Encore!

In lieu of the fact that I didn't win on the Melbourne Cup, I spent much of yesterday evening and afternoon watching glutionous amounts of Buffy and Angel. By now, I've seen every episode at least once - more like twice or three times, in most cases - with a select few being even more familiar. I never tire of them. In ages past, this ability to continually rewatch favourite flicks has been remarked upon by family and friends, who generally can't bear to watch or read something more than once. Repeat performances, when they do happen, are spaced years apart, with few exceptions.

I have never understood this.

Presumably, my parents thought this predeliction for hiring the same seven films each time we went to the video store was a childish phase I'd grow out of - a sort of juvenile conservatism, wherein only the familiar is acceptable. But insofar as books, films and TV shows are concerned, it never has. On the surface, people often assume that either I'm too boring or precious to try something new, despite the fact that I do like to branch out. It's the sheer number of repetitions which startles them. But there are advantages to watching things over and over - not always to my favoured extent, but twice or three times in general - which are often overlooked.

For one thing, there are some subtleties of plot that can only be appreciated when you know what to look for, and which otherwise go through to the keeper. To take an example from Buffy and Angel, a running joke about The World Made Entirely Of Shrimp, derived from one character's shoddy explanation of possible worlds, spans several seasons of both shows, and is only really apparent with a rewatch. Regardless of genre, writers like to hide lead-ins to crucial events, like deaths or changes to relationships, much earlier in the narrative. Murder mysteries are the obvious example, but also a poor one: once they know whodunit, most people don't bother with a second viewing. This is because the tension in murder mysteries relates to our ignorance of one crucial fact, which the set-up is designed to remedy; take this away, and there can be little left to enjoy. But in other genres, writers can and do seed references to later events in a way which is only apparent the second time through, and which can be immensely satisfying, especially with characters we care about. George R. R. Martin, creator of the Song Of Ice And Fire series, is deviously brilliant at this. In Book 2 (to pick an example at random) one character, called Daenerys, has a vision of crucial events which don't take place until almost two books later, and which don't - at that point, anyway - relate to her. Not the kind of thing you notice first time around, but once you have, apart from making your eyes widen, it inspires confidence in the writer: evidence, plain and simple, that their story is following a planned trajectory.

In digital media, second viewings also make the dialouge easier to follow: because we already understand the plot, we can worry less about the setting and listen more to the wordplay. I'm a big believer in watching favourite films with friends - not just for the joy in sharing them, but because two sets of eyes and ears are better than one. Back before Quine and I were together, he and my then-boyfriend, Seafood, convinced me it was a travesty against God and man that I hadn't seen Eddie Murphy's Coming to America, and sought to rectify the situation. They'd both seen it only once, back in the dim days of youth, but assured me that time could not have altered this classic. We watched. I enjoyed. One line in particular made me laugh: before the Prince has left Africa, he and his faithful friend are staring at a map of the United States . Awed, the Prince comments on the sheer size of the country - how much there is to explore; how many endless possibilities!

'So,' the friend asks, deadpan. 'Where shall we go: Los Angeles, or New York?'

As I rolled around on the lounge, Quine and Seafood stared at me. They hadn't noticed the joke. I made them rewind the tape.

'Ohhh.'

I've learned a lot about narrative structure from revisiting books and films. Once you know what's happening, it's like peering behind the curtain: you see what tools have been used to set the stage, and are in a position to judge their success. Perhaps more importantly, you learn to identify familiar tricks in different stories. After long exposure, I've grown particularly adept at picking the killer and motive in murder mysteries. Quine treats my habit of prophecying the payoff with jovial irritation: jovial, because he enjoys the theories, and irritated, because when I'm right, it can ruin the ending for him. For me, however, enjoyment is increased. Instead of sailing blind into the murder, I have a secret weapon: knowledge of narrative imperative. What actual clues don't give away, the shape of the story might - and does, more often than not.

But beyond my seer-like grasp of cop show finales, there's a more important reason for revisiting favourites: the characters themselves. As Roald Dahl wrote at the end of The Giraffe, The Pelly and Me, 'A good book never ends when it's full of your friends' - because there's really only two places beloved protagonists can live: you head, and the place where you found them. So rather than setting aside the habitants of Joss Whedon's Buffyverse (to pick an example purely at random), I visit from time to time. Some stays are longer than others, but I think it's fair to say that I've always gained from doing so.

Which is why, when I get home and drop gratefully in front of the TV, I won't be slothing. I'll be enriching my grasp of narrative causality. Natch.