Eight-episode seasons are ruining TV. Bring back the 22-episode binge

When I talk about my teenage self, there are two pieces of personal lore I always feel inclined to share. The first is that iconic television series The O.C. shaped everything from my lifelong music taste to my penchant for mildly neurotic but charming brunette men. The second is that my mum made me go to bed at 8.30pm until I was 16. Every single night.

As many Millennials will remember, in Australia The O.C. aired on Network Ten every Tuesday night at (you can see where this is going) 8.30pm.

My unrelenting fear of anyone finding out I was often forced to go to bed before the sun went down was only ever eclipsed by one concern: outing myself as the single person in my friend group who hadn’t watched the latest episode of everyone’s favourite Californian teen drama.

Every Wednesday morning at school, I would corner whichever friend crossed my path first and – through a series of subtle questions – extract the episode synopsis. For the rest of the day, I’d pretend I had seen the episode, vaguely gossiping along while secretly counting down the hours until I could go home and watch it. A day late, recorded on VHS.

Not only was this a masterful act of deception for a teenage girl (the ultimate masters of deception), it was also one I had to navigate week after week, through the entire school term and beyond. Because back then, The O.C. didn’t suffer from modern TV curses, like streaming-era budget cuts or obliterated attention spans, and each season lasted well beyond eight measly episodes.

The first season of The O.C. delivered 27 perfect episodes, followed by 24 in the second and 25 in the third. It’s no coincidence that its fourth – and famously worst – season was also its shortest, limping across the finish line at just 16 episodes.

Even if The O.C. wasn’t your personal gateway drug, so many of the classic shows that have permanently embedded themselves in our culture – Friends, Grey’s Anatomy, Seinfeld and the best version of The Office (the US one) – did so purely on the back of their longevity, pulling massive 22 to 25 episode orders at their peak.

In the 20-something years since Seth and Summer blessed our screens, I’ve watched plenty of good – arguably, even “better” – TV shows. But despite my love for Succession, The White Lotus, Industry and Beef, they all have one huge problem: each show has 10 episodes or fewer a season. And, quite frankly, I’m over it.

In such a short amount of time, it’s impossible for me to form the kind of deep connection – with characters, relationships or fictional places – that I can after spending 20-plus episodes with them.

It wasn’t until season 2, episode 15 that TV’s best kiss, between Nick and Jess on New Girl, happened. It took 88 episodes of Gilmore Girls for Luke and Lorelai to finally make out, in a scene that comes a close second. And Fran Fine didn’t go on her first official date with Mr Sheffield until season 5 of The Nanny.

If any of these moments had been rushed into episode two of eight, rest assured I would not be discussing them now; I’d barely even remember the characters’ names. And it’s not just television romance that suffers from this screen time starvation.

When Prime Video’s recent eight-episode hit Off Campus included a meaningless Thanksgiving plotline, I snapped my fingers at the TV, annoyed that half a precious episode was being wasted on scenes which, under different circumstances, could have been quite fun. With room in the season to spare, holiday episodes don’t feel like a waste of time.

Instead, they are the perfect stage for scenes that both entertain us and make us feel bad about our own beige and boring lives, as all good television shows should. If I’m guaranteed to feel a little disappointed every Christmas, and a little bored every New Year’s Eve, let it be because of the unrealistic expectations set by a recent episode of TV (anything but reality, please).

In a world where I already feel paralysed by the sheer choice of what to watch, I’m tired of finding a show I actually enjoy, only for it to be finished in two to three business days, even if I actively try to savour it.

What I really need is to be able to watch a show for so long that I start referring to the characters by their first names in casual conversation, as though they are close friends. I need single episodes that do absolutely nothing to advance the plot, but spend 42 glorious minutes watching someone try to buy a couch or resolve a minor misunderstanding; episodes that serve no purpose other than to let me live in their world a little longer.

And I need my television seasons to last – you guessed it – at least the duration of one literal season. Because if I am ever going to form a decades-long emotional attachment to a series, it’s going to need to stretch on longer than a typical mid-30s hangover.

And with that, let this be a reminder to myself that this Sunday feels like the perfect time for another The O.C. rewatch. I might even stay up until 9pm.

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