spoil me

in defence of spoiler culture

Does anyone else remember, at the very high point of Game of Thrones obsession, the absolute terror that permeated anyone who dared to be an episode or two behind? “Don’t talk about it! I haven’t seen it yet! No spoilers!” 

I might be ageing myself with that example – Google tells me Game of Thrones premiered in 2011, which means fever pitch was probably sometime around 2012-2013 (my brain tells me Game of Thrones premiered last year, and also that the year 2000 was only five years ago, but that’s good old fashioned millennial denial for you).

I digress - but GOT was the first instance I really remember of the idea of “spoilers” being a Big Deal. Before you come for me, I know there were big reveals before then, but I think the fact that Game of Thrones was smashing viewing records when the Internet and social media was really picking up meant that the potential for spoilers truly became a Very Big Risk. Everyone was obsessed with avoiding them, which, naturally, meant that the online world of trolls was obsessed with throwing them out just for the lols of making people mad. 

Nowadays, it seems as if the general rule is, if you haven’t watched something within 24-48 hours of it dropping, then that’s on you if you dare venture online. Watch it immediately or commit yourself to a screen-free life until you have done, because social media is spoilers abound and woe betide you if you complain about it. If it sounds like I’m bitter, then let me surprise you – I’m not. Because here’s the thing: I seek out spoilers. I search for endings. I greedily drink down a fleshed-out synopsis.

My revelation came while watching a twenty-five-minute generic sitcom. Our woe-begotten protagonist had found themselves in some outlandish situation or another, the likes of which I knew – from countless hours of sitcom consumption – would be resolved by the time the credits rolled. And yet – at minute fifteen, my fingers found my phone. I hopped onto Google. I found a synopsis. I read the episode ending. Spoiler alert – everything turned out fine. Because of course, it did. But why couldn’t I wait another five minutes to find that out?

Maybe it’s because I need to know that everything works out in the end. Life is so infinitely unpredictable, the future shrouded in mystery and probably endless heat and fire because of the damage we’re doing to our planet, and I crave something I can control. An outcome that I can see. My chest seizes with panic at the thought of what comes next for myself, my family, the world and I can’t do anything about it. But when I watch a television show or a movie, and my heart rate skips a beat at the lost connection between two lovers, I can look online and reassure myself of the journey they’re about to embark on and its wholesome conclusion. 

Maybe my heart is bruised from growing up with television shows and movies where my favourite characters died unexpectedly (I’m thinking of starting a support group for people who grew up watching The Animals of Farthing Wood for example). Now I can protect myself, grow less attached. 

Maybe I’m a millennial with a ruined attention span just like my parents and grandparents tell me. “Kids these days, they can’t even pay enough attention to see a movie through to the end.” I’m looking up how the story goes so I can split myself more easily between my television screen and phone screen and not feel lost in the storyline when I miss things. It’s nothing but a depressing side-effect of being programmed to desperately seek out continuous, ongoing dopamine hits in shorter, sharper, faster doses. 

Maybe I’m just a very anxious girl trying to reduce her own anxiety because she wants to watch that horror movie, because they’re fun, but she doesn’t want to get too scared.

Maybe it’s Fifty First Dates’ fault, for spoiling The Sixth Sense for me before I had a chance to see it, even though The Sixth Sense admittedly was five years old at the time of the release of Fifty First Dates, but still, I’d had the Mother of All Reveals ruined for me without my consent, so from that point on, there was no point in ever waiting to find out twists ever again. (This is the time where I sound bitter and am bitter because I will take this grudge to my grave).  

Maybe it’s all of those things. Maybe it’s, as they say, just not that deep. 

I’m sure there are people reading this shaking their heads, thinking that I’m ruining my television and movie experiences. I’m sure I have offended every single movie buff that exists. And listen – I get it. I see where you’re coming from.  But I can reassure you; I still enjoy television. I still enjoy movies. I still go to cinemas and I’m not the asshole with their phone out looking things up. My experience? No less diminished. My anxiety though? Usually significantly so. 

And listen: watching people dodge spoilers with the commitment and dedication of Ted Mosby in How I Met Your Mother trying to avoid the Super Bowl score in that one episode in season 2 (told you I’ve watched a lot of sitcoms) I sometimes can’t help but feel relieved. You want to threaten to tell me about the twist at the end of Bodies Bodies Bodies? Sure, go ahead (I’ve already looked it up).  What about how Past Lives ends? Bring it on (I’ve already looked it up). Who was the murderer in Reptile? Oh, tell me! (Except I’ve already looked it up). 

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who wrote this?

Shaeden Berry is a writer based in Boorloo who has written for Refinery29, Fashion Journal, PedestrianTV and Kill Your Darlings. Her debut novel, Down the Rabbit Hole, will be out late 2024. You can find her posting millennial photo dumps and cat pictures on Instagram @berrywellthanks 

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