A question I’ve had over the years could only be answered through impossible means. To be clear, I graduated high school in 2008, meaning I came of age around the time the widely discussed “Golden Age of Television” was underway. That isn’t to say there weren’t great shows before and after this time capsule of a period, but there was now a decent argument to be made that the medium not only rivaled its film counterpart, but in many ways pushed past it by challenging what could happen within the confines of a serialized structure, even to the point of something like Lovecraft Country jumping from genre to genre by the hour.
To summarize, this was a period of great discovery, and it’s impossible to think back on a more innocent time before people like Noah Hawley turned Legion into a superhero acid trip, or Bojack Horseman explored the dark recesses of humanity through a talking horse. Even shows like You’re the Worst pushed boundaries on what a sympathetic protagonist could look like. It’s a lot of material that gets taken for granted now, but, at the time, felt like a revolutionary step forward, and I think has made the onslaught of new content difficult to compare, even on its best days.
But for all of those hundreds of hours and weeks of waiting in anticipation, there is one program that seems antiquated in hindsight. Even the network it aired on seems to have completed its arc from prestige underdog to another run-of-the-mill has-been. Then again, I’m not sure when the last time that AMC was relevant to a general audience besides The Walking Dead. I’d argue most of the kitschy dramas they would go for went to streaming platforms, which, in themselves, have splintered into their own corners of watercooler discussion.
The question floating through my head has to do with Breaking Bad. Throughout the 2010s, there was a common opinion that it was one of the greatest TV dramas in history. It was constantly winning Emmys and, for a short period, the “Ozymandias” episode held a perfect rating on IMDb. It was even fortunate enough to feature two spin-offs along with various reunions, including a chips commercial. The show has a legacy that is undeniable to a certain age bracket, but I’ve long wondered if it still has that draw to general audiences. Does it appeal to your generalized TV fan in the same way that The Wire continues to? As someone who was way too entrenched in Breaking Bad’s fandom (another hobby I’ve been unable to achieve with as much reverence since), it’s hard for me to say, as the very title of episodes brings on fond memories.
That is simply because, at the time, it was my gateway to TV drama’s potential to be a more kinetic, action-driven art form. As someone who grows weary of crime shows, I was immediately drawn to the journey of Walter White more because it sold itself on an emotional crux. Over an indefinite period, we’d watch this man “break bad,” or slowly delve into a life of crime and lose what parts of his humanity the writers saw fit. In that time, it played constantly with morality plights caught up in cat and mouse games while using narrative tools like color theory to enhance the subtext. It would be impossible to go into more without turning this into my personal crash course in how I understand pop storytelling, but let’s just say I was as much entranced by the events as I was the risks it took to make this neo-western drug dealer saga into a visceral wonderland.
For audiences coming to the show now, certain details are gone. I’d argue the binge model is a large hindrance to what made the show special for me, especially in the gap between seasons four and five, when it became clear that the end was quickly approaching. Once we knew that Hank Schrader was on his trail, the question of how he’d be caught led to corkboard conspiracies brought on by dissecting down to the syllable the episode titles and any odd casting decision. There was as much a thrill to watching it as there was to waiting, living with the itchiness of not knowing how the cliffhanger (which almost every episode had) would be resolved. The writers have long argued that their approach to the show was to paint themselves into a corner and figure out how to escape. It’s the type of storytelling that taps into immediacy, asking not only what a morally bankrupt character would do, but what the audience would consider for their own perceived “purity.” As great as the voyeuristic look into evil was, it was also a perfect study on how the corruption is continual and, quite possibly, repressed by otherwise docile individuals.
Despite the nonstop twists and turns, another fact remains. If you’re watching the show without engaging in its extratextual resources, you’re getting a very limited scope. The characters may be flamboyant and exciting, but you’re not marinating in the conflict, asking yourself about the mechanics. As a result, you can come away thinking that the finale is one of the most predictable in TV history. Having seen it this past March for the first time since it aired, I can’t help but agree. And yet, I’d argue it’s a case where the journey litters itself with moments that compensate for the “bad guy does bad things” motif that it does ad infinitum. I know where “Face Off” ends up, and yet I love watching it because of the meticulous undermining it achieves both in the immediate but also off-screen, somewhere in the background that suggests how sinister Walter White is.
If I had to find an analog for Breaking Bad, it’s not its AMC cohort Mad Men. Yes, it shares a lot of dual identity plotting, but I’d argue it was more purposeful in how it built subtext, often lapping Vince Gilligan by leaps and bounds intellectually. If I had to pick a more fitting, more contemporary analog, it would be Succession. The amorality is more front-facing, and yet the empirical quest for dominance among detestable types is hidden in gossip and convoluted attempts to undermine their family/coworker. It’s even more difficult to argue that the action is that propulsive, and yet it is. By the end of each season, one thing happens to upset the natural order. It’s the equivalent of Walter White calling someone and saying, “I won,” knowing the greater victory is short-lived.
Both of these shows reflect worlds that the viewer is unlikely to fraternize regularly with, and, because of this, it’s easy to argue that they feel realistic. Breaking Bad is an obstacle through escalating mundanity. If you were to care, it was more character-based, asking how such a corrupt person could live among the commonfolk. Succession, meanwhile, shares in the emotional isolation that money brings but considers how hollow it is from the beginning. On the one end, Walter White needs money. On the other is the Roy family who tends to use people, knowing currency can buy away their problems. When the conflict is removed, what is the motivation for personal fulfillment?
I’d argue that these are the pillars with which both work best. At a point, these characters are painfully artificial. Rewatching the “I am the danger” speech recently, I had an opinion that wasn’t present in my early 20s. The prose is great, but it’s also the perfect mislead, the insinuation that this man is bad-ass when, in actuality, he’s detached himself from the family he built. His alter ego is awesome, but he’s still a feeble, cancer-ridden science teacher who now lives in anonymity.
A major reason I’ve been curious to revisit Breaking Bad this long after the fact is that he seems more recognizable now, less the exciting antihero I turned to for entertainment and more the Twitter egg, the politician looking out for their own selfish gain. Even the subtext of a white man taking credit for the downfall of Mexican ingenuity (a drug cartel, but still) while they suffer the most seems a tad too on the nose for 21st-century America. Walter White feels both the best portrait of a certain contemporary ideology and a complete caricature. He has some awesome lines and shocking contraptions that get him out of trouble, but the writing intoxicates the audience enough for them to ignore how much he’s lost for favoring wealth in his dying days over family.
Succession, arguably, does this better because it’s coming at the central drive with more characters. There’s more of a heartbreaking tragedy when they lack self-awareness. Their “I am the danger” moments tie into recognition of loneliness, where the very lack of an emotional connection to their father reflects deep isolation… and yet, their only choice is to confront their family, who are also temperamental depending on the hour. Breaking Bad may have built an incredible roster of supporting characters, but they all served Walter White at the end, working as corollaries for his selfish goals. We may cry over certain fates, but it’s all to point out how horrible this one man is.
Which is to say that I’m unsure if modern audiences could love Breaking Bad as unconditionally as I did. There is a simple poetry to the first episode that has rarely been matched. It functions so purposely while still creating a tension that we’ll become used to by the season’s end. And yet, it’s ultimately the study of moral decay, where the timidity is the point, where hiding in plain sight often means solitary scenes with meditative cinematography. It may be beautiful and rewarding, but I’m worried that it also happens to be very dated as well. These antihero archetypes are not new. In fact, I think society has become way more cynical to the point that Walter White seems quaint. To be clear, I think that’s part of Bryan Cranston’s layered performance, but I can see why those thinking this is just Jason Statham running through Crank will be bored to tears. The tragedy seems obvious, especially compared to Succession, where the stakes of its finale feel closer to a fight over an idea than capital.
I’ve thought about this as I’ve caught random episodes on Philo over the past month. The thing that’s been most evident is how addictive I still find the show, where every performance is spot on, and the foreshadowing remains as clever as ever. I’m not sure how much of that remains my familiarity with the material, but I can’t help but feel that emotional weight compensating for any narrative predictability. Like the best of these shows, I think it’s less the destination that should be assessed and more the journey. We should ask why Walter White never looked back, what he sacrificed to get there, and how it included some soul-crushing losses along the way.
Again, I’m sure there are dramas today doing this more impactfully, but I have to wonder if viewers still care in the same way I did, or if this is a case of Prestige TV becoming so singular in its vision that it has surpassed a simpler trailblazer. To be clear, I have yet to watch Breaking Bad in full since its finale. I have watched many parts of it out of order, but nothing that provides more than a faint glimpse of my hypothetical. Like all TV, the answer of how great it is remains subjective. In some ways, it already feels as dated as the aesthetic used in 80s and 90s works of similar commendation. Then again, no great piece of art lives outside that dated capsule. It has to do something wholly unique to stand out, and that Breaking Bad did. What it lacks in being this intellectual study of identity and narrative like Mad Men, it more than makes up for it as a more direct call to emotions. I like to think that will never go out of style. Then again, what do I know?
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