Once upon a time, television was a simple affair. There were three channels, a man in a bow tie read the news, and if you wanted to watch something scandalous, you had to wait until 9pm, when the BBC would air a documentary about the mating habits of something hairy. Now, we have “choice”—a word that, in the world of streaming services, translates directly to “an endless swamp of unwatchable drivel.”
The problem isn’t that there’s nothing to watch. No, the problem is that there’s everything to watch. Thousands of programmes, each worse than the last, all clamouring for attention like a litter of desperate puppies, except these puppies are wearing sunglasses and trying to convince you they’re part of a “gritty reimagining” of Little House on the Prairie. It’s exhausting.
Take Netflix, for example. A few years ago, it was a revolutionary idea—watch what you want, when you want. Now, it’s a graveyard of half-baked original series with titles like Murder at Maple Manor or Sexy Apocalypse: Miami. Every show is either a “dark new twist” on something that didn’t need twisting or a “bold new vision” that turns out to be a remake of something that was perfectly fine the first time around.
Then there’s Amazon Prime, which operates on the principle that you must prove your devotion by wading through seventeen layers of unwatchable garbage before you are finally allowed to stumble upon something that might actually be good. And even then, just as you settle in, you’ll realise it’s inexplicably only available for rent at £3.99, because Jeff Bezos wants to personally wring the last drops of joy from your soul.
Let’s not forget the specialist services. BritBox, which is essentially a retirement home for old BBC dramas and anything that once featured Penelope Keith. Disney+, where every single franchise is being spun out into an infinite series of spin-offs until eventually there’s a gritty origin story about Mickey Mouse’s accountant. And Apple TV+, which only ever seems to contain about seven shows at any given time, each one featuring a Hollywood A-lister who, for reasons unknown, has chosen to spend eight hours looking moody in a Scandinavian forest.
Of course, none of this would be a problem if you could actually find something to watch. But modern streaming services are designed to make this impossible. Every time you log in, you are bombarded with a carousel of recommendations that appear to have been selected by an algorithm that actively despises you. “Because you watched The Godfather, you might enjoy Sharknado 4!” “Since you liked Breaking Bad, why not try Cooking with the Kardashians?” It’s like having a personal shopper who believes that because you once bought a nice coat, you must now want to wear nothing but sequinned leotards.
So, what’s the solution? Well, you could do what I do: spend three hours scrolling through every available option, sigh heavily, and then just rewatch Fawlty Towers for the 38th time. Either that, or go outside. But frankly, given the state of the world, I’d rather take my chances with Sexy Apocalypse: Miami. At least it has explosions.