and at times inaudible. The force of this then demands that you actually listen to what they’re saying, rather than it wash over you and often what can happen is that you need to re-watch parts again, so that you actually understand what is happening. Coupled with this, the dialogue itself is at times so romantic and fluid that conversations which would normally only last a couple of minute, are doubled and instead of simply telling you what is happening, it takes the long way round leaving a puzzle to decode. A prime example of this is when Cy Tolliver and Francis Wolcott are talking in Cy’s office. The first time I watched this scene, I had no idea what Wolcott was saying and I had to rewind and watch it a further two times before I could understand the significance of it.

In terms of character depth, drama is the best place to create good, solid characters and although the depth of characters does grow over the series, it still doesn’t feel like you’ve learnt much about them or they’ve developed. However, this should not be interpreted as a weakness or a flaw in the writing, but rather as a way of linking the actual concept and point of the programme to the characters themselves. After all, this is a town whereby it doesn’t matter who you are or where you’ve come from, but only the amount of money you’ll spend on whiskey and women and what kind of gold claim you’re looking for. I also feel that the characters are unlike television characters because they’re just so detestable. It’s difficult to sit and think who you actually like, because none are ever particularly nice to anyone. Paradoxically, there are times when I sit there and feel sorry for characters because of the way in which other characters act toward them.

This kind of emotional attachment and reaction is not the kind of thing that you see on screen very much, particularly in television whereby a general mentality seems to be, if I don’t like the characters, then why should I tune to watch them? However, Deadwood and HBO are not normal television; they are a genuine bridge between the big screen and the small screen.