Make Seasons Longer Again!

This Image Gen was just too stupid to not include as the cover image of this post! You don't watch shows with at least two fans?! Captain Sisko meets Martin Lawrence

In the good old days we had 20+ episodes

That was the standard we had for many decades—until recently, when production costs skyrocketed and producers assumed viewers wanted a more cinematic experience. While that can work—I especially enjoyed the early seasons of The Mandalorian and Game of Thrones—I don’t agree that this shorter form should become the new norm.

The biggest drawback of this format is the lack of character development. It simply isn’t possible to explore characters deeply when a season is only 6–10 episodes long (at best), especially when the focus is on delivering a grand, sweeping story arc. Shows used to be simpler. We didn’t always start with a massive plot about saving the world or the universe. Often, the stakes were smaller but more personal, and that made them more meaningful to the protagonists—and to us as viewers.

With older shows, we had more time to settle into the world, to feel like we belonged there. In today’s series, the main storyline tends to eclipse everything else, leaving little room for meaningful side stories or secondary character arcs. This makes modern shows feel shallow, as though they’re missing the details that bring fictional worlds to life.

When I think back, I remember shows with 20+ episodes per season. Not every episode was a masterpiece, but they filled a void that modern series often leave behind. They gave us a real sense of immersion, the feeling of almost living in those worlds. I recall many episodes of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine or Stargate, where even the slower stories provided rich insights into the lives and perspectives of the characters—sometimes not even the main ones. Those quieter moments mattered. They stuck with me far more than some of today’s flashy but rushed narratives.

Wednesday

A few days ago, I started watching the first season of Wednesday. While it was fine, it never felt truly great. A show like this—about a girl solving mysteries in a school setting—seems perfect for the longer format. Yet we missed out on the little things that could have added depth: genuine friendship arcs, glimpses of everyday student life, the layout of dorm rooms, the buzz of hallways, the discovery of hidden passageways, or even how the students explored the surrounding world. In short, the storytelling wasn’t as diverse as it could have been.

Another issue is that with seasons being so short, they’re over within a couple of weeks. After that, we’re left waiting 10 months (if not longer) for the next season. By then, many of us forget not only the plot details but also the atmosphere and emotional resonance of the show—things that were already a bit lacking. In the past, a season could stretch across half a year, making the wait feel much shorter. It was almost possible to live alongside a show for years at a time.

Conclusion

Television has evolved, but not every change has been for the better. While cinematic storytelling has its place, the decline of 20+ episode seasons has left a gap in how we connect with characters and worlds. The longer format gave us time to breathe, to explore, to grow alongside the people on screen. It made fictional places feel real, lived-in, and worth revisiting week after week.

Today’s shorter seasons may be easier to binge, but they rarely leave the same lasting impression. If anything, they remind us how much we’ve lost in the shift toward spectacle over substance. Perhaps the future of television lies in balance—where grand narratives can coexist with the slower, more intimate storytelling that made older shows so unforgettable.

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