I've noticed this too and I think it has something to with this term I've heard called "viral-logues".

The idea being right now there are scenes in tv shows being written and framed in a specific way that they are easily screenshot able and shareable over Twitter and tik tok etc. The idea being people share them and make wild exclamations like "So true", "This speaks to me", "louder for the people at the back".

Haven't seen Midnight Club yet, but I think Midnight Mass is on another level. It's not the acting, it's the writing. I will post a snippet from the script of episode 6 from Midnight Mass, in which the sheriff is asked to investigate a suspicious church, and, rather than simply say "there's no way these people who barely tolerate my religious beliefs would allow this", he sets off into this. And bear in mind this isn't even the stupidest monologue this episode, I'm just posting it because it doesn't really spoil anything and is easy to see how stupid it is without context. The actual stupidest monologue in the show is the one about Ignaz Semmelweis earlier in the episode.

Anyway, here's the sheriff's response that should have been two lines of dialogue:

---

What exactly are you asking of me?

I suppose I’m asking you to look into it.

Look into what, exactly?

Look into St. Patrick’s?

On… And just to be clear, on the basis that some of your mother’s blood tests got damaged?

It’s a lot to ask, I know.

Do you?

[Sarah sighs]

Do you?

[clicks tongue] Did I ever tell you why I moved here?

No. No, I don’t think you did.

Didn’t tell anybody, now that I think about it.

It’s almost as if nobody asked.

You know, I was, um, 21 when the Towers went down.

Watched it on TV in my dorm room just weepin’.

When I was a kid, I wasn’t religious at all, really.

But I went to the mosque that day, because they had a blood drive, and the line went for blocks.

I wanted to help.

I wanted to protect this country.

So I moved to New York and enrolled in NYPD training.

Now, some of my friends, they weren’t happy.

“NYPD is against us,” they’d say. But I’d tell them, “No. You’re wrong.”

“I’ll show them they don’t have to be afraid of us.”

“I’ll show them who we are.”

So I worked my way up.

You know, traffic, and translating and transcribing wiretaps, then Vice.

I get married. Ali is born, and I’m promoted again. Detective now.

Top secret security clearance for the joint terrorism task force.

I’m helping the FBI fight terrorists.

We’re taking collars. You know, petty stuff, pot, parking tickets and leaning on them hard if they’re Muslim.

“You know, we’ll drop the charge, help you out.”

“You go to the mosque and listen.”

I thought we were supposed to be fighting terrorists.

Not flipping some pothead student in Queens to spy on Americans.

So I complain.

Gently. One time.

Everything changed.

I was surveilled by other cops.

I mean, they even had an official file on me.

And not just me. See, like, after the Towers, Muslim officers were promoted fast. Especially if we knew the language, like, linguistic knowledge, cultural knowledge.

We were very desirable for that.

But it started to occur to them, with so many of us on the force, elevated to positions of real authority, what if that had been our plan all along?

What if we were interlopers?

What if we were infiltrators?

What if we were double agents? And they fucking panicked.

Internal Affairs was suddenly all over us. We were being followed.

We’re being recorded. Civilians too. Surveilled at mosques, cafes.

And suddenly I’m out of plain clothes and I’m back in uniform.

Night shift, street beat.

And more and more, I realize I’ve lost their trust.

I roll with it.

I keep my head high.

Dignity.

Dignity is a word my wife uses.

“Show them dignity.”

And then she’s diagnosed.

And she’s robbed of her dignity so fast.

And then she’s gone.

And I couldn’t…

Ali and I get as far away as we can. And I find this gig.

This little island.

So sleepy, it could be dead.

No elections, no staff. Just a tiny room at the back of a grocery store, and a bunch of fishermen without a notable incident of intentional violence in almost a century, and I beg for the post.

Dignity.

Ali is bored to tears.

But he’s safe.

And I still think I could maybe move the world that one millimeter.

You know, maybe here’s where we make a difference.

Not in the big city, but in this tiny village.

Win over the fucking PTA and call it a victory for Islam.

So I don’t intimidate.

I don’t overshare or overstep or intrude in any way.

I don’t even carry a gun.

And still…

Still…

Beverly Keane and a few others too look at me like I’m Osama bin-Fucking-Laden.

And you’d like me to investigate St. Patrick’s?

For what it’s worth, I want very much… very much to be wrong.

[Sarah sighs]

Just my two cents, but I think a lot of this stems from the fact that horror has had to work within the subtext for much of its existence and also that it’s not getting a bit of a mainstream resurgence with the whole “elevated” horror thing.

Horror has always been elevated, but it’s message has been highly subtextual for a very long time. Take something like the queerness in The Haunting being highly coded to Theo openly being a lesbian on The Haunting of Hill House. Couple the fact that a lot more can be openly said with the popularity of highbrow horror and a general audience that might not be super familiar with horrors history and I think you have some filmmakers who don’t trust their audience to get what they are trying to do so they do a shit ton of hand holding. Instead of just leaving a lot of stuff up to the viewer to get or interpret Flanagan verbally tells the audience what he wants them to know. I’m his effort to make elevated horror he’s just making super easy and digestible horror. That’s not necessarily a bad thing depending on what you like.

I like your comment and the content you are expressing. I also like the possibly intentional irony of explaining your dislike of monologues with the Reddit equivalent of a monologue.

Bluey has a seven-minute runtime, which forces the writers to be very clever with how they communicate emotion. The noble idea of streaming services having different runtimes per episode was that writers should not be constricted to force every episode into a 42-minute box, allowing for shorter stories without padding or longer epic episodes. The downside is that there's no need to be economical with words, necessarily.

Bluey's a whole other bag. Clearly the writers are geniuses and some of the experimental stuff they've done is top notch.

It's not like old Star Trek isn't heavy on monologues at times, and throughout every damn episode is full of clunky, dreadful writing. But damnit it's fucking fun and somehow despite a lot of things in my mind being really bad about it... I just... Still think it somehow holds up well. I may be entirely wrong, though!

Anyway, hard to say how things made in this day and age hold up a few decades down the line.