Ian Harding, the actor who plays Ezra Fitz, the young teacher and love interest of main (teen) character Aria in Pretty Little Liars, shared some apropos commentary about the show’s demographics in a New York Post interview:

Ian Harding: [laughs] At first I thought,…(Pretty Little Liars would be)… just be for teenage girls. But I was in Europe, where it’s not airing yet, and in every city… someone came up to me and said, “I love the show.”…In one occasion this guy, early 30’s, said “I really like the show man.”… He was the man to come up to me strongly and comfortably saying he loves the show… At first, I thought it’s the girl’s show, so their storylines will be really heavy and everyone else’s will be almost scenery. But that’s been so far from the case. I know that “Lost” and “PLL” are two totally different shows, but like that, we kind of answer one question and throw another mystery out. I think what keeps bringing people back into the show is that every storylines is constantly spinning and moving.

I’m struck by how Harding’s comments links Pretty Little Liars’ gender and generational context with its narrative complexity. Harding’s comments highlight the way in which the series’ approach to narrative modifies expectations one might have about the generation and gender of its audience.

Pretty Little Liars manages to skillfully enact one of the strategies of millennial marketing; as I’ve argued elsewhere, the very category of millennials seeks to compound and coalesce a potential audience of teens and young adults, of pre-teens who can identify aspirationally, and of not-so-young-adults that can engage nostalgically. It’s an elusive, expansive category, and Ian Harding’s Mr. Fitz offers older viewers one way in. And not only Mr. Fitz, but many of the adult characters of Pretty Little Liars are positioned as millennials themselves, or borderline (or perhaps honorary) millennials. Indeed, many of the adults struggle with the same millennial themes of ambiguous morality, negotiating identity in a networked town, and doing the right thing by family and friends. As such, their struggles and storylines can hardly even be called B or C plots; rather they tie rapidly into the central mystery.

I don’t want to oversimplify this trajectory, but let me throw out an observation. It would seem to me that past teen-focused series like The OC, Roswell, Veronica Mars, Smallville, and Kyle XY (and even currently running series like Gossip Girl) for the most part either relegate parental characters to the background (if they’re not entirely absent or dead), keep adult and teen storylines separate, or posit adults as foils or antagonists. Pretty Little Liars in contrast appears to model a different approach. Rather than pitting teens against adults, the series offers a more expansive notion of young adult culture through its representation of the millennial generation. Pretty Little Liars positions the adults and teens both as part of the millennial generation, to greater or lesser degrees, and as a result their stories are deeply interwoven, rather than radically separated.

Yet I do not mean to suggest that she show flattens generational differences and conflicts, or recognizes all characters as millennial without acknowledging particular age specific differences. Rather, the series mines the multifaceted spectrum of millennial identity for narrative conflict. In fact, where in the past teen series would feature two teen star-crossed lovers, Pretty Little Liars has as its central romance a cross generational affair between a teacher and a student. Taking the place of Buffy and Angel, Max and Liz, or Marissa and Ryan (vampire slayer/vampire, alien/human, rich girl/poor boy), we have teacher/student Aria and Ezra, who meet in a pub, fall in love talking poetry, only to discover the next morning that Ezra is Aria’s new English teacher. Mr. Fitz is only twenty four, (making his birth year 1987), and thus fits squarely in industry definitions of “millennial.” His age, as an older millennial, becomes the romantic obstacle in their love affair—but certainly not an obstacle to the romance narrative in itself. Rather, the age difference fuels the narrative, just as the species and class differences fueled the narratives of Buffy, Roswell, and The OC. (It’s also worth noting here that two other concurrently airing shows—Gossip Girl and Life Unexpected—now also feature teacher/student relationships, and that Gossip Girl actually went out of its way to retrofit a teacher/student relationship into its primary season one mythos.)

Indeed, Pretty Little Liars seems to have found a millennial approach to narrative construction, where all characters’ narratives weave into the greater social fabric and unfolding mystery. And it’s this narrative weaving that perhaps gives Pretty Little Liars the potential to be compelling television with reach beyond its assumed demographic. However, despite Ian Harding’s anecdotal reports of the series’ success breaking gendered and generational expectations, it remains to be seen whether the series’ buzz can overcome assumptions rooting from its home on ABC Family and its Gossip Girl-like marketing.

It is to the American version’s credit that they do not pull back from the centrality of sex and drugs to the narrative in their pilot episode in a substantive way. It is, as James Poniewozik has noted, a good deal toned down from the original but it is nowhere near as neutered in this first episode then many had expected. For fans of the British show watching the MTV version of Skins on-line, some of the censorship might seem odd, even endearingly misplaced. The version of the series that streams on MTV’s website studiously bleeps out Stanley’s use of the word fuck even when said while he is sitting in a brothel buying a kilo of weed. This is a strange moment of censorship, that presumes that someone might be perfectly comfortable with the narrative context of the moment but that the use of the word fuck would somehow be beyond the pale. For media scholars, watching how the American version of Skins either adapts to or resists American norms of material appropriate for adolescents and how it treads the line of claiming to be as raw as the British version and insisting that it is an authentic representation of teen life while keeping from raising too much ire for advertisers might be its most interesting contribution.

Already this paradox is present in the earliest moments of the show. The episode begins, both on television and on-line, with the requisite warning that the text is rated TV-MA (17 and up) and is suitable for mature audiences only (it is worth noting as a point of comparison that Gossip Girl is rated TV-14). The parental guideline ratings represents the conundrum of the series. Placing Skins on MTV and the networks extensive touting of the involvement of a teen advisory board to assure authenticity clearly conveys that the series is intended for adolescents and not primarily adults reflecting on their own youth. On the other hand, the rating simultaneously implies its assumed unsuitability for this age group and functionally prevents many in this age group from accessing the show if their families employ one of the many technologies that can block material rated this way. Of course most of us went to R movies long before we were 17 and most teens will find a way to see Skins, many spurred on by precisely the MA rating advising against it. Nonetheless, the conflict embodied by the series rating and the series public relations represents the problem of the liminal state of late adolescence that the narrative content of the series seeks to address.

Reviews of the series often seem to substantively misunderstand how this liminal space that the series centers on functions. While I too have reservations about the quality of the American version of Skins, the british series depended so heavily on pacing and the particular magic of the dynamic of its group of actors that, despite hewing its pilot almost exactly to the original the MTV version, feels somehow lacking and out of tune. Many of the complaints about the series reveal a deep misunderstanding of not only the show but its audience. Mary McNamara of the LA Times almost unfathomably complains that the series “ is ridiculous” because “these kids have no homework or extracurricular activities,” while this statement is not strictly accurate it more importantly seems to miss the point entirely. Indeed, for teens exploring their sexuality and experimenting with narcotics, their homework is not a major plot point. Several complaints look absolutely primed to be part of the Skins ad campaign that has gloried in its bad press, quoting Perez Hilton and everyday viewers who had preemptively critiqued the shows. A Blast review claiming that “what is shocking is the lack of remorse or fear of consequences these teens have” will likely do more to attract teens to the show then the rather mediocre adaptation will on its own merits. Indeed, observing how teen viewers respond not only to the show, but to the moral critiques that it has received, rather then aesthetic critiques, may ultimately be the most interesting thing about Skins. One thing is likely when the Parents Television Council called Skins “the most dangerous show for children that we have ever seen,” they were probably popping Champagne corks in Viacom’s offices.

Misfits‘ industrial context is key to understanding some of the issues Anne addresses. It’s shown on E4, a free-to-air sister channel to terrestrial broadcaster Channel 4.  Targeted at a youth demographic, it primarily showcases US Teen TV alongside Friends reruns and reality formats. E4’s distinct brand identity feeds off Channel 4’s status as the younger, edgier terrestrial channel, with a reputation for quality UK drama and US imports.  Alongside ensemble teen drama Skins and teen boy sitcom The Inbetweeners (whose remake is currently at pilot stage with MTV), Misfits demonstrates a successful shift in recent years to E4 commissioning original British programming.  It’s a niche channel, but it makes a lot of noise. Ratings for The Inbetweeners third season beat out programming on terrestrial channels, Skins has won an audience award BAFTA (the UK Emmys) and last year Misfits won the BAFTA for drama series to gasps of surprise and delighted cheers.

E4’s brand identity is key to the tone that Anne notes in Misfits.  It’s a bit cheeky, a bit snarky, it prides itself in not taking things too seriously.  The ironic tone of E4’s continuity announcers and promotions – particularly of its US imports – presents its programming through a framework of peculiarly bombastic phrasing (“chuffing”, “ruddy hell”, “telly box”) and light mockery.  This allows US Teen TV’s glamorous melodramas to retain their escapist emotional pleasures, yet reframes them within the channel’s pose of ironic detachment in order to assimilate them into E4’s ‘insincere’ British youth TV flow.

It’s British shows operate by drawing from yet distinguishing themselves against US Teen TV.  Their combination of excess and the everyday, surrealism and reality, is drawn from British television’s legacy of social realism and anarchic comedy. This is set against the escapist pleasures, gloss, melodrama (and perhaps underlying conservative ideologies) of shows like 90210, Glee and One Tree Hill, the contrasts serve the UK shows’ poses of authenticity (Look how casually we do drugs! Watch us walk around in our dorky knickers!).  Whilst US Teen TV can happily air in daytime slots, E4’s British youth TV usually airs at 10pm (though later when transferred to Channel 4), enabling the language and depictions of sexuality that Anne notes.

I think that Misfits gets away with its content because it is nearly always framed as blackly comedic, through its play with representations and its witty dialogue, together with the suspension of disbelief that its genre elements bring.  It somehow manages to be sincere and snarky all at once, and we care oh so much about these characters.  Partly, this is creator and writer Howard Overman’s distinctive dialogue and tone, which he is finding difficult to transfer to the more generic arena of BBC quirky detective series with recent misfires Vexed and an adaptation of Douglas Adams’ Dirk Gently.  Partly it is the excellent performances from virtual unknowns (though with major roles in Spring Awakenings and Channel 4’s Red Riding amongst them) and the chemistry of the group, who hate each other but secretly might care a tiny bit.

Nathan may be rude and lewd, perpetually self-aggrandising (to the others disgust), but Robert Sheehan is so effortlessly charismatic, you would follow him anywhere.  Kelly may be a ‘Chav’ – a role Lauren Socca has fine tuned in social realist dramas The Unloved and Five Daughters – but Socca makes the frustrations behind the tough mouth clear, and hilarious. Compounded by her power to hear others thoughts – and what they think of her, a person society brands and dismisses – Kelly is kind of caring, kind of smart but still an unrepentant gobby cow. Though compared to the boys’ powers (Invisibility! Rewinding time!) the girls have kind of a rough deal – don’t even get me started on the punishment of the sexualised young woman by giving her a power that basically amounts to fighting off rape when touched. 

Anne’s difficulty with placing both the location, the langauge and the context is interesting, as what is universal here becomes very culturally specific when consumed abroad.  This cultural discount is arguably what is driving US remakes, in preference to imports.  (I’m interested in the channel brand identity mash-up that will occur with MTV’s remaking of E4’s British Teen TV in service of their own push for ‘authenticity‘). Misfits is often tagged ‘ASBO superheroes’, and the orange jumpsuits of community service make a handy uniform for our reluctant gang, more likely to accidentally kill someone than save them.  ASBO (Anti-Social Behavioral Order), like Chav, is a very British bit of slang to derogatorily mark a character as part of the undesirable underclass.  The pleasure of Misfits is its presentation of our outcasts, the apathetic can’t be bothered generation, suddenly handed great power and responsibility and generally, just messing it up. How very British.

It’s a teen show, it’s vampire-based, you might think it’s derivative Twilight crap.

But Vampire Diaries is doing something particularly skillful with a scenario that could as flat as the rest of the product that passes for programming on The CW.  And here’s why.  

1.) The Set-Up:

Vampire Diaries tells the tale of a beautiful teenage (orphan) girl who attracts the affections of two century-old vampire babe brothers. They love this girl, Elena, because — GET THIS — she is a dead ringer for the ancient vampire, Katherine, who turned them into vampires — but that they both loved!

Elena’s doppleganger, Katherine, circa Civil War

2.) It’s pure genre.

Genre television works within a (relatively) established paradigm, draping its narrative on the fact that it is pre-established as a “procedural,” “a sitcom,” etc.  Which isn’t to say that genre television is bad; but that there are expectations that show challenges or confirms to various extents.  Vampire Diaries is teen television and follows many of those codes, but it is also melodrama.

Let’s not consider melodrama a genre, but, as per Linda Williams, a “mode.”  Thus it’s a way of expressing a certain genre, and Vampires Diaries is a teen television expressed in the melodramatic mode — which means that it employs a high level of seriality coupled with intense, skyrocketing emotions.

There is a lot of mooning and looking into the distance and a complex web of exboyfriends, secret hook-ups, and frenemies.  There’s ample use of an earnest indie soundtrack, manifesting the melos that accentuates the moments when speech simply fails.

Yet the show manages to pull off this who-loves-who, who’s-a-witch and who’s-a-vampire, who-are-our-heroine’s-real-parents business with a straight face.  Therein lies the key to Vampire Diaries‘ genre success: it revels in its very genre-ness.  Vampire Diaries takes the melodrama to 11.

But it’s also not camp, which is crucial.  We like to think that teenagers only want snarky or satirical texts, but sometimes we all want emotions to be worthy and legitimated.  Which highlights another crucial function of the melodrama: it makes the world seem, even for one moment, morally legible.  In the end, our vampire hero loves and cherishes our human heroine, and all is right with the world.

3.) Intertextuality.

Vampire Diaries is the child of no less a teen auteur than Kevin Williamson (Dawson’s Creek). Even as the text oscillates between flashbacks of the antebellum South and an absurdly quaint contemporary Carolinian town, it also manages to acknowledge and play upon its antecedents.

In one of my favorite moments of this show, the “bad” vampire brother leafs through Twilight, exclaiming “What is up with this Bella girl? Edward is so whipped!”  What’s more, the good and bad brothers are clear ‘descendants’ of Buffy’s Angel and Spike, and the text regularly highlights its knowledge of the vampire genre, explicitly manifesting and debunking aspects of vampire lore.  Vampire Diaries is earnest and straight-faced, but it’s also smart, like that cute nerd in high school.

4.) Innovation.

As a pre-sold, Alloy Entertainment Product, it could rest on the laurels, riding the cultural wave of Twilight and True Blood.

But Vampire Diaries regularly employs intricate flashbacks to another century.  Costumes!  Teen vampires meets narrative complexity! It’s also crafted a heroine who is no Bella — she’s smart, has her own volition, and speaks her mind.  She has sexual desire, and isn’t meant to be some cipher for the return to the cult of true womanhood, as is made so disturbingly transparent in Twilight. The show refuses to be abstinence porn (Twilight) or soft-core erotica (True Blood).  There’s a coven of vampires locked in a vault beneath a seemingly peaceful Southern hamlet.  Can you get more obviously, beautifully allegoric?

I realize I may have made the show sound like a blood and thunder soap opera  — The Perils of Pauline meets My So-Called Life.  Good.  That’s exactly what I was hoping for.  Both of those ‘programs’ demonstrate, in very different ways, the pinnacle of melodramatic plotting.  And Vampires Diaries deserves its place amongst them – not to mention your viewership.  So why aren’t you watching?

What works best and what shows the most potential in this series is the simple central question of how we define family in this country. This question has been the through-line so far in the first three episodes, exploring in particular the system of foster care in the United States–a system few people truly understand unless they have somehow been involved with it. Other potentially rich areas of exploration include the idea of friends as family (e.g., Lux’s foster care cohorts, Baze’s bar buddies/co-workers) and the idea of linked families–that is, multiple sets of parents and siblings via divorce and remarriage, etc.  The pilot highlighted these notions of family, and won me over with its unflinching peek into foster care and a talented cast that allowed me to buy into the messy relationships laid out in spite of some unrealistic conveniences.  There were indeed remnants of Everwood and Gilmore Girls, two series that thrived via their unconventional understandings of family and adept look at the awkwardness of adolescence for both teens and parents.

However, I had three misgivings after the pilot that have unfortunately only been aggravated as I watched two more episodes.  The first is the screaming lack of diversity in the casting of the show, which is set in an urban area and with enough examinations of Lux’s background in foster care that it really does seem like Life Unexpected has taken us via the wayback machine to the 1997 WB roster of predominantly white characters. The second is the uneven examination of the foster care system; we hear only negative things–hints of horrific stories of the families that Lux and her friends have been placed with over the years. The foster care system in this country is indeed deeply flawed, but there are people involved with it who have the best of intentions and who have helped children find love and security in their lives. It would serve the show well to more thoroughly explore this tension of a bureaucratic monster that often–but not always–thwarts the creation and support of loving family units, rather than simply use it as a backdrop for explaining Lux’s pluckiness and sarcasm or for reminding Cate and Baze that they’ve always had it easy compared to their daughter. Last, and emerging from the previous misgiving, the tone of the series is uncertain. The melodrama of Lux’s situation is fairy straightforward, but there are attempts to infuse humor into the adult characters’ personas and situations in particular–and the right balance just isn’t emerging for me yet. It’s not that some of the scenarios we see aren’t amusing (such as when a social worker visits Baze’s bar and finds a lamp made out of a bong)…It’s more that the periodic scripted “insert funny moment here” feel to the somedy robs the show of opportunities to fulfill its ability to be realistically heartfelt. I am still waiting to see some of the blowout fights and meltdowns that I am pretty damn sure (being adopted myself) would be occurring between birth mom and dad, daughter and birth parents, Cate and her mother, etc.  Instead the humor kicks in when such opportunities present themselves and I can almost hear a CW executive in the wings asking the producers to make sure they “don’t let things get too depressing.” This is perhaps the biggest missed opportunity; one of the hallmarks of Everwood and Gilmore Girls was that their humor was always fully motivated and never stood in the way of representing the uncomfortably realistic moments that occur in any family that has a teenager in it.

So right now, Life Unexpected isn’t living up to my expectations–either in terms of reminding me fondly of the shows I used to love on WB or in terms of offering a fresh and original portrayal of a unique teen girl and her parents. I actually do plan on holding my breath for improvement, though–I am hopeful that the network and producers will figure out where they want to go and follow the natural lines of the premise of this story. At the very least, it’s nice to see a show that a teenager can watch with their parents that offers some sense of realistic teen behavior and respects a teen perspective, and that still gives voice to a parental viewpoint as well. While it’s disheartening that for a show to accomplish simply this is “unexpected” on TV, I’m hopeful that the series can move beyond this basic accomplishment and strive to live up to its title by telling stories that reveal the ways in which life and family can surprise us–for both better and worse.