AMC was reportedly demanding that future episodes of Mad Men run several minutes shorter to make room for more advertisements, that more explicit product integration be accommodated, and that per-episode costs be reduced by eliminating some cast members.  Mad Men is a program narratively set in an advertising agency.  It has been used by AMC as a fulcrum in the cable channel’s attempts to transition from an exclusively carriage-fee to an increasingly advertiser-based revenue stream.  So these demands are not surprising.

On the other hand, Mad Men signals for AMC the switch from “classic” movie programming to a growing palette of well publicized and critically well received original productions.  Mad Men‘s first four seasons have garnered vast acclaim, won multiple awards, attracted new (and slightly younger) viewers, and put AMC on Madison Avenue’s map.  One might say it has successfully made over AMC, producing a newly identifiable and desirable brand (for advertisers and certain viewers).  So the fact that a settlement was ultimately reached and Mad Men will have three more seasons (albeit with “contained” budgets, two-minute-shorter episodes, and more prominent product placement) is also not surprising.

What would have been surprising would have been if AMC had refused to renew the program and simply cancelled the show absent its demands being met.  But here’s the thing:  it would have been surprising, but no longer unthinkable.

At one time a network might have been grateful or felt indebted or at least tried to maintain the tent pole foisted by such an important show for as long as possible (think of NBC’s outrageous offerings to Warner Bros to keep ER and Friends on the air in the 1990s).  Things have changed.  It is no longer impossible to imagine that AMC might move on, leaving its signature show behind.  As it is, new episodes will not be seen until March 2012, 14 or 15 months after the most recent episode.  AMC has 4 other new shows to debut this year.  And Mad Men has never had stellar ratings.  It is not even currently the highest rated show on AMC (The Walking Dead has it beat).  Most important, however, it comes down to this:  so far as AMC is concerned, the show’s work is done.  AMC is now an established presence in original programming and advertising.  Thank you very much.

Mad Men meanwhile finds itself in an increasingly common position for primetime programming, one of indeterminate value.  To remain valuable to AMC—and thus worth renewing—Mad Men must remain difficult to see anywhere else and at least a bit less desirable to view after AMC shows it.  That is it must circulate in an economy of scarcity with transient (i.e. diminishing) value.  Thus only clips and promotional footage are legally streamable online, with full episodes restricted to AMC, then for sale on iTunes and months later DVD.  At the same time, however, for Mad Men to put AMC on the map, generate buzz and audiences, attract hip advertisers, and for that matter produce an afterlife—generating both residuals and brand new revenue for its producers beyond AMC, it has to maintain its value and be readily accessible everywhere viewers go.  In other words in addition to being scarce and transient it must also be durable and ubiquitous.  That is why you can Mad Men Yourself, follow people pretending to be characters on Twitter, have bought Barbie Dolls, Banana Republic apparel, DVDs, books, music and many other Mad Men products, and why Weiner went to the fansite “Basket of Kisses” during contract negotiations: maintenance of a vigorous afterlife.

As viewing practices change and the television industry adapts to new economics, even successful programs—much like the labor they employ—are finding their value uncertain, caught between competing and incompatible economies of circulation: scarcity and ubiquity, transience and durability.  While Mad Men‘s future has now been determined, the next successful show’s renewal negotiations are all the more precarious.  Meanwhile, over the final three seasons, Daily Variety suggests that the cast and crew—even “topliners”—are unlikely to receive large raises for their efforts on this hit show, which operates now with “an understanding that producers will have to be creative and judicious with the cast budget going forward.” AMC on the other hand continues its rewarding institutional makeover and Matthew Weiner is set to receive $30 million.

In that spirit, I would like to propose that we banish the term “post-network” from the academic conversation about contemporary television (in a voluntary, non-censorious way, of course).

There’s no doubt that television has transitioned into an industrial and technological system distinct from the classic network era that typified the medium’s first few decades. And much of the scholarship using the term “post-network” does a great job characterizing these transitions and transformations. But the term itself obscures more than it reveals, and we should search for another label that avoids these pitfalls:

• Post-network suggests that networks no longer matter. The recent NBC late night kerfuffle highlights that networks are still central to American television, with the affiliate relationship often ignored but still essential to the industry’s operations and profit centers. Can you imagine similar drama and investment in shuffling hosts on a cable channel? National networks still speak to the broadest range of viewers, and still are dominant in our conception of what television is. Thus the underlying assumption with the term post-network is that we’ve moved beyond networks to a degree that I don’t think is warranted.
• Post-network doesn’t say what it is, but asserts what it is not. Even if you disagree with the previous point and contend that networks don’t really much matter any more, what has replaced them? As with other “post-” labels in academia, you need to drape any definition in enough caveats and qualifications as to make it essentially non-descriptive. How much ink has been spilled debating what postmodern means, not as a cultural phenomenon but as a term? We don’t need to add to the confusion by using a term that ultimately lacks explanatory power.
• Post-network is mired in the past. Rather than talking about the present, the term keeps us focused on the way things used to be. If the point is to highlight how much has changed, we need a term to call attention to those new developments, not the (partially) eclipsed past.
• Post-network suggests the end of the line. What comes after the post-network era? If things will change again – and they will – we will need to back-fill terminologically to distinguish between post-network and post-post-network. (And don’t get me started on neo- …) Let’s avoid this madness while we still have a chance!

As a fairly small academic community, television scholars should be able to come together to devise a better vocabulary that is not mired in the past, that doesn’t require redefining years later, and that actually tells us something about how television and media operate today. In my writing, I’ve used “digital convergence era” to describe the mode of 21st century television – I’m not married to that term, and recognize that convergence as a term has some quibbles and baggage as well. But whatever we use in place of post-network, let’s stop planting posts while we can!

So what do you think? Any defenders of the post out there? Or suggestions for what might replace it?