Aired 2014 to 2016 (2 seasons and a movie) on HBO
Created by Michael Lannan and Andrew Haigh
Currently streaming on HBO
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Looking told a story about three gay men (named Patrick, Dom, and Augustine) and their circle of friends, family, and lovers. It did so in an intimate manner with a purposefully small scope, largely devoid of many of the trappings typical of "Prestige TV." For this or whatever other reasons it did not inspire a massive following or an outpouring of critical praise. It was unceremoniously cancelled after two seasons. So you're probably wondering why this show - which has largely disappeared from mainstream consciousness - is on this list. The short answer is that it does what I like most about TV better than almost anything else. For the long answer, let's dig into what exactly that means.
Different people like different shows (duh). This variance in preference is often considered simply a matter of personal taste. While that is sufficient for a casual analysis of why your buddy doesn't like Rick and Morty as much as you do, a comprehensive understanding of critical thought requires a little more legwork. I find that when I do spend time trying to discern why other thoughtful people have wildly different opinions about what we watch, the reason almost always comes down to what they most value in narrative fiction.
In particular, I find there to be three primary axes along which people's proclivities lie. The first axis is the creation and realization of memorable characters. We revere titans like Tony Soprano and Don Draper less because of the specifics of what they did and more because of how their inherent natures are brought to life through consistent characterization married with superb acting. The second is a sense of thematic focus and purpose. More than just being the "so what" of the story, the impetus to say something about the world through one's chosen medium is the very driving force of art. The final axis is the story itself. Quite simply, it's what puts the narrative in narrative fiction. While virtually every connoisseur of the medium will find value in all three of these aspects, most (with some introspection) will be able to zero in on what's most important to them.
My primary love is the last one I listed - storytelling. While I often highlight a show's thematic resonance when first describing/praising it to others, my favorite shows invariably have a compelling narrative. From a practical standpoint, it's what keeps me coming back to a show. It's also what keeps me focused - as someone with ADHD tendencies, a well-constructed story helps ward those off. I also think that my relative inability to tell a good story makes me extra-impressed when others do it well. My brain tends to think at a 30000-foot level and/or wants to get to the punchline, so seeing a story that avoids those impulses pulls me in.
Even with this understanding, it's not necessarily clear how that translates to me liking Looking as much as I do. You would think I would like it because it's great at storytelling (spoiler alert - that's right), but that's its least obvious strength. When I mentioned the show's small cast, you probably thought that show must spend a lot of time meticulously focusing on what makes them tick (it does). And when I mentioned that the orientation of the three lead characters, you most likely assumed that the show ruminates on nearly every implication of what it means to be a gay man in modern America (it does). But I would argue that the only reason it's able to do these things in an effective manner is because its deft storytelling enables it to do so.
Let's Get Another Wide-Angle Shot
There's a lot to be written about what Looking does well at what we traditionally think of as storytelling - plotting, pacing, maintaining intrigue, etc. And while I'll get to that, it would be a disservice not to start with some of the more subtle ways it goes about its business. Specifically, the show is one of the very best at taking one of fiction writing's most well-worn bromides (show, don't tell) to heart. By advancing the story as organically and evocatively as possible, Looking is able to elevate its simple premise to greatness.
How does Looking do this? One of the most obvious ways is its commitment to embracing its surroundings when the moment calls for it. To give you an idea of this, I've pulled a few of the most notable examples. For one, here's Augustine about to deliver some news that will end his relationship with Frank:
And Patrick, Dom, and Dom's longtime friend and roommate Doris on the way to her father's funeral:
And an out-of-focus and practically invisible Dom and Doris about to have a critical talk for the future of their friendship:
And finally our three leads reflecting on a pivotal set of events from the night before:
This practice bolsters the story in a number of ways. Most obviously it makes use of the unique and beautiful scenery of the Bay Area to give us something that's exceedingly pleasant to look at. This invokes not only a firm sense of place, but also gives us yet another reason to be drawn in and keep watching. The wide shots also serve to remind us of the universality of these pivotal moments, and in doing so connects humanity to nature. When Doris and Dom discuss their future, there's almost certainly others having similar moments in between the flickering lights of the city in the distance. As Augustine ends his relationship, the waves continue to erode the coastline one grain of sand at a time. And the trees in the last shot tower above our trio, in permanent reflection of how they've been shaped by the world around them. The story of Looking is small and intimate and yet also reflects our understand of the world as a whole.
Most importantly, the scope of these scenes serves to connect the viewer to the mindset of the characters. In each of these instances circumstance has led one or more of the cast to reflect on their lives, their choices, or their very place in the world. This process of introspection can lead to an alienating, almost out-of-body experience where you feel like you're watching your own life unfold in front of you. Pulling the camera back is the most simple and yet effective way to communicate this while also highlighting the importance of the moment. And when you're telling a small-ish story as Looking is, this sort of nuance and attention to detail is crucial to making something memorable and resonant.
And Now for a Close-Up
Looking also excels at telling by showing in less grandiose ways. In particular, the show understands how subtle movements of the camera tell a story. The past decade has given us numerous shows in the same vein as Looking, but very few marry the movement of the camera to its actors' expressiveness as well as it does. This level of craft allows the viewer to absorb the story more organically, much as one would observe non-verbal cues in their own interactions with others.
One of my favorite examples of this comes from "Looking for Truth," an episode in the middle of the second season. In it, Patrick reconnects with his ex Richie (they broke up at the end of season one) when he helps him pick up an ice cream truck Richie bought. Over the course of the episode, we spend time with the places and people of Richie's past, which helps shine a light on perhaps the most enigmatic character in Looking. The most revealing moment comes in his cousin Ceci's body shop where she reveals something that highlights how head-over-heels the otherwise reserved Richie was for Patrick when they were dating. In that sequence the camera pans from (1) the reveal to (2) Patrick contemplating what that info means to him, and then to (3) Richie revving the engine in (what we rarely see from him) unabashed joy.
This sleight of hand works in a number of ways. First, it gives us a little exposition in a relatively painless way - an underrated strength of the show in general. It also puts us is Patrick's mind for a second and helps us to process this information as he is doing the same. And it also reminds us (in more ways than one) that underneath his stoic exterior, Richie is a great guy who just wants to be happy and love someone. None of this sounds revolutionary in and of itself (and to be clear it isn't), but there aren't many shows that accomplish so much and advance the story this effortlessly.
Showing and Telling
We've established that Looking uses the camera to maximal effect, but I have yet to talk about the meat and potatoes of storytelling. The most obvious aspect of this is the basic mechanics of plotting, but just as important is the choices that are made in revealing information about what we haven't seen. We're only spending a matter of hours with any given TV character, so they're all inherently ciphers. What brings them to life and truly tells a story about them is filling in the specifics of what informs them and motivates their actions, even if we haven't directly experienced it as they have. Doing this in a way that is evocative while avoiding cliche is perhaps the most artful aspect of the televisual medium.
As you might guess, Looking excels at this, too. While the show drops in on the main characters behaving and acting as you might expect based on a simplistic understanding of their traits, it does a lot of work after that to make them three-dimensional and real. Nowhere is this more apparent than in Patrick's series-long journey from a shy/reluctant relationship novice to a self-assured and confident adult. This transition is compelling enough in and of itself, but what makes it great is how it's told as a balance between the push of external forces and his own introspection and agency.
This dichotomy is a constant thematic presence in the show. I am tempted to dig into the most noteworthy example of this - Patrick's fight with Kevin at the end of the second season. But my personal favorite bit of storytelling on this front comes from a seemingly insignificant scene from the penultimate episode of season one, "Looking for a Plus-One." The episode is centered around Patrick's sister's wedding and his failed attempt to introduce Richie to his family (Richie bailed after a fight started by Patrick's insecurity). The key moment comes during the reception, when Patrick is chatting with his mother (played wonderfully by Julia Duffy of Newhart fame). He blames her for Richie's absence, and while it becomes clear that she's not blameless or perfectly supportive, she makes it known that ultimately, Patrick is doing this to himself:
“Patrick, I know I don’t say everything you’d like me to say all the time, and I know I had problems when you first told us. But I’ve come a long way. We can’t help wanting what’s best for you. And I don’t think you can blame me for Richie. If he’s not here, that’s on you, sweetie.”
In that moment we learn so much: what Patrick's relationship with his mother is like, how he's internalized her criticisms (both real and imagined), and what he needs to do to grow as a person. It's a wonderful bit of storytelling that's par for the course for Looking.
Ultimately, this is what Looking is. It doesn't have a labyrinthine plot, it doesn't do anything particularly novel, and it never tries to be a complete chronicling of what it is to be gay in America. It's just a straightforward tale that masters almost every aspect of its craft to tell the story it wants to, where the big moments feel small and the small moments are everything. And that makes it one of my favorite things of the decade.
