I think the problems with Eastenders are problems that are infecting all types of creative output, throughout the media world. All stories are motivated by a pessimism that threatens to rid the world of levity forever. I've just cancelled my DVD club for purely the same reasons. I am fed up with trawling through the most awful dirge, ever committed to celluloid, in an on going effort to find something uplifting, or life affirming. But it seems that blackness is the new feeling of blue. We all seem to want to witness people swaying from the hang man's tree, with cut wrists and boiled babies. all this from a couple of pages of newspaper print, or ten minutes of adverts between friends and spin city.
Now, it is becoming clear that there does seem to be a more naked form of pessimism, that doesn't languish behind metaphor, or allegory, but it is there in full public view. And it exposes it's entrails, so that our minds might pick though it, for sustenance. As the world would have it nowadays.
I am not sure that it is because of 9/11. That this new feeling of abject misery is dripping into our sanctuaries. I don't know. But where is the laughter? The extra large smile? Are we all just waiting to be blown up, and we want our films and out television to capture the essence of that inner surrender?
Even the films that try to counter act the wave upon wave of moroseness, come heavyweight with saccharine. But at least they understand the size of the work ahead. the portions of sweetness needed to turn back the flood of soured introspection.
So, spare Eastenders your derision, and call it's decline symptomatic of a worldwide crisis in optimism and carefree altruism.
Now, it is becoming clear that there does seem to be a more naked form of pessimism, that doesn't languish behind metaphor, or allegory, but it is there in full public view. And it exposes it's entrails, so that our minds might pick though it, for sustenance. As the world would have it nowadays.
I am not sure that it is because of 9/11. That this new feeling of abject misery is dripping into our sanctuaries. I don't know. But where is the laughter? The extra large smile? Are we all just waiting to be blown up, and we want our films and out television to capture the essence of that inner surrender?
Even the films that try to counter act the wave upon wave of moroseness, come heavyweight with saccharine. But at least they understand the size of the work ahead. the portions of sweetness needed to turn back the flood of soured introspection.
So, spare Eastenders your derision, and call it's decline symptomatic of a worldwide crisis in optimism and carefree altruism.