It also left me callous. After watching Boone and Shannon and Libby
and Charlie and at least half the cast croak before the series was close to
ending, death does not bother me at all in fiction. I’ve shed all the tears left in me for
character deaths.
And this bothered me a little last week when I read
the latest volume of Fables. In this installment, two of Bigby and Snow’s
seven children take the leading role.
These children are approximately seven- or eight-years-old and in it,
one of the children is kidnapped and the other goes off to rescue her. Without giving away too many details, her
brother reaches a point where he has to sacrifice himself in order to save her.
It’s a raw, brutal moment when this eight-year-old
boy, alone, starving, weak, and frightened about what he’s about to do, still
expends all of his energy to prepare his blood to be shed, otherwise he loses
his sister. The worst is that he knows
there’s a chance that nobody will know what he did to save her and he still
takes his life without hesitation. And I
felt nothing.
It was almost like the Friends episode where they realize Chandler doesn’t ever cry. They asked if he felt anything when Bambi’s
mother died and he said, “Yes, it was really tragic when the animator stopped
drawing the deer.”
This is not me saying that the writers did a bad
job. They did a great job telling that
story. But with my prior experiences, I
can’t experience that Fables story
the same way now as I would have three years ago. And I thought to myself, if matters of
life-and-death have no emotional impact on me in fiction anymore, is it
possible to feel any such turmoil or conflict ever again in a story?
The answer came when I finally got on Hulu and
caught up on all the new Office
episodes. I don’t care what anybody
says, that show got along fine without Steve Carrell. His Michael Scott character was funny but
nobody really cared about his happiness.
Everybody cared about what happened between Jim and Pam. From their bad timing in other relationships
to their dating, marriage, having their first child and onward have all been
great rewarding moments. They were and
still are the heart of the show. I’ve
always cared about what happened between them because that relationship
matters.
Starting with the episode “Customer Loyalty,” their
marriage is heading for a cliff. The
story arc this season has been about Jim getting a new job with a start-up
athletic company. He’s excited about it,
he works hard at it, and he spends a lot of time away from home. It’s finally taking its toll on Pam. I have to re-watch the last three minutes of
that show where the two of them have the worst fight. It’s wrenching, tragic, ironic conversation
which unbeknownst to Jim, leaves Pam in tears.
It may be the strongest moment in the whole series.
It kept me up for an extra hour just marveling not
just how well-executed it was, but the effect it had on me. What a fascinating concept when a child’s
death doesn’t make my heart ache even a tenth to seeing Pam weep in those
fifteen seconds.
The
Office is achieving greatness not just in filmmaking but
in storytelling and I think will live past this generation of viewers. Jenna Fischer, John Krasinski, and all the
other actors and writers should be proud of what they’ve accomplished in these
nine seasons of programming. My
roommates keep talking about how 30Rock
is leaving on a high note. While a good
show, it’s nowhere reaching the human chord that The Office is striking on its finale.
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