Staffer's Note

Sunday is the series finale of Entourage. I guess I should be excited about this—after all, I would objectively be considered a fan of the show. I’ve watched all 94 episodes, I know every word to the (admittedly terrible) Jane’s Addiction song “Superhero,” and I sometimes think that Martin Scorsese actually directed a version of The Great Gatsby. Sunday should be the culmination of years of fandom. It should be a big deal.

But the truth is, I couldn’t care less. I’ve disliked Entourage for around three seasons now. Actively hated it might be the better phrase—the truth is, I haven’t enjoyed an episode since Johnny Drama’s emotional breakdown on The View back in season five. Season six was irresponsibly bad, mainly for the misguided storylines and, of course, the introduction of the cheesy, diminutive Scotty Lavin into the friend group. Quick show of hands: How many times do you make a new best friend in the span of days?

Then came season seven, in which Vince “went to the dark side,” complete with a coke addiction and a porn star girlfriend. I distinctly remember hoping, at the end of that gem of a year, that Vince would drive off the Pacific Coast Highway in a drug-filled stupor. Because I knew, if Vince was dead, I was off the hook. I wouldn’t have to watch another season of this awful show, a show which I’ve watched as a compulsion for years with no enjoyment. I would be free. I could maybe even read a book after Curb Your Enthusiasm on Sunday nights. But it came back, and this season has been as bad as I knew it would be. So now I’m stuck here wondering why we fall into the trap of this particular brand of television.

Shows like Entourage, The Killing and Lost represent some of the worst kinds of entertainment—they suck you in, even as you realize you don’t like them and don’t like where they’re going. The Killing, after a promising start, devolved into red herrings and contrived cliff-hangers; the absurdity of the unfulfilling season finale almost seemed inevitable. Likewise, as Lost reached its series finale, it became abundantly clear that nothing would be answered, nothing would be resolved. Yet fans, having stuck around through six seasons of flashbacks and smoke monsters, could hardly abandon the show. And then there’s Entourage, which has already had two or three seemingly major plots neatly tied up in two-episode arcs this year (as if its feeble-minded fans can’t handle any conflict that lasts too long). It’s also looking more and more like we won’t have any sort of dramatic conclusion for Vince, Turtle and Drama, who will go on a date with a random reporter, open a restaurant and star in a TV movie, respectively. Thrilling, thrilling stuff.

Why do we do this? Do we hold on because we feel like things will turn around? Do we genuinely care about the characters? Or are we victims to a terrible, manipulative brand of television, designed by studios that could care less about quality than about making it too costly for fans to tune out?

Screw you, Vincent Chase.