A Good Show Must Always End, But A Great Story Lasts Forever

A fragment of the Odyssey, via Wikimedia Commons

Have you ever been involved in a performance? Any kind of performance? It could have been a high school play, a ceremony at church, or a major presentation at work. In all cases, you practice, practice, practice. Whether it’s a musical or a wedding, you have a final rehearsal before the actual “show.”

On opening night, you have jitters. Throughout the event, your shoulders remain tense. You try not to let them see you sweat. At some point, however, you get past the hump. You can see the end. You begin to relax. Ironically, adrenaline pumps through your veins until it reaches euphoria when the final curtain falls. Your emotion peaks to such heights that, even today, you can barely remember the celebratory after-party.

And then it’s over. You wake up the next morning to an unexpected emptiness. The routine is gone. What do you do now?

Alas, all good shows must come to an end. Such is the nature of the business. Such is the science of the space-time continuum. Every once in a while, entertainers acknowledge this. Star Trek: The Next Generation concluded its syndicated run with a final episode titled “All Good Things…” In case you’re wondering, the ellipses imply the adage, “All good things must come to an end.”

When that final episode closed the curtain on The Next Generation, the show ended. To this day, people argue whether it endured. Indeed, other than the title, there’s very little to remember about that last episode. Contrast this legacy to that of Star Trek: The Original Series. More than a half-century after its debut, Captain Kirk and friends are still traveling in the universe of syndication.

Is space-time infinitely warped for William Shatner but finite for Patrick Stewart? For the actors, their respective shows ended long ago. For the fans, the shows still go on.

Perhaps there’s a difference between the show as an event (which is space-time limited) and the story told during the event.

Imagine, if you will, you’re on the rooftop of Abbey Road Studios in 1969. There, you witness the last live performance of The Beatles. It’s historic. And the music isn’t so bad either. Following the last bars of “Get Back,” John Lennon closed with the line, “I would like to say thank you on behalf of the group and ourselves, and I hope we’ve passed the audition.” Not only did this represent the end of the story of that performance, but it also signaled the end of the story of The Beatles.

Or did it?

We still listen to The Beatles. We still talk about The Beatles. We still see other artists across all media using the work of The Beatles (q.v., recent movies like Yesterday and Across the Universe).

The difference between a story that ends and one that lasts forever is the difference between a good story and a great story. What makes a good story great? Three things: universal themes, compelling characters, and a lasting emotional impact. Creators achieve these through a memorable plot structure that transcends contemporary times and contains a depth that both draws the audience in and keeps them coming back to discover elements they might have missed earlier.

In the case of The Beatles, each song is its own story. The best stand the test of time because they touch on universal themes and feelings we all share. The Beatles, perhaps more than any other band, wrote music in three different stages, each appealing to a different constituency. The Early Beatles dealt with the innocence of young love, from the excitement of new love to the lament of unrequited love. The Middle Beatles touch on mature questions, including loneliness, cynicism, and exploration. Finally, the Late Beatles hit the rawest of emotional nerves that reflect the rebellion and hedonism of those who feel left out.

You no doubt remember classic literature that does the same thing. In addition, because these stories consume more pages, they have time to develop memorable characters. These characters act as our metaphorical guides in the story. When authors craft them in a manner that makes them most compelling, they become relatable. This captures us. We want to follow them throughout the story—and beyond it. This extends the original story through sequels and, in some examples, fan fiction. Quite simply, fans don’t want the story to end, so they make sure it doesn’t by writing more.

Now think of perhaps the greatest story ever (if only because it stands as among the oldest): Homer’s Odyssey. Because the tale of Odysseus has been so often told, we tend to take its original impact for granted. When it first appeared in Ancient Greece, people followed the trials of the hero with rapt attention. Not only was the character compelling, but the confrontations he faced brought out the emotions of the audience. Those feelings didn’t go away when the story ended. They remained deeply etched in the memories of those long after they had heard the story.

Finally, it is the story crafting that seals the deal. Creators build a plot that keeps the reader turning the page. An author weaves the various threads of the story to seamlessly bring everything together. Done well, you won’t notice the structure of the story. All you see are the characters, the conflict, and the emotion that drives the action forward.

To cap it all off, the ending must satisfy. In part, the author must present the conflict so the stakes are meaningful. This permits the ultimate resolution to grab the reader and leave a lasting impact. The story then endures in one of two ways. First, the protagonist, having exhibited captivating cleverness, causes the audience to beg that he come back for more (think James Bond in nearly every movie). Second, the protagonist undergoes such a gripping (and usually happy) emotional transition that the audience wants to see it again (think George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life).

Performers and performances must always come to an end. The stories they tell, however, endure when they capture the imagination of the audience. Appreciate the show for what it is when you see it. When it’s done, contemplate the timelessness of the story.

When a story inspires, comforts, and connects, it’s up to you to keep the narrative alive. Future generations will thank you for it.