By Jasmin Shirazian

The art of nuance and the craft of writing have been spoiled, milked, to filth; what remains curdled somewhere between lazy and unimaginative writing. We’ve entered a period of time where reboots and remakes of what were once original ideas have taken priority to new, unexplored plots. To revel in nostalgia is simpler and for some — at this point in time, what feels like the many — more entertaining than the attempt to grasp a new concept.

Why is there a Scrubs reboot? This is what set me off this week. The notion that we need another — ANOTHER — hospital based, semi-mockumentary style sitcom, much less a fucking reboot from 2007, is deeply weak-minded. I’m more so less upset about the premise than I am at the fact that it’s a reboot. I love a good concept, but seeing the show that I used to wake up to in the middle of the night blasting while my mom was at work is not the originality I was promised as a child. It’s literally another show about a goofy group of friends getting into shenanigans, but it’s placed in a hospital… did we have to make that a reboot? How did the original cast swing this? Have we run out of ideas? Lest there be more nipples left for us to suckle? 

There are two parties to blame here, in my professional, know-it-all opinion: the network and the consumer. The insatiable thirst for content from the consumer and the overwhelmingly eager, gluttonous network producing it, overworking and underpaying original creatives; overlooking them for network-based nepo-monsters. We are losing the voices of generations to the greed encouraged by not only the puppetmasters, but the audience themself. 

The network produces not what it thinks the consumer will enjoy, but what they will — you guessed it — consume the most of. Because that’s money. The gluttony; greed. But, we’re at fault, too, because we just keep giving into it. We consume the slop of mindless, empty dogshit nonsense that we can’t get enough of — why? Emily in Paris, Riverdale, the new season of Stranger Things where all the 14-year-olds now look 25… because they are. Why don’t we care about the quality of what we’re watching and indulging in? Have our expectations been weathered down so severely that we’ll just take whatever we can get? Yes, actually, I think so.

Not only is the dopamine addiction to our phones a more alluring pull than the effort that goes into developing a story in your mind, but let’s factor in that the regular person is living in hell. For the last 10 years — with a small gap of absolutely nothing to show for in between — the 2016 and 2024 administrations continue to defund and destroy any means of education, with the undying support of the nation’s most undereducated populations. SHOCKER! Wonder if that has something to do with… anything. I would bet the money I’m actively losing to my streaming services that it does have something to do with anything. It’s disturbing to witness every form of art become commercialized and reduced to a principal of cash exchanges, and it sucks that we continue to contribute to it as silent investors. Investors that, rather than profiting, poison their own water supply. 

Here’s the thing: I absolutely love TV — and no, movies do not satisfy the itch that a TV show can scratch. I love sitting in front of a screen and immersing myself in a show the way I do with a book. Whether it’s stupid and funny, or deeply depressing and gut-wrenching, all I ask is that there’s some heart in the writing, some depth to the plot and that writers are paid fairly. Unfortunately, for reasons that mostly come in shades of green, we can’t have those basic requests. And, while indie films and small-scale movie directors are semi-easy to support, I’ve personally never really heard of an independent TV show or network that is funded or owned by smaller groups. So, we lose good writers, we lose good art, we lose good TV. And we take what the big corporations who have the money to produce a long-format series give us, because those in power have made life so desperately miserable for the average individual that we just need something to help us get through the fucking day. 

We consume the dogshit, the Kool-Aid, the unfulfilling plate of nonsense they place before us. We give them the money we don’t get enough of and we get through the day. And another day, and another day. And one day, everything will explode. Until then, support local artists and writers. Maybe, before we all explode, we’ll stop seeing reboots of preexisting poorly-written TV shows. 

Jasmin Shirazian is the curly-headed copy editor and reporter of The Lumberjack. An award-winning journalist and media curator, she prefers to spend her free time watching and complaining about TV. More on the topic and others like such can be found on her Substack, @jasminscornerontheweb. She can be contacted at js760@humboldt.edu.