I am getting tired of TV series (movies, too, I suppose, but it seems particularly egregious in TV series of late) where a key plot premise is I can’t tell people about something fantastical because they’ll never believe me, or it will draw the wrath of others who don’t want me to tell, or because of some other contrivance.
It’s all over the freaking place, at least in the shows that I enjoy watching:
- Bionic Woman is built on it — “I’m a top secret cyborg who goes on covert missions, but I have to keep this from my younger sister, despite the horrible personal issues that raises.”
- Torchwood — “I’m a member of a cryptic organization, but I can’t tell my SO about it, or even give him half the truth about it, because, well, that would solve too much personal angst.”
- Chuck — “I’m constantly being pulled away from job and family because I’m a ‘consultant’ for the NSA and CIA … but heaven forbid I tell my best friend or my sister, as opposed to constantly disappointing, hurting, and/or endangering them.”
The breaking point for this was I caught the Doctor Who marathon on TV today, re-watching Series 1 eps, and third episode, there’s Rose, trying to not-explain to her mother why she’s been missing for a year. Sure, maybe Jackie’s going to have a problem with the concept (and, eventually, does), but that’s better than simply standing pat and not explaining, letting your mom think the worst. A similar conflict comes up in Series 3 — “Can’t tell Mom what this Doctor guy is about, even though that’s going to drive her into cooperating with his darkest enemy (if only I knew).”
Maybe I’m jaded to it as a premise from having grown up with comic books, where the secret identity is a trope as old as the form (even if you extend it back to things like the Scarlet Pimpernel). It’s so old, and the issues have been so thrashed out, it seems terribly stale.
The reason for it all is obvious: it’s built-in personal conflict. But it’s become a cheap out. People don’t think about it, they just accept it. But it’s kind of stupid. People do tell — sometimes foolishly, sometimes wisely. I’ve promised Margie that if I ever get recruited by a covert organization, or get recruited by a galactic federation, or discover that I’m long-lost member of some arcane underground, or make a friend who ride around in a big blue police box, that I’ll let her know — or, at the very least, tell her that there’s something I can’t tell her. That’s part of what the whole “marriage” thing is about, even leaving aside the practical aspects of it all.
Secrets have their place, and sometimes secrets can’t — or shouldn’t — be told. Heck, I’ve written stories where secrets were key. But as much as I enjoy the shows above, the “I’ve got a secret” trope is a cheap out in all of them, and it takes away from my enjoyment of them.
Well, part of the problem is that if you tell somebody a Big Secret, they’re not going to believe you. Chuck’s sister would undoubtedly start trying to get him into counseling. I suppose Jaime could prove it by lifting a car or running super-fast, but she risks being seen as a monster by the few people she cares about (I suppose; I don’t actually watch the show).
And there’s the whole “family and friends targeted by your enemies” bit that compels comic book heroes to hide their identities. Probably not an issue for Chuck, as they could target him just as easily if they knew his identity.
As an aside, I love the title sequence on Chuck! Reminiscent of a 60s spy spoof.