Life is not a bed of roses. Reality, as Thanos famously said, is often disappointing. That’s why we seek escape through movies, books, comics, or any other form of storytelling that offers us something beyond our mundane struggles. However, a trend is emerging in modern literature and screenwriting: an obsession with tragedy.

Writers seem increasingly drawn to the dopamine rush that comes with tragic storytelling. There’s a god complex in crafting a universe where characters live and die at the creator’s whim. Often, these deaths aren’t for the sake of the plot but for the sheer shock value they create. This overreliance on tragedy has diluted the artistry of storytelling, turning what should be deeply emotional moments into empty spectacles.

Take Game of Thrones, for example. The series built a reputation for subverting expectations, but by its penultimate season, it became clear that shock value had overtaken meaningful storytelling. Long-standing character arcs were left unattended, deaths felt hollow, and the final season remains one of the most disappointing conclusions in television history. What was once an intricate political drama with rich character development devolved into a rush to the finish line, prioritizing spectacle over substance.

I recently had the opportunity to discuss this phenomenon with a Nigerian screenwriter who helped shape my understanding of how tragedy fuels cinema and creative art. When done well, tragedy is profoundly moving. There’s a saying: tragedy begets the prettiest souls.

This holds in stories where loss and suffering are fuels to create depth, making the audience reflect on human nature, love, and sacrifice. Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet remains one of the greatest love stories ever. Its tragic ending is integral to its themes of fate, youthful passion, and the consequences of family conflict.

But when tragedy is misused, when death and suffering serve no real narrative purpose—it undermines the very essence of storytelling. Writers who prioritize shock over emotional depth risk alienating their audience. Instead of feeling invested in the characters, viewers and readers become desensitized, expecting the next tragic twist rather than immersing themselves in the story’s emotional core.

Ultimately, I would love to enjoy a story without feeling like the author is hunting for cheap shock value. Unfortunately, this trend isn’t likely to change anytime soon. In a world obsessed with subverting expectations, genuine emotional weight is often sacrificed for fleeting surprises. And that, in itself, is a tragedy.