Our friend sends this note:

I’ve written about this before, so I’m probably repeating myself, but
what the hell. And yes, you can post it, with my thanks:
The season finale is one of the great innovations of modern TV. When
I was a kid, hunkered down in front of the ambergris-powered set (the
TV listings were delivered once a fortnight, and consisted of coal
marks on a shovel), shows just ended. There weren’t any plot arcs;
there weren’t any cliffhangers. This might have been a good thing –
if “Mission: Impossible” would have had a cliffhanger, we all know
what it would look like: Willy is discovered in the parking ramp
putting a latex mask on the Prime Minister of El Vagueador, while
Barney gets wedged in an air duct! Both crises would have been solved
in the first 47 seconds when the season continued.
The cliffhanger may lead to all sorts of contrived hugger-mugger, but
it’s fun. In the old days, as I said, shows ended, and that was that.
Now we get to spend the next day spinning theories at the office with
the guy in the next cubicle: “did you see ‘Lost?’ Could you believe
it when Tony Soprano staggered out of the jungle and announced he was
a Cylon?”