The Illusion of Change
In my last post, I started to dig into “You’re the Worst,” a half-hour comedy on FXX about two terrible people in a relationship with one another. In this post, I continue thinking out loud about the show.
There is a principle, most often cited in comics, called the Illusion of Change. As an audience of any ongoing story, be it a television show or a comic book, our desires are often at cross purposes. On one hand, we want our characters to evolve. If the story is the same week after week or month after month, we’re going to get bored. But on the other hand, we want to recognize the characters in our favorite stories; there is a comfort in the familiar. So we don’t want our characters to change too much.
This balancing act is prevalent in almost all of the major superhero comic books. For the purposes of this blog, we’ll focus on Spider-Man. Peter Parker is a perpetually down-on-his-luck underdog, always trying to do his best to be a hero and a good person in spite of his seemingly endless bad luck. As Spider-Man fans, we want Peter Parker to find his footing and move forward with his life. But to a certain extent, when we pick up the latest issue of Amazing Spider-Man, we have an expectation that we’ll find our lovable loser, still down on his luck, still doing his best in spite of it all.
The danger in moving Peter Parker too far forward is that we risk losing what we love about him. Do we want to read about a Peter Parker with money to burn, his villains all safely behind bars, and in a healthy relationship? For many people, that’s not Spider-Man.
So how do you pull off that balancing act? How do you give readers the sense that Peter’s story is moving forward, without losing the seemingly essential aspects of that story?
The most oft-cited example of how to do this is Stan Lee’s decision to have Peter graduate high school and enter college. At that point in time, one of the hallmarks of Peter’s story was that he was the resident nerd in school, suffering through all of the trials and tribulations that go along with that title, trials and tribulations that were largely responsible for propelling him to popularity in the first place.
Having Peter start college was a brilliant move. There was no doubt that he was moving forward—our intrepid hero had worked hard, and had made it to the next step of his educational career. But his story didn’t change. He still lived with his Aunt May. He was still broke. And he was still the nerd in school.
“You’re the Worst” pulled off a similar feat with the finale of its first season, and spoilers ahead for those who worry about that sort of thing (I do, even if I have no intention of ever watching a show). Much of the driving narrative force of the show comes from the conflicts inherent within the two main characters. They don’t believe in or trust relationships, yet they find themselves falling deeper and deeper into one. Each step of the way, they fight themselves and one another, as they try to reconcile their forward momentum with the fiery crash they both believe to be waiting.
The season ends with the two characters moving in together. Ta-da! Our characters are moving forward. But what about their constant attempts to pull away from one another? Won’t the show lose some of its vigor with the two happily cohabitating?
It probably would. Except the last scene of the season shows both characters instantly regretting their decision, even as they unload boxes into their place. The conflicts that defined the first season, rather than being dulled, look as if they’ll only intensify now that the characters are sharing such close quarters. They may be living together, but they’re just as uncomfortable with their developing relationship as they were before—likely more so. Our characters have moved forward, but their story is essentially the same.
A beautiful illusion of change.