When your favourite television series comes to an end, it’s usually quite a bittersweet affair. Stories are complete, open ends sewn up and truths finally revealed resulting in an ending that is satisfying and true to the series’ original themes. Gone are those days, my friend, and they’re never coming back.
Now, it seems, the trend is to devastate your audience. For example, I recently developed an obsession for first generation Skins. I realise that I was undeniably a few years behind the rest of the world, but forgive me. Skins started off as an ordinary guilty pleasure, and then progressed into a more hardcore flirtation until it finally developed into full blown infatuation; I was hooked.
For those who aren’t familiar with BAFTA award-winning Skins (if those people still exist) is not your average OC-esque teenage drama. Rampant drug use is the norm, their family lives are more screwed up than we can imagine and sex is an all consuming concept for the teenagers just growing up in Bristol, England. A dramatic masterpiece, Skins is groundbreaking in a myriad of different ways. Through complex characterization and ambiguous narratives merged with reality, Skins subverts our expectations of what the typical teen drama should be. Highly intelligent, Skins proved to be nothing short of a divine construction of dramatic storytelling conventions. I shan’t spoil the story for those who haven’t had the pleasure of watching, but the point of this loving diatribe is that Skins, though I love it, broke my heart upon the final episode of season 2.
When we watch a television series, we grow fond of the characters and enjoy being a part of their world. I feel like I was kicked out of the Skins world far too prematurely. I’m not sure I will ever fully recover from the annoyingly unsatisfying but devastating finale, let alone the complete revamping of the third season. At the end of season 2, we waved goodbye to the original skins cast for good. Mysteries were left and there are questions we will never know the answers to. And you know what, perhaps that’s the way we like things these days.
The idea of the lack of finality to a narrative isn’t really a new concept; experimental cinema from the Film Noir period right through to Taratino‘s masterpieces brought the concept to the fore a long time ago. But in this day and age, when pessimism is already running high and life is often lacking in any truly joyous moments, why do we choose to subject ourselves to such frustration? It’s an almost perverse pleasure – Spielberg-esque films with lovely complete narratives are rejected in favour of television that shocks our systems, makes us feel uneasy and often shatters our preconceived expectations. And for what? So we can go away from the series feeling empty, heartbroken and rejected by characters, filled with an ongoing sense of unease and regret?
Apparently so. It seems what used to be considered the worst way to end a television series is fast becoming the norm -are we seriously that numb that we need these to shock us back to life? Perhaps there are more complex psychological forces at work here, but all I know is I’m never going to get over this and I can’t put my finger on why I did this to myself. All I know is that I feel a pang in the pit of my stomach upon hearing the ‘s’ word and the soundtrack almost brings tears to my eyes. Let’s just not talk about it anymore, alright?
Skins has now finished its 3rd season in the UK. You can get all the details from the official Skins website and is currently airing on Fox 8, Tuesday nights 9.30pm. Though watch at your own risk – heartbreak is destined to ensue.
The one on the corner of Collins and Swanston Streets, where you can cosy up underneath their heaters in Winter and enjoy the sunny people-watching in the warmer months. Close to the Paris end of Collins street, just around the corner from Chanel, of course, the coffee is great, the snacks are divine and it’s one of the loveliest rendezvous spots around. But just make sure you watch out for hungry pigeons who will relentlessly pursue your lunch scraps. Seriously. Read More 
