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Start Date

23-6-2022 12:00 AM

End Date

23-6-2022 12:00 AM

Abstract

Panel rationale:

This panel takes a critical look at the television “limited series” in the United States as a format deeply rooted in strategies of reinvention. As the television industry continues to grapple with what to make of the limited series, the format itself continues to evolve and compel us to bend, adjust, and reimagine established understandings. Our papers address the limited series from the perspective of industry practices; creative and critical discourse; adaptation; television performance; queer resistance; and raced, classed, gendered, and sized embodiment.

Molly A. Schneider examines how the television industry has grappled with the slippery category of the limited series, looking at how the practice of “rebooting,” or “burning the house down” at the end of each season, provides strategic maneuverability between renewal and continuity in the era of “peak TV.” R. Colin Tait explores how operating the American Horror/Crime Story franchises like a theatrical repertory company has allowed creator Ryan Murphy to mitigate risk, cultivate actor-showrunner partnerships, and develop fruitful star/writer collaborations with actresses like Sarah Paulson, Jessica Lange and other performers. Andrew J. Owens confronts the tension between normativity and “horrific queerness,” contending that American Horror Story’s limited formats have begun to limit the possibilities of its queer imagination. Jennifer Lynn Jones examines the limited series Nine Perfect Strangers and argues that, despite its critical dystopic take on wellness culture, it ultimately recuperates wellness and whiteness through its changes in its adaptation from novel to series.

Paper 1:

“Burning the House Down: Limited Series and Rhetorical Strategies of the Reboot”

Molly A. Schneider

In a 2012 profile of American Horror Story creator Ryan Murphy, TV critic Emily Nussbaum cited the show’s “rebooted” second season, Asylum, as a “solution to an ongoing TV problem.” Specifically, she argued, the practice of reinventing the story world each season “avoids the danger of a great show losing its edge.” Indeed, Murphy has repeatedly touted the benefits of “burn[ing] the house down” at the end of each season to keep the story fresh and promote creative exploration. But beyond the artistic appeal of this practice of reinvention, “burning the house down” also provides significant strategic benefits that allow the rebooted limited series to maneuver within a volatile television landscape.

For shows such as American Horror Story, True Detective, and Fargo, the practice of rebooting each season has continually been offered as both a method of course correction and a strategy of creative renewal. At the same time, the ability to retain certain continuities between seasons – not only creatively, but also organizationally in terms of personnel, production processes, and branding – can offer both operational efficiency and the opportunity for fostering viewer loyalty that might attend a continuing series narrative. Thus, the function of a limited series as essentially an indefinitely renewable miniseries allows these shows to retain both flexibility and continuity. As the role of the limited series itself continues to evolve within the U.S. television landscape, the format can potentially serve as one platform for examining how the industry manages risk in the era of “peak TV.”

Paper 2:

American Horror Story as Repertory Company & Sarah Paulson as Company Star”

R. Colin Tait

My paper compares Ryan Murphy’s American Horror Story/American Crime Story franchises to the theatrical repertory company. Hiring the same actors from one anthology series to another allows creator/showrunner Murphy to understand his actors’ skills going into the next run of his limited series universe. These mutual relationships build creative trust between parties; actors feel comfortable taking increased risks and Murphy knows that they can rise to the occasion.

Like rep companies, American Horror/Crime Story(ies) also have stars, and in Murphy titles, women, though underrepresented in popular culture, rule in these series. Jessica Lange’s re-emergence as a star in Murphy’s franchises and LGBTQ+ actress Sarah Paulson’s rise demonstrates how this counter-programming/casting functions. American Horror Story: Coven is a remarkable example of how Murphy’s rep casting actually dictates the content. This incarnation showcases a wide net of actresses spanning various ages, races, body types and gender preferences, while simultaneously substantially showing off each character and performer.

Among all of these actresses, Paulson stands the tallest. Murphy remarks that a collaborative relationship like theirs couldn’t have existed in Hollywood twenty years ago, as “out” performers and creators were prevented from working in the industry up until very recently. The trust between the director/writer and his “diva” pushes both further creatively, and together they have collaborated on unforgettable screen characters and performances. From Lana Winters in Asylum to the award-winning portrayal of Marcia Clark in O.J. Simpson, the Paulson/Murphy duo allows both figures to stretch the boundaries of tv writing and performance -- not only because of their evolving working relationship but their combined desires to push at the edges of horror, realism and the grotesque.

Paper 3:

“The Trouble with (non) Normal: Limits of Queerness Across American Horror Story’s Limited Formats”

Andrew J. Owens

This presentation interrogates the limits of queerness as both narrative appeal and marketing strategy within the American Horror Story franchise. Since their premiere in October 2011, the limited-anthology seasons of American Horror Story have established one of the most culturally iconic televisual catalogs extending associations between queer sexualities and the supernatural, represented as monstrous schemes of resistance against heteropatriarchal status quos. The limited-anthology format has allowed each season to articulate this opposition across a variety of both geographic and temporal locations, from a haunted Los Angeles mansion (AHS: Murder House) to a coven of new millennium witches in New Orleans (AHS: Coven) to the former two’s cross-over season in AHS: Apocalypse.

Yet have the franchise’s gay rubber-fetish ghosts, pansexual witches, and other queer characters themselves become status quo to such an extent that the non-normative has now become normative? In August 2021, after lengthy speculation, the AHS franchise spun off into a new, true anthology drama: American Horror Stories. While gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender characters all appeared across its brief seven-episode run, their queerness was hardly remarked upon. Similarly, the first part of the currently airing American Horror Story: Double Feature places an expecting heterosexual family in the middle of Provincetown, Massachusetts, one of the most popular queer vacation destinations in the U.S. Consequently, in both narrative and marketing, the monstrous world of AHS has begun to lose its bite vis-à-vis the horrific queerness that initially made the franchise so fascinating to many: non-normative sexuality as, according to Richard Dyer, “outlawry and living on the edge.”

Paper 4:

“Limited Reinventions: Dystopic Wellness and Nine Perfect Strangers

Jennifer Lynn Jones

With the rise of body positivity and size inclusivity over the past decade, elements of wellness culture have started to become suspect. Traces of this apprehension have entered popular culture through dystopic takes on wellness, particularly in female-focused streaming television, including Santa Clarita Diet (Netflix, 2017-2020), Physical (Apple+, 2021), and Nine Perfect Strangers (Hulu, 2021). These series feature white, cisgender female protagonists whose transformations through wellness areas--such as diet, nutrition, and fitness--reveal the darker side of these practices and America’s problematic interpretations of health. However, this criticality is tempered by adherence to dominant identity paradigms through their protagonists.

Limited series Nine Perfect Strangers demonstrates the restrictions of not only this dystopic critique against wellness but also its potential for cultural reinventions, specifically in its adaptation. Taken from a novel by Big Little Lies author Liane Moriarty through many who brought the first book to HBO, Nine Perfect Strangers blindcasts actors of color from presumably white characters in the novel, remaking one as an antagonist, while the book’s villain, spa owner Masha (played by Nicole Kidman), becomes a white savior and victim herself in the series. These needless changes alter not only the meanings of the original text but also the potential for intersectional critique of issues embedded in wellness culture, including racism and sizeism. As such, this paper will examine the limited series adaptation of Nine Perfect Strangers, arguing that despite its dystopic take it ultimately recuperates both wellness and whiteness in its reinvention of the novel and its characters.

Bio

Molly A. Schneider is a television historian and an Assistant Professor in the Department of Cinema and Television Arts at Columbia College Chicago. Her current book project, Gold Dust on the Air, is a cultural history of the midcentury television anthology drama, with a particular focus on the ways the format intersects with notions of “Americanness.”

R. Colin Tait is the co-author of The Cinema of Steven Soderbergh: indie sex, corporate lies and digital videotape (Wallflower/Columbia UP 2013), and has published on performance, collaboration, and contemporary masculinity. He recently submitted (by 2022) his manuscript De Niro’s Method: Acting, Authorship and Agency in the New Hollywood (1967-83) to UT Press.

Andrew J. Owens is a Lecturer in the Department of Cinematic Arts at the University of Iowa. His first book, Desire After Dark: Contemporary Queer Cultures and Occculty Marvelous Media, was published by Indiana University Press in 2021 and traces an industrial and cultural history of how modern occult practices have risen to on-screen prominence over the past half-century during moments of profound anxiety surrounding gender and sexual mores.

Jennifer Lynn Jones is a Visiting Assistant Professor in the Department of Film Studies at the University of Tulsa. She completed her Ph.D. on celebrity, corpulence, and convergence in Film and Media Studies at Indiana University. Her research focuses on identity, embodiment, and media. She also trained in documentary production at the New School and teaches video production.

CP Burning the House Down (captioned).mp4 (39945 kB)
Molly Schneider's Pre-recorded Presentation

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Jun 23rd, 12:00 AM Jun 23rd, 12:00 AM

TV Limited Series and Strategies of Reinvention

Panel rationale:

This panel takes a critical look at the television “limited series” in the United States as a format deeply rooted in strategies of reinvention. As the television industry continues to grapple with what to make of the limited series, the format itself continues to evolve and compel us to bend, adjust, and reimagine established understandings. Our papers address the limited series from the perspective of industry practices; creative and critical discourse; adaptation; television performance; queer resistance; and raced, classed, gendered, and sized embodiment.

Molly A. Schneider examines how the television industry has grappled with the slippery category of the limited series, looking at how the practice of “rebooting,” or “burning the house down” at the end of each season, provides strategic maneuverability between renewal and continuity in the era of “peak TV.” R. Colin Tait explores how operating the American Horror/Crime Story franchises like a theatrical repertory company has allowed creator Ryan Murphy to mitigate risk, cultivate actor-showrunner partnerships, and develop fruitful star/writer collaborations with actresses like Sarah Paulson, Jessica Lange and other performers. Andrew J. Owens confronts the tension between normativity and “horrific queerness,” contending that American Horror Story’s limited formats have begun to limit the possibilities of its queer imagination. Jennifer Lynn Jones examines the limited series Nine Perfect Strangers and argues that, despite its critical dystopic take on wellness culture, it ultimately recuperates wellness and whiteness through its changes in its adaptation from novel to series.

Paper 1:

“Burning the House Down: Limited Series and Rhetorical Strategies of the Reboot”

Molly A. Schneider

In a 2012 profile of American Horror Story creator Ryan Murphy, TV critic Emily Nussbaum cited the show’s “rebooted” second season, Asylum, as a “solution to an ongoing TV problem.” Specifically, she argued, the practice of reinventing the story world each season “avoids the danger of a great show losing its edge.” Indeed, Murphy has repeatedly touted the benefits of “burn[ing] the house down” at the end of each season to keep the story fresh and promote creative exploration. But beyond the artistic appeal of this practice of reinvention, “burning the house down” also provides significant strategic benefits that allow the rebooted limited series to maneuver within a volatile television landscape.

For shows such as American Horror Story, True Detective, and Fargo, the practice of rebooting each season has continually been offered as both a method of course correction and a strategy of creative renewal. At the same time, the ability to retain certain continuities between seasons – not only creatively, but also organizationally in terms of personnel, production processes, and branding – can offer both operational efficiency and the opportunity for fostering viewer loyalty that might attend a continuing series narrative. Thus, the function of a limited series as essentially an indefinitely renewable miniseries allows these shows to retain both flexibility and continuity. As the role of the limited series itself continues to evolve within the U.S. television landscape, the format can potentially serve as one platform for examining how the industry manages risk in the era of “peak TV.”

Paper 2:

American Horror Story as Repertory Company & Sarah Paulson as Company Star”

R. Colin Tait

My paper compares Ryan Murphy’s American Horror Story/American Crime Story franchises to the theatrical repertory company. Hiring the same actors from one anthology series to another allows creator/showrunner Murphy to understand his actors’ skills going into the next run of his limited series universe. These mutual relationships build creative trust between parties; actors feel comfortable taking increased risks and Murphy knows that they can rise to the occasion.

Like rep companies, American Horror/Crime Story(ies) also have stars, and in Murphy titles, women, though underrepresented in popular culture, rule in these series. Jessica Lange’s re-emergence as a star in Murphy’s franchises and LGBTQ+ actress Sarah Paulson’s rise demonstrates how this counter-programming/casting functions. American Horror Story: Coven is a remarkable example of how Murphy’s rep casting actually dictates the content. This incarnation showcases a wide net of actresses spanning various ages, races, body types and gender preferences, while simultaneously substantially showing off each character and performer.

Among all of these actresses, Paulson stands the tallest. Murphy remarks that a collaborative relationship like theirs couldn’t have existed in Hollywood twenty years ago, as “out” performers and creators were prevented from working in the industry up until very recently. The trust between the director/writer and his “diva” pushes both further creatively, and together they have collaborated on unforgettable screen characters and performances. From Lana Winters in Asylum to the award-winning portrayal of Marcia Clark in O.J. Simpson, the Paulson/Murphy duo allows both figures to stretch the boundaries of tv writing and performance -- not only because of their evolving working relationship but their combined desires to push at the edges of horror, realism and the grotesque.

Paper 3:

“The Trouble with (non) Normal: Limits of Queerness Across American Horror Story’s Limited Formats”

Andrew J. Owens

This presentation interrogates the limits of queerness as both narrative appeal and marketing strategy within the American Horror Story franchise. Since their premiere in October 2011, the limited-anthology seasons of American Horror Story have established one of the most culturally iconic televisual catalogs extending associations between queer sexualities and the supernatural, represented as monstrous schemes of resistance against heteropatriarchal status quos. The limited-anthology format has allowed each season to articulate this opposition across a variety of both geographic and temporal locations, from a haunted Los Angeles mansion (AHS: Murder House) to a coven of new millennium witches in New Orleans (AHS: Coven) to the former two’s cross-over season in AHS: Apocalypse.

Yet have the franchise’s gay rubber-fetish ghosts, pansexual witches, and other queer characters themselves become status quo to such an extent that the non-normative has now become normative? In August 2021, after lengthy speculation, the AHS franchise spun off into a new, true anthology drama: American Horror Stories. While gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender characters all appeared across its brief seven-episode run, their queerness was hardly remarked upon. Similarly, the first part of the currently airing American Horror Story: Double Feature places an expecting heterosexual family in the middle of Provincetown, Massachusetts, one of the most popular queer vacation destinations in the U.S. Consequently, in both narrative and marketing, the monstrous world of AHS has begun to lose its bite vis-à-vis the horrific queerness that initially made the franchise so fascinating to many: non-normative sexuality as, according to Richard Dyer, “outlawry and living on the edge.”

Paper 4:

“Limited Reinventions: Dystopic Wellness and Nine Perfect Strangers

Jennifer Lynn Jones

With the rise of body positivity and size inclusivity over the past decade, elements of wellness culture have started to become suspect. Traces of this apprehension have entered popular culture through dystopic takes on wellness, particularly in female-focused streaming television, including Santa Clarita Diet (Netflix, 2017-2020), Physical (Apple+, 2021), and Nine Perfect Strangers (Hulu, 2021). These series feature white, cisgender female protagonists whose transformations through wellness areas--such as diet, nutrition, and fitness--reveal the darker side of these practices and America’s problematic interpretations of health. However, this criticality is tempered by adherence to dominant identity paradigms through their protagonists.

Limited series Nine Perfect Strangers demonstrates the restrictions of not only this dystopic critique against wellness but also its potential for cultural reinventions, specifically in its adaptation. Taken from a novel by Big Little Lies author Liane Moriarty through many who brought the first book to HBO, Nine Perfect Strangers blindcasts actors of color from presumably white characters in the novel, remaking one as an antagonist, while the book’s villain, spa owner Masha (played by Nicole Kidman), becomes a white savior and victim herself in the series. These needless changes alter not only the meanings of the original text but also the potential for intersectional critique of issues embedded in wellness culture, including racism and sizeism. As such, this paper will examine the limited series adaptation of Nine Perfect Strangers, arguing that despite its dystopic take it ultimately recuperates both wellness and whiteness in its reinvention of the novel and its characters.