Let characters stay dead

Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

They say death is no laughing matter, and although the characters on TV are fictional, our emotions sure are not. Even if we do not directly feel the woe and anguish of grief —at the very least— the sympathy for the surviving characters, forced to pick up the rubble and rebuild their lives, is enough to break a heart. 

The death of a character should be the death of a status quo, a primary reason why low-stakes or repetitive narratives shy away from it. There is a line specific audiences do not expect writers to cross, so when they do, viewers want to trust that those boundaries are pushed to develop the story and characters— not to generate shock value. 

I am no anomaly; I have experienced the anger and frustration that stems from a character's unexpected death. Who wants to see anticipated storylines and relationships cut short because a character was written out? While this popular sentiment surrounding character deaths is valid, I would also counter that a character’s death could positively pivot a story and offer a lot of intrigue and growth.

Forcing characters to navigate through a fog of grief gives writers an array of directions and creativity to take the story. People react differently in these situations; a person who was once so poised could deteriorate and regress to someone unrecognizable, a lazy freeloader could learn to roll up their sleeves and better themselves, and old friends, victims of a falling out, can put their turmoil aside and learn to forgive. 

Death is brutal for our beloved characters —of course— but also for the viewers. We watch, through bleary eyes, the widow who thought she would grow old with the love of her life as she wears the same clothes for three episodes straight and acts out in ugly, raw ways. The audience journeys with the characters as they confide in others, rebuild their sense of self, and find their purpose.

In moments like these, media becomes indicative of genuine human experience. Grieving audiences can identify with the hurting characters. Often, when a viewer witnesses a character endure a similar tragic situation, they are comforted rather than disturbed. Watching these storylines is hard, but seeing a character persist forward and grow despite unfortunate events inspires viewers who have experienced similar things and helps audiences assimilate more with the characters.

So should I, an emotionally exhausted viewer who climbed up and down the mountain of internal growth with a character, see the dead walk back through the door five seasons later? I would be shocked, confused, and intrigued. You could say I feel all those emotions in a moment like that… but that is not necessarily good. 

 I get it: seasons into a long-running show, writers fear things getting stale. Maybe previous actors who once left the show agreed to reprise their dead selves. Two popular shows, Jane The Virgin (2014-2019) and Gossip Girl (2007-2012), are notorious for bringing back a presumed dead cast member to walk the earth for the last season. 

In the cases of both shows, there were no hints to suggest the return of the dead, an obvious indication that the writers did not have this planned and hoped to exchange audience approval with shock value. Unfortunately for them, this decision makes me feel cheated; how can I go back and rewatch arcs of characters learning to overcome the hardships of grief when none of it was real? Even if the mourning part is still real, the characters still get something that most viewers, who use these characters as a mirror of themselves to cope, will never get: closure. 

Because of this, I say: let characters stay dead. If a writer has already committed to a thoughtful, accurate portrayal of grief and an arc that carries a lot of emotional weight, retracting seasons later will only muddle the viewer's overall perception of the show. If a show wants to “get real” for a bit, it is in the best interest to have things stay real.