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It's an all-too-familiar feeling. The follow-up season of your top TV show drops on your platform, and you're brimming with anticipation. The debut season ended flawlessly: future plotlines were teased tantalisingly, and a key figure faced a shocking fate – or did they?. In the months since the finale, you scoured online forums with fellow enthusiasts to decode subtle references pointing toward upcoming twists.

And then season two’s premiere is a damp squib. It seems as if the creative team was swapped for algorithms. By the next installment, a beloved actor's character acts in a way that viewers recognize as jarringly uncharacteristic. By episode five, the writers appear to have memory loss concerning narrative arcs clearly established previously. And by the disappointing finale, you privately hope it had ended sooner.

The Pitfall of Too Many Seasons

Regretting a show's continuation is hindsight; most fans protest when their favorite shows are canned before they can get off the ground. Consider Kaos, an amusing Greek myth parody featuring Jeff Goldblum, which Netflix dropped over poor ratings. However, supporters might find comfort knowing the program avoided a disappointing second season.

Reflecting on Yellowjackets, I prefer it had remained a self-contained narrative. The debut offered a richly imaginative setup, and every episode hit the right marks. In 1996, a plane carrying an all-girl high school football team crashes in the middle of nowhere. Top-notch cast members (featuring Juliette Lewis, Lauren Ambrose and Sophie Thatcher) depicted the survivors in dual eras. Several prize nominations followed, creators confidently planned five seasons to develop the plot thoroughly. But last week, it was announced that it would end with season four. I felt grateful as a viewer.

The Stranger Things cast returns for season five.

The show has made narrative choices that have undermined its heart. In place of exploring post-rescue life, and their struggle with traumatic memories, we were taken in directions that bloated the original premise. That included the show’s tiring habit of bringing in and focusing on new characters (including the flat character Callie) who added little to the overarching plot. It's aggravating, and watching a beloved program become tedious is sad.

A Growing Trend

Yet this issue extends beyond Yellowjackets. Shows such as Emily in Paris, House of the Dragon, Squid Game and Stranger Things lack original impact, and fallen headfirst into expected or comfortable cliches. Occasionally, series should end on a high note.

The thing is, there are joys to be had in a limited, “one-and-done” series. Looking at Sharp Objects, I May Destroy You, and Adolescence, producers recognize appropriate conclusion points. However, the magic fades with series like Big Little Lies, initially a one-season story, come back for more and more with diminishing returns. Hopefully, Adolescence’s producers have thought twice about that rumoured season two.

The Supreme Instance

I preferred Yellowjackets as a limited run, residing permanently in our thoughts, unresolved threads included. The best program I've seen succeeded this way. This beloved 90s drama, the perfect 90s teen dramedy, lasted for only one season but achieved film-like breadth: the personalities were complex and inconsistent, the visuals were beautifully seasonal, and the scripts transcended typical youth dialogue. Its final episode was bitterly unresolved, but this reflects truth appropriately of never having real, definitive answers to the open-ended questions from your teenage years. Following 18 excellent installments (plus one weak one), I felt devastated and created my own continuation to answer some of those questions. Though stored on outdated technology, it demonstrates television's powerful connection.

The Sacred Bond

If TV creators can remember the sacrosanct relationship between viewers and shows, more programmes can bow out when the time is right.

• This writer writes about the arts, music and fashion.