The Search for the Perfect Introductory Episode
When I was in elementary school, my mom had a rule about television: if there was a new show I wanted to watch, I needed to watch an episode with her, and she would decide if I was allowed to keep watching it or not. In third grade, my only real friend at school at the time was really into Sonic the Hedgehog, so of course, I had to watch it too. My mom sat down, watched an episode with me, and absolutely hated it, mainly because of the episode’s villain, some kind of grifter who lied and conned the heroes. I tried to explain to her that he was a bad guy, of course he was mean, and besides, this was the only episode he was in! The show wasn’t normally like this! She didn’t budge.
This incident taught me two lessons that have stuck with me to this day: 1. My mom’s judgement is not to be trusted, and 2. if you’re going to introduce somebody to a show you love, make sure it’s a really good episode.
The latter was a problem I ran into a lot in the pre-DVD, pre-streaming days, when you only had access to whatever episode the network decided to air that day, and any time I tried to introduce a friend to a show I loved it ended up being that weird episode with a strange gimmick or distracting guest star, or an episode from season one before they knew what worked or the final season when half the cast had already left, and of course it completely turned them off. I thought things would be easier once streaming came around, but it turns out that just showing friends your favorite episodes doesn’t cut it. Figuring out the perfect episode to introduce someone to a show requires careful thought and consideration.
Maybe it sounds like I’m taking this all way too seriously, and perhaps I am, but by now it should be obvious to you all how invested I am in the media I consume. To be honest, I find sharing a series I love with someone to be an incredibly stressful experience. Part of that is because I’m so invested that a rejection of the show sometimes feels like a rejection of me, but that’s a false projection I’ve worked very hard to move past and overcome. Still, if I’m showing someone a show, it’s because it’s one I love, one I think is worth watching, one I think they’ll love too — of course I’m going to do everything I can to make sure they’ll appreciate it. If they just don’t vibe with it, that’s obviously fine, but if they don’t like it because I made them watch a bad episode, well then, that’s just sloppy on my end. Why wouldn’t I want to avoid that?
So, then, what makes for a perfect introduction episode? I think the most important thing to keep in mind is that perfect introduction episodes are often not the very best or your very favorite episodes of a show. For example, I think “Free Churro” is one of the very best episodes BoJack Horseman has ever done, if not one of the best 22 minutes of entertainment to ever air on television, but it’s a pretty terrible introduction to BoJack; not only does its emotional weight rest upon a relationship (between BoJack and his mother) that first-time viewers would have no context for, but it’s also an experimental episode that features only one of the main characters. It’s not a very good example of what a typical episode of BoJack Horseman actually looks like; the show had to earn viewer’s trust to be able to pull off an episode like this, and it hasn’t done that with first-time viewers yet.
Or, take my favorite episode of Parks and Recreation, “April and Andy’s Fancy Party.” It’s beautiful and gut-bustingly funny episode, but so much of its power comes from the investment the viewer has in April and Andy’s relationship; you can’t just start somebody at the finish line, no matter how fantastic of an episode that finish line is.
What about starting at the first episode? After all, aren’t they specifically designed to sell a show to new viewers? Yeah, but that doesn’t always mean they work. Parks and Recreation’s entire first season is more likely to repel a first-time viewer than attract them, and even if a show has a great pilot, chances are it doesn’t reflect what the show will eventually become in its prime. Could you get somebody into Community with the pilot? Maybe. Does it really sell the zany, genre-bending, heart-on-sleeve show it would eventually become? No, and thus it misses so many of the reasons someone should watch Community. Sitcoms especially tend to devote their pilots to explaining premises that need very little explaining in the first place, or to character relationships that would change, or cease to be important, a few episodes down the line. If you’re going to recommend somebody start with the first episode, it should be a serialized show, or a short-lived one, or one that just started out at its highest quality and never wavered — Mad Men and Freaks and Geeks both spring to mind.
Really, what you’re exactly looking for in an introductory episode will vary depending on the show, but the best examples will show off what a show does best (be it humor or drama, parody or political commentary or inspirational messages), provide a spotlight to as many of the main characters and relationships as possible, and avoid spoilers and complex ongoing storylines as much as possible.
The best example of an introductory episode I’ve come across, and managed to use, is “The Camel,” the ninth episode of Parks and Recreation’s second season. The plot finds a mural at Pawnee’s city hall defaced, and Leslie rallying her department to create the best possible replacement. Each character has to come up with a concept, and the sequence where each reveals their potential mural serves as the perfect compact introduction to each character’s personality (Leslie’s is obsessed with history nobody else cares about; Ann’s earnest but unimpressive; April’s macabre and purposely provocative; Donna’s obsessed with celebrity and fame; Jerry’s technically perfect but somehow incredibly embarrassing; Tom outsources his because he cares so little; Andy and Ron are separated into their own B-Plot, but even that gives both characters a chance to show just exactly who they are as they bounce off each other). Both the conflict of the episode and its eventual conclusion highlight the show’s focus on small government bureaucracy, but also on happy endings and people coming together to build themselves up into something greater than they were apart. It avoids all of the season’s ongoing plots, serving as a completely standalone episode. It’s also one of the funniest of Parks and Rec’s early episodes, marking, at least for me, the point where it truly became consistently high quality week after week. You watch this episode, and you know exactly what this show is about, who all its characters are, and whether it’s going to make you laugh or not. It’s the perfect introductory episode.
(The only real downside of “The Camel” as an introduction is that it doesn’t feature Ben and Chris, but I think most new viewers can be pleasantly surprised by them at the end of Season Two the same way original viewers were. The only reason to skip ahead to Ben and Chris right off the bat would be if you were going to skip Season Two entirely, and why would you possibly want to miss the telethon, or the first Tammy episode, or April and Andy’s relationship sparking, or the hunting trip?!)
Different difficulties arise, though, if you’re trying to introduce somebody to long-running shows, or ones with high turnover rates for their cast. Think something like Doctor Who, or ER, or Grey’s Anatomy, or even Degrassi, shows that go through distinct eras with entirely different casts of characters, where the premise becomes the show’s only constant. When it comes to a show like this, you’re going to have to make a judgement call and introduce them to the era you think is best, unless you can find an episode that’s more about premise than anything else.
Take Doctor Who. Season Three, Episode Ten of the 2005 reboot — “Blink” — barely features the Doctor at all. Instead, it’s told through the perspective of a young woman named Sally Sparrow, who, after a random run-in with a monster known as a Weeping Angel, is drawn into the Doctor’s world of aliens and time-travel and becomes the only person who can rescue the Doctor from being stranded in time forever. As Sally learns more about the Doctor, so do the viewers, becoming slowly acclimated to the tone and concept of the show and then, eventually, the Doctor himself. It’s a pretty atypical episode of Doctor Who, but it teaches a first-time viewer what they can expect from any future episode. I’ve had great success introducing people to Doctor Who with this one, and I usually follow it up with “The Eleventh Hour,” the first episode of Season Five and the introduction to Matt Smith’s Eleventh Doctor. If “Blink” teaches you what to expect from a typical episode of Doctor Who, “The Eleventh Hour” teaches you what you can usually expect from the Doctor himself.
So yeah, I consider the introductory episode to be an art-form in-and-of itself, much like making a good mix-tape or playlist might be. I’m betting some of you might have some pretty good introductory episodes in your roster yourselves, and if you do, I would absolutely love for you to let me know about them in the comments.
BUT BEFORE WE GO, HERE’S A FEW MORE QUICK INTRODUCTORY EPISODES
BoJack Horseman: The easy answer here is Season One, Episode Eight, “The Telescope.” It’s the first episode that really digs into the ideas of redemption at the series’ heart and shows that it’s more than just the crude comedy its first few episodes made it out to be, but it’s also not 100% drama like some of the later episodes, and even features a wacky Todd subplot. It shows off the most different facets of what the show is at its best, without spoiling too much of what’s to come.
Broad City: My buddy Zach got me into Broad City with Season Two, Episode Four, “Knockoffs,” solely because it featured this, one of the funniest sequences ever put to film, but it ended up being a surprisingly effective introductory episode. Abby and Ilana spend enough time apart that both their personalities shine through, but enough together that we can see the friendship that forms the core of the series. Abby’s plot provides the cringe/relatable relationship comedy side of the show’s equation while Ilana’s provides the more surreal, “Isn’t New York City weird?” aspect. When you put it all together, you’ve got Broad City in a nutshell. The only downside? Few other episodes live up to this one, great as they are.
Community: I’m still struggling with this one, to be honest, because no episode can fully explore every facet of this show. I was introduced to it with the one-two punch of “Modern Warfare” (the first paintball episode) and “Epidemiology” (the zombie episode), which manage to effectively introduce most of the characters while also showing what the show can be at its most wildly inventive, but also set very high expectations that not all of its episodes can live up to. Right at this moment, though, I might go for “Advanced Dungeons and Dragons,” which does well by every character while also serving the group dynamic, and explores both Community’s more inventive, concept-driven side and it’s sappy, heartfelt side.
It’s Always Sunny in Philadephia: Sunny is consistent enough — especially in its early seasons — that I think this one is more about avoiding the wrong episodes than it is finding the exact right one; you don’t want somebody’s first episode being “Frank’s Brother,” after all. That said, I’ve found success with Season Eight, Episode Five, “The Gang Gets Analyzed,” where the characters go to therapy. It works as an effective introduction for the same reason Parks and Rec’s “The Camel” does — the therapy sessions with each character quickly sum them and their relationships up in a nutshell, but there’s also plenty of chances to see the gang bounce off each other, which is when the show is at its best. It also provides one of the show’s most iconic, meme-able moments — “Well first of all, through God all things are possible, so jot that down” — and that’s definitely worth something.
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“Do You Know What I Love the Most?” is a newsletter from Spencer Irwin. Spencer is an enthusiast and writer from Newark, Delaware, who likes punk rock, comic books, working out, breakfast, and most of all, stories. His previous work appeared on Retcon Punch, One Week One Band, and Crisis on Infinite Chords, and he can be found on Twitter at @ThatSpenceGuy. If you like this newsletter, please subscribe and share with your friends!