W can’t be accused of setting the bar low. It attempts to tell a compelling, tightly crafted story while simultaneously deconstructing the narrative tropes that drive such plots. At first, it pulls it off, pairing sly meta-commentary with unpredictable twists as characters defiantly refuse to follow their creator’s whims. However, as the story within the story goes off the rails, it becomes increasingly difficult for the “real” story to stay on track as well. By depriving itself of the traditional payoffs provided by standard dramatic structure, the show ironically defaults to the same hackneyed conventions it’s mocking (Deaths that aren’t actually deaths! Amnesia! It’s all a dream!). What starts as an engaging meditation on how artistic works can take on a life of their own devolves into a jumble of incomprehensible rules and mangled timelines. The bigger thematic ideas get lost as you sense the actual writer struggling every bit as much as her cartoonist antihero to give her work an ending. And unfortunately, just like him, she can’t seal the deal. In a world where everyone can magically draw (or write) themselves out of difficulty, the act of creation gets reduced to expediency, not art. The fans within the show know something’s gone awry, but, alas, the fans in the “real”, real world are left hanging too. As a metaphor for how stories slip away from their authors, this one turns out to be a bit too apt.