Jon Robin Baitz weighs in at his TV Guide Blog

Nevertheless, I am rather interested in the health of Brothers & Sisters, so as soon as I glean that the oracle has spoken, I ask my more savvy partners for the bottom line: "What did it say? Is the news good, bad, or fair?" Because it sets the mood here at Brothers & Sisters for the whole week. It informs the way in which the network acts towards us, and how they regard our efforts. Will the executives try and push us away from going deeper into the emotional and psychological lives of our family, or will they trust us to tell the stories we're telling, and do so with open hearts and minds? So far, the tension between the show and the executives has been a good one, filled with respect and balance and aspiration. We all know it could turn, of course, but so far from our ABC partners, there is a subtle kind of trust — tempered by the ever-present fear, of course, that we'll blow it with that Baitzian theatrical angst or something. That can't happen, actually, because I am a happy man, about to turn 45, who sees the cup as half-full, and who knows that the better parts of life are beautiful and worth celebrating and sharing in the stories we tell. That balance is everything, and this show is about that balance between pleasure and pain and joy and sorrow.

I am writing from a place of vague melancholy today because I know that my friend Aaron Sorkin's show, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, is struggling in terms of those numbers. And I also know that his is a show that celebrates intelligence and imagination, and is about America today as much as it is about television comedy writers. And I think it's worth watching and celebrating. Just to have Aaron's work on the air should be enough. I am hoping that Studio 60 sticks around and grows into itself, and that the executives who decide these things are willing to let it do just that. Television that does not condescend (at least on the old networks) is rare. So it scares me to see what's happening to Studio 60, because it could just as easily be us next week.

To me — again, a mere playwright — if you look only at the numbers, you'll never see the whole picture. You can drown in the numbers here in Burbank. "Eighteen-to-39-year-olds watched for 20 minutes but then some of the men left, and we don't know why." Maybe we need a more active opening act? Maybe it needs more sex? I don't know. I am too new at this to dismiss or even really comment on the real meaning of all the numbers. But I know this about the polling: You'll never see the real story of American audiences who have found on television what people used to go to the theatre for: social conscience, laughs, anger and gorgeous writing amidst the mind-numbing dreck. Audiences made up of people who work hard and want to see stories that somehow relate to their own lives; that remind them of how politics and personal lives intersect in every respect. The numbers don't show the emotion; they show who tuned in and who tuned out. But it takes a while, doesn't it? Seinfeld only became a hit in the second season; it was a slow burn, and then it lit up. Some things take patience, and fear will obviate the patience of the executives in a heartbeat.

Maybe the secret to life in television is that in order to make something bold and good you have to be willing to walk away from the job at any moment. It's so easy to compromise in the wrong way that if you want success in TV too desperately, you might lose what makes you unique. So I've vowed not to take the wisdom of the numbers too closely to heart. I see the fear all around me here in television land. I am going to bet on the slow burn, the word of mouth, the thoughtful audience with the warm, beating heart.

Network television needs long shots. We have great actors and writers in this country, and we have audiences hungry for real stories, and I think those audiences are patient and willing. I think ours might be such an audience.

Posted by Jon Robin Baitz
Oct 27, 2006 2:59 PM