Dysfunctional Relationships in Crime Shows: UK's "Denial" and the Security of the Self-Sustaining Narrative

"I want you to begin with positive reasons why readers should believe your claims," I tell my students. "It is possible to write a persuasive essay where you attack the opposition right away, but it seriously isn't effective."

I then go on to tell them about studies where people attacked for their beliefs become more entrenched in their positions. 

The current form of argument in our culture--by politicians, on Twitter--doesn't convince anyone. In some cases, it is more likely to drive people toward another group or party or simply into a state of "I'm so tired of bullying" indifference. 

Along the same lines, I have always found the "and then we confront the villain with the villain's misdeeds and the villain collapses in apologies" approach in fictional mysteries completely unbelievable. Not that it can't happen. The murderer's resigned and exhausted confession at the end of Christie's Murder in Mesopotamia is entirely believable. But murderers who either go right on justifying themselves or right on denying the obvious are far more common. 

The same is true of the victims. One Bones' episode focuses on a talk show host who unmasks cheaters. The plot is generally rather "eh" but it does include one pitch-perfect scene. The investigators are interviewing wives of men caught by the show. Many of the wives are angry and disillusioned by the revelations. One, however, refuses to believe that her husband was about to cheat. He went to the hotel room to warn the young woman! He took off his pants because his pants got dirty! 

What makes the scene so great is that the wife is not a demure passive wilting flower. She's a strident, outspoken woman who simply won't believe that her husband was unfaithful (even though he clearly was). 

Law & Order offers a fantastic episode, "Denial," in which a husband arranges for a hit on his wife. He then tries to call off the hit, but she is shot anyway. She ends up in the hospital where she eventually dies after several weeks. 

The American version naturally circles around a legal issue, namely the rights of the individual (a DNR) versus the rights of the state to complete its legal case. 

The British version, however, is pure Greek tragedy. The wife is played by Juliet Stevenson. She is a judge. Her love and pride and guilt compel her to protect her reputation and her story about a husband who does, in fact, love her. An educated, strong, confident career woman, she resists the burden of evidence for the sake of what she "knows" and believes. It isn't necessarily love that compels her (though the final scene between husband and wife is harrowing) but the need to cling to the story that makes sense to her. 

Why are pundits and "I know the story of other people's lives" theorists so successful? 

I suggest because the story (whether it be conspiratorial or not) of "here's what's going on/here's where everyone stands/here are all the answers" is terrifically compelling and stabilizing. As Chris Stirewalt states in an article from May, "The myth [that everything is bad because the people in charge screwed up] is persistent for many reasons, including the human tendency to blame external forces for our misfortunes, but also because the people who think they are in charge want to believe they have that kind of power. Even if you’re a screw up, you’re a screw up with clout." In addition to clout, I propose that the same people are seeking constancy: "You're a screw up with a secure role in the world."

Even toddlers prefer negative attention to no attention at all.