1 Introduction
In Chapter 1, I stated that televisual dialogue fulfils a range of functions that are ultimately aimed at the audience. This part of the book delves deeper into what these functions might be, introducing and discussing a new functional approach to television series (FATS). It first provides a brief overview of previous research on the functions of dialogue in telecinematic discourse before introducing the new model using multiple examples, mainly from SydTV. The framework will be used in this book in later chapters, and I hope that other researchers will also find it useful for their own subsequent explorations.
2 Functions of Telecinematic Discourse
There is relatively little research that focuses specifically and explicitly on categorising the different functions of telecinematic discourse. Linguists have mainly commented on the functions of particular phenomena, for instance multilingualism (Bleichenbacher Reference Bleichenbacher2008), accent/dialect (Bruti & Vignozzi Reference Bruti and Vignozzi2016a), terms of address/referring expressions (Bubel Reference Bubel2006; Quaglio Reference Quaglio2009; Bednarek Reference Bednarek, Piazza, Bednarek and Rossi2011a; Zago Reference Zago, Dynel and Chovanec2015; Bruti & Vignozzi Reference Bruti, Vignozzi, Ferrari and Bruti2016b), or linguistic variation (Queen Reference Queen2015). As the overview in Bednarek (Reference Bednarek, Locher and Jucker2017b) shows, much research has explored televisual characterisation – the important function of TV dialogue to create characters and relationships between them, while plot development has seen less attention. The creation of realism and humour are two other functions that have attracted some attention from linguistics.
In the field of narratology, Pfister (Reference Pfister1988: 105–18) draws on Jakobson (Reference Jakobson and Sebeok1960) to delineate the different communicative functions of language in drama. Most relevant to this book, however, is Kozloff’s (Reference Kozloff2000) work on film dialogue. While the disciplinary origin of her research is film studies, her influence is most apparent in linguistics (Jaeckle Reference Jaeckle and Jaeckle2013: 14), and her categorisation does provide a useful starting point for considering the functions of dialogue in TV series. Richardson (Reference Richardson2010a) argues that it is relevant to television drama and applies it in her analysis of TV dialogue.
Kozloff (Reference Kozloff2000: 33–4) distinguishes between functions relating to the communication of the narrative and those relating to ‘aesthetic effect, ideological persuasion, and commercial appeal’ (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 33). The first category contains six functions:
(1) anchorage of the diegesis (the fictional world) and of the characters
(2) communication of narrative causality
(3) enactment of narrative events
(4) character revelation
(5) adherence to the code of realism
(6) control of viewer evaluation and emotions.
The second category contains three functions:
(1) exploitation of the resources of language (with four subcategories: poetic use of language, jokes and humour, dramatic irony, on-screen verbal storytelling)
(3) opportunities for star turns.
In past research I have applied this categorisation to the analysis of wh-questions in TV dialogue (Bednarek Reference Bednarek and Flowerdew2014a), and more recently have added new (sub-)categories (Bednarek Reference Bednarek, Locher and Jucker2017b). I build on these studies here to propose a new analytical framework, which significantly extends Kozloff’s categorisation. My interest is in the potential functions or effects of television dialogue (its meaning potential) rather than scriptwriters’ intentions or actual audience effects. An overview of the new functional approach to television series (FATS) is provided in Table 3.1, but this chapter and the next will discuss it in more detail. This approach is called functional because it emphasises that TV dialogue is designed to fulfil a range of functions for its audience (cf. Chapter 1). In other words, the particular aspect of TV series that is the focus of this functional analysis is the dialogue.
Table 3.1 A new functional approach to television series (FATS)
Functions relating to the communication of the narrative
Settings and happenings: Anchorage of time and space, clarification of modality, enactment of narrative events, communication of narrative causality, scene structure and scene changes
Characters: Anchorage of the characters, character biographies, social and individual character traits, relationships between characters, narrative roles
Functions relating to aesthetic and interpersonal effect and commercial appeal
Control of viewer evaluation and emotions
Exploitation of the resources of language: Poetic use of language, jokes/humour, dramatic irony, on-screen verbal storytelling, linguistic innovation, intertextuality, metafictionality
Opportunities for star turns
Functions relating to thematic messages and ideology
Explicit or implicit thematic messages
Promotion of real-life products, ‘verbal’ product placement
Ideological representations
Functions relating to realism
Imitating ‘real’ spoken and written language
References to the ‘real’ world
Functions relating to the serial nature of TV narratives
Creation of consistency
Creation of continuity
As Table 3.1 indicates, the functions of TV dialogue can relate to the communication of the narrative, to aesthetic and interpersonal effect and commercial appeal, to thematic messages and ideology, to realism, and to the serial nature of TV narratives. Each of these major categories has several subcategories, discussed in the following sections with relevant examples. In this chapter I focus on functions relating to the communication of the narrative, while the next chapter discusses the remaining functions.
Examples in both chapters are mostly taken from episodes included in the Sydney Corpus of Television Dialogue – these examples are labelled SydTV and were transcribed according to specific conventions (cf. Chapter 5), although I have added other information to the transcripts where relevant to the discussion. Other examples come from additional episodes, mainly from US TV series and very occasionally from UK series. These examples were mainly transcribed orthographically. For the sake of clarity, I mostly discuss each example with respect to only one function, even though a piece of dialogue frequently has several functions at the same time. In addition, I sometimes refer to the characters only by their name, rather than prefacing the name with the character or the protagonist. This strategy is used as a shorthand, and it should not be forgotten that these are not real people but rather constructed characters (whose dialogue is produced by multiple authors; cf. Chapter 1).
3 Functions Relating to the Communication of the Narrative
Functions relating to the communication of the narrative concern the use of dialogue for constructing a fictional world populated by characters who participate in actions, happenings, or events in space and time. This includes the construction of settings and happenings as well as characters.
3.1 Settings and Happenings
The construction of settings and happenings involves anchorage of time and space, clarification of modality, enactment of narrative events, communication of narrative causality, and management of scene structure and scene changes.
3.1.1 Anchorage of Time and Space
Kozloff posits a function called ‘anchorage of the diegesis and characters’, defined as the use of dialogue to create and identify aspects of the diegetic world, that is, to orient viewers as regards character movement in space and time and to name characters (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 34–7). I include anchorage of time and space under ‘settings and happenings’, while anchorage of the characters is included under ‘characters’ in Section 3.2.
In traditional narrative texts (novel, short story), space and time can be constructed linguistically through descriptions, deixis, tense, adverbials of place, time, or conjunctions (Fludernik Reference Fludernik2009: 42). In TV series, shots often show the location, but dialogue also plays a role. In example (1), from the crime series Bones, the camera shows the three protagonists (Angela, Booth, Brennan) walking along what viewers would recognise as a hospital corridor, while one of the character’s turns identifies the location very specifically as a paediatric cancer floor.
(1) [Shot of characters walking along a hospital corridor]
ANGELA: Uh, Agent Booth?
BOOTH: Yes, Angela?
ANGELA: This is the pediatric cancer floor of the hospital.
BOOTH: Mm-hmmm. Yeah.
ANGELA: Right. Well, uh, what I’m about to show deputy director Cullen is kinda gruesome.
BRENNAN: Why are we meeting Cullen here?
In this way, dialogue works in conjunction with camera shots to locate the narrative in space, specifying the location for the audience at home. While the camera can show viewers the physical world, the dialogue identifies it (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 35). This can also work prospectively, using what Bordwell calls ‘dialogue hooks’ (cited in Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 35). For instance, a character in the comedy-drama The Big C mentions in one scene that she has an appointment with a dermatologist, which identifies the setting for the next scene as occurring in said dermatologist’s office (see example (7b) below).
Technical or specialised vocabulary, for instance relating to forensic or medical procedures, can also be considered as an indirect way of establishing the setting as a lab, a hospital, and so on. Settings can also be indicated through the presence of particular languages, accents, or dialects (Bleichenbacher Reference Bleichenbacher2008; Lippi-Green Reference Lippi-Green2012; Bruti & Vignozzi Reference Bruti and Vignozzi2016a).
In addition to space, dialogue can orient and reorient viewers in relation to the characters’ movement in time (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 35–6). I will provide just two short examples here. In example (2) the voice-over narration by the main character, Earl, specifies to viewers that what will be shown next actually happened at the same time as what they have just seen:
Also included are instances of dialogue that explicitly introduce flashbacks or flashforwards, as in example (3), where the protagonist’s dialogue introduces the following scenes as yesterday’s happenings:
VERONICA (V): So how does a girl end up surrounded by a motorcycle gang at four in the morning on the wrong side of town? For that answer, we’ll have to rewind to yesterday.
3.1.2 Clarification of Modality
As I have argued in Bednarek (Reference Bednarek, Locher and Jucker2017b), it is also important to clarify the modality of happenings to the audience. Modality is used here in the sense of the credibility or reliability of messages: ‘Is what we see or hear true, factual, real, or is it a lie, a fiction, something outside reality?’ (Kress & van Leeuwen Reference Kress and van Leeuwen2006: 154). In other words, is what viewers experience on the screen marked as a happening that ‘really’ happened in the fictional world in the past, present, or future, or is it identified as a dream, fantasy, desire, hallucination, etc.? Admittedly, it is often visual cues that identify something as ‘non-real’, for instance shot sequencing, use of dissolve, distorted images, slow motion, high contrast, and so on (van Leeuwen Reference van Leeuwen, Goodman and Graddol1996). But dialogue can contribute to the anchorage of modality, as evident in example (4) from the dramedy (drama-comedy hybrid) Desperate Housewives. In this example, the dialogue is in the form of voice-over narration by a (dead) character (VOICE), which is a recurring feature of this TV series. This narration accompanies shots that show another character, Lynette Skavo (one of the eponymous housewives), and the contents of one of her daydreams:
VOICE: Every morning as she went to take out her trash, Lynette Skavo would indulge in a little daydream, the details of which were always the same. [Camera switches from showing Lynette to showing what the voice-over narration describes.] One day, her nasty neighbor Karen McClusky would keel over and die, and her home would be bought by a lovely Swedish family, with two adorable twin daughters. The families would form an everlasting friendship, culminating in their daughters marrying her sons at an elaborate wedding [camera switches back to showing Lynette] the Skavos wouldn’t have to pay for. Yes, Lynette enjoyed her little daydream, but Mrs McClusky always had a way of pulling her back to reality.
In example (4) the voice-over narration explicitly marks the accompanying visuals (which show the Swedish family) as a fantasy (daydream) and therefore ‘non-real’ (pulling her back to reality) as far as the diegetic world is concerned. In this case, the modality of the visuals seems unmarked, and the dialogue – in conjunction with the shot sequencing – clearly contributes to identifying their content as a character’s daydream.
3.1.3 Enactment of Narrative Events
The category ‘enactment of narrative events’ concerns ‘verbal events’ (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 41), i.e. speech acts that constitute major narrative events. The extent to which such narrative events include verbalisation varies – for instance, a car chase does not necessarily involve dialogue, but a confession does (Richardson Reference Richardson2010a: 54). Queen (Reference Queen2015) provides examples for how performative verbs such as apologise can be used to perform actions that are important for particular scenes. An interesting example from SydTV is provided in example (5) from the sitcom Community.
JEFF: You’ve just stopped being a study group. You have become something unstoppable. I hereby pronounce you a community.
In this example, one of the main characters (failed lawyer Jeff) performs the action of turning the members of his study group at a community college into the ‘community’ implied by the TV series’ title. He does this by using the performative construction I hereby pronounce X y. This may lead viewers to re-evaluate the sitcom title itself and recognise its double meaning, referring both to the setting (community college) and to the bonds developing between the protagonists. It is also noteworthy that this narrative event happens in the pilot episode.
Examples for verbal events provided by Kozloff (Reference Kozloff2000: 41–3) include disclosure of (secret) information, declaration of love, closing arguments, verdicts, witness breakdowns, prayer, absolution, and exorcism. It is a matter of interpretation which actions are identified as pivotal to the narrative, although some speech acts appear to be particularly salient in certain film genres, e.g. commanding in Westerns, threatening in gangster films, teasing in screwball comedies (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 209).
In example (6), from the fantasy action comedy-drama Teen Wolf, sheriff Stilinski discloses an important piece of information to his son Stiles. The example shows how the question–answer sequence between father and son works to communicate several crucial details: that the relevant arson case important to this narrative was organised by a woman who is now in her late twenties and who has a distinctive pendant.
STILINSKI: You know what, that girl in there has got nothin’ to do with a six-year-old arson case.
STILES: When did you decide it was definitely arson?
STILINSKI: Well we got a key witness, and no I’m not telling you who it is, but yeah, yeah we know it’s arson, and it was probably organized by a young woman.
STILES: What young woman?
STILINSKI: If I knew that she’d be in jail.
STILES: Was she young then or is she young now?
STILINSKI: She’s probably in her late twenties. Damn! I gotta grab this call.
STILES: You don’t know her name?
STILINSKI: No, I don’t, what is it, twenty questions? All we know is that she had a very distinctive uh, what do you call it, a pendant.
STILES: What the hell’s a pendant?
STILINSKI: Stiles do you go to school? A pendant, a pendant, it’s a it’s a necklace, now can I answer the phone?
STILES: Yes.
STILINSKI: Thank you.
In sum, this function is concerned with how TV dialogue contributes to the enactment of events that are important to the narrative. This can be achieved through the use of performative constructions but also more indirectly, including through longer stretches of talk.
3.1.4 Communication of Narrative Causality
For Kozloff, the function labelled ‘communication of narrative causality’ relates to the use of dialogue ‘to communicate “why” and “how” and “what next?”’ (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 38). This includes providing background information, clarifying connections between events, creating causal chains, or anticipating a narrative development. Richardson (Reference Richardson2010a: 53) explains the difference between enactment of narrative events and communication of narrative causality as follows:
in the first case, audiences see and hear narrative events as they happen to the characters, whereas in the second, characters learn from one another about what has happened, what might have happened, and what might happen in their future – and audiences, thereby, learn this too.
Example (7a) comes from The Big C and features a conversation between two of the protagonists, husband Paul and wife Cathy. The exchange functions both to provide background information about a prior event (that Paul has been kicked out of the house) and to anticipate later events (Cathy’s appointment with the dermatologist, and that Paul and Cathy will have dinner) – as well as to identify later settings (see Section 3.1.1 on dialogue hooks).
PAUL: […] Is that your new lover? Is that why I’m sleepin’ on my sister’s couch?
CATHY: I’m gonna bump out the deck and put in a hot-tub.
[Five turns]
CATHY: I’m sorry Paul, I have to go. I have an appointment with the dermatologist.
PAUL: Well can we just have dinner or something? Can we at the very least figure out what we’re gonna tell Adam tomorrow because right now my story is, “Adam, your mom’s a meanie!”
CATHY: Okay. Dinner.
In her conversation with the dermatologist (7b), Cathy provides further background information about her argument with Paul to the audience:
CATHY: I was going to tell him [that she has cancer], and then when I got home, there were fifteen men in my house playing video games. Paul was drunk and peeing in the front yard. I found myself saying, “I think I need to be alone for a while.”
This is a good example of how TV dialogue can communicate information on ‘events that took place before the time period pictured on screen’ (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 39). Just as such information may be frequent in the beginnings of films (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 37), it may be frequent in the beginning of TV series. For instance, the pilot of the comedy-drama Weeds gives a succinct explanation of the main character’s situation. The subordinate clause in bold occurs in the sixth turn of this episode:
MOTHER 2: She probably treated herself, poor thing. If my husband dropped dead, I’d suck out, lift up and inject anything that moved.
Voice-over narration may also fulfil this function, as in example (9), which occurs at the beginning of the pilot episode of the fantasy action drama Birds of Prey:
ALFRED (V): My name is Alfred Pennyworth, and I have a story to tell. For many years in the city of New Gotham, a secret war raged by night. Unknown to the everyday world, a battle for the very heart of the city was waged between Batman and Joker. One night, the final battle was fought, and Joker lost. Joker’s revenge was taken not on Batman himself, but on the ones he loved. Helena Kyle didn’t know that her father was Batman, nor did she know that her mother had once been Catwoman.
Alfred’s narration and the interspersed flashbacks that follow provide viewers with the TV series’ premise and relevant backstory the very first time they encounter the televisual narrative.
In contrast, example (10) shows how TV dialogue can be used to set up a non-actual happening that needs to be prevented by the protagonists. This extract is taken from the action/adventure drama series Human Target, which revolves around the main character Chance protecting various clients in each episode – in this case the client is Victoria, a fictional Princess of Wales.
CHANCE: What I know is that in an hour and a half, your security detail’s gonna put you in a car which is gonna bring you to a museum uptown to meet the queen, your husband, Prince What’s-his-name, and the rest of the gang. At thirty-eighth and first, your motorcade is gonna be obstructed. Now usual security protocol is to go faster, maybe even turn around, do anything to avoid being boxed in, but in this particular instance, your detail has different orders. They’re there to serve you up. So while you’re stopped, your men watching, you’ll be assassinated. Luckily, Gerard got wind of the plot while we still have time to do something about it.
VICTORIA: Lucky, is that the word you’d use?
CHANCE: Well, we’re lowering the bar today. So we have the who, the what, the where, all we need is a why.
VICTORIA: Because I’m in love with a man who isn’t my husband.
CHANCE: That generally will do it.
This exchange between Victoria and Chance explains the plot to assassinate the princess and attempts to construct a motivation for such a plot. It hence provides information about the ‘what next’ as well as the ‘why’. Again, it occurs at the beginning of the episode.
Example (11) is a good example for how visuals and dialogue co-construct causality, when dialogue helps viewers to understand and interpret the visuals (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 39). It represents a conversation between four characters from the crime drama Bones – Brennan (a forensic anthropologist), Zack (a PhD student/intern), Angela (a forensic artist), and Booth (an FBI agent). During the exchange, the camera shows the characters standing around and interacting with two computer screens featuring a scan and microscope report.
BRENNAN: This is a cross section from Amy’s bone graft. Zack, what’s the ratio of primary to secondary osteons?
ZACK: I only see secondary. Exactly what you’d expect to see in a, older decedent.
BRENNAN: And accompanying data?
ANGELA: Well, I’m no expert but I think it supports as well.
BRENNAN: So based on this one sample it’s clear that the donor bone came from someone in their sixties.
BOOTH: But how do we know that it’s the bone that gave Amy cancer?
BRENNAN: Because of this. Magnify. The graft is riddled with cancer.
ZACK: Cancer consistent with morphology origin in the pleura, most likely mesothelioma.
BRENNAN: Whoever this is had terminal cancer. And now so does Amy.
This conversation works both to explain the scientific evidence and to elucidate its significance for the case. At the same time, it could be argued that ‘working through’ a crime by examining such evidence is a ‘pivotal’ action for crime dramas such as this and could therefore also be seen to enact a narrative event. The distinction between ‘enactment of narrative events’ and ‘communication of narrative causality’ is thus not entirely clear-cut.1
3.1.5 Managing Scene Structure and Scene Changes
As noted in Chapter 1, the structure of televisual narratives has been described in terms of acts and scenes. As they unfold over the course of the episode, elements of the plot(s) are developed or enacted in individual scenes. Dialogue can function to structure what happens within a particular scene as well as to manage scene changes.
For instance, several linguistic studies have identified greetings and leave-takings (e.g. hi, hey, nice to meet you, bye, I’ll be right back) as frequent in television dialogue (cf. Chapter 2). In the sitcom Friends, for example, speakers arrive and leave frequently and scenes ‘often start with the characters meeting one another’ (Quaglio Reference Quaglio2009: 35). It seems clear that greetings and leave-takings function to manage scene changes – marking the beginning or end of a scene – or to structure scenes internally. Thus, a conversation between two characters can be interrupted by a new character arriving, with a brief all-party conversation before the character departs again, as in example (12) from Weeds.
(12) [conversation between the protagonist Nancy and her friend Celia; Doug arrives]
DOUG: Hey, Nancy. How’s it going?
[eight turns between Celia, Doug, Nancy]
NANCY: You’re welcome. Catch you later. I’ll see you later, Doug.
DOUG: Oh. Okay. Yeah, later. [Doug leaves]
NANCY [to Celia]: He’s trying to find something nice for Dana. Her birthday is coming up.
It could also be argued that dialogue that orients viewers to simultaneous, past, and future events (see Section 3.1.1) additionally functions to manage scene changes, since it explicitly introduces and is followed by the next scene (e.g. meanwhile … ; … we’ll have to rewind to yesterday).
3.2 Characters
The second major category of ‘the communication of the narrative’ concerns the construction of characters (characterisation) and includes anchorage of the characters, character biographies, social and individual character traits, relationships between characters, and narrative roles.
Kozloff (Reference Kozloff2000) uses the function of ‘character revelation’ to talk about how dialogue distinguishes characters from each other, for instance through accent or idiosyncratic linguistic practices. For Kozloff (Reference Kozloff2000: 43–6), this includes various aspects of character such as class, intelligence, personality, character psychology, emotional state, or motive. In another relevant non-linguistic study, Pearson (Reference Pearson and Allen2007a: 43) proposes six elements of character identity: psychological traits/habitual behaviours, physical characteristics/appearance, speech patterns, interactions with other characters, environment, and biography. However, she is not interested in a detailed linguistic analysis of TV dialogue, but rather focuses on ‘identifying the elements that constitute a character abstracted from the design of the text and existing in the story, that is, in the minds of producers and audiences’ (Pearson Reference Pearson and Allen2007a: 43). With respect to language, I showed in Bednarek (Reference Bednarek2010a) that the main characters in the dramedy Gilmore Girls are distinguished by references to their relationships with others (e.g. mother–daughter) and their environment (e.g. workplace), as well as differences in levels of (in-)formality and evaluative/emotional preferences.
Building on these suggestions about elements of character, and also drawing on additional linguistic research on televisual characterisation (as reviewed in Bednarek Reference Bednarek, Locher and Jucker2017b), TV dialogue can function:
to introduce and identify characters
to inform viewers about characters’ biographies
to construct characters (social and individual character traits, expressive identity)
to inform viewers about the role of characters in the narrative.
This can happen either through self-revelation (characters’ own dialogue) or when other characters comment upon a character (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 44–5) – what Culpeper (Reference Culpeper2001: 167) calls self-presentation and other-presentation.
3.2.1 Anchorage of the Characters
As mentioned, the function ‘anchorage of the characters’ relates to the use of TV dialogue to identify and name characters. Here, dialogue in early episodes of a TV series is again important. Thus, in the first episode of Community, we find three instances of My name’s/is and one instance of her name is, which work to introduce characters to each other and to the viewers (Figure 3.1).
The episode also features a humorous scene in which the (elderly) Pierce attempts to introduce Jeff to the other characters, getting everyone’s name wrong but providing an elegant way of establishing who the characters are as well as revealing aspects of his character (old, racist, and sexist).
PIERCE: I’m also a Toastmaster so perhaps I should do the introduction.
JEFF: Definitely.
PIERCE: Right you already know Brittles.
BRITTA: Britta.
PIERCE: Abed, Abed the Arab, is that inappropriate?
ABED: Sure.
PIERCE: Roy, Roy, the wonder boy.
TROY: Troy.
PIERCE: Little princess Elizabeth.
ANNIE: Annie.
PIERCE: And finally this beautiful creature is named Shirley.
JEFF: Is that even close?
On the whole, this episode features several instances where names are used either to talk about or to address main characters: Abed (13 occurrences), Jeff (10 occurrences), Britta (7 occurrences), Pierce (6 occurrences), Annie (6 occurrences), Shirley (5 occurrences), Troy (4 occurrences). Such repeated use of character names in telecinematic discourse identifies characters and reminds audiences of who they are (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 36; Mittell Reference Mittell2015: 133).
3.2.2 Character Biographies
As already noted in relation to narrative causality, TV dialogue can communicate information on happenings that took place prior to the narrative. This includes information about a character’s past experiences or background, as in example (14) from The Big C.
CATHY: We didn’t have a lot of money growing up but we did have a pool in our backyard. My brother and I, we would spend all summer in it making up dives. My signature was the banana split and dive.
DOCTOR: Sounds fun.
CATHY: Except when Sean would hold me under the water and fart on my face.
In this conversation, the protagonist (Cathy) discloses information about her childhood, which provides a belated motivation for why she wants to install a pool in her backyard. It also indicates further biographical information (not being rich, family dynamics). In addition, this conversation features the first mention of Sean in the series, simultaneously identifying him to the viewers as her brother (= anchorage of the characters).
3.2.3 Social and Individual Character Traits
Relevant linguistic research suggests that televisual characterisation includes the construction of social identities (more or less general, e.g. ‘women’, ‘nerds’, ‘vegetarians’, ‘doctors’, ‘criminals’), personalities (individuals), and ‘expressive character identity’. Using Queen’s (Reference Queen2015: 154–81) terms, TV dialogue can establish social types and personae, the traits and stances of characters, and their personality. I use social and individual character traits as a cover term for all these aspects of character, covering both temporary and stable traits, including emotional reactions, desires, and other inner states. Where relevant, I will borrow Queen’s (Reference Queen2015: 176) term type characteristics to refer to features associated with social variables like gender or age, and personae like nerds or jocks, while her term trait characteristics will be used to refer to features associated with personality and other individual characteristics (e.g. being quiet, energetic).
As noted in Chapter 1, a wide range of dialogue cues have been examined in relation to television characters. Most studies rely on a cognitive model where explicit or implicit dialogue cues give rise to the formation of impressions of characters in the minds of the audience (Culpeper Reference Culpeper2001: 2, 163). From a sociocultural linguistic perspective, Queen (Reference Queen2015) draws on concepts such as indexicality to link language variation to characterisation, also showing that the clustering of linguistic features is important. This can be seen in the SydTV episode from the crime drama series The Wire (example 15).
BELL: Him, on the ball, from Dunbar? He junior college now, but he goin’ to bigger places if he can make them grades though. He our edge, right there.
BARKSDALE: Where he goin’?
BELL: I don’t know. Uh, Terps, Hoyas, Missouri, Kansas, they all want this cat.
BARKSDALE: Okay, so we in the mix, too, now. You know what I’m talkin’ about?
BELL: Blow Proposition Joe’s mind. He ain’t got nobody ballin’ like this.
BARKSDALE: He better not have one motherfucker ballin’ like this. I’m sick and tired of losin’ to these Eastside bitches every year. It’s been three years runnin’ now, man. Fuckin’ with my morale, for real.
This conversation features an exchange between two African American characters whose ethnicity is partially established by their use of what many viewers would consider as features of AAVE. This includes lexical and pragmatic items (this cat, ballin’, these Eastside bitches, for real, you know what I’m talkin’ about, etc.), grammatical features such as zero copula (e.g. He junior college now) and multiple negation (e.g. ain’t got nobody). At the phonological level, both characters produce the alveolar form [In] instead of [Ing] (e.g. goin’). While these features are not all exclusive to AAVE – for instance, multiple negation occurs in other varieties – this cluster of recognisable linguistic features constructs Bell and Barksdale as African American for the audience. As mentioned in Chapter 2, the construction of such and other social identities can be examined in relation to stereotyping and standard language ideologies. TV characters who belong to the same ethnic group can be distinguished from each other in the frequency with which they use linguistic variables (Gibson & Bell Reference Gibson and Bell2010; Queen Reference Queen2015).
Past research has also shown that TV characters may share certain linguistic preferences (to construct similarities, for instance in terms of age) but are also constructed as unique. Thus, in Gilmore Girls the parents (Richard and Emily) are contrasted with daughter and granddaughter (Lorelai and Rory) in terms of shared attitudes and expressive resources, but individual characters also exhibit unique expressive identities (Bednarek Reference Bednarek2010a). I made a similar point with respect to the sitcom The Big Bang Theory, arguing that the characters are all constructed as nerds but also as having unique personalities (Bednarek Reference Bednarek2012b: 223). Thus, Sheldon is constructed as a stereotypical nerd but is differentiated from the others by his obsessive-compulsive and Asperger-like behaviour, his arrogance, and his lack of social skills. In example (16), the dialogue between Sheldon and other characters contributes to establishing the character’s identity and illustrates my point that dialogue repeatedly presents other characters explaining social norms to Sheldon (Bednarek Reference Bednarek2012b: 211).
PENNY: Uh, Sheldon, I didn’t see your present.
SHELDON: That’s because I didn’t bring one.
PENNY: Well why not?
HOWARD: Don’t ask.
SHELDON: The entire institution of gift giving makes no sense.
HOWARD: Too late.
SHELDON: Let’s say that I go out and I spend fifty dollars on you. It’s a laborious activity, because I have to imagine what you need, whereas you know what you need. Now I could simplify things, just give you the fifty dollars directly and then, you could give me fifty dollars on my birthday, and so on until one of us dies leaving the other one old and fifty dollars richer. And I ask you, is it worth it?
HOWARD: Told you not to ask.
PENNY: Well, Sheldon, you’re his friend. Friends give each other presents.
SHELDON: I accept your premise, I reject your conclusion.
HOWARD: Try telling him it’s a non-optional social convention.
PENNY: What?
HOWARD: Just do it.
PENNY: It’s a non-optional social convention.
SHELDON: Oh. Fair enough.
HOWARD: He came with a manual.
Without going into all the details here, the dialogue clearly shows Sheldon’s predilection for formal (including academic) language (e.g. I accept your premise, I reject your conclusion) and his lack of understanding of social norms but willingness to learn about them (PENNY: It’s a non-optional social convention. SHELDON: Oh, Fair enough). Sheldon clearly has a distinct personality that is constructed through dialogue, but at other times the dialogue establishes that he shares (stereotypical) traits with the other nerds, such as an interest in sci-fi and comic books. The character of Sheldon is thus a good example of the construction of social identities (nerds) and of the construction of personality. In Queen’s words, these two facets of characterisation explain why ‘a given character might be simultaneously stereotypical and uniquely individual’ (2015: 155).
3.2.4 Relationships between Characters
Characters are not just constructed in isolation: ‘TV characters don’t define themselves in a vacuum. They define themselves by how they relate to the other characters on the show’ (Epstein Reference Epstein2006: 23). Hence, one important function of dialogue is to reflect and construe relationships between characters (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 46). These relationships can be constructed indirectly through linguistic cues such as innovative marked ‑y suffix adjectives (e.g. Heart-of-Darkness‑y) in the fantasy action drama Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Mandala Reference Mandala2007) or the use of alignment patterns, terms of address, and question–response sequences in the dramedy Sex and the City (Bubel Reference Bubel2006, Reference Bubel, Piazza, Bednarek and Rossi2011). However, relationships may also be described directly, as in example (17) from the crime series The Shield:
VIC: Why’d you shoot up The Chez Club last night?
RONDELL: Hey, man. T-Bonz and Kern got this war goin’ on, man. I’m just backin’ up my boy.
VIC: Who’s that? Kern? […]
RONDELL: Yeah, man, look. Look, me and Kern, we’ve been hangin’ since we was kids. We’re still tight.
When being questioned about his involvement in a shooting, drug dealer Rondell explains to the police officer (Vic) that he was simply supporting his friend. When he clarifies who ‘my boy’ refers to and describes their relationship, he explicitly reveals the characters’ interpersonal connection for the benefit of viewers.
3.2.5 Narrative Roles
From a narratological perspective, dialogue also establishes narrative roles such as ‘hero’ and ‘villain’ (e.g. Chatman Reference Chatman1978: 111–12, 125–31; Rimmon-Kenan Reference Rimmon-Kenan2002: 34, 37–8). There is a difference between what the character is like (character traits) compared with what he or she ‘does, in the plot’ (Toolan Reference Toolan2001: 86, emphasis in original). Wodak (Reference Wodak2009) analyses a West Wing episode in these terms. I will briefly consider an example from the political drama House of Cards here, which has been transcribed in more detail for this purpose and therefore includes information on pauses ([..] = medium pause), delivery speed (preceding speech, applies until another set of square brackets), and voice quality (following speech, applies up to preceding punctuation or pause). Italics indicate softness.
(18) [Frank and Cathy alone in the Oval Office]
FRANK: You know, when I was waitin’ for my transplant, I had the most vivid hallucinations. You wouldn’t believe ’em. Do you know who I saw? [..] Peter Russo and Zoe Barnes, right here in this room. Zoe was tryin’ to seduce me, right here on this couch, and Peter, he shoved my face, up against this glass. Cigarettes and razor blades and sex. It was terrifyin’. All I wanted to do was get out of this room that I worked so hard to get in. But of course it makes sense that they would’ve haunted me because, it’s all true.
CATHY: What is?
FRANK: Everything Lucas Goodwin claimed. I killed them both, just like he said I did. [..] But of course, nobody believes it, and nobody ever will. Because that’s how good we are [..] [slower:] at making things [..] disappear [low and hoarse voice].
[Frank draws a letter opener and edges towards Cathy, then laughs, moves away from Cathy]
[Normal speed:] No, we didn’t kill anybody. [laughs] But we would have [..] if it was necessary. So you’re right. The time for negotiations is over. You will hand over your delegates, and you will serve on in my cabinet. And we will forget that any of this ever happened. [..] Because if you don’t [..] [slower:] I swear to God [low and hoarse voice] [..] [even slower:] I will never, ever, forget. [~2 second pause] Do you understand now? [~ 4 second pause]
CATHY: Yes.
This conversation between one of the protagonists, fictional US president Frank Underwood, and his Secretary of State Cathy Durant features Frank disclosing his evil deeds and threatening Cathy. Much of the menace is expressed through tone of voice, facial expression, etc. and would become fully apparent only through a multimodal analysis. As seen, the threat is spoken very slowly and menacingly. Even though Frank dismisses his disclosure through laughter as fake, the audience knows it is not (an instance of dramatic irony; cf. Chapter 4, Section 2.2) and Cathy may also be left with doubts. Dramatic irony is frequently used in this series to show characters’ villainy, since viewers know they are lying outright, for instance when different people are promised the same job by Frank or his wife Claire.2
4 Concluding Remarks
This chapter has introduced a new model for analysing television dialogue (FATS) and has discussed functions relating to the communication of the narrative. I have introduced ten subcategories associated with establishing aspects such as setting, plot, and characters. Such functions are crucial for television series that construct a story for their viewers. The dialogue must provide adequate characterisation as well as communicate the who, where, what, how, and why of the narrative to the audience. But despite the importance of these functions, they do not represent the whole picture. Television dialogue also fulfils important additional functions such as those relating to aesthetic and interpersonal effect and commercial appeal. The next chapter will discuss these remaining functions and will also introduce some caveats about FATS, working as a conclusion to Part II as a whole.
1 Introduction
This chapter continues introducing the new functional approach to television series (FATS), now going beyond functions relating to the communication of the narrative. As in the previous chapter, I discuss each major category and its subcategories with multiple examples, mainly from SydTV. The final section then makes some important points about FATS as a whole, and concludes Part II (Chapter 3 and this chapter).
2 Functions Relating to Aesthetic and Interpersonal Effect and Commercial Appeal
I start by discussing functions associated with aesthetic and interpersonal effect and commercial appeal: control of viewer evaluation and emotions, exploitation of the resources of language, and opportunities for star turns.
2.1 Control of Viewer Evaluation and Emotions
Dialogue clearly functions to guide viewers’ responses, for instance by controlling pacing, creating tension or suspense, setting up viewers for a surprise, drawing their attention to a plot element, guiding their interpretation, or eliciting their emotional responses (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 49–51). In example (9) in the previous chapter, the voice-over narrator introduces viewers to the backstory relevant to Birds of Prey but also guides viewer expectations regarding genre and narrative. With its mentions of New Gotham, Batman, Joker, and Catwoman, viewers are likely to expect a fantasy story, an expectation that will influence their reactions to the narrative.
Viewers’ emotional responses can be elicited through the expression of character emotion, conflict, drama, tension, and so on. For instance, in the final episode of season three of the political drama Homeland (spoiler alert), one of the main characters (Brody) is publicly hanged, his death watched by another main character (Carrie), who is in love with him. In a highly emotional scene, viewers are exposed to both Brody’s dying and Carrie’s reaction, including her repeated shouting of his name. While Claire Danes’s performance of Carrie’s grief is multimodal and the graphic footage of Brody’s death is also crucial, her shouts clearly contribute to eliciting viewers’ emotional response to this scene. The scene can be viewed at www.youtube.com/watch?v=UlIzL8afSz8 (last accessed 3 December 2017), as a transcription would not do full justice to its powerful emotionality.
Additionally, certain dialogue lines create and foil viewer expectations, generate suspense, or arouse curiosity. As discussed in Mittell (Reference Mittell2015: 83) in the final minutes of the pilot episode of Veronica Mars, the main character asks herself a range of questions: ‘The Lilly Kane murder file – what’s Dad been up to? … My surveillance photo from the Camelot – why is it in the Lilly Kane file? What was Mom doing there, and what business did she have with Jake Kane? And the million-dollar question: why did Dad lie to me?’ Mittell discusses these questions as setting up story arcs, but they simultaneously create suspense.
Kozloff (Reference Kozloff2000: 50–1) also provides examples where dialogue helps viewers to interpret the visuals, for instance in relation to smell and beauty. In example (1), from the medical comedy-drama series Nurse Jackie, the eponymous Jackie converses with two elderly Jewish patients about their chicken soup (itself a stereotype). Since the audience cannot smell the soup, it is the dialogue that makes them vicariously experience it.
2.2 Exploitation of the Resources of Language
Kozloff (Reference Kozloff2000) explicitly associates the function ‘exploitation of the resources of language’ with Jakobson’s poetic function. On a general level, exchanges between characters can be said to constitute a particular ‘rhythm’ (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 87). On a more specific level, the function is divided into four categories by Kozloff: poetic use of language, jokes/humour, dramatic irony, and on-screen verbal storytelling (where characters tell a story).
The poetic use of language includes characters’ reciting of poetry as well as their use, in dialogue, of literary devices such as rhyming, alliteration, metaphor, repetition, contrast, and incongruity (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 52–3, passim). Both kinds of poetic language use occur in TV series. The Nurse Jackie pilot begins with the protagonist, a nurse, reciting in voice-over a fragment from a poem by T. S. Eliot (Let us go then, you and I, when the evening is spread out against the sky like a patient etherized upon a table) – which is also an instance of intertextuality (discussed below). In contrast, example (2) from SydTV (Weeds) shows how characters can jointly create poetic effects. Josh (a teenage drug dealer) and Nancy (a suburban mother and drug dealer) have a conversation about dealing to children, which ends with a poetic exchange. Josh’s first turn is a poem in itself, but his second turn creates a rhyming effect as a response to Nancy’s (You’re a poet):
NANCY: Okay, listen, you stay away from my customer base, you don’t deal to kids, are we clear?
JOSH: If they’re too young to bleed, they’re too young for weed. No grass on the field? No grass will they yield.
NANCY: You’re a poet.
JOSH: You know it.
Another example of the poetic use of language comes from the British crime drama River (spoiler alert). In example (3), one of the protagonists of River (murdered detective Stevie, who appears and interacts with detective River) uses several literary devices (including rhyme and parallelism) as well as producing, in alphabetic order, the many synonyms British English offers to describe someone as mentally ill:
STEVIE: A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I, or are the others, crazy?1 Let me tell ya, from someone who knows ya – knew you – you’re bananas. Barking, barking mad, batty, bonkers, crackers, crackpot, crazy, crazed, delirious, demented, deranged, distracted, doolally, frantic, gonzo, cuckoo. You’ve lost your marbles. Non compos mentis. Not right in the head. Not the full shilling. Nutty, nut, nut. You – off your trolley, your rocker. Unsound of mind, out of your tree, unhinged, unstable, rabid, raving, wacko, raving loony tune. Find your way through your insanity. Find the order in your chaos. Otherwise, how will you ever find me?
Kozloff’s second subcategory of this function (jokes/humour) includes witty lines or jokes by characters, as in the final turn in example (4), from the dramedy Gilmore Girls:
EMILY: The entire school is talking about it [Lorelai kissing her daughter’s teacher at parents’ day]. And what do I say, how do I defend this?
LORELAI: Uh it was a mistake.
EMILY: A mistake? A mistake? Is that what you call it, a mistake?
LORELAI: Well I tried to call it Al but it would only answer to mistake.
Incidentally, Lorelai’s punning here is also an allusion (intertextual reference) to a song by Paul Simon (‘You Can Call Me Al’). I discuss such intertextuality in more detail below.
In addition, humour includes cases where we laugh at characters or their situation (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 54). The dialogue in example (5), from the medical drama Grey’s Anatomy, is a good example, featuring an exchange between the hospital interns George, Alex, Meredith, Izzie, and Cristina. In this plotline, George has found out that he has syphilis and asks Alex to treat him, intending this treatment to be as private as possible. Instead, in a very funny scene, the female interns start coming in one by one, while George is face-down with his buttocks exposed:
(5) [George and Alex in a treatment room by themselves]
GEORGE: Are you sure you know what you’re doing?
ALEX: It’s a shot of penicillin, George. Be grateful I’m even doing this. I’ve already seen more of you than I ever wanted to. I’ll be fighting nightmares for a week.
GEORGE: Okay, you know what? Forget this.
ALEX: Do you wanna get rid of the syph or not? Just shut up and drop ’em.
[George pulls down his trousers and lies face-down on a treatment bed]
GEORGE: I cannot believe this. [Meredith pulls open the curtain] Meredith, go away!
MEREDITH [as she is coming in]: Oh, George. Thought you could use some moral support.
GEORGE: No! No, moral support. I’m indisposed here.
MEREDITH: George, it’s not a big deal. And you have a cute butt.
ALEX: I have a cute butt too. You wanna see?
MEREDITH: Oh, get out. You’re doing it wrong.
ALEX: Be my guest. [Meredith is taking over from Alex, Alex is leaving]
GEORGE: What? Alex. Alex! What? [George pulls the curtain to, which is immediately opened again by Izzie] Hey!
IZZIE: Ah. What are we doing here?
GEORGE: Breaking George’s spirit. [pulls curtain to again]
MEREDITH: Curing George’s syph.
GEORGE: I don’t like needles.
MEREDITH: Good thing you became a doctor. Other side.
CRISTINA [from the outside]: Izzie?
IZZIE: Yeah?
CRISTINA: Uh, Mr Franklin’s procedure’s been scheduled [opens the curtain] for after lunch. Oh, what are we doing? [George pulls curtain to]
IZZIE: We are saving George from a future of festering sores and insanity.
CRISTINA: Oh, cute butt.
MEREDITH: Told you.
IZZIE: It is cute, like a baby’s.
GEORGE [as he is getting up and pulling his trousers up]: You know, I have spent hours, days, years, imagining myself half-naked in a room with three women. The reality is so much better.
CRISTINA: I think he’s gonna cry.
Humour abounds in sitcoms, but also in other television genres, and can be the result of incongruity at all levels (Brock Reference Brock, Piazza, Bednarek and Rossi2011), for instance breaches of conversational organisation (Stokoe Reference Stokoe2008); incongruous or unexpected swearing, e.g. by members of the clergy (Walshe Reference Walshe2011); or dialect dissonance, i.e. divergence from conventionalised norms and expectations regarding dialect use (Coupland Reference Coupland, Thøgersen, Coupland and Mortensen2016).
Kozloff (Reference Kozloff2000) mentions irony as the third subcategory of this function, focusing on dramatic irony, where viewers know more than the characters. I have already mentioned House of Cards in this respect (see example (18) in Chapter 3). Similarly, in the pilot episode from Community, viewers (but not the characters) know early on that the study group that Jeff pretends to run is purely an attempt to spend time with another character, Britta.
Another example from SydTV occurs in the sitcom 2 Broke Girls. In this episode, the two female protagonists Caroline and Max, who want to start a cupcake business, attend a party to ask TV celebrity Martha Stewart to taste their cupcake. They dress as caterers to get in and the exchange in example (6) occurs while Caroline changes into her dress in the bathroom stall, and Max is outside it:
CAROLINE [in bathroom stall]: […] Martha Stewart is perfect. Her feet don’t even touch the ground. The woman probably doesn’t even go to the bathroom.
[Sound of toilet flushing; camera shows Martha Stewart exiting the bathroom stall next to Caroline. Since Max is facing Caroline’s bathroom stall she cannot yet see her.]
MAX: Martha Stewart’s hardly perfect. [Max turns around and notices Martha Stewart]
MARTHA STEWART: And how are you this evening?
CAROLINE [in bathroom stall]: No, you’re right, Martha Stewart isn’t perfect.
MAX: Oh, I never said that!
CAROLINE [in bathroom stall]: In fact, I hear she’s a real ballbuster.
MAX: Oh, you did not hear that.
CAROLINE [in bathroom stall]: Yep, a real ballbuster, you know?
MAX: No, I do not know.
MARTHA STEWART [to Max]: Would you mind handing me a towelette please? Oh, one’s fine. Thank you so much.
CAROLINE [in bathroom stall]: But the fact that Martha Stewart is so tough …
MAX: Caroline, you need to get out here right now.
CAROLINE [in bathroom stall]: The fact that she is a real ballbuster …
MAX: Oh, dear God, help me.
CAROLINE [in bathroom stall]: Is what I like and respect about her. I mean, the woman’s a genius.
MARTHA STEWART: Now it’s getting interesting.
CAROLINE: And besides, you can’t really believe gossip. Look at all that hate mail I got with people calling me a bitch, [starts exiting the bathroom stall] and I’m not a bitch.
MARTHA STEWART: Well, that’s debatable.
CAROLINE: Martha Stewart, hi.
MARTHA STEWART: Hello.
Here the dialogue is funny because Caroline does not know that Martha Stewart is in the bathroom and can hear everything she is saying, while Max, Martha Stewart, and the viewers are aware of this fact. As mentioned in Chapter 1, pragmatic research has shown how humorous effects in TV series often rely on participation-based strategies. The humorous exchange in example (6) is prototypical for 2 Broke Girls and other sitcoms in that the characters are not intentionally funny on the level of the diegesis (as would be the case if they deliberately joked), but the interaction is clearly intended to be humorous for the audience (Messerli Reference Messerli2016: 84–5). Dramatic irony can thus have various effects, including the creation of humour and the revelation of narrative roles as in the House of Cards example.
Kozloff’s final subcategory for this function is on-screen verbal storytelling, especially where the storytelling is not relevant to the plot but ‘compelling as a story, because of the intrinsic gratifications of storytelling’ (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 56, emphasis in original). Perhaps example (7) might be considered a relevant example from the crime dramedy Castle – here crime writer Castle spins detective Beckett a hypothetical story about ‘whodunnit’:
CASTLE: […] What about the guy in eight B?
BECKETT: Who?
CASTLE: Eight B. Quiet guy, see him every day and only, you never notice him. Well he noticed Sara. She’s young, beautiful, the kind of girl a guy like him never had a chance with. We all know girls like that, don’t we? Well, at first, it was just a game, figure out her schedule, when does she do her laundry, when is she alone. Until it becomes something more, something that he can’t control. Well, he uses the stairs, obviously, to avoid the elevator’s cameras, and then he just waits, concealed in the shadows. When she comes into that laundry room, he pounces, and he looked into her vacant, lifeless eyes, he wanted to tell her, he never meant to kill her. All he ever wanted was to be noticed. That’s when he felt the heat of that dryer on his skin. So, he picks up her limp body in his arms and gently places it inside. He almost smiled at his good fortune when he found the quarter in his pocket, slipping it into the slot, buying the time to do what he does best, disappear. Just saying, better story.
In addition to Kozloff’s four subcategories (poetic use of language, jokes/humour, irony, on-screen verbal storytelling), I propose three additional subcategories: linguistic innovation, intertextuality (allusions to other texts), and metafictionality.
Linguistic innovation has already been discussed in Chapter 2. As mentioned, some TV series are lauded for invention, creativity, and play, and series with young adults who are close friends will include a high degree of linguistic innovation. In addition, sci-fi and fantasy series such as Star Trek or Firefly may create new words (e.g. warp speed; gorram) as well as new sociolinguistic environments (e.g. code-switching between English and Mandarin Chinese in Firefly; see Mandala Reference Mandala, Wilcox and Cochran2008) or whole languages (e.g. Klingon in Star Trek or Dothraki and Valyrian in Game of Thrones). Such invention could be seen as the ultimate ‘exploitation of the resources of language’. Linguistic innovation in SydTV will be the subject of Chapter 9, so no more will be said about it here.
Moving on, intertextuality occurs frequently in US TV series such as Lost, Community, The Big Bang Theory, or Gilmore Girls and exploits the common culture that viewers and the characters share. Such intertextuality functions to reveal the characters and their world but also to create pleasure in viewers and to bond with them, creating a community (Bednarek Reference Bednarek2010a: 31–3; Queen Reference Queen2015: 252).2 Language is exploited because of its cultural value here. In example (8) – from The Wire – we can see a contrast between the speaker (‘stick up man’ Omar) and his allusion to a well-known fairy tale (The Three Little Pigs), which also recasts him as the ‘big bad wolf’.
OMAR: Hey yo! Hey yo! Hey yo! Y’all need to open this door, man, before I huff and puff. C’mon, now, by the hairs of your chinny chin chin.
Intertextuality may also contribute to characterisation, for instance when Buffy characters reference Star Trek (Mandala Reference Mandala2007: 54), the nerds in The Big Bang Theory refer to sci-fi (Bednarek Reference Bednarek2012b), or when the older character Mike from the political comedy series Veep references the TV series Doogie Howser from the late 1980s/early 1990s:
JONAH: And Mike you need to be there too okay, so no goin’ home to walk your dog.
MIKE: Uh, don’t tell me what to do, Doogie fuckin’ Howser.
JONAH: I I don’t know what that means.
In example (9), Mike’s reference to the television character Doogie Howser is not understood by the much younger Jonah, which emphasises the difference between these characters in terms of the social variable of age (type characteristics), but those audience members who are old enough to remember this programme may also bond with Mike. In other cases, characters may be constructed as sophisticated because they reference a particular text. Further examples of intertextuality in TV series are provided in Pearson (Reference Pearson, McCabe and Akass2007b: 248–9), Bednarek (Reference Bednarek2010a: 31–3), Queen (Reference Queen2015: 249–51), and in Chapter 9.
Finally, metafictionality exploits the potential of language to comment on language use itself (metalinguistic comments) but also includes dialogue that foregrounds the conventions or production aspects of TV narratives – such reflexive playfulness is a feature of many contemporary TV series (see Chapter 1, note 10).3 For example, in the second episode of season 4 of the musical comedy-drama Glee the character Brittany explicitly comments on the show’s use of voice-overs by saying, Oh. I thought I was doing a voice-over. In the final episode of the second season of the drama/thriller Mr. Robot, an FBI agent tells one of the characters (Darlene) you are not on some TV show, which plays with viewers’ knowledge that yes, she is indeed on a TV show.
Another instance of metafictionality comes from the sitcom Arrested Development. In example (10), one of the main characters, the oldest son and part-time magician George Oscar (Gob), questions why a doctor would use ambiguous language, making the family think that his father has died when in fact he has escaped out of the hospital window (the doctor’s words earlier in the episode are We lost him. He just uh, got away from us. I’m sorry). George Oscar comments directly on the doctor’s dialogue and indirectly on the implausibility of the plot, hence foregrounding the constructedness of the narrative.
GEORGE OSCAR: Why would a doctor say he’s gone when he means he’s escaped?
[…]
GEORGE OSCAR: Wouldn’t you say “He left out the window”, or “the room’s empty”?
Particular series exploit metafictionality to a high degree, while metacommunication can work in the service of other functions such as characterisation or control of viewer evaluation – as in the case of The West Wing (Richardson Reference Richardson2006).
2.3 Opportunities for Star Turns
Kozloff (Reference Kozloff2000: 60) suggests that some film dialogue functions to showcase a star and ‘to keep our attention focused upon that star, and to give the star a chance to “show off”’. She argues that such dialogue can be identified because it is longer, requires above-average variety of emotional expression, and provides a platform for vocal skill. She also says that this category is ‘primarily pertinent to a certain category of films, those designed as showcases for stars with unique histrionic talents’ (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 60).
There are at least two aspects to be questioned here – first, whether this function is limited to such films, and second, whether length is a necessary criterion. In relation to contemporary TV series, much dialogue seems to allow actors a chance to ‘show off’. It is too difficult to choose one dialogue extract that would illustrate this perfectly, and it would be very hard to demonstrate this without a video of the actor’s performance. However, actors from TV series such as House of Cards, Breaking Bad, or Homeland are regularly nominated for awards and become known for their performance as a particular character. A web search for videos from these series will find many examples of particularly successful acting performances. But perhaps these do indeed tend to occur in particular kinds of TV series that might be considered as vehicles for known stars such as Kevin Spacey, Bryan Cranston, or Claire Danes.
In relation to length, certain types of dialogue arguably provide a platform for a star turn regardless of length. For example, dialogue by other actors may elicit a star performance, as when characters are given a bleak medical diagnosis by a doctor and must react to this. Even a story premise may provide a platform for showcasing performing skills as in The United States of Tara, The Americans, or Orphan Black, where the same actor plays multiple personalities or persons and makes use of linguistic and other cues to distinguish these people. This can also occur in particular ‘doppelgänger’ episodes, as in Buffy, where the actor Alyson Hannigan performs both the ‘normal’ and the ‘Vampire’ version of the character Willow, each clearly distinguished (e.g. season 3, episode 16).
3 Functions Relating to Thematic Messages and Ideology
The next major function is associated with thematic messages and ideology, including explicit or implicit thematic messages, promotion of real-life products, and ideological representations.
3.1 Explicit or Implicit Thematic Messages
Like film dialogue, dialogue in TV series sometimes conveys explicit messages to the audience: Kozloff (Reference Kozloff2000: 56–7) mentions ‘preachy passages’ and ‘overt moralizing’ as examples of dialogue expressing a film’s moral. Some TV episodes also have a ‘moral’, especially when they come from religious or quasi-religious narratives (e.g. Highway to Heaven (1984–9), 7th Heaven (1996–2007)). A more recent example comes from the BBC series Call the Midwife, which occurs at the very end of the episode:
MATURE JENNY (voice-over): It was a Christmas as unique as any other. For every year, the mystery unfolds itself anew. And later in life, I came to see that faith – like hope – is a rope and anchor in a shifting world. Faith cannot be questioned, only lived. And if I could not grasp it then, I felt its heartbeat, which was love.
It is also possible to identify passages of TV dialogue where characters explicitly comment on social reality. Thus, the characters in Gilmore Girls discuss political issues related to women and feminism (Bednarek Reference Bednarek2010a: 35, 39–40). The British TV series Happy Valley also includes discussions by policewomen about misogyny and sexism (season 2, episode 5). In example (12), Leslie and Ben – two of the protagonists of the sitcom Parks and Recreation – use a speech to directly address the sexism that female politicians face in the United States:
LESLIE: […] Third, I’m now gonna give you permanent answers to all the silly questions that you’re gonna end up asking me, and every other woman in this election, over the next few months. “Why did I change my hairstyle?” I don’t know. I just thought it would look better. Or my kids got gum in it. “Are you trying to have it all?” That question makes no sense. It’s a stupid question. Stop asking it. Don’t ask it. “Do you miss your kids while you’re at work?” Yes, of course I do. Everybody does. And then, you know, sometimes I don’t.
BEN: Yeah. And by the way, no one’s ever asked me that question. No one asks me, “Where are your kids?” Or, “Who’s taking care of them?” […]
[one turn by Leslie]
BEN: Right. So, maybe Leslie doesn’t fit your personal idea of what a candidate’s wife should be. So what? That’s good, because there shouldn’t be just one idea anyway.
LESLIE: That’s right. If you wanna bake a pie, that’s great. If you wanna have a career, that’s great, too. Do both, or neither, it doesn’t matter. Just don’t judge what someone else has decided to do. We’re all just trying to find the right path for us. As individuals. On this Earth.
Mad Men is also famous for intentionally communicating feminist messages, as explicitly stated by its creator (see Goggin Reference Goggin, Allen and van den Berg2014: 82). But discussion of social issues is not just limited to feminist concerns – example (13) shows a critical comment on the US healthcare system, which occurs in a storyline from the dramedy Weeds after the main character, Nancy, has been shot and is in hospital:
MRS TAFT: Hello, Botwin family. I’m Mrs. Taft, hospital administration. So sorry for your situation and so sorry to be clobbering you with this now, but we are a private hospital and blah, blah. How will you be paying? I have forms. They need to be filled out. We’re not Canada. We’re not France. We’re not Taiwan, Costa Rica, Iraq, Oman, Sri Lanka, Argentina, New Zealand, Spain, Ireland, Israel, Portugal, Germany, Ukraine, China. You get the point. We’re America. We take all credit cards.
I understand the comparison in example (13) of the US healthcare system with so many other countries as an explicit and intentional criticism of sociopolitical reality. Mittell (Reference Mittell2015: 343) discusses an example from the finale of Homeland’s first season, where a video testimonial of one of the protagonists, Sergeant Nick Brody, makes a critical political statement about American drone strikes, which, he argues, the viewers are initially ‘invited to endorse or at least consider as valid’. The first season of the comedy Master of None is an example of a TV series that successfully integrates humour with critical messages about contemporary life (for instance, racism on television in the episode ‘Indians on TV’). In the British police drama Life on Mars, different strategies are combined to encourage viewers to critically engage with aspects of society, ranging from the personalisation and juxtaposition of different views to identification with characters and characters’ explicit social critique (Richardson Reference Richardson2010a: 161–6).
There are also examples of contemporary TV narratives that include storylines that portray the LGBTQI community in ways that seem to elicit viewer sympathy (e.g. Glee, Last Tango in Halifax, Please Like Me), portraying for instance homophobia or negative reactions to ‘coming out’. In example (14), from Call the Midwife, which takes place in the late 1950s/early 1960s, couple Delia and Patsy confront the now-historical reality in the United Kingdom of not being able to get married. I have included more detailed information such as pauses ([..] = medium pause), speed (preceding speech, applies until the next speaker’s turn), and voice quality (following speech, applies up to preceding exclamation mark).
(14) [In the street, after dark. Patsy runs after Delia, grabs and turns her.]
PATSY: [rushed:] You don’t really want to get married, do you?
DELIA: Yes. More than anything. [Patsy looks shocked] To you, you fool! [Delia starts to tear up] But I can’t [trembling voice]. [..] So that’s that.
[Patsy exhales and lets go of Delia’s hand, as the latter is walking away.]
The moving nature of this emotionally powerful exchange (reinforced through phonological and multimodal cues) elicits viewer sympathy for the women’s situation and may trigger sympathy for people who are still in this situation in countries without such rights.
However, in relation to explicit messages where characters comment on social issues or praise/criticise other characters’ behaviour, it is often hard to say whether audiences are positioned to agree or disagree. Another question is whether the characters are meant to be read as spokespersons for the TV series (Richardson Reference Richardson2010a: 165–6). It is therefore difficult to find many clear examples of overt thematic messages in TV dialogue that can unproblematically be identified as a ‘moral’ for the audience. More often, viewers are presented with different morals and asked to reflect on them but are not necessarily directed to take sides. In general, it is possible to argue that overtly moral TV series would presumably put off some viewers, and representations that can be interpreted in different ways, depending on the viewer, are more interesting and appealing to audiences (Richardson Reference Richardson2010a; Raymond Reference Raymond2013; Bednarek Reference Bednarek2015b).4
In addition to overt thematic messages, Kozloff includes less overt use of allegory to convey a social, moral, or political message. Such allegorical dialogue has a subtext, a double-layering (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 59–60). Douglas (Reference Douglas2011: 33) mentions The West Wing and Battlestar Galactica as examples of political allegory in US TV series. Implicit messages are also apparent in TV series such as Our Friends in the North or The Wire, which explore sociocultural and political issues by way of fictional narratives, offering implicit critiques. Thus, the British Our Friends in the North critically portrays life in North East England from the 1960s to the 1990s. The Wire, according to creator David Simon, addresses ‘what the drug war has become in America and what it was costing us as a society’ (White House 2015: n.p.). Simon has stated elsewhere, ‘I am not particularly interested in making the most entertaining stories unless they are actually contending with an argument that matters’ (Chotiner Reference Chotiner2015: n.p.). The storylines in the Netflix prison drama Orange Is the New Black can also be interpreted as criticisms of the American prison system and the way contemporary society views and treats those whom it has incarcerated.
In sum, certain TV series do make an argument, do have a thematic message, and do comment on human realities, and may do so in implicit, sophisticated ways. Both explicit and implicit thematic messages can critique, reinforce, or negotiate dominant/hegemonic cultural ideologies, including language ideologies (see Lippi-Green Reference Lippi-Green2012: 17 for an example of the latter).
3.2 Promotion of Real-Life Products
In rare cases, the ‘message’ that is conveyed through TV dialogue is an instance of what I term ‘verbal’ product placement. There can be agreements between companies and networks, meaning that series are ‘required by the networks to include specific products in their content’ (Sandler Reference Sandler2007: KL 529–30). A clear example of a verbal product placement occurs in the musical drama Nashville:
DEACON: You had your meeting with that charity yesterday?
RAYNA: Oh, yeah, FosterMore.
DEACON: How’d it go?
RAYNA: So great. They are doing amazing work for these at-risk kids. Here in Nashville, all over the place.
This conversation between the country musicians and protagonists Rayna and Deacon is essentially a plug for the real-life charity FosterMore. Between the final scene of this episode and the closing credits, an advert for the charity is inserted (Figure 4.1).
A less clear example of verbal product placement is evident in example (16), where one of the two characters in the HBO dramedy Girls, Shoshanna, positively evaluates the dating show Baggage while watching it:
HANNAH: What are you watching?
SHOSHANNA: Baggage.
HANNAH: Baggage? What’s baggage?
SHOSHANNA: It’s like, my favorite show on the game show network. Oh no she didn’t.
HANNAH: Oh, Marnie and I don’t have cable so we haven’t seen that.
SHOSHANNA: Shut up, get over here now. Okay, so, there are three contestants. Today they’re girls, and this guy Danny is looking for love, and they each have three suitcases, a little one a medium one and a big one, and then they have like, their secret baggage, and they reveal it, and if it’s super freaky he eliminates them. Okay like, this chick?
HANNAH: The black one or the blonde one?
SHOSHANNA: No the black one. Her littlest baggage is that she spends a thousand dollars a month on her weave, which host Jerry Springer thinks is unbeweavable. Her medium baggage is that she plans her wedding after the first date and her biggest baggage is that she pokes holes in condoms.
There is a fine line between mentioning real-life products (such as genuine TV programmes) to create realism and anchor characters in a world similar to the audience’s (see Section 4.2) and promoting such products. Extended positive discussions are more likely to fulfil promotional functions.
3.3 Ideological Representations
As we have seen, TV dialogue can convey overt thematic messages or have an intended subtext with an implicit message. In these cases, the assumption is that the relevant messages are intentional. However, there are many cases where it is not clear if aspects of the dialogue have been designed to create an explicit/implicit message, but where the dialogue nevertheless challenges, reinforces, or negotiates hegemonic ideologies. The function ‘ideological representations’ captures such cases. (In this respect, this is an exception to not making any assumptions about scriptwriters’ intentionality.)
To give an example, there are thirty-one instances across eleven episodes of the adjective fat in SydTV where fat refers to body size, nutrition, etc. While some references occur with respect to men (my fat ugly face (Hot in Cleveland), some fat old emir (Dollhouse)) or unspecified/mixed gender (I did not mean to imply that everyone here is fat and ugly (Hot in Cleveland)), the vast majority of instances related to body image or dieting are used to refer to women, including the trope/stereotype of the ‘former fat girl’, which occurs in two different episodes in SydTV. In this way it could be argued that these episodes both reflect and reinforce cultural ideologies about gender and the obsession of the US and other cultures with the aesthetics of the female body. An extended example is discussed in Bednarek (Reference Bednarek2010a: 180–227), in relation to how Gilmore Girls reproduces the US mainstream ideology of eating meat.
It may not always be easy to distinguish ‘ideological representations’ from ‘explicit or implicit thematic messages’, but perhaps the latter occur in more marked contexts – for instance, in speeches, in longer stretches of dialogue, or in a voice-over at the beginning or end of an episode.
4 Functions Relating to Realism
This penultimate section discusses functions relating to realism. For Kozloff (Reference Kozloff2000: 47), to say that dialogue is ‘realistic’ means ‘saying that it adheres to a complex code of what a culture at a given time agrees to accept as plausible, everyday, authentic’. Similarly, Mittell (Reference Mitchell, Donaher and Katz2015: 221) argues:
Televisual realism is not a marker of accurate representation of the real world but rather is an attempt to render a fictional world that creates the representational illusion of accuracy – a program is seen as realist when it feels authentic even though no media text comes close to a truly accurate representation of the complex world.5
Scriptwriting advice notes that such believability is crucial to viewers caring about what happens to characters (Bull Reference Bull2007: KL 834–8).
According to Kozloff (Reference Kozloff2000: 47) every mainstream film contains dialogue exchanges, which ‘primarily function to replicate everyday encounters’. Also included are attempts at representing a particular cultural milieu accurately (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 48). I have subdivided functions relating to realism into two: imitating ‘real’ spoken and written language, and references to the ‘real’ world.
4.1 Imitating ‘Real’ Spoken and Written Language
Kozloff (Reference Kozloff2000: 47–9) suggests that one way of creating realism is to represent normal conversational activities such as ordering food, greetings, or small talk, which are strictly speaking not necessary for advancing the plot but which provide authenticity. Examples also occur in TV dialogue, such as the introduction in example (17) and the conventional politeness in the conversation with a dinner guest in example (18):
CAROLINE: […] Alicia, this is Jay Van Zandt …
JAY: Hi.
CAROLINE: Max’s manager. Alicia’s my lawyer.
BREE: Umm, Reverend, why don’t you uh have a seat and I will get some refreshments.
[two turns between Reverend and Bree’s son Andrew]
BREE: Would you like some water? I have flat or bubbly.
REVEREND: Oh bubbly please.
However, most of these exchanges would simultaneously fulfil additional functions such as characterisation or plot development, since TV dialogue has a low tolerance for scenes that do not move the story forward (Bull Reference Bull2007: KL 1893–6).
More generally – as already summarised in Chapter 2 – TV dialogue has to be realistic or authentic enough not to alienate viewers, and hence selectively imitates the features that we associate with ‘real’ (unscripted) speech, including institutional and casual encounters. Realism/authenticity can also be produced by successful representations of particular language varieties (e.g. associated with professional or ethnic groups). Lopez and Bucholtz (Reference Lopez and Bucholtz2017: 23) talk about an authenticity effect, i.e. ‘the result of carefully engineered artistic artifice and its ratification by audience members’.
I also include genre imitations under this function, for instance the creation of fictional but realistic CNN newscasts in season 4 of House of Cards, which report on the shooting of the fictional president. Similar examples occur in other series such as Homeland (Figure 4.2 and examples (19) and (20)).
[Shot of the Brody family house, shot of Brody’s children watching the television in the living-room, while we hear the television in the background]: The turnout is overwhelming here at Andrews Air Force Base where Sergeant Nicholas Brody is scheduled to land [shot of TV screen] in just under two hours. Now a White House spokesman confirms that the Vice President [shot of children] will be on hand [children start talking to each other, television continues in background, becoming more difficult to understand]
MIRA [reading from a newspaper]: “In a stunning development at the Geneva summit, Iranian diplomats have offered IAEA inspectors full and unfettered access to the regime’s nuclear sites in exchange for the lifting of economic sanctions.”

Figure 4.2 Still from Homeland showing a fictional newscast
Here the scriptwriters have created fictional newscasts and print news stories that characters encounter in the narrative, imitating the kinds of newscasts and news stories that audiences are familiar with and encounter in their everyday lives. Such news items can also function to communicate narrative causality, for instance when they provide necessary background information.
4.2 References to the ‘Real’ World
TV dialogue also uses references to existing ‘real-life’ entities to anchor the narrative in the world known to the viewer. As Fludernik (Reference Fludernik2009: 42) notes, references to real places may hide the fictionality of a narrative, and Bruti and Vignozzi (Reference Bruti, Vignozzi, Ferrari and Bruti2016b) point out that references to the cultural and historical background lend credibility to TV period dramas.
There are many instances of references to the ‘real’ world in SydTV, including Lex (Lexington Avenue in New York); Beyoncé and Janelle Monáe (singers); DeGeneres and de Rossi (celebrity couple); Hugh Jackman (actor); Louis Vuitton (brand); Tetris (computer game); Tic Tacs (candy), Spanx (clothing product); Mad Libs (word game); the ’Bucks (coffee chain Starbucks); vo-tech (type of school); Terps (University of Maryland athletic team Maryland Terrapins); and America’s Most Wanted, Baggage (reality television programmes). The SydTV episode of 2 Broke Girls in example (6) above takes this realism further by not only referencing but also featuring Martha Stewart, as herself.
In TV series like The Americans, Homeland, and Narcos archival footage of events is integrated, for instance featuring utterances by real politicians in relation to actual events that have occurred. Even without dialogue such archival footage creates realism; that is, the dialogue is not necessary but can contribute to this effect. References to real historical events also occur, for instance in the voice-over narration in Netflix’s Narcos or when characters in the drama Mad Men, which takes place at an advertising agency in the 1960s, discuss Richard Nixon’s election campaign:
BERT: So Roger mentioned this Nixon thing.
DON: Yeah, he mentioned it. I just assumed it went away.
ROGER: It didn’t.
DON: Last I read, Nixon was running without an agency.
BERT: Make no mistake, we know better what Dick Nixon needs, better than Dick Nixon.
DON: What does Dick Nixon think he needs?
ROGER: What he already has: Ted Rogers, the brains behind that Checkers broadcast.
Above, I suggested that intertextual references (allusions to other texts) can be discussed in relation to the exploitation of language for its cultural value. Insofar as intertextuality refers to ‘real-life’ phenomena (existing cultural texts such as films, novels, TV series), it also creates realism, since it shows that characters are ‘embedded in a similar social world to that of the viewers themselves’ (Queen Reference Queen2015: 251).
5 Functions Relating to the Serial Nature of TV Narratives
The final category that I propose relates to functions of TV dialogue that have to do with the serial nature of TV series: the creation of consistency and continuity.6
5.1 Creation of Consistency
It is crucial for dialogue in TV series to create consistency across episodes and seasons. As explained in Chapter 1, TV narratives rely on ‘consistent and persistent storyworlds and characters’ (Mittell Reference Mittell2015: 22). The production process with showrunners helps to create this consistency. The television producer and writer Peter Dunne puts it strongly: ‘In television, audiences are built on consistency. It is the number one rule in series TV’ (Dunne Reference Dunne, McCabe and Akass2007: 100). This includes consistency of characters, plot, and the general style, tone, and ‘brand’ of a show. In sum, a successful TV series is one that is consistent (Epstein Reference Epstein2006: 4).
As a TV series progresses, its dialogue should therefore remain in line with what audiences have come to expect of the series (e.g. in terms of humour, wittiness, and literary and aesthetic qualities) and of the characters (the way each character speaks and how they interact). Thus, a corpus linguistic analysis of dialogue produced by one of the protagonists in Gilmore Girls across all its seasons suggests that her style does remain fairly consistent and that a stable character ‘adds to serial stability’ (Bednarek Reference Bednarek, Piazza, Bednarek and Rossi2011a: 194).
An obvious way of creating consistency is through catchphrases (e.g. Homer Simpson’s d’oh) or salient ‘signature interjections’ (Bednarek Reference Bednarek2010a: 137). But consistency does not mean that change is not possible, even in relation to catchphrases. For instance, bazinga is a catchphrase (and signature interjection) for the character Sheldon in The Big Bang Theory but is not used in all seasons. However, when characters diverge too much from the way they usually speak, this can become a source of meta-linguistic commentary and can be used stylistically for foregrounding (Bednarek Reference Bednarek2010a: 110–11, 133).
Evidence for the importance of consistency also comes from what we know about the TV production process. Thus, show ‘bibles’ are sometimes given to new writers who join a scriptwriting team, which provide them with detailed information about the series, sometimes even information about characters’ language choices (Douglas Reference Douglas2011: 34, 71).7 Manuals on scriptwriting also advise novice writers to be consistent in their writing (e.g. Smith Reference Smith2009: KL 751). They are told that in order to write ‘in service to the show’ (Douglas Reference Douglas2011: 263), they need to be familiar with its pace and style and to ‘hear the characters’ voices in [their] head’ (Douglas Reference Douglas2011: 157). Showrunners also often talk about the voice of a series (e.g. Tracy Newman and Jonathan Stark in Priggé Reference Priggé2005: 110, 142; John Beck in Finer & Pearlman Reference Finer and Pearlman2004: 205) or about writers learning the voices of the characters (e.g. Bill Lawrence in Priggé Reference Priggé2005: 182; Ron Hart in Finer & Pearlman Reference Finer and Pearlman2004: 209), as further discussed in Chapter 10.
5.2 Creation of Continuity
The serial nature of TV series, which often feature plot lines that are continued across episodes (story arcs, cf. Chapter 1) means that TV dialogue must also function to create continuity. Serials in particular must do so, and often provide continuity for the viewer simply by including a recap sequence with dialogue from previous episodes at the beginning of a new episode, usually prefaced by Previously on … (Richardson Reference Richardson2010a: 137). But the new episode itself can also include references to events that happened in previous episodes. For example, a conversation in the third episode of Mad Men between account executive Pete and secretary Peggy refers to a sexual encounter between them that happened in the first episode:
PETE: Peggy. When I came over that night, you know, before.
PEGGY: I was there.
PETE: You know, I’m married now.
PEGGY: I know.
PETE: So …
PEGGY: Pete, I understand. It never happened.
Although he does not focus on linguistic analysis, Mittell (Reference Mittell2015: 180–94) discusses many strategies for triggering and managing viewers’ memories from recaps to embedded redundancies, diegetic retelling of happenings, voice-over, flashbacks, and so on. Particular series may develop their own strategies to update viewers, for instance to create continuity between different seasons (for an example, see Richardson Reference Richardson2010a: 137).
6 Conclusion
This chapter and the last have introduced a new functional approach to television series (FATS), offering a comprehensive framework that can be used to analyse the functions of television dialogue. I have deliberately included a large number of examples from different TV series, so that readers can better appreciate the complexity and multifunctionality of contemporary TV dialogue. Here, I will briefly highlight a few key points about FATS.
First, my main focus was on one mode (language), but television narratives are multimodal audiovisual texts (Bednarek Reference Bednarek2010a, Reference Bednarek, Baker and McEnery2015a; Richardson Reference Richardson2010b; Toolan Reference Toolan, Piazza, Bednarek and Rossi2011, Reference Toolan and Burke2014). Hence, language interacts with other elements to fulfil these functions, and dialogue is ‘not […] the only means of accomplishing these ends’ (Kozloff Reference Kozloff2000: 62, emphasis in original). For example, viewers interpret television characters from speech, clothing, actions, etc. Realism can be created by the use of authentic music and sound effects, costumes, sets, camera techniques (such as the use of hand-held cameras), and so on. I have commented on this only in passing, where it has become clear that dialogue works in conjunction with camera shots to locate the narrative in space, in conjunction with shot sequencing to clarify the modality of happenings, and in conjunction with performance and shot content to elicit viewer’s emotional responses, and that archival footage may also create realism without the inclusion of any dialogue. As Kozloff (Reference Kozloff2000: 17) puts it, ‘the interaction between the visual and verbal tracks is always complicated and depends greatly upon the details of each instance’.
Second, I have predominantly discussed each dialogue extract with respect to one function only, for the sake of clarity. However, what Pfister (Reference Pfister1988: 105) notes for drama dialogue and Kozloff (Reference Kozloff2000: 34) points out for film dialogue is also true for television dialogue: TV dialogue is polyfunctional, meaning that a piece of dialogue will most often fulfil more than one function at the same time (Bubel Reference Bubel2006: 255; Bednarek Reference Bednarek and Flowerdew2014a: 63). This was apparent in several examples, for instance in example (14) in the previous chapter, from The Big C, where Cathy talks about her childhood. These dialogue lines simultaneously establish the character’s biography, identify Sean as her brother, and communicate narrative causality (reason for her desire for a pool). In this chapter, the line Well I tried to call it Al but it would only answer to mistake from example (4) is an intertextual reference that simultaneously functions to create humour. This multifunctionality is in line with scriptwriting advice, which states that scenes should fulfil several functions at the same time: no scene should merely explore character or be used only for exposition (Douglas Reference Douglas2011: 112, 114).
Third, there is no clear one-to-one relation between a particular type of dialogue cue and its function (Bednarek Reference Bednarek, Locher and Jucker2017b). For instance, while catchphrases and signature interjections create consistency, they are also important for characterisation and may create humour through repetition. Technical or specialised vocabulary establishes the professional identity of characters, creates realism, and indirectly conveys information about the setting. Non-standard language can construct characters’ national or regional identity and identify the location but is also linked by Kozloff (Reference Kozloff2000: 82–3) to both realism and the poetic function of language. Intertextual references exploit the resources of language but also create realism and may contribute to characterisation. Names and nicknames identify characters (anchorage of the characters), but they also construct relationships such as friendship between these characters (relationships between characters). It has also been argued that the use of names and vocatives can foreground dialogue fragments and mark narrative salience (Zago Reference Zago, Dynel and Chovanec2015) – a usage that we can perhaps connect to the control of viewer evaluation and emotions. These are just a few examples; many more could be provided.
Fourth, it is an open question how many different functions should be posited and which subcategories should be distinguished. I have aimed for a compromise as far as generality and specificity are concerned, having a limited number of subcategories where they appear necessary and avoiding any double-classifications. The new model proposed here is not set in stone and can be adapted or developed further.
Finally, this chapter was concerned with describing and explaining the multiple functions that dialogue fulfils in televisual narratives, rather than providing details for how each function can be realised. In this respect, it has to be said that we know more about some functions than others – for instance, competing linguistic models exist for how characterisation works, and several linguists have investigated how humour is created in TV series. But other functions require more extensive analysis.
Notwithstanding these caveats, I hope that this new analytical framework will be useful for future research on television dialogue. I myself draw on it in this book, although not all functions will be equally relevant. For example, since SydTV contains only one episode per included TV series, it is not possible to analyse continuity. Further, corpus linguistic analysis of patterns across a range of texts does not lend itself well to analysis of narrative causality. For this, we would need to analyse linguistic patterns within an episode (intratextual analysis). The next chapter introduces the corpus linguistic approach in more detail.




