The last episode of 'Fringe' was a crucial one in the show's run. 'Subject 13' took a long look at one of the more pivotal weeks in the overall story, one involving crucial meetings both in Our World, Over There, and especially between the two of them.

But while it sparked the imagination of millions of viewers, it also brought about many furrowed brows, with fans trying to reconcile what the show presented before that episode and what went down in 'Subject 13.'

The issues raised by this episode, however, have far greater ranging implications than simply within the world of 'Fringe.' Indeed, they get to the very heart of serialized television, especially the type of serialization that has come into vogue over the past two decades.

Shows as varied as 'The Sopranos,' 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and 'Lost' have all trafficked in some form of serialization or another, taking advantage of the medium's long-form format in order to tell tales that last over entire seasons, or even series.

In telling such stories, continuity becomes a crucial aspect of the show's ever-increasing power, with the accumulated weight of the show's stories adding up to something far greater than an individual episode, and producing what is (hopefully) a unified body of work.

But at one point or another, each series that attempts to tell stories of such length come into problematic areas. Sometimes these problems are practical: Nancy Marchand died early in the run of 'The Sopranos,' leaving Tony without the mother figure that so dominated season 1. Over on 'Lost,' the showrunners had to deal with the real-life aging of actor Malcolm David Kelley, so the character of Walt was relegated from a central position to nearly an afterthought.

Sometimes these problems are simply human error: While nearly every show has an online wiki assembled by dozens/hundreds/thousands of contributors, such encyclopedic knowledge doesn't always translate into the writers' room, where a small contradiction in show history can lead to online Armageddon.

Such are a few of the problems involved the high-risk, high-reward world of television continuity. But so often in these debates, the forest can be lost among the trees. Drilling down into small details and making larger connections implied but not directly spoken within the show's text can make shows that engage the audience in this way a pleasure unlike any other in pop culture.

However, this endeavor can often 1) assign a false equivalence between what's important to the show and what seems important to the audience member, 2) misplace what's truly important about these shows, and 3) not give enough leniency to a medium that is singular in terms of its ability to control its super-narrative.

By "super-narrative," I mean the story from Point A (pilot) to Point B (series finale). Often times, this lack of control comes from an inability to truly produce a body of television work that's driven solely by creative vision. Some shows like 'Terriers' are pulled far too soon, whereas 'Lost' might still be stranded in a series of hatches had it not negotiated an end date. A show like 'The Shield' managed to end its series run in a way that felt complete, but this is clearly the exception rather than the rule in an industry when as many shows burn out too quickly as hang on well past their optimal expiration date.

The problem stems from three primary places. Let's break them down.

Problem No. 1: The inability to know how long they will have to tell their stories. Without that knowledge, proper pacing is almost an impossibility. A subset of this problem: even if showrunners claim to have a sense of how long they might have to tell a certain story, either from a network mandate or internal road map, there's no way that they will be able to deliver on that timeline. David Goyer famously said before 'Flash Forward' ever aired that he had the first five seasons mapped out. Cough.

Problem No. 2: The inability to guarantee that optimal conditions will exist to tell even the best-laid tale. I've dealt with this above to some extent, but practical measures such as contract negotiations, budgetary concerns, recasting, or a dozen other practical measures that mean very little to Joe Viewer at home but nevertheless provide massive obstacles to those trying to create cohesive storylines over multiple seasons.

Problem No. 3: The inability to retroactively edit. Here we get to the heart of things, and the reason that 'Subject 13' is such an optimal episode to kick off this overall discussion. So often, when fans complain about continuity being broken, they point to older episodes that contradict information delivered in more recent ones. But what almost NEVER happens is a viewer complimenting a show for chucking out an old idea for a newer, far better one instead.

Now, the problem that comes with discovering a much better idea down the line is non-existent in, say, a novel. Sure, someone like Stephen King might have to go back and rework earlier chapters in order to make things fit, but the public would be unaware of anything other than the final, finished product.

Likewise, film script rewrites might make headlines on certain websites, but rarely exist when projected in the local multiplex. What ends up on screen might be a muddled mess, written and directed by committee, but there's a fundamental difference in audience reaction to having something that happened one hour ago be rendered moot and something that happened 50 episodes ago be rendered moot.

What 'Fringe' has done since roughly two-thirds through its initial season is to disown the mess that was that show's mythology at the time. Go on, look back and try to recognize the show you (hopefully) now love. Think about the last time you heard anyone mention "The Pattern." Think about the last time "ZFT" was used as anything but an Easter egg in the season 2 finale. There's nothing about the show's ultimate shift to a storyline that not only made Olivia Dunham more than a passive observer to 'The Bishop Boys Power Hour,' but also delivered a simpler, more potent mythology that produced emotional resonance.

To ask why Olivia didn't remember meeting Walter in the show's pilot in light of the events in 'Subject 13' is the wrong question. It's confusing a slavish need for continuity at all costs for a need for the inherently messy (yet so often glorious) world of small-screen long-form narrative. With so many things that CAN go wrong, as listed above, shouldn't we celebrate moments in which writers realize the limitations of their initial ideas and push forward into something more entertaining, more stimulating, and more affecting?

It would be nice for the show to arrive fully-formed in the pilot, never wavering from that initial, brilliant, pure idea, and then unspooling it in exactly the right amount of overall hours. But since we don't live in that admittedly enticing world, we need to rethink our expectations about both continuity and how to enjoy shows that employ it.

Continuity works best as a support system for a larger, more identifiable, more human story. It doesn't work as the primary engine and prism through which to ascertain the success of a show. Structure can be a fun thing to analyze, and Lord knows there are plenty of things to glean about a show by looking at its structure. But if characters serve structure instead of story, then the results can be intellectually interesting but emotionally stilted. 'Subject 13' didn't directly contradict established information about facts in the world (Walter, Peter, and Olivia all have mental blocks about the era for various reasons, an explanation that either sates you or infuriates you), but it DID enhance our understanding of the bonds that these three characters have.

If a show like 'Fringe' nails the structure while missing the character, then it's little more than a hollow artistic exercise. But since 'Fringe' decided to forgo "The Pattern" in favor of strengthening its characters, what flowed from that refocus produced a whole new world (literally) for the show to explore. That's not a ret-con (retroactive continuity) so much as a readjustment, and if more shows did it, we'd have a lot more quality in our long-form television narratives.

Some people look to television to see the order that's missing from their lives. Others watch to see life's messiness reflected back. Which type of viewer are you?

What are your thoughts on continuity in television programs? Do they enhance your viewing? Not factor into it at all? What are your examples of continuity gone right and gone bad? Sound off below!