TV show writers are, in a way, mythomaniacs. Like people who lie a lot, they eventually lose track of their own story. When the lie (and in this case the show) finally comes to an end, that’s when things can get messy.
By this, I mean no disrespect to TV writers; the metaphor is really about how difficult it is to write a good finale. Ending a story you’ve been making up for months is hard. Ending one that’s been going on for over a decade is borderline impossible.
Game of Thrones, Stranger Things, Lost, and Seinfeld, as different as they are, all share one thing: fan disappointment when the final episode aired. It’s a common thread in television history. But why exactly are TV finales so hard to write?
Both liars and TV writers have to keep up with a story they are inventing as they go. To keep things interesting (because even when lying, no one wants a boring story), they must constantly surprise their audience through plot twists, shock reveals, and increasingly unhinged storylines.
Take Riverdale. What started as a murder mystery in a quiet American town somehow evolved into satanic cults, possessed characters, and, if I remember correctly, a dead brother hiding in a closet. Somewhere along the way, the writers either completely lost the plot or decided to fully embrace chaos. Stranger Things, on the other hand, faces a different problem: how do you tie together years of surreal monsters, alternate dimensions, government conspiracies and emotional attachment into one final two-hour explanation that actually makes sense?
And that’s not all. Then comes the most delicate question of all: who do you kill?
Apologies for adding murder to mythomania, but character deaths can make or break a finale. Audiences want contradictions. They want someone they hate to die, someone they love to die, everyone to die, or no one at all; the watcher’s brain is deeply confusing. As a writer, do you go full tragedy or spare everybody?
In the end, TV writers are neither murderers nor compulsive liars. But their situation is oddly similar. Wrapping up a story stretched over a decade, while trying to satisfy millions of viewers with wildly different expectations, is a nightmare. Playing God with characters you created, and getting it right, might be even worse.
Either way, the next time a finale disappoints us, we might want to cut TV writers some slack. They’re a bit like when you’re five and stuck in a lie your brain can’t get out of. Universal experience? I’m not sure, but you get the gist.