Buffy The Vampire Slayer

VD’s embody everything live television does not. They’re collectible instead of ephemeral. They’re private instead of public. They allow the viewer to own the TV schedule instead of being controlled by it. And unlike their dorky predecessor, the VHS tape, with its transparent innards and tendency to choke under pressure, they are technologically efficient, with a cavernous storage capacity.

For more serious collectors, the ability to snap up several TV seasons on a whim may be as much a curse as it is a blessing. After all, if you collect 50 movies, you can expect to watch every one of them. Collect 50 television shows - full seasons, 20 hours or more! Commercial-free! - and you’ve got yourself a very high-maintenance entertainment commitment. Soon every evening will be spent watching episodes of "Alias" not once, not twice but five times in a row. And then watching them again, to catch all of the nuances. And then again, to imbibe the commentary track. And maybe catch a couple of the deleted scenes. And the commentary tracks on the deleted scenes.

At this point, it’s 5 in the morning and time to call in sick for work.

At least, that’s the ideal scenario. For the truth is, the platonic ideal of the television DVD - one brimming with juicy insider extras - is still pretty hard to find. While there’s been plenty of ink spilled about the fabulousness of movie commentary tracks, with their bitter revelations of directorial compromise, their alternate endings shooting off like firecrackers, television collections tend to be somewhat less candid. Part of this is sheer pragmatism: once a movie is finished, it’s finished. The creator can say what he will. But TV series run for many seasons, and DVD sets are increasingly being released while the show is still on the air, either in first run or in syndication. The result of this speeded-up cycle is that most creators are not quite as prone to risk alienating their colleagues with juicy rants or mea culpas. And classic television collections (your "Honeymooners," your "All in the Family") often include little extra material at all.

But if the quality of television DVD’s can be variable, the best ones are addictive. DVD’s are perfect for fast-paced arc shows like "24," increasing the intensity of the action and introducing the sickly pleasures of binge-viewing. For fans of prematurely canceled shows like "Once and Again," "Freaks and Geeks" and "Firefly," DVD’s are their savior, an opportunity to preserve the brilliance that might once have been junked in some studio’s broom closet. (On Web sites like tvshowsondvd.com, viewers lobby for early release like a pack of public defenders.) Arcane titles - Japanese anime, obscure British sitcoms - are finally available without recourse to the grim reaches of 10th-hand e-Bay dubs. And for more artistically ambitious series, DVD technology can allow viewers to act like scholars instead of passive recipients, examining scenes like cineastes and taking a peek into the writerly process. Even the junkiest of shows have their DVD appeal: reality television can be surprisingly rewatchable, especially in its more soap-operatic varieties - a trend presaged by MTV’s notoriously hypnotic Real World Marathons. (One caveat: a DVD of "Space 1999" may sound like fun, but in practice a bad show’s flaws are grotesquely magnified when watched in a thrilling high-quality format.)

Television commentary tracks come in several flavors. First, there’s what might be called the Publicist Track, a puff-tinged presentation that’s quasi-informative but mostly self-congratulatory. Take the executive producer Darren Star’s remarks on the DVD set for the third season of "Sex and the City." Tracing Carrie Bradshaw’s descent into her affair with Mr. Big, Mr. Star does illuminate some nice details, likethe frantic camera motion that precedes the lovers’ first tryst. But the bulk of his audio track consists of praise for the actors ("Sarah Jessica is so wonderful here") and remarks about the show’s groundbreaking qualities - all accurate but not especially illuminating. (But it is endearing how fashion-addled Mr. Star is: his harshest remark is reserved for a short-short black velvet bodysuit.)

Then there’s the Auteur Package: one director or writer, one serious analysis. The box sets for "The Sopranos" provide several such one-on-one commentaries, with smart, straightforward analysis of editing choices and only the occasional dash of behind-the-scenes color. On the audio extra for the second-season episode "Funhouse," the director, John Patterson, describes choices made for the episode’s various dream sequences - including a debate over whether the talking fish should actually move its lips - and alludes to a bit of behind-the-scenes tension during filming of a telephone sequence. The first-season package of "The Sopranos" also includes an exceptional hour-long interview with its creator, David Chase, during which Peter Bogdanovich (the film director who plays Melfi’s psychiatrist) interrogates the hawk-faced, grimly sexy and super-articulate writer/director. (One side effect of DVD commentary tracks: crushes on the creative team.) It’s a discussion so in-depth, and so unlike the garden-variety DVD promotional mini-film, that it feels as if we are voyeuristically sitting in on an interview for a magazine profile, able to get the director’s insights without mediation. Among other details, Mr. Chase describes his fascination with earlier gangster films like "Goodfellas" and explores his worries about viewers romanticizing his gangster characters too much.

Group commentary tracks tend to provide a stranger breed of DVD commentary, with participants sliding back and forth between silly and serious. On the DVD for the first season of "Oz," a team track between its creator, Tom Fontana, and the actor Lee Turgeson is peppered with "Beavis and Butthead"-like banter too obscene to excerpt in this paper. Animated shows - "The Simpsons," "Family Guy," "Futurama" - are collaborative by nature, and their commentary tracks tends to include hilarious, competitive banter from comedy writers used to pitching jokes and getting shot down. On DVD’s of "The Simpsons," each audio track includes a nice mix of antic snark and arcane bits of background. Among the tidbits a listener learns: Montgomery Burns’s lawyer is based on Roy Cohn; as a prisoner, Sideshow Bob wore Jean Valjean’s prison number; and the guest star Joe Frazier asked the writers to cut a scene, complaining "Joe Frazier does not get beaten up by Barney; Joe Frazier beats up Barney."

Then there’s the Meta Method, in which a show’s creators use the audio track as a new kind of experimental theater - a technique that will surely blossom as DVD’s generate their own satirizable clichés. The DVD’s for "Mr. Show," the late, lamented comedy show, feature a deliberately bizarre mix of background information and inside jokes. Ensemble members wander in and out of the room. Fictional characters like Jeanette Dunwoody and the acting coach D’Uberville L’Avignon periodically chime in, as well - a technique that deserves plaudits for brashness but is somewhat funnier in theory than in practice.

Finally, there is the Enthusiast Approach, my personal favorite. Such tracks are notable for commentators getting so giddily caught up watching their own show that they morph into fans. In the worst-case scenario, the over-enthusiastic commentator clams up and happily watches along. But at best, an Enthusiast track gives the listener the impression of being a silent participant in the most thrilling type of bull session. The fourth-season "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" track for the werewolf episode, "Wild at Heart," features banter from the creator, Joss Whedon, the executive producer, Marti Noxon, and the actor Seth Green. The three communicate in a kind of sarcastic Buffy-speak that’s hard to transcribe but fun to listen to. "You folks don’t know what it’s like to do DVD commentaries!," Mr. Whedon mock-moans at one point. "We shot these episodes three years ago, we all hate each other now. We’ve been using a digital Alyson [Hannigan] for the last two years, nobody knows about it, she lives in France, it’s a thing."

On the forthcoming "Alias" first season commentary tracks, which will be released in September, the cast is affectionate, with Jennifer Garner sweetly consoling Ron Silver as he complains about the closeups on his wrinkles. ("What’s that flap?" he moans at one point.) And the whole cast bursts into horrified, nervous giggles during a torture scene: "Look, they’re jerking his head around like it’s a pumpkin!" Also worthy of special note are the "Felicity" stars Keri Russell and Scott Speedman, who deserve some kind of award for the single sexiest team commentary, weighing in on the show’s second-season episode "The List." Watching themselves kiss, the former real-life couple giggle in embarrassment, and they pepper the audio track with hilariously self-deprecating remarks. "What a dink," Mr. Speedman says, watching his character gaze at Felicity. "What a nutbag, always mistaking hungry for horny."

Such tracks deliver a delicious sense of insiderness as well as the implication that the show was a labor of love. But there’s something to be said for the sour and the bitter as well. If true conflict rarely enters into television DVD commentary, even the most supportive commentaries have moments of behind-the-scenes conflict, many of which force you to read between the lines. "That’s the swagger of someone on a hit TV show surrounded by a whoooole lot of watchers," drawls one "’NYPD Blue" director, watching David Caruso lounge on a park bench. "Don’t ever think that doesn’t get into the show."

Aside from commentary tracks, television DVD’s provide a range of other extras, some of them pointless, others treats. Worst of the bunch: anything dependent on text, including the many lame bios - nothing duller than accounts of the actors’ résumés - and doofy "quizzes." Original shooting scripts are fantastic in theory: you can read the stage directions and cut lines, and get a sense of the creator’s original intent. But clicking past page after page on a TV monitor feels awkward (although for people who own laptop DVD players, the feature is more usable.) Most promotional "featurettes" amount to little more than advertisements for a television show one already owns. (And do the sets have to be sold in what amounts to child-proof packaging? King Tut wasn’t this tightly wrapped.)

The best extras fulfill fantasies of total access - audition tapes, scenes that have been edited out, alternate endings. The DVD for "Six Feet Under" includes a cut scene from the premiere, with Claire high on crystal meth and riffing madly to her brother David. The "Family Guy" collection includes a banned episode. A "Simpsons" mini-jukebox allows viewers to play song sequences from the show, like the stirring rescue anthem "We’re Sending Our Love Down the Well." And the "Mr. Show" DVD’s included material from the show’s original live performances, and a few truly perverse TV spots (among them one featuring the stars in ball gags and full bondage)

It’s enough to whet your appetite for the impossible. In the future, one imagines, nothing will be denied the superfan: the casting sheets, every inch of the trimmed footage, leftovers from the food services cart - and the technology to do our very own edit of the show. Call it the curse of the groupie: give out backstage passes, and soon enough, everyone wants to join the band.