My timing is bad. Always has been.
I’m not an early adopter, and I tend to get behind on tv, music, movies — all the fun zeitgeisty stuff — pretty fast. (I still haven’t seen Titanic, although that has more to with me being stubborn at this point. And anyway, I feel like the gifs are plenty.)
It’s always been bad, but now that I’m a parent with a sometimes-mentally draining full-time job and a few brain problems knockin’ around in there too, I usually choose to go to bed rather than stay up an extra hour to watch something.
That’s all to say that the stars really had to align for me to not only find time to watch Our Flag Means Death, but binge 18 episodes and fall deeply in love with it in the space of a few days this past December. (The “stars” that aligned were a bout with a bad cold and a planned week of holiday vacation. Stars are stars.)
This week, after an undeserved cancellation from HBO Max in January and a highly visible, passionate fan-led campaign to save it, series creator David Jenkins announced the show wasn’t able to find a home at another streaming service.
Which fucking sucks. Not just because it was a great TV show tons of people liked, although that is reason enough to be pissed about it. But because the show felt like we were getting away with something. And it seemed like the people making the show felt that way too, and took advantage of it in the best way possible.
I don’t follow the state of streaming companies and I haven’t been to business school, thank Christ, but my day job is in digital marketing — I’m basically a ghostwriter — so I have had the importance of things like “metrics” and “optimization” drilled into me for years. Gotta cram those sales funnels full of leads so the arrow on the chart the big boss sees keeps going up up up forever! The powers that be at HBO Max (and apparently any other streamer) can’t see how OFMD can keep the arrow going up.
So what’s the answer? Well if it’s anything like my work, it’s “more optimization” which generally translates to “cut anything that isn’t absolutely guaranteed to work.” In my world it means changing creative copy into copy with reliable, well-tested words the algorithm likes.
It’s a way of being and doing that can be quite appealing if you are a rule follower. The problem, of course, is things that are guaranteed to “work” are generally boring as fuck, made to appease the algorithm or the bottom line, or both. It’s why making “data-driven decisions” cannot apply to making art. They’re fundamentally at odds. It’s the kind of cynical thinking that brings us more reality tv, and Elderly Sheldon, and movies about Frosted Flakes.
I’ve generally always liked having rules. They let you know where the limit is, how things should be done, and what’s acceptable. If you follow them things should work out well. Or at least not go terribly. Boring but reliable. There’s a comfort to it.
But that’s recently started to shift. The rules or limits that felt like safety have started to feel more like weights holding me back. Until a few years ago only a few people in my life knew about my bisexuality. In the past few months I’ve embraced myself as nonbinary, which has cracked open so many more possibilities I never would have considered for myself.
Our Flag Means Death isn’t directly responsible for that realization, but seeing characters wrestle with messy identity questions absolutely helped me recognize my own true identity. Seeing characters fuck up or break the rules and still be loved? It’s small, maybe, but it’s also profoundly not the narrative I grew up believing. Seeing characters roughly my age fuck up and still be loved, and still find themselves, and still start over on their own terms? Fucking…just at me next time, DJenks.
To me, the genius of OFMD is that it takes whats expected — the familiar beats of a romantic comedy, say — and flips it upside down. Fighty pirate show? Fuck it, Pride at sea. Historical drama? Spanish Jackie invented the jackhammer, in the 1700s, it’s fine, just enjoy the joke. It says joy — specifically queer joy—is necessary, thanks so much and fuck off anyone who thinks otherwise. In this era with anti-LGBTQ ghouls screaming up and down that we’re bad, and scary and whatever else they dream up, that feels more than a little subversive. And maybe being “scary” to the traditional rules and norms that got us this capitalist hellscape of a society we have isn’t exactly the worst thing, while we’re at it.
OFMD takes what’s familiar and shows it to us in a new, unexpected way, like a magic mirror. It’s no wonder we fans went so bonkers over this show. (And, you know, the whole cast being a smokeshow doesn’t hurt. I mean…come on.)
I said at the beginning my timing is bad, but this is one time it was kinda weirdly spot-on.
Since OFMD was cancelled the first time in January I’ve watched the Save OFMD efforts unfold from a distance and seen how many people have been changed, inspired, or moved by this show. It has been absolutely fascinating to see in real time the way cast and crew members have interacted. There’s like…a mutual conspiratorial wink, almost, that adds another layer onto an already layered experience. I asked on Twitter before writing this if that’s common in fandoms because I’ve never really been involved, and almost everyone who answered (thanks if you were one of them) said that this is different. That you can feel the care and respect flowing both ways. Even in the short time I’ve been just the tiniest part of it, I’ve felt it.
Something fans on Twitter (and I assume elsewhere) like to point out is how many parallels there are between Season 1 and Season 2. I like to think about the parallels that seem to run between the show’s plot and the fight to get it made, too. David Jenkins and his crew of amazing weirdos creating something new and transformative in the face of a media landscape that demands bland, repeatable success or whatever cynical bullshit nonsense they think will make their precious arrow go up until the end of time. I can’t imagine it was easy, but it was absolutely worth it.
I will love this show with my whole heart forever, and have nothing but gratitude for everyone who made it happen.
The stupid puppet pulled it off.
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