Serial thrillers: the science behind our box set addiction
Hour after hour, we’re glued to the TV as the latest series unfolds. It feels like a thoroughly modern phenomenon. But what keeps us gripped goes right to the heart of what it is to be human
Not long ago, I was bingeing on the second series of Jill Soloway’s award-winning television series Transparent when I was, completely unexpectedly, brought to tears. The show tracks the ramifications of a family patriarch’s decision to transition to a woman, from Mort to Maura. The scene in question revolved around Maura’s son, Josh Pfefferman, a jovial, wry, essentially decent record company executive who is thoroughly modern, and always wanting to be supportive of Maura’s journey.
But as the series progresses, things start slipping for Josh. In one scene, he’s driving with band members and starts uncharacteristically ranting. “Look at this traffic!” he says. “They time it out so you can’t get anywhere. It’s a fucking conspiracy.” Josh honks his horn at other drivers. “Fucking go you piece of shit!” He’s losing control. The woman beside him insists he pulls over. Josh is hyperventilating.