The joy of being a serial re-viewer
There’s a conversation my partner and I have had many times in the near-20 years we’ve been together. In fact, we have it so often, there’s now a shorthand version. I’ll be watching TV, then he’ll come in the room and say, ‘You know they make new programmes, right?’ To which I’ll roll my eyes and reply, ‘Watched Dune lately?’ Then we both go about our business, conversation done.
To anyone but our daughter, the exchange makes little sense. But for us, it’s the dance we do every time he finds me re-watching a TV show he knows I’ve already watched multiple times. He finds it utterly barmy I do this when there’s so much new television being streamed on a weekly basis; I find his love of Dune (new and old version) equally perplexing. (Ditto Blade Runner.)
But is there anything wrong with being a serial re-viewer, as I like to call myself? If you really enjoyed a programme, why wouldn’t you want to watch it again? And if that ends up being more than a few times, isn’t it simply a sign it was brilliant in the first place? To be clear, re-viewing is not the same as “looping”, which is when you keep watching the same show back-to-back. I like to mix up my repeats.
I’m also discerning when it comes to my re-viewing habit. My nectar is specifically crime dramas based on a true story. Right now, as I type, I’m re-viewing Netflix’s The Watcher for the third time. If you’ve not seen it yet, it stars Bobby Cannavale and Naomi Watts as a couple who move into their dream home only to find themselves the victims of a persistent stalker. It’s based on these real-life events that plagued the new owners of a palatial property in New Jersey in 2014.
It’s not my favourite based-on-a-true-crime drama but it’s immensely re-watchable precisely because I know a large part of what happens in the show really happened (artistic licence covers the rest). The creepy letters sent to the family after they moved in. The constant fear that someone was after them. The fact the letter writer has never been caught to this day.
As a sometime writer of crime fiction myself, I’m fascinated to see how major crimes were solved in real life – often what we read in the media is only a snapshot of what went on behind the scenes. Disney+’s Suspect: The Shooting of Jean Charles De Menezes is a case in point: the piecing together of what really led to armed Met police gunning down an innocent man on the Tube is meticulous, and I wasn’t at all surprised to read the series’ writer Jeff Pope spent five years researching the story. Another favourite of mine is Manhunt, the police procedural drama that depicts how Levi Bellfield was identified, arrested, and convicted for the murders of young women in south London, among them teenager Millie Dowler. Like Suspect, it is a study in how clues can be easily missed or misconstrued.
Critics of such dramas argue it is exploitative to rehash others’ suffering for the sake of entertainment. But very few are made without the involvement of those whose story it is. The creators of 2017’s Little Boy Blue, about the murder of nine-year-old Rhys Jones in Liverpool and starring actor-of-the-moment Stephen Graham, wouldn’t have proceeded without the cooperation of Rhys’ parents. Three Girls, the harrowing BBC drama about child sexual exploitation rings being exposed in Rotherham and Oldman, was based on multiple one-to-one interviews with the victims and their families.
I find these dramas often shine a light on overlooked aspects of the story. Take The Long Shadow, ITV’s incredible six-parter about the flawed police investigation into the Yorkshire Ripper and how Peter Sutcliffe was able to continue committing his crimes for years despite so many chances to arrest him. For the first time ever, the Ripper’s victims were shown on screen as the women and girls they really were – mothers, daughters, colleagues, friends. It discredited the myth they were all sex workers and movingly explained the sad and troubled circumstances of those who happened to be. It deserved more than one viewing for that alone.
While they do dominate, not all of my re-viewing involves based-on-true-crime stories: I’ve watched Line of Duty from start to finish at least five times; Stranger Things three (with another re-view due with my teen as we wait for the final season); and Happy Valley and Game of Thrones at least twice. To me, re-viewing is like snuggling under a comfort blanket. There’s no risk of being disappointed because you’re watching something you already know you’ll enjoy, and I guarantee you’ll spot easter eggs you didn’t notice before (like Will rolling the number 11 with the Dungeons & Dragons dice in the very first scene of Stranger Things, which I only spotted on re-view number three).
Maybe it is barmy to watch the same shows over and over. Maybe it’s an attention span thing – sometimes it’s easier to half-watch a show because you don’t need to focus as hard the second time around. That’s when it becomes a “background show”, that you have running while you’re doing other stuff. Such as why writing a piece on why watching old telly is one of my favourite things to do.
Are you a serial re-viewer or does the idea of watching something more than once leave you cold? Do share your thoughts in the comments!